#felines are not my expertise but i tried!

[staticair]

[dan and phil and CATS - high school lockers]

[mcx7demonbros]

Stair Fall (Brothers x GN!MC)

Hurt + Comfort 💔

Warning - stair fall, broken hip, surgery/medical operation

Not thoroughly proofread

Also, please forgive me if I get anything wrong about human body or medical terms.

“If anything happens, summon us immediately.” Lucifer reminded you.

“Alright, I know, mom.” You teased Lucifer. The eldest glare at you before his eyes turned into just-you-wait-i’m-going-to-punish-you-later-for-this glare.

“Good luck dealing with those nobles.”

“Alright, we’ll be going.”

You gave each brothers a kiss before they had to board a personal carriage to go to the Demon Lord’s Castle for a high-ranking demon-only ball. Lucifer said it was so important that none of them could excuse themselves and stay at home with you.

That was the backstory of how you got the whole House of Lamentation to yourself for the next few hours, maybe until dawn if the ball got dragged on.

After a few hours of doing what you like in the House, including playing and partying with Cerberus, Henry 2.0 and Satan’s secret pet cats, which involved preventing the felines from eating the fish, you decided to turn in and head to bed.

I guess the ball gets dragged on. You said within yourself as you climbed the gigantic staircase.

Your exhaustion became more dominant over you. You yawned as you continued to go up the stairs. Suddenly, you felt nothing but air under you step.

Oh shit. You knew you had misstepped. You lost your balance and even though you tried your best to regain it, you failed and fell down the stairs miserably.

In your moment of falling, the images of the brothers appeared in your mind, along with two words, “Save me!”

“Ouch.” Asmo yelped as he dropped his glass of Demonus. All the nobles nearby stared at him with curiosity. But Asmo had no time to care about how he looked in their eyes, he had a strong connection with you and he knew something bad had happened to you. Asmo turned to his brothers for confirmation and when he saw that they had the same expression when looking at each other, he knew his feeling was right.

“Paimon, tell Diavolo we have to leave right now and take care of everything here.” Lucifer ordered his butler.

“Yes, my Lord. Do I need to get the carriages?”

“No need.” Lucifer said as he dashed out of the ball with his brothers. Lucifer, Mammon, Asmo & Beel, who carried Belphie, spread their wings and flew away. Satan turned into his unicorn-like true demon form and galloped away. While Levi used dive into the earth and swam away easily like how normal people swim in the water.

Just under a few minutes, all the seven reached the House. As they rushed inside, they found you lying on the ground, at the end of the stairs, probably unconscious.

“Don’t touch them.” Satan shouted when the others rushed to you. “You could make their injuries worse. Check if they’re still conscious.”

“MC, can you hear me?” Lucifer called, but no reply, only your hard breath could be heard.

“Asmo, call Solomon.”

“How is MC?” Lucifer asked, trying to be as calm as possible. He needed to. If he freaked out, it would affect his brothers too.

“Simeon and Luke have healed the wounds on MC that are within their capabilities….” Solomon reported your’s current situation to the brothers.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.” Levi said.

“You are correct, Levi. MC’s hip bone cracked and we need to get them to a human hospital for a surgery.”

“Can’t ya just treat them, Solomon?” Mammon shouted.

“Sorry, Mammon. I’m a sorcerer, not a doctor. I have knowledge in the medical field but it’s not my expertise. I have done all I could to help MC.”

“I understand. Thank you, Solomon. We owe you a lot.”

“Don’t mention it. MC’s important to me too.” Solomon said as he prepared to leave. “Also, one more thing.”

“What is it?”

“In the worst case scenario, MC will have to use a wheelchair for the rest of their life.”

Solomon’s words were thunder sound beside the brothers’ ears. Some of them didn’t even believe in what they just heard themselves.

“This is a joke, right? Solomon, tell me this is a cruel joke of yours.” Belphie was the one to react first, even though it was denial and negative.

“I wish it were. But it’s the truth. Though, as I said, it’s the worst case scenario, so we should be hurry up and take MC to the hospital to avoid it.”

“No, this is a lie.” Sloth mumbled as he sat down, tightening his grip over his pillow. Seeing the scene, Beel couldn’t help but going over and hugging his twin to comfort him.

“I will go back to the Demon Lord’s Castle to talk to Diavolo to get MC to a hospital in the human world. The rest of you, go prepare things that MC might need. Mammon, you stay beside them.” Lucifer ordered as he left the House immediately.

None of the demons complained. They all went to do what they were ordered.

“Doctor, please help.” Mammon shouted as he ran to the reception, making everybody in the hospital to look at him. Following behind him were you on a stretcher and the other six brothers.

“Please calm down and tell me what happened?” The nurse at the reception desk asked with a gentle voice.

“My partner…my partner…they fell down the stairs and broke their hip.” Mammon said like he was gonna cry like a baby there.

“Alright, let me call the doctors.”

A bunch of doctors and nurses arrived and took you away, one of them stayed to ask Lucifer and Satan some questions, another nurse soon came and guide the brothers away to a waiting area.

After the mandatory diagnosis and check, the doctors finally pushed you into a surgery room. All of the brothers were frustrated to not be allowed to go inside to see you. Mammon tried to look through the glasses. He did see what was happening inside but he didn't understand what was going on. Satan was walking back and fourth, continuously asking Mammon “How’s the surgery going?”, every single minute. His blood boiled because Mammon couldn’t understand what was going on inside. In the end, Satan realized he could have settled looking through the glass on the other door of the surgery room and he did just that.

For Levi, it was so overwhelming for him that he had to sit down on the floor, even though they was a bench there. The third born kept torturing himself with images of the worst case scenario and worse-than-worst case scenario where you died because the surgery had failed. Though a part of himself kept encouraging him with reasons like “MC is stronger than a hip break, they will definitely beat this.” And two sides fought for domination within Levi’s mind.

Sitting on the bench were Asmo, Beel and Belphie. The fifth born looked extremely haggard, his hair unkempt, his eyes had dark circles under them, completely different from his usual self. Lust was also very tired and he had to lean on Beel’s shoulder.

Leaning on the other side of Beel was Belphie, who was sleeping, but his face kept showing uncomfortable expression like he was in some kind of pain. Images of you lying motionlessly at the end of the staircase kept appearing inside his dream. In his dream, Belphie came back to the House of Lamentation, only to see you lying unconscious on the ground, at the end of the staircase. And at the top of the staircase was himself, another Belphegor, smiling. Belphie asked the other him questions “How dare you harm them?”, or “Why would you push them?”, only to receiver the answer “Why don’t you ask yourself? Because I’m you.” The dream kept repeating and repeating and Belphie couldn’t escape from it.

Normally, Beel would have been devouring something to satiate his hunger at this time. But at this moment, Gluttony had no appetite. He had no desire to eat. He just wanted to know if you would be fine.

Meanwhile, Lucifer had to go back and fourth, from this office to that office to take care of the paperworks, all for your sake. The eldest never liked to do paperwork, he only do it because either out of duty or out of love for someone (and/or his siblings). In this case, it was definitely the latter.

It was dawn in the human world. Needless to say the last couple of hours were the most hectic one the residents of the House of Lamentation had had since so long ago.

The surgery had been done and the hospital staff pushed you to the recovery room. The brothers intended to follow but the one doctor came and asked them an important question.

“Which one of you is patient MC’s family or partner?”

“Me!” All of them said the same time.

“We all are their family and partners.” Lucifer answered, representing all.

The doctor was surprised at the plural “partners” but he decided not to ask further into the patient’s private life.

“Please follow me.”

The doctor led all 7 of them to his office.

“Doctor, d-do MC have to use a wheelchair for the rest of their life?” Mammon asked immediately after stepping in the office, without letting the doctor having the chance to sit down.

“The operation was a success, so no.”

“How long will it take for them to recover?” This time, it was Lucifer asking.

“1-4 weeks, it depends on MC’s body system. But they won’t be able to walk right away and will need exercises back home to regain the ability of walking. But-.”

“But what?” Satan interjected.

“MC may never regain the same strength and movement they had. They had quite a serious stair fall. They may need a walking cane or frame for the rest of their life.”

Those words made the brothers’ hearts heavy. But well, it’s better than sitting in a wheelchair for the rest of your life.

“It’s also important that the patient’s family must be with them during the recovery process. It will help a lot.”

“Don’t worry, doctor. We will always be with them…forever.”

Epilogue

You opened your eyes inside a hospital room. Beside from the piercing pain due to the surgery, you could barely felt your body from the waist down anymore.

“Lucifer, am I-.”

“No, MC, you can still use your legs. There was a chance you might lose the use of them forever, but it’s fine now.” Having said that, Lucifer began to explain to you what you needed to know.

You looked at your legs and just the thought of never be able to use your legs again saddened you greatly. The thought soon overwhelmed you as tears escaped your eyes.

“It’s alright, MC. We are here with you.” Asmo said as he kissed your cheek.

“Yeah, all of us are.”

You looked around to see your boys looking at you with reassuring smiles and gentle and encouraging eyes.

“Thank you. You guys are the best.” You said as you wiped the tears on your face.

Whatever happens, you know for sure the boys will always be with you.

Author’s words

Hope you guys like it :3

[gemcatx]

This is a yo-kai watch fanfiction, my OC: Dozey, is the only thing I own. The rest is to whoever made the anime and games.

One ordinary morning, Nate, a regular school-going boy, found himself struggling to wake up. As his consciousness teetered between sleep and wakefulness, he felt a gentle shaking, rousing him from his slumber. Blinking his eyes open, he discovered his faithful yo-kai butler, Whisper, standing by his side. "Nate, you're late for school," Whisper's voice echoed in the room.

Nate groggily mumbled, "No~ wanna sleep," his words betraying his unusual drowsiness. Sensing something amiss, Whisper knew it was time to intervene and enlisted the help of their mischievous yo-kai companion, Jibanyan.

With a swift paw, Jibanyan slapped Nate awake, causing him to startle and sit up. Rubbing his eyes, the boy looked at Jibanyan with gratitude, "Thanks, Jibanyan."

"Hm? Oh, nyo, I was just getting annoyed," Jibanyan nonchalantly replied, maintaining his typical feline attitude.

Nate rolled his eyes, familiar with Jibanyan's quirkiness, and decided to investigate the source of his sudden tiredness. Activating his yo-kai watch, a device that allowed him to see invisible yo-kai, Nate scanned the room. His gaze settled upon a yo-kai nestled in the corner, seemingly lost in a perpetual state of drowsiness.

Curiosity piqued, Nate turned to Whisper, seeking his expertise. "Whisper, who's this yo-kai? I can't seem to identify it."

Whisper, pretending to be knowledgeable, opened his yo-kai pad and hastily scrolled through its contents. "Ah, yes, of course, this is... Dozey! She's a yo-kai that specializes in making people tired and sluggish, even when they're well-rested."

Nate furrowed his brow, noticing that Dozey had hair that flowed like the vibrant hues of an aurora borealis, cascading down to cover her eyes. She lay on her side, seemingly incapable of standing up. Eager to understand more about this unique yo-kai, Nate decided to approach her.

"Dozey, is it?" Nate gently called out, hoping to engage her in conversation. "Why are you here? Why are you making me so tired?"

Dozey stirred slightly, her drowsy voice barely audible. "I can sleep wherever i want. you just happen to be here" Dozey didn't budge. as she yawned, a purple aura came off her, making Nate feel sleepy again. Whisper saw her grinning in amusement, her sharp teeth showing. "What's funny?" he asked.

"mmm-nothing~" Dozey replied, her smile growing wider. Whisper quickly realized the danger that Nate was in, his energy being drained by Dozey's yo-kai powers. Acting swiftly, he grabbed Nate by the shoulders and shook him vigorously. "Nate, snap out of it! We need to fight back!" he exclaimed urgently.

Nate's eyelids fluttered, and his drowsy expression slowly transformed into determination as he regained control of his senses. With a newfound resolve, he activated his yo-kai watch once again, this time summoning his fiery friend, Blazion.

As the flames subsided, a magnificent lion-like yo-kai stood before them, his fiery mane blazing with an intense heat. Blazion let out a powerful roar, radiating confidence and strength. "Rah, rah!" "you need to get up and take on the day!" Whisper quoted Blazion since he only speaks in 'rah's instead of proper English. no one knows why but when working with yo-kai, you learn not to question it. Dozey simply yawned, inspiriting Blazion who tried to fight it, but could never overpower her and fell asleep. "he didn't stand a chance!" Nate said in shock. Whisper nodded and added, "if motivation won't work, we need to think outside the box." Nate sighed in agreement as Whisper continued with his plan. "what wakes people up?" "um...loud noises, cold water" Nate thought aloud. "how about needing to pee" Jibanyan stated before munching on a chocobar. "yes! we can summon Fidgephant" Whisper explained, giving Nate the yo-kai medallion. "really? aren't there other options?" "not really. we need to make do, otherwise we'll never get rid of her" Whisper explained. "I guess" Nate muttered before reluctantly placing the token in his watch and summoned Fidgephant. Nate gazed at Fidgephant, a peculiar elephant-like Yo-kai with a leaky trunk. Despite its appearance, Nate knew Fidgephant possessed a special ability that could finally wake Dozey from her everlasting slumber. "Fidgephant, we need your help," Nate called out, his voice determined. The yo-kai nodded knowingly, ready to fulfill his duty. With a swift motion of his trunk, Fidgephant unleashed a ring of water around Dozey. Fidgephant's inspiriting had an immediate effect on Dozey. a sudden urgency gripped her body. a shiver ran down her spine and jolted awake, her eyes widening in alarm as she realized what was happening. "Oh no, I can't hold it anymore!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with desperation.

Nate and Whisper watched with a mix of relief and amusement as Dozey scrambled to her feet, her influence dissipating as her focus shifted entirely to finding relief and raced into Nate's restroom. She slammed the door closed, a long sigh of relief heard from her. Despite the comical display, Nate remembered he was late for school. Nate hurriedly gathered his school supplies, realizing the time was slipping away. As he glanced at the closed bathroom door, he couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. Whisper approached him, wearing a mischievous grin on his face.

"Looks like we managed to solve the Dozey problem," Whisper said, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Yeah, but now I'm going to be in big trouble!" Nate panicked as he ran down the street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When school ended, he got back home to see Dosey was waiting with a pouty face, her hair in a messy bun so you can actually see her face, though looked like she was going to fall asleep sitting up. It looked rather adorable. Without saying a word, Dozey threw her yokai medallion at thim, followed by a note. Nate caught the yokai medallion in his hand, his curiosity piqued. He unfolded the note attached to it and read the hastily scrawled words:

"Dear Nate, I'm sorry for causing trouble earlier. I didn't mean to disrupt your day. Please accept this yokai medallion as a token of my apology. - Dozey"

Nate couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Despite Dozey's mischievous nature, she seemed genuinely remorseful. He looked at her sitting there, her pouty face slowly melting away as she anxiously awaited his reaction.

With a soft smile, he warmly said "Apology accepted"

Dozey's eyes widened with surprise, her pout transforming into a sleepy smile as the yo-kai mumbled "thank you". She was soon fast asleep, snoring softly on the table.

Nate let out an amused huff "We'll have her leave tomorrow"

The End

[rodthomaswriting]

Tame

She sipped her glass. All was pleasantly loud as they approached her.

"I'm so glad you're here. I keep getting cougars in my yard."

"Sorry?"

They smiled. "Come on."

She tried to smile back, finishing her glass quickly and going back to the punch bowl.

"Panthers, huh?"

She turned, spilling some.

He held up both hands. "Panthers?"

"Sure," she nodded.

She spent a lot of that evening staring in the bathroom mirror. She hadn't wanted to go to the conference anyway. Was she more qualified than anyone else? There weren't really any connections to be made.

While typing away Monday, it continued.

"How was it?"

"What?"

"The pet convention?"

"It was alright."

"Learn a lot?"

"Um. Yeah."

He smiled. "And they definitely learned a lot from you!" The shoulder slap was unnecessary.

Alright.

Lunch was quiet.

And then the emails started. Alice wanted to meet about her cat.

"I know it's not exactly your area of expertise, but I figured you might know a little about general feline diet?"

She nodded. She had no idea.

Sarai sent three about the upcoming talent show.

"I mean, sorry, but we already told people you signed up."

"Why?"

Sarai smiled. That same eyebrows up half shrug.

"Why?"

"I mean, they'll be kind of disappointed." She did finger guns. "The main event," she laughed nervously.

Another email had her at HR.

"So, what was your complaint?"

"I really don't understand the comment in this email about me being good with a whip."

"It makes sense to me, with all due respect."

"Is that not suggestive to you?"

"Well, not in-context."

"Context." She thought about what in her desk would and wouldn't fit in the bag she was carrying.

"Well," he watered a desk plant, "it is you."

"Uh huh." She took a post-it from his desk and scribbled quietly. And that began her last two weeks.

But it didn't end. The cashier lit up at her frozen chicken. "Ah, feedin' the big cats?"

"The what?"

He smiled. "You do tigers? We have a sale on cinnamon right now. Aisle five." He winked.

Why? Why why why?

And she hated being the new girl.

"Keinan?"

"Yeah?"

"Does Michael sign emails to you with meows?"

"What now?"

She turned her monitor. "I guess some are roars."

"Huh. No. Imani?"

"Yeah, man?"

"Does Mike meow at you in mail?"

Imani blinked. "No."

"He's signing 'meow' to-"

"Oh, well if it's to you, that tracks."

"Why would that make sense?"

Imani smiled. "I'm gonna get more tea."

"Right." He waved. "Good luck." He stared at the screen again. "It is weird."

"Thank you."

"I'll talk to him about it."

"Thanks."

The next day, human resources met her at her desk. "You know, we subsidize mental health services."

"That's cool."

"If you need." His hand was on her chair.

"Ok."

He left.

The first session didn't go much better.

"So your employer referred you?"

"Yes."

"Did she tell you why?"

"No, actually. I'm getting harassed, honestly?"

"Oh?"

"I really don't understand it. I left my last job because someone made a joke about me being good with a whip. They sent me to a pet conference, too. I don't have any pets."

"And you don't see where they're coming from?"

"No."

"So, if I was to ask about my cat's diet-"

"Why do they keep asking that?"

"Honestly, I don't know how to tell you this, but you're going to have to expect that response if you want to get anywhere. Not everyone can tell that your looks don't correspond with… that sort of thing. I know it's frustrating. I'm sure it's hard for you. But you need to be patient."

"Why?"

The therapist sighed.

"I literally don't understand."

"Right." They wrote on their pad. "So how long have you been experiencing psychosis?"

She tried to understand. She really did.

"Hi."

"Hi?" He put a box on the shelf.

"You said something about tigers and cinnamon to me a few weeks ago?"

He smiled. "Yeeaahhhh."

"What did you mean by that?"

"Oh, don't worry. I'm gay."

"No, I-"

"I do have a friend into that sort of thing. I'm no good at it and he's bi."

"Thanks, but that's not what I'm-"

"You do shows of it?"

"… What?"

"You do shows of it locally?"

"Shows of what?"

He smiled, shrugging, then put another box on the shelf.

Soon enough, it was the Christmas party. Not everyone showed, but Keinan did. No one else talked to her, but they seemed happy enough to stare.

"Hey."

"Hi," she said. She felt her sock slipping down in her boot.

"These parties are always so…"

"Boring?"

He nodded. "We'll go with that."

She laughed.

His stare was different. It would continue to be different all night. She accepted his ride home. And he accepted her invitation in.

"I don't believe them." It was a quiet mumble in the dark.

"What?" she whispered.

He held her tighter. "I don't believe you're a lion tamer."

She kissed him. "Thank you."

"You're not a lion tamer, Maggie. I love you. I love-"

"Shhhh…"

It all made Monday very interesting. Things with Keinan were fine, but not the "you again" eyeroll from human resources. "What can I help you with?"

"When did you get the impression I was a lion tamer?"

"I never said that about you."

"I've been told I give that impression. Can you explain why I give that impression?"

"We have firm anti-discrimination policies in line with Title VII at this workplace."

"Who is telling everyone I tame lions? I don't."

He stared.

"Why does everyone think I tame lions?"

"Have you ever done… other big cats? Small exotic animals? Do you-"

"NO!"

"I'd appreciate if you didn't raise your voice at me."

Getting groceries delivered was expensive especially when you live on savings.

The woman at the temp agency turned the license in her hands. She held her hand out.

"What?"

She smiled. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought maybe you had other licenses or… accomplishments." She typed. "So, Microsoft Office. Wow. You're a fast typer. We do have some state park openings."

"I'm only interested in administration."

She laughed. "Sure, honey. Uh huh."

A cat perched outside her window the next morning. It didn't mean to stare either, she was sure.

No emails.

Was it weird to quintuple text him?

Knock knock knock.

She opened her eyes. There were heavy footsteps and tinkering in the kitchen. She combed through her hair with her fingers and stood at the door for ten minutes. Then to the kitchen.

"Oh, sorry. Thought you were- Wait, ain't I seen you at the circus?"

"That was- That was someone else."

He smiled and continued fixing the sink.

She went back to bed.

It was dark out. She didn't put shoes on. She didn't lock the door. Concrete, then asphalt, then grass. Concrete.

"Where are you? Where are you?" She kept walking.

Sure, there were signs. Of course there were signs. She didn't read them.

Very few buildings had lights on.

She stopped. A black and white cat was rubbing against her legs. "Go away." She pet its neck. "Please, go away."

Its yellow eyes stared up at her. It ran through a gap in the fence.

She followed.

The gap was just big enough. Grass again. Stones.

"Alison Brady. 1957-1968."

"Marcus Riddle. 1890-1972. Father."

"B.D. 1896."

There were a few fruit trees in the cemetery. She noticed her leg was bleeding.

"Amy Harward. 1919-2003."

A gazebo a few hundred yards away was lit up. There was another gap in the fence.

She crawled through. The sod gave way to local weeds softer than the grass. She crossed a river. She climbed.

"Can I?"

At the top of the hill was another fence.

"Oh, Maggie. You're so good at fence climbing. Someone like you, I saw you swinging from the trapeze. You're great at-"

Breathing.

She dropped down. The rocks gave a hollow clunk. She climbed a fake stone wall.

"Elephants!"

"Ostrich!"

"North American River Otter!"

"No. No, no, no."

The butterfly area was completely shuttered.

"I know you're here."

"Southern Warthog!"

"California Sea Lion!"

All the signs were so cheerful and green.

"The Baringo Giraffe – Northwest Kenya and Southeast Uganda! Formerly a wider distribution through Africa! They have been exterminated over most of West Africa through overshooting!"

"No."

When she saw it, she climbed the netting. She scraped her knees on plexiglass. The rocks in here were real. The rocks in this one were real.

"African Lion!"

[clawsextended]

it’s like an ant farm to selina — watching these people talk and chitter and chatter, watching them make up and get angry and then make up again, only to repeat it. she watches these glimpses the way on might watch a wind-up toy with a charming mechanism, a little village with little people who teeter and totter about until they run out of the charge. she sees the patterns as they emerge between them and wonders what it would be like to be inside that moment, to be a brother arguing with a brother, or a sister throwing arms around a sister. she tries to comprehend what that might feel like, a spyglass of sensation that wheels and glimmers and turns and she watches each diorama in its fullest extent acted out. little short films.

she doesn’t know if she wishes she had this. she doesn’t think she can understand it — that kind of ease with a person, the sort that is unabashedly, completely and totally without trepidation, without preconceived notion or anxious belief creeping in like frost in the first winter. she doesn’t know if it would be better — she’s never known it at all but she takes it in with the expertise of a passionate actor. this is method, maybe, as much as she absolutely despises that phrase. method. who is she, the one guy who runs a cult?

“you guys deserve it. come on. —my nieces and nephews frequently try to kill each other. fuck, sometimes they succeed. it’s rare they can all be in the same room and all really get along without me having to interject. i think this is pretty weird but lovely.”

her eyes close in a languid projection of a feline blink, slow and trusting and infinitely content in its sluggishness. perfect in its gradual nature, all of her slowed to something like ink spills from an errant bottle.

“i never had brothers or sisters. i’m kind of a one-feline show.”

@bornbreathless asked: They've taken up an entire sofa between them. Mostly Char, really, sprawled out across it and Selina's lap, holding the cat's hand with one of her own while the other dangles haphazardly with a glass of wine, tired eyes taking in the sight of her siblings being…well, siblings. Trading insults and stories back and forth across the room, some more pointed than others, but mostly in good fun. Char looks up toward Selina and smiles, lifts knuckles to her lips to press a gentle kiss. "Thanks for coming with me."

she doesn’t understand it. but that doesn’t matter because, frankly, she’s an actress. she can be anything that she needs to be, wants to be. can become any bit of a person that’s needed. it’s simple, to put on a mask. but there’s an energy she can admit she’s comfortably privy to — an electricity that’s tantalizing to listen to. she buzzes with it, takes it in, and feels nothing more than the urgency of her beating heart in a way that’s not so terrible at all. it’s a quiet glee.

“me? oh, yeah. you’re welcome. i mean. thanks for inviting me.”

she takes the kiss with a quiet brush against lips and a lean to nudge her nose softly against a dark head of hair she envies. maybe she wishes hers wasn’t the gold it is, but char doesn’t know that. she’ll know that eventually. but for right now, she’s happy taking in the energy. she clasps both arms around the other like a seatbelt comfortably. holly’s handing out with her dad today, and selina keeps getting texts of them making cookies. she’s proud of them both, quietly flips the image up on her watch to gaze at it fondly before it dims into silence.

she sighs out, slow, a very solid weight against the other as she sinks soundlessly into a nearly expansive abyss of some comfort. she sighs again, a quiet little hum.

she can take in the happiness she’s never known, shielded only by char’s ability to deflect and her talent for it, too. she mentions nothing about her childhood — cracks comments about holly’s. but it doesn’t matter. she’s just, as the kids say, vibing.

“it’s nice. being around you guys.”

[mickules]

What will you do?

►FIGHT PKMN ITEM RUN

---

Pokémon crossovers are never NOT fun, so I tried my own hand at some Dangan-Poké trainers!

The original angular designs are classic, but I have to admit I love the looser styles coming out of the newest games and anime. What I didn't anticipate is how hard it is to get those perfectly calculated 'cute' proportions right, pokémon artists have the ratios down to a SCIENCE. I planned to get this out around my birthday, but missed it by a week! XD

Since my main goal here was translating the danganronpa designs into bona fide pokémon trainer types; I'll admit I didn't think too hard about their pokémon partners. I only actually played the first few games so my expertise is kinda relegated to the original 151/251, with my knowledge of more recent generations lacking, so my bro helped me out with a few suggestions.

but for what it's worth - here's my logic:

Kyoko Initially this one was mostly aesthetics, but Absol does have uncanny observational skills coupled with a solitary nature. Makoto Lucky egg boy gets the lucky egg pokémon, but I also wanted the supposed 'pushover' to have a powerhouse, and Tyranitar needs a lot of attention to evolve. (geeze Makoto, how come you get to have 2 pokémon?) Taka What can I say, it's everyone's fave '''legendary''' police dog! (I'll come clean, I totally cribbed this from Chasml after reading 'My Real Test'; I cannot imagine Taka without an Arcanine) Mondo My bro calls Pangoro 'delinquent bear' so it fits Mondo well, but the idea Pancham refuses to evolve cos he knows Mondo loves the cute pre-evolutions is hilarious to me. Sayaka Primarina is an all singing, all dancing diva, just like the idol herself. Leon Zebstrika . . .zebSTRIKA . . .zebSTRIKA . . . STRIKE like in BASEBALL GEDDIT??? But also - ill tempered, physically talented with a punky aesthetic? Sounds like Leon. Celeste A stocky, grey, spoiled feline? That's not Purugly, that's Grand Bois Chéri Ludenberg Hifumi When I saw the similarities between Blissey and Princess Piggles I couldn't unsee it. Hina Cute, bubbly and an excellent swimmer? Describes Marill to a T. Sakura Whilst she definitely has fighter type pokémon on her team - Alolan Ninetales' style, grace and calm demeanour just reminded me of Sakura. Toko Although insect/bug types would suit her well; I think a lot of them are still too 'cute' - 'unpleasant' pokémon like Grimer or Trubbish mirror her extreme self-image issues. Byakuya I know Ditto suits TWOgami better, but a bit of meta here - a foreign language Ditto is the best way to breed Shinys which seems right up Byakuya's alley; with the obligatory 'Rich Guy Persian' for good measure. Chihiro What self-respecting computer whizz wouldn't dream of a constant portable power supply? Helps that Charjabug is also adorable. Hiro Unpredictably psychic, undefinable intelligence and contentious usefulness, am I talking about Hiro or the Psyduck? Junko Gothorita is called both "the Manipulate pokémon" and "The Witch of Punishment" in its pokédex entries . . . (plus, clearly a fashion icon to boot) Mukuro Pawniard will follow a Bisharp's orders with no mind to its own wellbeing, a perfect pawn if you will.

(and my favourite still continues to be this stupid fat rat, so there's no accounting for taste)

[cheelduh]

How to strike your way into someone’s heart (Highschool AU)

Part 2 to this. Can be read alone!

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Warnings: A lot of swearing I mean what do you expect they’re all teenagers. Lots of brick slapping. Childe clowns Scaramouche. OH YES this isn’t edited at all lmfao have fun.

Synopsis: It’s your big date with Childe after you lost the bet miserably. You decide to pay the occult club a visit in hopes of finding something that can...ease your concerns. Childe on the other hand has Signora give him a friendly piece of advice, believe it or not. 

Note: SRY THIS TOOK ME LIKE A MONTH

For as long as you can remember, you've never believed in ghosts, demons, or souls that lose their way in the endless void, forced to roam the earth in repentance.

Believing in the unknown takes creativity, adventure, maybe even a little sense of fear. Scratch that—a shitton of fear, because humans love to weave in their insecurities and inability to explain something into something of a phenomenon.

Bad luck lies in this category. Bad luck is simply a way to justify the catastrophe that one cannot admit they have fabricated themselves. Everyone wants a reason as to why shit hits the fan, and it can be anything but their own fault.

Bad luck is nothing but a load of bull to you. That's totally why you're standing outside the calculus classroom during lunch break, which happens to be the official meet spot for the occult club.

You raise a fist to knock, but then falter, thinking over your options once again. Is this what it has come to? Putting your faith into the weird kids that once tried to summon Schrödinger's cat for the physics final.

Fischl kicks the door wide open, a smirk playing at her lips once she spots you. "One cannot refrain from the song of your cogitation. The feline for which thou dwell on—"

A squeak leaves your throat and you flinch back, cutting her off. "You can read my mind?"

"Fischl," An icy eyed boy shows up from behind her and points a thumb back. "Mona needs your help."

Fischl squints at you for a brief moment, and then spins onto her heel to go back into the room.

The blue haired lower class man, Chongyun you guess, narrows his eyes at you. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Finally you manage to speak, palms all sweaty. "Yeah uh, I need your help. You know, with occulty things." You use your hands to articulate your thoughts, but ultimately give up.

You're not sure if it's pity towards your pathetic explanation or simply annoyance, but Chongyun widens the opening. He silently gestures for you to follow.

Stumbling on your feet and putting on your big girl pants, you hurry inside of the room, hoping you aren't seen by Beidou. She wouldn't let you hear the end of this.

The temperature instantly drops, and you have to adjust your sight to navigate. There's heavy incense in the air as well as a a few lighted candles from the dollar store, you guess.

Sitting smack dab in the middle of all the demonic markings is Mona, with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Chongyun has made his way next to her, crossing his arms with a sigh, and Fischl is busy cooing at her bird.

"Well well well..." Mona's amused, eyes almost twinkling as she gets up from the poor desk that had to suffer the wrath of her ass. "If it isn't Y/N."

Mona is a glorified dick wiper in your books. One time, she partnered up with you in chemistry last year and refused to do any work because apparently her "star sign" said she was incompatible with science. You haven't forgiven her since.

"I need your help." You barely manage to choke out the words, reigning yourself in by clenching your fists instead. It'll be unethical to claw her face, especially since you're the one who's come to her.

"Oh?" She smiles wickedly, revelling in every moment of this no doubt. "Why would the high and mighty Y/N need help from the 'Whoroscope whore'?"

Fischl nearly slips out a laugh, trying with her upmost ability to refrain from rolling all over the floor.

You blink away your tears of almost-laughter, casually sliding in twenty mora across the table dividing you two. If she's a whoroscope whore like you say she is, she'll definitely put it in her bra.

Mona raises a brow, but her eyes linger on the bill for a second too much. "What makes you think I'll do it for money?"

"That's simple," You say, rolling your eyes. "When you see mora, you cling to it like a baby clings to a tit. Now just take it and solve my issues."

She fumes a litany of curses but snatches the money up anyways.

"What do you want?"

You breathe in, then out. "I need a talisman."

Mona raises a brow, hand on her hip. "I'm sorry. Did I get that right?"

How dare she. You will your eye into not twitching, the beginnings of fire thrumming through your veins, scalding hot. How dare she make me repeat myself.

"You know, the thing to fend off evil spirits," Your statement hangs heavy in the air as the cogs in their brains click into place. "I need one that can remove the most evilest thing times ten to the power of twenty five on this planet."

Everyone immediately thinks of Hu Tao.

Chongyun is the first to speak from an area of expertise, seemingly shocked at your words. "Are you sure you want a talisman that powerful? How bad is the evil spirit you've come across?"

You glance out the window, through the semi-open blinds. The apprehension curls in your stomach once you spot Childe chasing Aether with safety scissors, and you've never been more sure of than anything in your life.

Gulping, you turn back to the exorcist. "I'm 110% sure."

He doesn't ask any more questions and goes to fetch the talisman.

Mona clears her throat. "So I hear you have a date with Childe today. Quite the character you've taken to."

"Oh please," You hiss through your teeth, your blood pressure going up tenfold, "you're the one that told him our star signs were intertwined and that we're fated lovers."

She shrugs innocently, stance casual unlike your own that is ready to lunge an attack.

"Here you are," Chongyun hands you a talisman, a colourful mix of some charms, some kind of liquid in a bottle, and about a shitton of other things. "You'll need these if you're going to face the most demonic of all evils."

You think of Childe's stupidly handsome smirk, the playful life of his eyes, and how gentle and considerate he is with you. You think about how cruel he is to others, but how loving he can be to you.

"Oh, I will be."

—

Childe is getting his ass handed to him by Scaramouche on the switch. It's just that he can't seem to focus, not with the forthcoming date all over his mind.

He hasn't experienced these kind of jitters in a long time. Has to endure that foolish smile that's about to plaster all over his face.

Scaramouche may be a son of a bitch with an agenda, but he doesn't appreciate his acquaintances safeguarding their personal crap when it starts to leak onto him. Especially when it comes to video games.

"Okay," The short boy sighs, stretching over the staff room sofa to drop his controller on the cushions. "Let's hear it." He can't even properly enjoy his victories when Childe isn't giving it his all.

"Hear what?" Childe lays his head back, relaxing from all the strain of endless gaming during the lunch hour. He seems too relaxed for someone who's broken into the teacher's lounge.

"Why you're so distracted." Scaramouche points out. "Not that I care—hey! I'm serious here!"

Childe's cracking up for absolutely no reason, rudely cutting him off. "I'm sorry—sorry it's just so hard to take you seriously when you're wearing that stupid fucking hat."

"Don't question the drip." The older moves his head to glare at him, but the thin stripe of silk on his hat swooshes with him, and it's enough to have Childe clutching his stomach in pain as he barks out in laughter.

"Grow the fuck up." Scaramouche says, no doubt exasperated from the constant shit he gets.

"Ok—ok I'm sorry."

There's a knock on the door before Scaramouche gets the chance to intimidate him again.

"Fuck shit fuck who is that? Wasn't there a staff meeting?" Childe whisper yells, panic clear in the ocean of his eyes.

Scaramouche shrugs and downs a can of soda with no care in the world.

Childe would be nonchalant too. If it were a normal day, he wouldn't give two shits about getting caught.

However, he's looking forward to that date he has with you today. Detention is going foil all his lecherous plans.

"It's me." The feminine sound of a threat calls out from the other side. "Open the door." The clicks and clacks of her toes tapping the floor indicating her impatience.

The two sigh in relief, Childe getting up to open the door. It's way too early in the afternoon to deal with this crap.

"Surprised to see me?" Signora greets sweetly, and if not for the murderous glint in her eyes, he would smile back.

"Yeah, I didn't say Bloody Mary three times." The ginger replies, keeping a steady eye on the upperclassman in case she pulls a fast one.

The blonde shoves him aside in offence, and prances in like she owns the goddamn place. Scaramouche greets her with the bird.

"There's this rumour going around—I'm sure you've heard..."

"Oh?" Childe pockets his keys, ready for an attack, not even remotely interested in the topic.

"Something about how Y/N gave Mona a visit today" Signora muses, elegantly taking a seat on the arm of the couch, "with your date and all, I just thought you should know."

"Hah!" Scaramouche bursts out in laughter, tears in the corner of his eyes. "I can't believe she went to get a horoscope reading on how shitty your date's gonna be."

"Get castrated." Childe growls, flipping him off on both hands.

"Now now boys," Signora's lips curl, and she clasps both manicured hands together, prepared to break the fight if it ever reaches its peak. "Settle down. You two are comrades."

"As if I'm comrades with this SIMP!" Scaramouche has to wheeze out the words.

The youngest clenches his fists, unclenches, and then lets a smirk grow. "Oh? I'm the simp? What about that time Mona pantsed you in-front of all the freshmen and you fell in love with her."

Scaramouche glares at him, a glare strong enough to have anyone shaking in their shoes. "I'm attracted at her sheer audacity of trying to fuck I, Scaramouche, the 8th harbinger, over. It takes balls."

"Mad respect." Signora leans forward to place her phone on the coffee table, then approaches Childe. "Moving on, the reason I've decided to bestow my precious intel on you is because I have a favour to ask of you."

"What?" He says blankly, confused that she has a request for him out of all people.

"I need you to let me get you ready for this date of yours." She gives him a gaze that is enough to wither away any arguments.

Childe shares a look with Scaramouche as if to say "am I fucking deaf because I sure as shit didn't just hear that."

"You sure as hell did, boys." Signora intercepts the connection of their two brainwaves with a dreaded sigh. "I hate Y/N. This is the only way I can get back at her."

"Hey!" Childe exclaims loudly, waving his hands in the air incessantly. "What makes you think I'll let you shit on my future girlfriend."

"I'll be doing nothing of the sorts." She points out, giving him a sly smile. "I just know she's terrified of what's coming. The better the date is, the more she's gonna hate herself. What more do I need but to sprinkle some inner conflict within her airtight resolve?"

As favorable as the proposal is, Childe  contemplates for a second. Signora...helping him? This could work to his advantage if he plays his cards right.

His inner turmoil takes him into the future, where you two are happily married with eight and a half kids. If you ever managed to find out Signora was the culprit that was finally able to set you two up, you'd never forgive him.

"Nah I'll take a hard pass." He doesn't want to think about divorce and custody battles this early on. He'd rather face the brunt of Signora's wrath.

Scaramouche chooses right then to make a tactical withdrawal out through the window since he doesn't want to be a witness to a murder he hasn't caused.

Surprisingly— "Fine then." Signora shrugs, unbothered when summoning out a minty juul from no where. She's disappointed nonetheless.

Childe tilts his head, perplexed, but decides against mulling over it for too long. Instead, he strides off to the door, wanting to get the last two periods over with so he can run home and freshen up for this date.

"Oh and Childe?" Signora calls out to him, but he barely acknowledges her, only pausing momentarily without looking back. "A piece of friendly advice. A diligent student like Y/N, there's no way she'd be into rash things like fighting. So try and control yourself, hmm?"

He flashes the senior a sheepish smile, the front row tickets to the illegal underground fight-club burning in the back pocket of his pants.

—

Childe conceals near the bushes by the gate, expertly hiding his shaking hands by pretending to look for something in his back. His goal isn't to seem desperate, even though he's raced out here at the speed of light after Havria's dismissal.

It's not like he's trying to eavesdrop or anything. He just wants a little insight on how you're feeling about this, in case the rumors of you visiting the occult club wasn't a farce.

From his peripheral, he spots you and a familiar figure that is Lisa, leisurely walking side by side as you approach the main side walk.

"Ready for your date, Y/N? You've been daydreaming all afternoon." Lisa winks, and dodges the shove you send her way with experience like no other.

"Yes, daydreaming about punching you in the face." Your left eye twitches in annoyance as you fix your hold on your skateboard.

"Well then, I'll be off—ah!"

The gorilla grip you have on her sleeve takes away all the time she has to get on the last bus she's about to miss.

Your utter strength is enough to make Childe's knees weak. How pathetic he thinks.

"Oh no you don't," You say in a sing-song voice, "you got me into this, so you're going to help."

"Help with what?" Lisa fakes a hard pout as she bats her lashes, trying to collect pity points.

"I—" You inhale, loosening your grip on her and averting your eyes nervously to see if anyone's watching. "Don't make me say it."

The older girl motions for you to continue, and you're sure you've suffered more for less at this point.

"I've never...been on a..." The sentence ends in a trailed murmur.

Childe doesn't think he's ever seen you so flustered. He's about to snap a picture for later, but decides against it. They'll be plenty of moments later on to see your cute expressions.

Lisa's grin is both seductive and terrifying, Childe notices. "You've never been on a date?"

"Shut up!" You hiss, dropping your board so you can cover her lips with your palm, eyes darting around your surroundings frantically. "Not so loud."

He has to bite at his fist to hide his amusement.

As if she has a sixth sense, Lisa's eyes somehow find Childe's through the abundance of leaves, and there's a glint in her eyes that nearly makes him shart his pants.

"Of course Y/N," She replies sweetly to you, who is currently unaware of the staring match going on. "I'll teach you everything you need to know...and more."

Childe doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing. Nor does he want to find out.

—

You ponder on what's taking him so long, more on edge than you usually are. Thankfully, Lisa basically pried your hair down from its usual up-do. Said something about how you can hide your lack of shits given as to not offend him.

Except you think you're giving more shits that you expected to. Why else would your heart be pounding so hard?

"What took you so long?" You sense him creeping up on you, ceasing his chance to pounce.

Childe groans playfully and slaps a hand over his face as he comes into view. "How'd you know?"

"You have a douche-styled gait." You reply as you remove your gaze off your phone to approach him.

He's prepared to shoot a witty reply, but it dies halfway through his throat when he procures a good look at you. Your hair frames your face elegantly, eyes shining despite the tiredness that's so clear, all complete with a cooling spring dress that hugs you just right.

Mouth going dry, he forgets how to speak the common tongue, unable to tear his gaze off your form.

You shift in place awkwardly. "Uh are you okay? Looking a little...blank."

"Sorry—sorry just thinking." Childe stumbles over his words like the complete idiot and a half he is, berating himself countlessly on the inside. He regains his confidence once he spots the light dust on your cheeks. "You ready for the best date ever?"

"The best date huh?" It's the first time you smile today, and he swears his heart leaps in his rib cage. You're the prettiest thing he's ever laid his eyes on. "I'm ready. I better not be disappointed."

"I wouldn't dare disappoint, girlie." He feigns mock offence as dramatically as possible. "I'll show you how to have some real fun. Cool keychain by the way, for good luck?"

It's one of the charms Chongyun urged you to carry with you at all times to keep all forms of evil away.

"Yeah...something like that."

The two of you ease into the walk in a relatively comfortable fashion, contributing with lively chatter and a few jabs here and there. It's not awkward at all, not like you thought it would be. Your nerves loosen up, mind diverting from the roots of the stress of high school.

"—And you won't believe what Kaeya did the other day. I'm telling you there's something wrong with him because that SoundCloud rapper wannabe Venti goaded him into birdboxing through the hallways at lunch."

"And the son of a bitch did it?"

"The son of a bitch did it." Childe confirmed, gasping through his laughs as the two of you converse in psychobabble. "And guess who he bumped into?"

You're choking in laughter, tears in your eyes as you hunch over and shake. "He didn't. Childe—no he didn't."

"Straightttt into Diluc. And he had the balls to feel him up because he thought he bumped into a hot bab—"

Childe crashes into a sturdy chest and stumbles backwards towards you, but manages to catch his balance midway. Both of you freeze when faced with a buff guy from another school, bandages on his fist and a crooked smirk on his face.

Fuck. You think. Classic high school cliché.

Realizing he can't risk the remainder of this date when it hasn't even begun, Childe raises a hand in apology, aiming to be the bigger person instead of socking the kid in the face.

"Sorry. I wasn't looking." He offers to the guy, but you can tell he isn't buying any of it. There are about four more kids who group, a setup that isn't going to end in your favour.

"Hey punk. You don't remember me?" The upperclassmen barks out, glaring holes into your date.

You deadpan towards Childe, but he's too is racking his brain to remember. Ends up shrugging with no recollection.

"I have a list of names but they're in my other pants." Shit, what an a-grade reply. Now you know you're done for. "Listen dude, I'm kind of on a date and the vibe is going great. Don't ruin it."

"It's a good thing she's here to watch then!" The guy yells, stomping so that he's right in-front of Childe, ready to pounce. "You humiliated me in front of my gang last week. I'm here to rip you a new one."

Childe blinks, tries to remember, and when he doesn't, he grabs a wad full of cash from the his Fanny pack and throws it at the guy's feet.

Everyone's eyes bulge out of their sockets, including yours at the amount of money placed there casually on the crack of the dirty sidewalk.

"Hopefully this is enough for the damages." Childe offers, aiming to not further escalate the situation albeit how pissed he is right now. If you weren't here...well that would be another, much more violent story.

With a soft tug, Childe brings you close and begins to pass the guy, until he's abruptly stopped by a hand gripping his shoulder tightly.

"I don't think so!" The guys barks, and his lackeys move to surround you two. "You gotta pay taxes too buddy." Oh he's getting way too comfortable now.

A feral smile grows on Childe's face as he looks over his shoulder. "Oh?"

"Yeah shithead." The guy seethes, puffing out his chest to size him up.

Childe itches for a fight. He can no longer keep in the urge and is just about ready to raise a heavy fist, but is beaten by the sound of a loud thwack, and then a painful groan following.

There you are, standing in front of the trembling asshole, spinning your crossbody bag in circles like it's a nunchuck in all it's glory. There's a deadly glint in your eyes, pure, unadulterated vexation in your features.

If Childe could fall for you any harder, it's probably happening now. In that exact moment, his heart beats in his ears uncontrollably, and there's nothing but raw adoration that piles up all at once.

You're an angel of destruction, a force not to be reckoned with, and shit, you're the eye of the fucking storm.

Fire courses through your veins as you pulverize the guy with your bag, swinging with such expertise it has Childe in awe. "He may be an absolute idiot for not remembering—"

"Hey girlie you're killing me here!" Your date snaps out of his astonishment temporarily.

"—but you don't get to call him a shithead, you asshole!" You snarl angrily, gripping the handle of your bag tightly, decking everyone that lunges at you, letting out strings of curses with every hit. Every hit sends a flock of them either stumbling back in pain, or knocked out completely.

Childe doesn't even get a chance to lift a finger by the time you're done violating them with your heavy ass pink bag. Stands there like an absolute loser.

"Apologize." You pant, prepared to send another flurry of attacks at the leader, who is crawling away with a battered face. "Apologize or I'll—I'll fucking Russian neck tie your ass."

"S-sorry!" The guy whimpers out and tries not to piss his pants at the threat.

Childe is still in too much shock at the whole ordeal to reply, short circuiting.

Another thirty seconds pass until he registers the smaller hand waving in front of his face. He catches your cold hand through his haze, brings it closer.

Running a free hand through his locks, he doesn't hide his astonishment. "You're fucking gorgeous, girlie." He whistles lowly, eyeing you with a new kind of regard.

"I-I uh." Your face is all shades of red by now, the adrenaline from kicking ass wearing down. "Let's go."

"How is that bag so heavy?" One of the fallen gasps out in pain, clutching his ribs as he trembles on the floor. "Like a buh-brick."

A part of your zipper in open, and Childe briefly peeks out of morbid curiosity. His jaw slackens. "Is that a...no, it can't be."

"It's a brick." You murmur guiltily, gnawing at your bottom lip. "Just in case." Fingers tentatively play with the straps.

Childe is head over heels by now, all smitten as a foreign warmth bubbles up in his throat, and he's just about sure he'll puke his heart out.

His next words are picked out carefully. "There's an underground fight club going on—"

You lock and aim for his right kidney.

Worth a try, Childe thinks.

"SIKE. Joking—joking. Just a joke." He insists, gloved hands raised by his ears in defence.

Clicking your tongue, you scowl and rush past him.

It hasn't even been an hour and it's been the most exciting date Childe's ever experienced. When he sees your lips twitch, he knows it's the same for you as well.

"Are we going or not?" You mumble, avoiding eye contact, a tinge of red still decorating your cheeks.

Childe crumbles into his hands at your deadly duality. One that comes for his enemies and one that comes straight for his heart.

[absolutebisaster]

Star Trek fanfic, I have no excuses. I'm hyperfixated

Laughter bubbled up from your throat as you watched the cadets running through the third deck halls. The USS Enterprise was always bustling with activity. With life. After beaming aboard you were on your way to the bridge. It was the first day of your transfer from the USS Arcadia and you needed to check in with the captain.

The bridge was just as busy as the rest of the ship. You could barely hide your excitement when you finally came face to face with the captain. James T. Kirk. "Its an honor to finally meet you, sir." You introduced yourself and informed the captain that you would be the replacement mechanical engineer while your predecessor was on family leave.

"Welcome aboard, ensign. We look forward to having you on board." Kirk waved you off and as you were boarding the elevator, you made eye contact with the Vulcan science officer. The quirk of his brow made your heart skip a beat and the doors slid shut, taking you down to the main engine room.

Your first day was suddenly your 79th and before you knew it, you had friends. No one on the ship was a stranger except the bridge crew. There was never time to meet them, they were always far too busy with 'Bridge Stuff' as some of the others called it. 

There was no one else awake as you walked the hallways of the Enterprise. It was late, you couldn't sleep and you certainly hadn't expected to see anyone, so walking into the cafeteria and seeing a figure sitting in the dimmed lights startled you.

Pushing the feeling down, you went to the replicator for a cup of tea. You glanced over at the man and quickly looked away again when you made eye contact. Unmistakably Vulcan. Mr. Spock.

"May I join you, sir?" You asked as you sat down with your tea, not waiting for an answer. "We met on my first day." But you reintroduced yourself because technically you were strangers. 

He didn't talk much, but you enjoyed the conversation you were having. He was a scientist first and a starfleet officer second, that much was obvious. It made you smile when he talked about his work.

"Oh man, I wish I could be part of a landing party some day. I can only imagine how amazing it is to make First Contact. That's why I agreed to take this assignment. The Enterprise is famous for First Contact." Vulcans didn't experience emotions the way your people did so you tried to hide your minor disappointment. "But grease monkeys aren't on the list of people required for First Contact." 

He quirked a brow, that same look from before. "Grease monkey?" 

"I'm a mechanical engineer, sir. I build and repair Starfleet engines. Not nearly as interesting as being a scientist." 

Then Spock said something that surprised you. "You are an invaluable member of this team, without you and your department, the Enterprise would not fly." Your bottom lip quivered and you looked down into your empty cup.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock. I… that really means a lot to hear." Especially coming from a bridge officer. "I just wish I could be… I don't know… more involved? I'm only stationed here for the year, so I know there's no point in getting too attached to the Enterprise, but this is the most famous ship in the fleet, to be sitting here tonight is what so many crewmen only dream of."

"You talk a lot." He said simply as he got up and headed for the door.. "Sleep well, ensign."

-----

Time was different in space. There were no days or nights to help show the passage of time. If it weren’t for the computer, you wouldn’t know if today was six days ago. Working down in the engine room especially made it complicated. All you knew was work. Since your late night tea with Spock, you had been thinking about him a lot. He was the only Vulcan you had ever actually met. The few in the academy with you were more concerned with their own lives to make friends and while you understood it, you found yourself researching Vulcan in your free time. 

After a rough mission on Melia left the Enterprise in desperate need of repairs, you put your personal life on hold. 38 hours into repairs, you couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t see straight and your head was spinning. When was the last time you had anything to eat? Drink? You were just about to climb down off the ladder when your foot slipped. 

Your head was pounding when you opened your eyes. The lights were too bright and you whined, bringing your hand up to shield the light. “Oh good, you’re awake. That was a nasty fall you had, ensign. Your ankle is almost done being reconstructed so take it easy, okay?” It was a medical officer? You were in sickbay.

“What happened?” you asked as you pulled yourself into a sitting position.

The doctor scanned your head. “Your crewmen said you blacked out and fell off the ladder you were on. Your foot slipped between the bars and broke your ankle but you should make a full recovery in the next hour so when you’re able to walk again, I want you on bed rest until your next scheduled shift, do you understand?”

“Yes sir, I understand.” you gave a weak thumbs-up and a smile. He walked off to deal with his next patient and that left you to look around sickbay. The Enterprise was going to recover. They always did, you had learned. 

Since you had your tablet on you when engineering beamed you to sickbay, you were able to log in and check the progress of the repairs. In the two hours you’d been unconscious, the chief engineer had gone down to finish your repairs. All the work you had put into the Enterprise had been finished by him and as far as you knew, he was taking all the credit for the repairs you’d done.

“Good, you’re awake.” When the captain walked into the room, you tried to scramble to make yourself more presentable but he held up a hand to stop you so you stilled. Kirk sat in the chair next to you and patted your hand “Scotty said that your work on the warp core saved our lives, ensign.” Pride was swelling up in your chest. Captain Kirk himself was talking to you! Your work hadn’t gone unnoticed! “So I wanted to come down here and thank you personally.”

“Captain, I love this ship, I was just doing what anyone else would do.” You were blushing and looking down at your hands as you picked at a callous. 

“Ensign, I want you to go ahead and take the rest of the week off to recover and relax. You’ve earned it.” pulling your top lip between your teeth, you didn’t respond. “I’m sure you don’t want to feel useless.” Kirk was speaking to you like you were friends and he reached out again to get you to stop picking at the skin on your hands. “So why don’t you take this week to study up on your Vulcan?”

Your head shot up and you finally looked at the famous captain. “Sir?” Kirk just patted your hand and left with a smile. 

-----

Your week off was leaving you with a disgusting amount of free time. You had been chased out of engineering just about every day. Apparently the team was under direct orders from the captain to make sure you took the time off. Fucker.

So you spent most of your time tinkering with the toys you collected. Remote control things designed to keep children entertained. The sphere following you now was one of your own design. You had taken the working components from the toys that broke and cobbled them together to make something entirely new. 

A few of the other crewmen stopped as they watched you and your toy walk by. You controlled it with your starfleet tablet. Was it appropriate use of the technology? Not by a long shot. But no one was actually going to say anything to you about it because they really didn’t care. As the sphere rolled along, it bumped off the walls and swerved to avoid tripping anyone. A couple people told you it was cool, but no one was really interested in it so you decided to go show your commanding officer. Maybe the lieutenant commander would find it charming.

The trip to the bridge was interrupted by the sphere going off on it’s own. The program you’d used to control your toys was missing some key components and this wasn’t your area of expertise so you decided to just follow along and see where the data took you.

The sphere rolled along until it bumped into a door. “Come.” the voice called from the other side of the door. This was someone’s private quarters and as you stooped to pick up the sphere to get it to leave, the door opened. There stood Mr. Spock with the same quizzical expression on his face he always seemed to have when he looked at you.

“I’m so sorry for the intrusion, sir. My robot came this way on it’s own.” you explained as the sphere tried to roll back out of your arms. “Where are you going? You’re embarrassing me.” you whispered as it slipped out of your grasp. It rolled into his room and you had to stop yourself from following it. “Oh! I get it, now. The cat must be yours! My sphere only reacts like this when the cat is around.” you explained and tried to get it to come back to you but it was already under his bed. 

“Yes, I have a feline companion. Tell me what your sphere does.” His tone was always so serious, it sounded like an order and since he did outrank you, you nodded and handed him the tablet with the control mapping pulled up.

“The sphere is just a toy I built from other scrap.” you explained. “It may look polished and nice on the outside, but deep down, it’s just a fu--” his brow rose. “It’s just a mess, sir. Something to keep me preoccupied during my quote-unquote ‘on-station vacation’ the captain gave me after passing out in the engine room when we left Melia.” You explained the controls to him and soon enough, he had it rolling out from under the bed. “It’s programming has it obsessed with cats for some reason I can’t figure out.”

“What programming software did you use?” the sphere rolled around his quarters as the two of you stood in the entryway together.

“I uh… It’s actually something of my own design. I’ve been working on it for like… ten years now. All my RC toys are controlled through that program because even though I can fix a warp engine, I’m not… actually all that computer savvy. I needed something simple that I could control multiple bots with.” You and Mr. Spock hadn’t spoken since that night you had tea together, this was a nice moment they were sharing.

He controlled the sphere so it rolled out of his room and took a step out the door to follow it. “Let us find somewhere else to take this toy, shall we? I do not want it to put unnecessary strain on my cat.”

“I’m not distracting you from anything important, am I? I didn’t interrupt sleep or meditation?” You followed him as the sphere rolled down the hallway. Spock had turned off the automated balancing system and he was having a much easier time controlling it than you did.

“No, I’ve found myself with free time today. You’re not interrupting anything.” Truth be told, he had been trying to meditate but was having trouble keeping himself focused. “What others have you built?”

“Do you want to see them? They’re all in my quarters on the next deck down.” You were already leading him to the lift. “I’ve been working on this little guy because the project I was working on I just… Can’t get it right. There’s some sort of scientific aspect I’m missing? Hey! You’re a science officer, do you think you might want to take a look at it?”

“I will help you if I can.”

[nikibogwater]

2020 Creator’s Self-love Extravaganza

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 8 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

I’ve been tagged for this a couple of times in the last few weeks, but haven’t had time/brainpower to work on it until now (but I love you all, and thank you for the tags!!!!)

This is probably going to be filled with nothing but my Tales of Arcadia stuff, as that was where I think my creativity really peaked during 2020. I’ll try to split the list evenly between fanart pieces and fanfics, but honestly, I’m most happy with the fics I published in 2020, especially the 6 parts of the still-ongoing Immortal Bonds series.

8. This doodle of Douxie, Archie, and Nari

One of the only scribbles I did in the month of August that I do not now cringe at whenever I look back at it, haha. It’s pretty rough, I’ll admit, but I really like the feeling it conveys--that this small found family is looking towards an uncertain future together. 

7. “You will not touch him!”

This was an experimental sketch in a few ways. It was the first really “thematically intense” doodle I ever tried, featuring an injured Douxie and his absolutely furious Bean Sister. But it was also a fun experiment with hybrid art. After finishing the traditional sketch and scanning it into my computer, I played around a bit with touching it up digitally. All the green in the picture was added in digitally. The actual physical sketch in my book is completely colorless. I later decided that I preferred sticking to exclusively traditional methods, but it was fun to play around with something different for a bit. 

6. These Douxie & Archie sketches

The first (and so far, only) piece of art I ever did that broke 100 notes. Apparently, people really love Soft Kitty Snuggles, haha. But I do genuinely love how these two side-by-side doodles show the relationship between Archie and Douxie--how it’s evolved, and how it’s stayed the same.

5. Glitter Wings Nari

Drawing Nari with her glitter wings for the first time was one of the best creative experiences of my year. Up until that point, I’d been putting a lot of pressure on myself to make stuff that looked “good,” and that meant all of my doodles were colorless because...well, I can’t color things “professionally.” But it hit me one day that “Hey. My art is stagnating, and it’s not very fun anymore.” So I ditched all my aspirations of making something “objectively good” and went nuts just making something I loved. I do colored pieces all the time now, and I love them, even though nobody would ever describe them as “professional.”

4. A Moment to Breathe

Moving on to fics now (which is really my area of expertise), A Moment to Breathe is just a wonderfully soft moment of relationship-building between Douxie and Nari. I felt that Nari’s dialogue here was especially good, capturing that dichotomy of ancient wisdom and childlike trust that makes her character so appealing to me. Also a good example of Niki just going absolutely nuts with headcanons regarding magic and the physical sensations that accompany it.

3. Feline Paralysis

This piece was inspired by a prompt from my very, very dear friend @poetryinmotion-author, and was extra special to me because I was able to pull a lot from my own life experiences. Writing from Archie’s perspective for most of the fic was incredibly fun, and I particularly love his stand-off with Merlin in the latter half of the fic. 

2. The City Never Sleeps

My first ever ToA fic, and the one that really launched my fandom career here. It was sort of a therapy-fic for myself, a way of dealing with the intense emotions left by the ending of Wizards. It basically just poured out of me in a rush of passion, and somehow, remarkably, is still one of the best pieces I’ve ever done. It’s also, as far as I can tell, the first post-canon Wizards fic published Ao3, so I guess that’s something, haha. 

1. A Shot in the Dark

My followers are probably getting tired of hearing me harp on about this one, but A Shot in the Dark was by far the greatest project of my 2020. Unlike my other fics, which were mostly slice-of-life stories about the characters dealing with personal problems and relationships, this was a higher-stakes plot with a slow-burn buildup of dread and apprehension. I was able to push that sweet sweet Hurt/Comfort to the absolute max with this one, and I am so, so proud of how it turned out. It may have underperformed in terms of Kudos/Hits, but I still consider it to be my current Magnum Opus, and definitely one of the highest points of my 2020 as a whole.

I am quite late in getting to this post, so I think most of my fellow creator friends have already been tagged by now. But here’s a couple No Pressure tags: @a-s-levynn and @sergeantsporks. Anyone else who sees this is welcome to jump on board, and make sure you @ me if you do. ✨

[thetimelesscycle]

Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 7

Douxie ignores the rules of time travel. Archie is in over his head, but that's never stopped him from helping his familiar before, and it's not going to stop him now.

Chapter 7

There and Back Again (Again)

From the moment he had decided that the child offering him breadcrumbs in an alleyway was his, Archibald had known that he would be responsible for the life of his wizard. Douxie had been far too young to fend for himself, already half starved when Archie found him, unaware that the meagre magic he was using to keep himself warm was only further draining his body’s empty reserves. If chance hadn’t led him down that alleyway when it had... If Douxie hadn’t been enamoured enough with his feline form to come out of hiding... If they had missed each other that night... If Fate hadn’t conspired to put them both exactly where they needed to be when they needed to be there, then the bright young boy he had grown so deeply fond of over the years would have died; Alone and forgotten by a world that didn’t deserve him.

He hadn’t been ready for the responsibility. A green familiar and a child sorcerer were a disaster in the making, or so his father had told him. The great ‘Charlemagne the Devourer’ had then proceeded to bury him in a mountain of books ostensibly meant to teach him how to properly mind his wizard, because it was ‘too late to back out now, Archie my boy, you’re stuck with the thing’. Refusing to introduce his familiar to his father after the fact might have been a little petty, but he was a dragon; They were known for that sort of thing.

And he had managed just fine, thank you very much. Admittedly, there had been missteps — neither of them were the most proficient in their respective areas of expertise just yet, and Douxie had the worst timing when it came to magical accidents — but they had learned and grown through every narrowly averted disaster. He could still clearly remember nights spent together around a campfire lit by his dragon’s breath, pouring over the smudged and torn pages of some rescued spellbook or scroll, listening to Douxie uncertainly sound out the words as he patiently corrected his familiar’s pronunciation and filled in what blanks he could with knowledge gleaned from his father’s library.

It hadn’t been much, but they’d made do, and every peril faced had been worth it to see the beaming smile on his boy’s face as the cyan light danced about his fingers in another mastered spell.

And there had been perils. Many of them. His boy was gifted in a world where it was rapidly becoming dangerous to be so, hunted by those who wished to destroy his kind as well as those who wished to use them. Even the few other casters they met always seemed just a little too eager when they realised what the young wizard was capable of, particularly given his age, to the point where Archie had started steering them away from such individuals. There was conflict brewing between the mortal and the magical realms; He wasn’t going to let his familiar get mixed up in it if he could help it. Douxie would not be either side’s weapon, not so long as Archie had a say, and shadows take anyone who thought differently.

He hadn’t counted on Camelot, or Merlin, or on Douxie becoming the Master Wizard’s apprentice. It had been hard to decide whether they were safer here or out there, and he’d known it would be more difficult to leave the longer they stayed. Not because of Merlin’s instruction — whilst it was valuable, Douxie had learned just as many spells with Archie’s help as he had the Master Wizard’s, if a lot less smoothly — but because the young wizard had found something here that he was desperate to hold onto, heedless of the fact his proximity to Merlin placed him right in the very middle of the burgeoning war.

Archie, on the other hand, had been all too aware of the brand new dangers they were courting in the place of the old. There wasn’t anything Merlin could offer them that would convince him to stay if it came to a choice between the Master Wizard’s patronage and Douxie’s well-being; The problem lay in the fact he was no longer sure Douxie would leave with him if he asked. He’d told himself he could find a way to persuade his familiar if he had to. He’d convinced himself that they could still vanish if the need arose. It was only now that he realised how naïve that had been.

Listening to Douxie speak — soft and cracked and so very tired — he understood there had never been a choice. A destiny like Douxie’s would follow him wherever he went, and Archie was left feeling rather small and inadequate in its shadow.

How was he supposed to protect his familiar from this?

Nine centuries. Nine centuries he had not yet lived and already their weight pressed upon his feline shoulders. He sat utterly still and listened as Douxie abbreviated a life lived throughout the ages into a paltry few paragraphs, trying to offer comfort for tragedies he had not yet seen. He was sure there was a lot Hisirdoux was leaving out — how could there not be? — and the worst came at the very end.

Eyes fixed on a distant point well beyond any part of Merlin’s rooms, Douxie stumbled his way through a strange tale of twisted time and the swift collapse of all that they now called home. He didn’t take the time to sugarcoat things, and Archie watched Morgana’s knuckles turn white and Merlin’s brow dip deep in consternation as both Master Wizards heard the tale of Camelot’s decline, Morgana’s betrayal, and the pitched battle for Killahead Bridge.

If only it had ended there.

There was a tremor in the hand resting against his back as Douxie pressed on, and Archie braced himself for darker things to come. The loss of another friend, corrupted by foul magic. A desperate, mad, Douxie plan that had come so close to working, if only his own shapeshifting had held for a few minutes longer. A fight that could never be fair, and a loss his familiar struggled to put into words even now. 

It was Morgana who reached out when Douxie trailed off into silence. Merlin was sitting, rigid and unseeing, whilst his former student took the hand not currently resting on Archie’s back and gave it an encouraging squeeze. She followed it up with a crooked smile when Douxie raised his head, and that seemed to be enough to grant the young wizard the strength to continue.

“After that, Arch and I went after the Genesis Seals.” That snapped Merlin’s attention back to the present. Douxie didn’t seem to notice, reciting his life’s story like he was reading it from a dusty tome. “Everyone else was supposed to stay out of sight, safe, until we got back. But the Order found them. They took Nari and the others prisoner. To barter for the Seals.”

“Which, of course, you did not give them.”

Douxie winced. “Well, actually...”

“Hisirdoux!”

“It’s fine. It was fine, I mean. They wasted a bunch of time chasing their own tails whilst I got Nari and the others out, then I kept them busy whilst Morgana and Claire took care of Arthur and Jim.”

“Just like that, hmm?” Merlin had gone from aghast to incredulous in the space of a single breath. “And where did dying come into it, I wonder?”

“Yes. Right.” It was less of a wince and more of a complete sidestep this time. “Clearly I’m not dead, so I don’t think we need to bother with all of that. The important thing is I promised I would keep Nari safe from the Order. And I did. I kept Nari safe. The Order just went after everyone else.”

Archie had heard enough to realise what a terrible amount of sense that made. If their plan was to wipe the entire world clean and start over again, why would the Order hesitate to destroy a few mortal lives along the way? All they were doing was getting a head start on the apocalypse. After Douxie had already risked so much to save his friends, they must have known he wouldn’t stay in hiding whilst innocents paid the price.

“I wasn’t ready.” He could hear the self-reproach in those words, the guilt, and pressed himself harder against the hand nestled in his fur. “They used me against you. They used Claire and the others against me. I should have known they wouldn’t stop there. Why bother searching the planet for two people when you can just start picking off everyone they’ve ever known, one by one, and wait for them to arrive to stop you?”

Merlin pressed his lips together in a grim line. “The Order set a trap.”

“And I walked into it with my eyes open. I knew what was waiting for me in there. I wasn’t going to leave anyone else in their hands. We got a lot of people out before it all went horribly wrong.”

“Because those people didn’t matter to Skrael and Bellroc.” Merlin sounded odd, though Archie couldn’t quite place his paw on the why. “They were after you.”

“They were after Nari,” Douxie corrected. “I just happened to be in the way.”

Merlin dismissed that with a sharp flick of his hand. “They didn’t lay a trap for Nari, Hisirdoux; Easy enough to hunt her down after the fact. The Order was eliminating a threat.”

Douxie smiled, not looking the slightest bit amused. “Finally made an impression, and it was on the worst possible people. Figures.”

“I don’t understand.” Morgana might have gleaned her answers from all the madness they had seen during their journey into the Shadow Realm; Archie had not. “How did you end up here, like this?”

Douxie shuddered slightly, offering a stilted explanation. “When I went back for her, that first time, Nari told me the Order would rip my soul to pieces. She wasn’t... it wasn’t an exaggeration. They tried, and she got in the way.” One of his hands moved unconsciously to rest at his chest as he continued, an edge of fond frustration to his words. “She wasn’t supposed to be there. We agreed she would stay away. But she tried to pull me out, and so did Claire, and something… something went wrong. I don’t know. I wasn’t really in the best position to pay attention. Maybe it’s that whole Guardian of the Eternal Forest thing, or Bellroc’s spell messing with Nari’s, or Claire’s shadow magic, or a combination of all of those things. Either way, I’m here, apparently. Again.”

“But not in body,” Merlin pointed out, shifting his weight back slightly as he lifted a hand to rub his chin. “She sent your soul back in time.”

“If it’s any consolation, Master, I don’t think she was trying to.”

Merlin harrumphed loudly, but didn’t press his apprentice for further answers, turning his steely gaze onto Morgana instead. “And your thoughts?”

To her credit, Morgana didn’t shy away from admitting what they had both done. “The Shadow Realm is in disarray. There are windows, glimpses through time scattered everywhere. I think Douxie is right; The combination of all that magic in one place reacted in a way nobody could have predicted, the result being, well, this.”

Archie huffed slightly, “It sounds to me like all of us are just guessing at this point.”

This time, the smile reached Douxie’s eyes. “Welcome to the world of wizardry, Arch.”

“Indeed,” Merlin interrupted dryly. “Unfortunately, we are going to need a little more than educated guessing if we are going to set this right. We need to get you back to where you belong, sooner rather than later.”

“You want to send him back?” Archie whirled on the Master Wizard. “You can’t! They’ll just finish what they started.”

“Obviously, this is going to take some thought.” Merlin waved away his outrage. “We can hardly go knocking on the Arcane Order’s door and hope the Nari of this time is willing to tell us what she thinks happened.” 

“What about the Arcane Order of his time?” Morgana pressed. “Archie is right. If we just return Douxie to where — when — he came from, we are practically handing the world over to them.”

“Oh, and I suppose you think we should rewrite all of history to prevent this apocalyptic future? A future it seems you played a rather large part in, might I add.”

“Master.”

“Don’t ‘Master’ me, Hisirdoux. It is the truth, and she knows it.”

“Yes, it is the truth.” Douxie was angry, the words running out fast and clipped. “She turned against Arthur to protect someone who doesn’t have a bad bone in his body, because you wouldn’t take five seconds to listen to me when I told you there was another way. She died for that mistake, the Arcane Order brought her back, and the rest is just the sort of bloody mess you can expect when the Order is involved. Arthur wasn’t any better once they had their hands on him. He’s the reason you’re not around in the future right now to help stop the world from ending. So maybe, just maybe, we could skip the part where we go around deciding who is to blame for what, and just figure out how to make sure the arcane apocalypse doesn’t actually happen.”

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed, except for the fact that Douxie’s breathing had taken on a strained note again. Archie glanced up at his familiar in time to catch the grimace that flashed across his face, and instantly lifted himself up to place his paws gently against the boy’s chest.

“Douxie? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He raised his hands to press their heels against his eyes, exhaling shakily. “Sorry, yes, I’m fine. It’s just… been a day. Or nine centuries in reverse. Or whatever you call it when your spirit decides to skip backwards in time.”

“You’re babbling, Doux.”

“I have been known to do that from time to time. It’s a thing. Ask Zoe. Or… don’t, I guess, seeing as you can’t.”

“I believe the apocalypse in nine hundred years can wait a few more hours,” Morgana interjected gently before his familiar’s rambling could get any worse. “We all need time to mull this over, and you need to rest.”

“Yes.” Unexpectedly, Merlin agreed without missing a beat. “Morgana and Archibald’s quest into the Shadow Realm might have helped stabilise your aura for now, but I expect there is still some lingering damage.”

“I’m not dead.” The cheer might have been forced, but Archie could not deny his wizard was trying. “That’s got to count for something, right?”

“It counts for a great deal, Douxie,” he answered with all the sincerity he could put into words. “But you’re still going to bed.”

[joseshin]

CATS: 1998 vs 2019

Alright, going to do this already.  Note: these are my personal opinions.  Intelligent rebuttals will be considered and replied to, anything else may likely be ignored.  Also spoilers, and LONG.  So onward to a comparison of the 2019 movie against the 1998 filmed stage version.

Edit before posting: Apparently I never queued this.  I feel a little silly now

Plot/Framing:  The use of an abandoned Victoria to frame the introduction of the plot of the Jellicle Ball and Munkustrap acting as narrator/guide to Victoria is a decent idea, and one that worked fairly well.  Granted, when you take a book of poems and turn them into songs, it’s a little hard to create plot for a musical, but inspiration comes from everywhere.  Victoria is a pretty blank slate for directors to work with, so having her be the framing vehicle is a really good idea.  She’s the white cat, the dancer, doesn’t have any specific lines of dialogue or song attached originally.

I think that Munkustrap didn’t have enough presence in the movie.  He’s the primary narrator, he needs to be someone we want to pay attention to, not just because he’s the one who happens to be singing or speaking at the moment.  Maybe it’s a difference in how the two versions were filmed, and the focus was a little more on Victoria as our window into the world of Jellicle Cats, but I didn’t catch myself looking for him, or even noticing him in some shots, and you want your main source of information to be someone/thing you’re aware of, if only to see the mood of the scene.

“Jellicle Songs for Jellicle Cats” and “The Naming of Cats”: I thought the pacing was a touch fast, but I can understand trying to get all the material of the musical to fit into a film.  Same with the cut lines here, and it did flow very well for the most part.

Having each cat introduce themselves via their song, and thus their entry into the competition for the Jellicle Choice, is interesting, and it does give a reason for not doing either the songs “The Awefull Battle of the Pekes and the Pollicles,” or “Growltiger's Last Stand,” as they are the Jellicles entertaining each other in “play within a play” scenes.  It also gives Growltiger a reason to be a villian/henchman of Macavity’s, by using a snippet of his song during one of the capture sequences.

“The Old Gumbie Cat”: I was not happy.  Rebel Wilson is an amazing singer and actress, and I was very much looking forward to her interpretation of Jennyanydots.  What I saw was a petulant, whiny brat, instead of the example of Edwardian do-gooder.  Also, the mouse costumes were ridiculously bad, and the replication of the cockroaches was just showing off CGI work for no real effect.

“The Rum Tum Tugger”: No.  Why would you use this version, it’s a trainwreck?  And the music choice made no sense!  Jazz by itself would have been fine, but as far as the hip-hop/rap elements go?  Are we trying to make the timeframe screwy?  I miss the rockstar Tugger.

“Grizabella: The Glamour Cat”: Alright, Jennifer Hudson is amazing.  That said, I don’t think she made sense as a casting choice.  Grizabella is older, she’s past her prime and her singing should have more of that age and grit to it that shows her experience.  If you’re going to use someone younger, at least put some convincing age makeup on her, and choose a singer who has a huskier tone.

“Bustopher Jones”: James Cordon did a very good job to make this about more than a cat who eats his way through life, though I’m not sure about his scavenging through the trash.  He’s supposed to get huge amounts from the gentlemen’s clubs he attends, I would have thought the proper attitude of “the St. James’ Street cat” would not allow for his digging in the garbage.  And the sensitivity about his weight was stupid.

“Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer”: Perfect.  The mischief makers in their element, and Victoria having to deal with the fact that they can be not nice cats, it works.

“Old Deuteronomy”: Judi Dench was an interesting choice for the role, but it works.  There are some slight differences that come with having a matriarch for the Jellicle tribe instead of a patriarch, and they were handled with grace.  It also is a way to give Dame Dench a role in Cats that fits her experience, since her injury during the rehearsals for the original London opening meant her planned dual roles didn’t happen.

“The Jellicle Ball”: The dancing was nice, and I liked the way several other cats became more than faces in the crowd during it.

“Memory(Prelude)”: Again, I just don’t think Jennifer Hudson has the age for this to work.  Beautiful rendition though.

“Beautiful Ghosts”: A Victoria solo.  Huh.  It makes sense, given that Victoria is the primary viewpoint character in this version, for her to have something of her own.  And it’s a pretty little song.

“The Moments of Happiness”: It doesn’t have quite the impact it should, since the only real witness to Deuteronomy is Victoria here.  It works better when the entire clan is being given this lesson, even if most of them don’t understand it yet.

“Gus: The Theatre Cat”:  Ian McKellan, ladies and gents, in a role that suits his age and expertise?  I almost don’t miss Jellylorum.  Also the lead up to it, with him giving some words of wisdom to a fellow performer?  Yes, and yes!

“Skimbleshanks: The Railway Cat”: The vocals and dancing went very well, but I kept getting distracted by the costume.  What’s up with that facial hair and the suspenders?  Also, the way the scenery shifted during this song where it never had with any other Jellicle performance.  More questions than answers here.

“Macavity: The Mystery Cat”:  Hoo boy.  Where to begin?  Making Bombalurina one of Macavity’s cronies sits a little funny with me, but I understand the logistics behind the choice.  The one place though, the one place that lyrics should absolutely have been changed in the entire show and you MISSED IT!?!?!?!?  Idris Elba is not a ginger cat, there is no way to make him a ginger cat, and you didn’t try to make him a ginger cat, so why does the song define him as one?  You couldn’t try, I don’t know: “Macavity’s a midnight cat/ He’s very tall and trim”?? Instead, you call him ginger, and thin.  Ugh.  Also, as much as I love to watch Elba, a lot of the threat of Macavity in the musical comes from the fact that this is the first time he’s been openly on stage, and not just a shadowed figure hiding along the fringe.  Using Macavity often earlier in the movie, having him spirit away the other competitors for the Jellicle choice so obviously, damps down on that.  Shadows crank up anticipation better than overt threats most of the time.  The stage version creates a scarier Macavity, though I’m sorry to say it.

The use of catnip is kind of hilarious as a drug, though I’m a little sad there was no fight between Munkustrap and Macavity, and that the Jellicles all came under Macavity’s power so easily.  Little annoyed that Griddlebone and Bombalurina seem to just melt away after the song, but understanding not wanting to use T Swift for “lesser” plot type issues.

“Magical Mr. Mistoffelees”: Mistoffelees is adorable here. This show is as much him coming into his powers and abilities as it is introducing Victoria to what it means to be a Jellicle.  His attempts, as he tries again and again to bring back Deuteronomy, are laced with just enough desperation that he’s trying his hardest without making it overacting.  The final success, when he’s sure he’s failed utterly, is so very sweet.

“Memory”: Same critique as before.  The thing about Grizabella’s songs is that they are reminiscing.  Looking back on a more golden youth.  Crying for understanding that those without experience in the shades of gray life throws at you won’t have.  It’s significant that Victoria (or Jemima, depending on the rendition) reach out to her, but Deuteronomy is the only one who has no problem with her, even from the get-go.  You need someone with either a hell of a shitstorm life experience, or just plain experience to get that.

“The Journey to the Heavyside Layer”: I liked the transition of the broken chandelier into a balloon carrying away Grizabella.  Little confused at Macavity’s loss of power, but okay.

“The Ad-dressing of Cats”: Deuteronomy addressing the crowd certainly brings the magical nature of cats to the fore, leaving the audience wondering how long she and the rest of the Jellicles have been aware of our view into their world.  I liked how when she was describing the food gifts a person can give to their cat, all of those surrounding her got excited.

Costuming: Just bodysuits and CGI ears, tails, and whiskers do not turn people into convincing cats.  The giant wigs of the stage show, while an 80′s throwback to the extreme, also change the profile of the face to better mimic a feline skull.  I get it, having that poof would have been annoying with having to deal with the CGI ears, having to compensate for every fur twitch, but still!  Also, nobody’s fur had any significant fluff amount to it whatsoever, it was all extra elements, like the coats and other accessories, but you could have used the legwarmers and armwarmers of the stage show give a better illusion of volume to fur.  Having everyone be sleek shorthairs is boring.  To my mind, the makeup was not convincing enough either.

Final thoughts: The movie version was okay, casting choices were decent for the most part, but I have to say that all together, I prefer the 1998 version.  It could also be that the actors for the filmed stage version had been doing these roles for some time and it shows, especially in movements.  Don’t get me wrong, the movie actors are good at their jobs, but there’s a difference in living a role for months or perhaps years during a stage run, tweaking things each performance, research and changing your approach, and making a movie, trying things only to have to move on to the next shot.

[ash-trash]

🐱 - 🏡 - 🛡️ for Rakk Smokewraith and Ink Voidbreath

(( Ink’s answers may contain Lunar plotline spoilers. ))

🐱 Were they modeled after a specific feline? Maybe a combination of some? If not, what was your inspiration?

Rakk Smokewraith: Rakk wasn’t modeled after any sort of specific feline, and I usually don’t make my charr after specific cats. That said - Rakk was one of the first characters I made, in my first weekend playing the game. At the time, I knew nothing about GW2 lore and very little about Charr, and Rakk is actually one of the few from that era that isn’t based off a pre-existing character, so... Honestly, his character looks was basically “I want something very edgy and Ashy”, hence the name and the fact that he’s dark primarily. The lighter stripes were just because I liked the inverse tiger pattern, I guess!

Ink Voidbreath: OKAY SO! Ink was originally a villain concept for Lunar’s Drizzlewood plotline but I loved them too much to let them die, and I ended up reforming/making them as a character. It actually started when I heard the song “Blinding Lights” by The Weeknd (( Yes, I’m basic. )), and the phrase “drowning in the night” really stuck with me, even out of context. I began to think of that literally, and as I’d been replaying a lot of GW1 lately (where my main is an Assassin), I had some of the Assassin’s shadowy magic abilities on the mind (especially with EoD coming up!), and I thought about mixing the two: a character who specialized in ancient magicks, manipulating shadows and darkness. Literally drowning in the “night”. As far as their physical looks, I... admittedly went very shamelessly aesthetic with this. Breath (the villain warband) was named for both breath weapons and... also the fact that I shamelessly indulged my aesthetic and had them have visible elemental breath (eg, Firebreath’s exhalations would have little bits of fire, Frostbreath’s have icy mist, and Ink’s... have this thick black “smoke” (basically elemental darkness. Shut up, it’s aesthetic.)). Other than that, I got hit with another inspiration brick and decided that I wanted them to be sort of Okami-themed (the “ink” part of the aesthetic), and be a white base Charr with a black pattern that shifts and swirls, actually being composed of their magic.

TL;DR Ink’s inspiration was “Blinding Lights” by The Weeknd, GW1′s Assassin, and Amaterasu from Okami.

🏡 Where do they live? 

Rakk Smokewraith: Although Rakk’s cover identity lives in the Citadel, he doesn’t really spend a lot of time there. He’s often out and about wherever undercover renegades/traitors/Flame are hiding, meaning he spends a lot of time in Ebonhawke, Divinity’s Reach, Lion’s Arch, and smaller encampments everywhere. Lately, he’s been in Grothmar a lot. If he had to choose a place to make his residence, he’d probably say Divinity’s Reach. Although he’s not much for humans, he does like a few things about them - they tend to smell nice, they’re smaller than him, and they prioritize comfort. DR is a city where he can get good food, a plush bed, plentiful drink, lots of grooming supplies, and still be big enough to push people around.

Ink Voidbreath: For a long while, Ink hasn’t really had a home, traveling to where their sense of duty takes them. Often, that tended to be field camps, in various renegade caves and strongholds, and most recently, in various Dominion encampments. Now that they’re “free”, they’re trying to stay unnoticed, especially with all the anti-Charr sentiment lately, and finding themselves staying in slums, thieves’ holds, and other unsavory places... However, if Ink could choose a place where they’d like to live... they’d probably say a quiet cabin in some idyllic mountain valley somewhere. Something supremely peaceful, with lots of quiet, and calm, and a minimum of neighbors. Maybe some fields of wildflowers. If forced to pick on a map, probably somewhere in the Woodland Cascades, well-isolated from the events of the world.

🛡️ Weapons?

Rakk Smokewraith: Being primarily Ash, Rakk’s weapons of choice are his daggers. However, they’re mostly for show. He’s a runt, and he knows it, and so when it actually comes to combat, he prefers to let his necromancy do the fighting. Between undead minions and dark magic, he’s got enough tricks up his sleeve to handle just about anything he needs to. Although he carries a pistol to keep up appearances, and knows how to use it, he’s a terrible shot, and so it’s mostly just for show. He doesn’t have any sort of sentimental attachment to his weapons, and isn’t really the sentimental kind of Charr to begin with. What matters most to him is usually how good/fancy it looks, with a little bit of focus on how well-made it is. Usually, the more expensive, the better ;)

Ink Voidbreath: Ink, fitting with their training and their chosen expertise, also prefers dual daggers! Although they have a lot of potent magic at their disposal, a lot of it isn’t solely offensive, so they have to rely on their weapons a lot. They tend to be pretty confident with any sort of bladed weapon, though light-weight is better. They’ve tried to forge weapons from shadow magic, or simply enhance their weapons with their magic, but to no success yet - nothing competes with good steel, and they’ve made sure that their daggers are the best quality. As far as special attachment to any sort of weapon, Ink does have a special knife! Upon graduating from the Fahrar, Ink’s initial warband all received custom trench knives - the finest material, and engraved artistically - both a weapon and a work of art. Now, given that it’s all they have to remember their initial warband with, it’s too precious to fight with, especially given how revealing/identifying the engraving would be.

[halfgclden]

Anytime | Graves&Cleo (& L)

Date: May 9th, 2020

Summary: Graves needs physical and spiritual healing after Fight Night. That is provided by a child of Apollo and a child of Dionysus respectively.

The sun had just begun to set as Graves had walked up to the Apollo cabin and lightly knocked on the door. The cabin almost seemed to be surrounded by a faint gold aura; whether that was from the setting sun or a result of the cabin's patron, Graves wasn't sure but he loved it all the same.  He rubbed his shoulder, waiting for the door to open and thought about the events of the weekend thus far. The third round of 'fight night' had concluded a few hours ago, and though he hadn't won, Cam had had the time of his life. Now, showered and dressed, with the last of an ambrosia high leaving his system, he had texted L, requesting their healing expertise before he set out on the excursion he had in mind for that night. He knocked again, just in case his first attempt had been inaudible. "Hey, it's Graves."

L answered the door after the second knock, having to step over a sleeping dog to get to it. They'd spent the earlier part of the evening with their girlfriends in celebration, but they told them that they'd go to their cabin for an hour and then reconvene, in order to give people time to stop by and get any healing that they needed. They flashed a smile at Graves and stepped back so that he could step in, shoving a cat back with their foot as they did. "Hey! How's the shoulder doing?"

Graves' face lit up into a smile, first at the sight of L, then at the hairless cat trying to sneak around their leg to greet him. "George Caramel! Hey kitty!" He made the pspspspsps sound in the direction of the feline before stepping into the cabin. "Hey, long time no see," he joked. "It's doin' alright. Miranda demanded I get it checked out or - and this is a direct quote - juro que haré que te arrepientas por el resto de tu vida. I'm not entirely positive on what she said but it sounded violent. And so, here I am, at your doorstep, beggin' for your magic touch.” Graves grinned at L, "Would you be able to help me?"

L closed the door behind Graves and turned to see their cat, up on his hind legs, staring at Graves because of the sound he was making. “I don’t know what that means, but it sounds ominous, so I’ll heal you right up!” They grinned. “Do you want to sit for it? Or are you in a hurry? It’ll take, like, a minute, tops. I told my geefs I wouldn’t wear myself our before we went hard tonight.” L blinked. “Went hard in celebration,” they clarified.

"I'm headed somewhere but I'm not in a hurry. Sittin' works." Graves blinked for a second, then L's explanation sunk in and he chuckled. "Of course, don't tire yourself out on my account. Rosie would kill me." He turned to find a suitable place to take a seat. "What do I have to do?"

L took a seat on the arm of the couch and beckoned Graves over. “You don’t need to do anything, just sit there and look pretty.” They smiled. “You’re gonna feel really warm, then kinda sore, but you’ll maybe be able to move it once I’m done with you. Have you had any ambrosia yet?”

He made his way to the couch and took a seat next to L. "Lookin' pretty is my specialty," Graves smiled. His face was still bruised from the previous night's fighting but a few doses of ambrosia had healed up the cuts on his face fairly well. "I'm always warm, so I'm prepared. Yeah, Miranda made me take some right after we finished the round earlier. I feel great!"

“I know,” L said affectionately as they pat his head. “And yeah, you should have that moving real soon, but make sure you actually come to me every day until I tell you to stop.” They wagged a finger at him. “Not just when you feel okay, because then you might aggravate it and get muscle damage and I really don’t want to have to deal with that.” They pressed a hand into his shoulder and let the warmth pass from them into his arm, muttering a small prayer to Apollo as they did.

Graves looked chastised for a moment; if not for Miranda and L, he probably would've accidentally injured himself further. "I'm really not tryin' to damage any muscles so I'll be back tomorrow," he promised, closing his eyes as he felt the warmth emanating from L's hand. When it stopped, he was tempted to poke his shoulder and test how it felt. Instead, he looked at L. "Am I good to go, Nurse L?"

L nodded, happy that Graves was following their advice. They went from their stern, nurse face to their usual sunny one. After a moment, they pulled their hand away, feeling a bit tired but not fully drained. “Yeah, I’m gonna hold out a bit on ya in case someone else comes by, but make sure you do your best not to move it much, at least not until you see me tomorrow.”

"I'll be careful, swear." He stood and gave L a one-armed hug. "Thank you, thank you! You're amazin', you're wonderful, you're a ray of sunshine! Make sure you eat somethin', keep up your energy!" Graves moved to the door, stopping to wave goodbye to another one of L's cats on his way out. "See you tomorrow! Don't go too hard tonight!" He laughed and slipped out the door.

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Cleo sat in her room, playing music as she painted her nails. She sang along under her breath, blowing on her left hand as she painted the right. Between each nail, she took a moment to spin and dance around the room, changing each song just before it ended. She hadn’t thought that she was playing it very loudly, but she also didn’t notice any knocking until she was very sure that there was knocking, and she ran out to go check the door, opening it carefully so as not to smudge her nails. “Cam.” She smiled for but a moment before her face dropped, taking in his cut up face and shoulder in a sling. “What happened?” She stepped back to let him in.

Graves couldn't help but laugh; here he was, standing outside the Dionysus cabin on a whim, just knocking repeatedly. He tried not to feel too ridiculous; he wasn't even positive if the person he was looking for was here. Then again, he could hear music blasting inside and from the sound of it, she was. Graves was torn between keeping his arrival a surprise or sending Cleo a text to let him in already. When she opened the door and her expression turned to one of worry, Cam's smile faltered but only for a second before he beamed at her brightly. "Bancroft, hey." He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Oh this?" He asked, looking at his immobilized arm as if seeing it for the first time. "I forgot to bring my good luck charm to fight night apparently."

“My gods.” Cleo exhaled a breath and raised her hand as though to touch him, then dropped it again. “I should have figured you went to that stupid thing.” She’d heard about the fight night, but being that she wasn’t a fighter, none of her friends were going, and she didn’t want to see people get maimed, she hadn’t gone herself. Zoe mentioned that there was a second part to it earlier in the day, but she took the time to herself instead, which meant that she missed out on whatever it was that caused Cameron his scuffled appearance. “Are you okay?” She drew her brows together and watched him.

He watched Cleo's hand hover for a moment before she dropped it. Graves' fingers twitched, almost tempted to- he sent the thought away, raising an eyebrow instead. "Woah, hey. It wasn't stupid, it was actually a lot of fun." Graves ran his fingers through his hair, noticing the concern etched into her features. He tried to lighten the mood, "I'm better now." He winked at her with his blackened eye.

Cleo crossed her arms, thankful that Len was at a sleepover and not watching their sister lecture a half-beaten boy in their cabin. "Just because it was fun does not negate the fact that it was stupid, Cam." She frowned at him, though she didn't see anything that she could do for him. "Do you want ice? Have you been to the healers?"

"C'mon Bancroft, I don't look that bad, do I?" A small voice in his head told him that yes, he looked like hell and should go home and rest but he was already here. It would take a little more than a frown from Cleo to send him home right now. "I stopped by the Apollo cabin on my way here." Graves chewed his lip, trying not to smile as she told him off. "Okay, maybe it was a little stupid. Was showing up here also stupid?"

Cleo wiped her hands down her face and sighed. "Ugh, Cameron, you look hurt." She looked back at him, pouting slightly, taking in the bruises that lined his jaw and collarbone. If she was honest, it was the sling that was the worrying part, and had he just shown up with a few cuts and bruises she probably would've stopped lecturing him after she made sure he was okay. She pursed her lips and took his left hand, sighing as she noticed bruising there too. "No, it wasn't stupid. I can't really do much for you." She pulled him towards the kitchen. "But I always have ice. Or at the very least something cold to press to a black eye."

Graves scrunched his nose and frowned, seeing Cleo's expression shift into a pout as she took in all his bruises. "It, um, it's not that bad. Looks a lot worse than it is, swear." He exhaled through his nose when she took his hand and watched her examine the bruises on his knuckles with her slender fingers. Graves let himself be pulled towards the kitchen; it took a moment for her words to sink in. "Oh, Bancroft, no no. I didn't- I didn't come for ice. I just came to see you." He offered her a soft smile.

Cleo looked up at Graves when he spoke and squinted at him slightly, biting her lip. She shook her head at him but couldn’t help but smile at his words. “You’re so...” She didn’t really know how to finish the sentence. She dropped his hand so that she could tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear and move to her fridge. “Well, you’re getting both. Did you want anything to drink?” She opened the freezer and pulled out a half-empty ice tray.

He quirked an eyebrow at Cleo, wondering how that sentence might have ended. But she dropped it, and his hand, so he let it be. “Both is good,” Graves laughed. “And um, water would be great. Thanks.”

Cleo grabbed a hand towel and dumped the ice into it, then handed the bundle over to him. She took two remaining cubes of ice and put them in a glass, then filled it with water from the sink. She frowned when she realized he couldn’t hold both the ice pack and the water. “Okay, I can... ice your face while you drink?”

Graves held out his hand to accept the bundle of ice from Cleo but faltered, realizing she had a point. “Hmm, uh, yeah. That works, hang on.” He hopped onto the counter with surprising grace for someone with his injuries. Graves flashed Cleo a cocky grin and tapped his ring against the edge of the counter. “Lucky jump.”

Cleo opened and closed her mouth, somewhat incredulously, when Graves jumped onto the counter. She shook her head. "Now you're gonna have to bend down more for me to ice your face, doofus." She rolled her eyes at him, but smiled and stood in front of him. She held out the water. "How'd you break your arm?"

“Didn’t think of that, oops.” He clicked his tongue, then leaned down enough to make it easier for Cleo to reach his face. Graves accepted the glass of water and took a sip. He shook his head, his smile rueful. “Not broken. I...dislocated my shoulder.”

She pressed the makeshift ice pack into his jaw carefully and frowned, sucking in a breath sympathetically. "Should I ice that instead? Is that what you're supposed to do for it?"

Graves closed his eyes as Cleo pressed the ice to his jaw, feeling the chill spread. “No no, L worked their magic on it right before I got here and I’m still cruisin’ from some ambrosia earlier. I just have to try not to move it, hence the sling. Really, Bancroft, I’m okay. You’re lookin’ at me like I might fall apart.”

Cleo huffed. "I wouldn't be looking at you like that if you didn't come to me in pieces." She shook her head and chewed her lip, raising one shoulder in a small shrug. "But, you know, you're tougher than I realize, I guess." She pursed her lips again. "Who'd you fight?"

Graves was about to protest that he wasn't in pieces anymore; Ime had seen to that when they'd popped his shoulder back in. He wrinkled his nose at the memory. "You think I'm tough?" His face lit up in a goofy smile, but he tried to play it cool. "That's good. You're right. I am." He tried not to move too much while Cleo was icing his jaw, but found he was having a hard time sitting still. He set his glass down beside him and started tapping the edge of the counter with his hand. "First round, Rosie. She climbed me like a fuckin' monkey, I threw her off the platform. Second round, Ramona and Tai. Blue and I were a team. It was a heated fight." He wondered if Cleo had heard anything about fight night and would disapprove of his word choice. "My shoulder was from fightin' Tai. Not his fault though! He got me good, I dropped my sword, I fell and landed....wrong."

"Of course I think you're tough." Cleo shook her head and resisted the urge to roll her eyes again. "Coming to me with a busted arm and jaw. The bruised knuckles are what really drove me from feeling bad to being impressed, though, honestly." She smiled at him softly and then looked to his hand, tapping against the counter. "That's... a lot of people." She tilted her head and grimaced. "Fell so wrong it took your arm out? That's disgusting, Cam."

"Impressed, huh?" Graves bit his lip, suppressing an even larger smile. "Maybe I have to win fights more often," he mused, deciding not to mention he technically hadn't won last night's fight. "I'd say I wish you were there, so you could've seen the action but...yeah, gods." He shook his head. "Fuck, Bancroft. I fell very wrong. The sound..." Graves winced. "Shoulders should not sound like that. I'm glad you didn't hear it. Or hear me when it happened." He looked away, suddenly fascinated with a vine on the wall.

Cleo dipped her head as she shook it again. "Gods, you're just..." She sighed and didn't finish her sentence again, then looked back up at him, scrunching her face in disgust. "Oh, gods, ew. Please don't tell me any more about it." She frowned, then rested a hand on his knee. "I'm really glad you're okay."

Cleo's growing habit of leaving her sentences unfinished was only making Graves more and more curious about those unsaid words. But she didn't offer them up, and again he didn't ask. He stopped tapping on the counter to hold his hand up in surrender. "I won't, you don't want to hear them. I don't want to have heard it," he tried to joke. Graves' eyes flickered down to her hand on his knee. "Bancroft, you worried about me?"

Cleo stuck out her lower lip a bit. "If you have a less scary fight, tell me about it, and maybe I'll come. I've never seen you in action." She smiled and shook her head again. "Um, duh? Wouldn't you be worried if your friend showed up to your doorstep unannounced with a black eye and a cast?"

"Next time, maybe." He winked at her. "Ah, we'll have to change that. Did you know I fight with two swords? I don't know if I ever mentioned it. It's fuckin' fun. Okay, if you put it like that, I guess I'd be a little worried." Graves gave Cleo's hand a little squeeze and smiled, before tapping a rhythm with his ring this time. "And if you showed up on my doorstep like that, I'd ask who's ass I needed to kick."

Cleo smiled slightly, tapping his knee lightly with her fingers. “I think you’ve mentioned them before, and I’m pretty sure I was as impressed by the idea of the visual as I am now.” She looked down at their hands, watching his as he tapped his rings against her counter. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever asked what prompted the skull on his hand, but was pretty sure that it was something along the lines of ‘it was fucking cool’, as his others were. She smiled and shook her head. “I won’t show up on your doorstep like that.” Cleo didn’t get into many physical fights, if any at all, and if she did get into one, it was likely not going to be someone who’s ass Graves would be willing to kick.

Graves pressed his lips together; he assumed that the only altercations Cleo might get in were ones he really should stay out of, so he changed the subject. "Did I tell you that my swords are my rings?" Graves held his hand out for Cleo's inspection. He'd caught her looking at his hands often enough; whether she was looking at his assortment of jewelry or the tattoo on his left hand, he could never be sure. He leaned closer, resting his forehead on hers. "The ones I wear on my middle fingers," he explained.

Cleo kept watching his hand as he raised his, biting her lip as she picked up the hand not pressed against the slowly melting ice pack. She shook her head slowly. “I didn’t know that,” she said, lowering her voice. Something about the proximity made her feel less as though she had to compete with the music still playing in her room for volume. She glanced up again as his forehead met hers and swallowed. “You’re always prepared to fight, then? I never see you without them.” Water slid down her arm and she looked at the bundle, then put it down on the counter at his side, doing her best not to break contact with him.

He hummed softly, watching Cleo take his hand in her own for the second time that night. "They're enchanted. I can't lose them. So I guess, yes. Can't ever be caught without a way to defend myself." He glanced at the bundle of melted ice on the counter next to him. Graves could feel a few drops of water lazily trailing along his jaw and down his neck. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, staying as still as he could.

She ran her thumb over his knuckles as softly as she could, resting it against his ring. “They’re really pretty, so it’s nice that you don’t lose them,” she murmured. Cleo looked up, scanning his face as he closed his eyes, then reached up to brush the water from his neck. “Oh, you have...”

"They were a gift," he said, his voice low. Graves' eyes were still closed, unaware of her movement. When Cleo's fingers brushed his neck, he jolted back in surprise, knocking the glass of water over in the process. As water poured over the edge of the counter, it seemed as if a spell had been broken. Graves grimaced, "Sorry, I'll clean that up." He moved to hop off the counter, looking embarrassed and feeling strange.

Cleo moved back with a start when Gaves jolted, shocked by the sudden movement. She shook her head and grabbed another hand towel to wipe up the spill. "No, don't worry about it, I shouldn't have..." She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and put the towel down on the counter. "Did you, um, want something to eat? I have a few snacks."

Graves moved for the hand towel the same time Cleo did and their hands bumped together. “Sorry,” he repeated, feeling heat rise on his cheeks. He leaned against the counter, pondering food options. “You’re hungry? You’ve got a snack right here.” He flicked his eyebrows upward, looking at Cleo playfully.

Cleo picked up the half-melted ice bundle as well and tossed it into her sink as she laughed, shaking her head at him. Even still, she let her eyes scan over him, noting where his cropped shirt ended and his midriff began. She bit her lip, then looked up, meeting his eyes instead of staring at his torso. "Shut up. I'm surprised you didn't call yourself a meal."

"Is that your way of callin' me one?" He watched Cleo's eyes sweep over his body, catching at the hem of his shirt. Graves ran his thumb over his bottom lip, trying to hide a smile. He met her gaze and held it, expression saying caught you.

Cleo pressed her lips together and shook her head at Graves, blushing slightly. "Um, no. I was just saying that that's something you'd say." She shook her head and went back to occupying herself with wiping up the spill again, though it was already mostly soaked up by the towel.

Graves' smile widened, "Well, y'would've been right. I am a meal. But, uh, if you're actually hungry, yeah I could eat. I think you've got all the water, ma'am." He took a step closer to Cleo and was about to place his hand on her arm but thought better of it.

Cleo looked up at Graves and set her jaw, dropping the towel into the sink next to the other one. "I'm not too hungry, I was just offering because I don't know what else to do," she admitted with a laugh. She pressed her hand to her forehead and shook her head. "Um, I think I have leftover dumplings and then, like, Redvines? I have a stash of mini Snickers too, but I'll only let you take one, two if you're really nice."

"I'd take a Redvine, if you're willin' to part with them. I'll let you keep your Snickers, because I'm that nice. And I don't...really know what else to do either," Graves smiled slightly before looking away. "We could..." He mused. "Stand here and talk about how stupid I am for signin' up for fight night. Or watch a movie. Or sing along to whatever you were listening to. Or I could tell you how cute your pajamas are. Or go for a walk. Any of those sound appealin', Bancroft?"

Cleo laughed quietly. "A single Redvine? How polite." She smiled, looking down at herself when he commented on her pajamas, then looked back up at him, taking a step forward, but leaned against the counter. "I would like nothing more than to sing along to music or go for a walk right now."

Graves gave a little half-shrug, the best he could do right now. Still, he winced a little and grit his teeth to hide it. He raised an eyebrow as she stepped closer, leaning casually into the conversation. "Walk first? Dramatic karaoke after?"

Cleo reached into her cabinet and grabbed a pack of Redvines, then held one out to Graves, and took two for herself. "Sounds amazing. I should probably shut my music off first, unless it makes people think I'm home, keeps me from getting robbed."

Accepting the Redvine from Cleo, Graves laughed. "I doubt you'll get robbed. Maybe the music will drive people away." He took a bite of the candy, smiling innocently.

Cleo chewed her candy and shrugged one shoulder at Graves. "It's a good strategy, no?" She laughed and took his good hand carefully. "Where do you want to walk to? Woods, beach, lake?"

"An excellent strategy. You claim to know every inch of the woods, if I recall correctly." He finished his Redvine, letting Cleo take his hand. He ran his thumb over her hand. "I'm ready when you are. You can borrow my flannel if you're not warm enough."

"Every inch," Cleo repeated incredulously as she rolled her eyes, still smiling. "I know the woods super well, yeah, so I can acquaint you with it." She looked down at his hand, then to the flannel at his waist, and then back up to him. "Would you need a sweater from me then?"

Graves couldn't help but grin as Cleo rolled her eyes. His gaze drifted down to their hands, fingers laced together. The flowers inked on her skin caught his eye and he tried to trace the one on her thumb. He looked up, "Oh, no. Thanks, but I run warm. I'll be okay."

Cleo kept an eye on their hands, looking up so that she could smile at him. "Fine, then we should go, because I'm okay too." She tugged him slightly as she led them out of her kitchen, but dropped his hand so that she could run into her room and turn off her music. "I don't want my speaker to die," she explained as she returned to his side.

He tilted his head, waiting for Cleo to reappear from her room. "Makes sense," Graves nodded. He held out his hand, almost shyly, for her to take. "Lead the way, Bancroft."

Cleo took his hand, not really expecting him to offer his hand up when she returned. She led him out of the cabin and into the twilight. She inhaled and closed her eyes, smiling. "This is my favourite time of day. Dusk."

Graves followed Cleo outside, looking up at the sky. "I think I like golden hour best. But this is real decent." He smiled, letting her pull him onto a path that led to the woods. "D'you spend a lot of time out here?"

“How else do you think I know every inch?” Cleo asked with a smile. She ran her thumb over Graves’s knuckles softly. “You spend more time at the lava wall than in the woods?”

“Ah, duh. Stupid question.” He mentally smacked himself and hoped he wasn’t blushing in embarrassment. He flicked his eyes down at their hands, watching Cleo run her thumb over his knuckles. Graves trusted her to lead him while he wasn’t paying attention, knowing she wouldn’t let him trip or fall. “I spend more time at the lake or river I think. Although you know I love the lava wall.”

Cleo smiled at him, then pulled him off of the path to a section of trees that were fairly close together. There was a sort of man-made path there, only indicated by the trampled grass and other markers, if you looked closely. “Always need to be close to the water?”

Graves couldn’t tell where they were going on the fading light but Cleo moved with such ease, it was clear she’d walked this trail often. He stepped over a raised tree root, careful not to trip. “Mhm, yeah. I always feel more grounded when I can hear the waves.” He avoided another root. “Ma’am where are you taking me?”

Cleo walked slowly, aware of the fact that Graves wasn't as used to this part of the woods as she was. "Ah." She nodded in understanding. "Ocean boy." She flashed a small smile at him. "Do you like surprises?"

“Bancroft. Who doesn’t like surprises?” He tapped her knuckles with his thumb. “Of course I do. I’m just impatient is all.”

Cleo laughed and pulled him further into the forest, past gnarled roots, which she stepped over carefully, and around large trees, which she skirted around. She obviously knew this path well, with the way she was walking it in the fading light, and she pointed out a few tricky spots to get over to Graves. Eventually, they emerged into a clearing, which was fairly well-lit, due to the clear sky and waning but near-full moon. Fireflies dotted the clearing, and floated in patterns around the center of it. As they stepped out, Cleo smiled up at Graves. "Surprise?"

Graves felt like they’d stepped into the labyrinth with all the twists and turns their path took. With help from Cleo, he managed not to stumble at all on their way to the clearing. When they stepped into the open, Graves blinked in surprise, his eyes adjusting to the light. The moon was big and the sky glittered with stars. “Woah...this, this is awesome.” He let go of Cleo’s hand, reaching out to catch a firefly. With a soft smile, Graves held his hand out to her, firefly faintly glowing in his palm.

Cleo beamed at him, happy that he seemed so pleased with their destination. She stepped further into the clearing as he let go of her hand, but turned so that she was still facing him. "Gods, I remember when I first found this place. I thought it was, like, enchanted or something. Now I know it is."

The firefly took off, light flickering as it left Graves’ palm. He took a few steps forward, following Cleo into the heart of the clearing. “Enchanted?” He asked. He held out his hand, trying to scoop another firefly out of the air.

Cleo caught a firefly and opened her hands to examine the blinking bug. "Yeah. Isn't it magical? I legitimately thought these were, like, floating lights or fairies or something."

"I love that," Graves said. He looked over at Cleo, grinning proudly to show her the two fireflies he'd caught. "I definitely thought fireflies were fairies as a kid." He took another step towards her before moving to sit in the grass. He patted the spot next to him, looking up at her.

Cleo grinned approvingly at Graves's catch, then took a seat next to him. "I was fourteen, but I'd never seen them before, so that's my excuse."

Graves stuck his tongue out at Cleo. "I grew up hearing all these wild stories about gods and monsters and prophecies from my grandma. That is my excuse." He leaned back in the grass, propping himself up with his good arm and looked up at the sky. "The stars are so bright," he said quietly.

Cleo laughed. "I wasn't making fun of you! I was just saying I wasn't a kid. Or, I guess I was. Fourteen is still a kid." She tipped her head back and leaned back on her hands, then her elbows. "Yeah. The moon was full two nights ago."

He scooted a little closer to Cleo, then laid down fully, the soft ground comfortable beneath his back. Graves raised his arm, pointing to a cluster of stars in the sky. "There's the Big Dipper," he smiled.

Cleo smiled as she noticed him move closer, then laid down fully. She moved his arm over so that he was pointing elsewhere in the sky. "And there's Orion."

Keeping their hands together, Graves steered their pointed fingers to another constellation. He squinted. "That's Leo." He turned his head to look at Cleo, "Do you have a favorite?"

Cleo smiled as her hand was taken in Graves’s and turned her head to look at him. “Gemini.” She watched him through blades of grass. “I like the story. What about you?”

"Draco. I've always liked the story too." He looked back up at the sky and sighed contentedly. "I didn't expect my day to go like this."

"Do you like dragons?" Cleo felt her arm growing tired but did not want to let go of his hand, and left it. She watched him as he watched the sky. "How were you expecting it to go?"

“Who doesn’t like dragons? They’re so cool. I can’t believe they’re real, honestly. The gods? No problem. Dragons? Mind-blowing.” Graves pointed out another constellation, the Big Dipper, before lowering his arm. He didn’t let go of Cleo’s hand, resting their arms in the grass between them. “I don’t know. No brainer that I lost round 3 today, like this. But I didn’t even know if you’d be home. Or want to hang out, I just kinda, showed up.” He laughed a little.

Cleo laughed. “Was that a byproduct of being raised by a psychic? Like, ‘oh yeah, gods and that– wait, did you say dragons?’” She smiled and looked up finally as he lowered their hands. “The fact that you even competed is impressive, honestly.” She scanned the sky, almost in disbelief of how clear the night was. “Why wouldn’t I want to hang out?” She turned to look at him again, running her thumb over the back of his hand. “I’m glad you showed up.”

Graves smiled, shaking his head slightly. "Maybe. My gran used to tell me the craziest stories." His smile widened, and he bumped her shoulder gently, moving a little closer to her. "Impressive, mhm. That's twice tonight you've said that." He turned his head to look and Cleo and winked before looking back up at the sky. "I dunno, maybe you had other plans." He laughed. Graves turned to look at her again, running his thumb over her hand as well, "I'm glad you brought me here."

Cleo looked at him again when he bumped her shoulder and smiled at him. "Keeping track? Should I say it more?" She laughed. "Am I lame for not doing anything but sit in my room doing my nails on a Saturday night?" She smiled and checked the hand that wasn't holding Graves's. The polish was smudged, but she didn't care. She dropped her hand again and turned onto her side, facing him. "I'm glad too. This is one of my favourite places in the world."

"Actually, you've said it three times, but one of them you were referrin' to my swords so..." He gave her hand a little squeeze then rolled onto his side to face her. "Y'can say it as many time as you like. Nah, nah that's not lame at all. Maybe I should paint my nails." Graves laughed a little. "In the world? And you brought me here?" He raised an eyebrow at Cleo, teasing her.

Cleo smiled as Graves turned to face her. “Maybe I won’t say it at all, now that I know you like it so much.” She glanced down, as though she would be able to see his hand in the dim lighting, then looked back up. “I can do your nails for you. Not now, obvi, but sometime.” She pressed her cheek into the earth, obscuring her face slightly behind the grass. “Yeah, but only because you looked so hapless. I guess I won’t make a habit of it, if you don’t like it.”

Graves exhaled through his nose. "I knew I shouldn't've said a thing." He peered at Cleo through the blades of grass between them. "That would be fun. I could...try to do yours? No promises on how they turn out." He scoffed. "Hapless?" He shook his head. "Nah, nah I love it. I could come here every day and it would be just as enchanting."

Cleo found that she had a hard time not smiling at him. "Maybe so." She ran her thumb over his. "I'd like that. Maybe it's your hidden talent." She moved her legs so that her knee was against his. "Yeah, like, you look all sad and unfortunate, so I needed to take you somewhere to cheer you up." She smiled somehow wider and turned her head to try to look up out of the clearing at the stars again. "Yeah," she exhaled the word with a breath. "It's... near perfect. Maybe just perfect."

"Yeah," he snorted. "With my luck, it might be." Graves was very aware of Cleo's knee pressed against his; he edged a little closer, pressing more of his leg against her own. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and propped himself up on his elbow, trying to get more comfortable. He rested the side of his head in his hand and studied Cleo's face as she looked at the stars, a faint smile on his lips. A lock of hair was curled against her neck and Graves wished his arm wasn't in a sling, wished that he could reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear. He blinked a few times and swallowed, surprised at himself, then glanced up at the sky. "Near perfect?" Graves turned to look at Cleo, a gleam in his eye. His voice was low as he spoke. "And how, ma'am, can I make this night perfect?"

"With your luck." Cleo smiled. "You're saying that like you aren't lucky. Aren't you supposed to be my good luck charm? If you're defective, I might have to send you back." When he let go of her hand, she turned over a bit more, resting her hand on her stomach as she scanned over constellations. As he spoke, she looked at him again, then propped herself up on an elbow to bring herself to his level. She smiled slightly, somewhat sadly, and reached out to brush her fingertips over his cheek, down across his jaw, then dropped her hand. "Don't be so hurt?" She sighed and then sat up, tilting her head back to observe the sky fully. "Bring me back to Portland?"

"Dislocated shoulder certainly sounds defective, you better ship me back," he joked. Graves closed his eyes, exhaling softly as he felt Cleo's fingertips on his jaw. He tilted his head into her touch without realizing it, but as quickly as her touch had come, it was gone. "Bancroft..." he breathed, but even as he started his sentence, he knew it had no end. He opened his eyes and frowned a little as she leaned away, then looked up at the sky again. Graves found the moon and focused on it, trying to ground himself. "I'll be better in a few days. L said I can probably use my arm again by the weekend. It's not too bad." He glanced at Cleo before looking back at the moon. "I would drive you to Portland if you really wanted. You miss it?"

When Graves said her name, Cleo glanced back over to him, but it didn’t look as though he had any intention of finishing his sentence. She wrapped her arms around her bare legs, suddenly noticing that she was cold out in the woods in pajama shorts and a big shirt. “That’s good,” she said as she looked back at him, happy that magic would be able to help her friend. She rested her chin on her knees. “Yeah,” she confirmed with a small sigh. “A drive might be pretty long though.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Graves saw Cleo wrap her arms around herself and he realized she was cold. Without much difficulty, he pushed himself into a sitting position and untied the flannel from around his waist with his good hand. "Hey, here. Put this on," he held it out to her before turning back to the sky. His eyes fell on the mermaid on her leg and Graves quickly looked away. "Yeah," he nodded, in response to her earlier comment. "I can't wait to be out of this sling. And it would be a long drive, but who doesn't like a roadtrip?" He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them, looking at Cleo again. "Are you warm enough now?"

Cleo noticed the movement behind her, but didn’t turn around until he was holding his flannel out for her. She accepted it with a soft smile and pulled it on, noticing his glance at her leg, but choosing not to comment on it. “Do you like me enough to go on a roadtrip with me?” she teased, then pulled her shirt up a bit so that she could shove her knees into it. “Um, yeah. Are you?”

"Fuck no, Bancroft. I'd get sick of you after a day." Graves stuck his tongue out at Cleo and laughed lightly, making sure she knew he was teasing as well. When she tucked her knees into her shirt, his playful expression turned soft. He scrubbed his face with his hand, mumbling, "oh my gods." He shook his head. "Huh? Oh yeah, I run warm. I'm like a furnace. See?" He held out his arm to her.

“A day?” Cleo asked, somewhat incredulous as she laughed. She tilted her head at him when he rubbed his face, then rested her cheek on her knees. “What?” She scooted a bit closer to him and took his hand, then pressed it to her cheek. “Very warm. Why do boys run so hot?”

"Nah, I take it back. Maybe after a week." He smiled, then shook his head before burying his face in his knees. "You're adorable Bancroft," Graves' voice came out muffled. He didn't raise his head until she took his hand. His bashful expression was gone, replaced with a cocky grin. He arched an eyebrow. "I don't know about other boys, but I run hot because I am hot." He winked.

“Okay, a week I can work with.” She laughed, then bit her lip when he called her adorable. Cleo felt the heat in her cheeks begin to rise slightly, but didn’t drop his hand until after she turned her face and kissed his palm. “You’re the one who says things like ‘ma’am’ and gives me his sweater.” She exhaled a small laugh. “Let’s go with that. So can you be my good luck charm and my personal space heater?”

Graves was surprised when Cleo kissed his palm, the feel of her lips sending a shiver across his skin. It took everything he had to keep his expression neutral as she dropped his hand. He fidgeted with the cropped hem of his shirt. "I was raised in the south! 'Course I say 'ma'am'." He shook his head, exhaling. "I'll always offer you my sweater when you're cold, Bancroft." The way he said it, it sounded like a promise. He held his arm out and nodded his head with a laugh. "Yeah, I think I can do that. C'mere."

Cleo let her eyes drop to his midriff again and she balled her hands around the fabric of his sweater, letting the sleeves cover her hands. She smiled, looking back up at his face. "And that makes you adorable, Cameron." She hadn't expected him to offer her a hug, but she tried to scoot over when he held his arm out. With the way her legs were tucked into her shirt, she ended up flopping over next to him instead, and looked up at him, laughing. "Oh my gods." She wiggled her legs free and then sat up again, this time to lean against him. "This is amazing. I'm hijacking your heat."

Normally, Graves would’ve protested at being called ‘adorable’ but between the sight of Cleo wrapped in his too-large flannel and the glances she kept stealing at him as if he wouldn’t notice, he found that he didn’t really mind. When Cleo toppled over, he put his hand out to help her back up, laughing. He pulled her into his side and after a moment, rested his head on hers. “Take as much of it as you need, I’ve got warmth to spare.”

Cleo wiggled ever closer to Graves, resting her head back against his shoulder. She pulled her hands out from the sleeves finally and pressed one up his shirt, against his back, partially for the shock, but also to see if he was being serious about letting her take as much heat as she wanted. "What if I need it all?"

Graves jolted when Cleo pressed her icy hand against his back, his eyes wide. He never thought someone’s hands could get so cold. “Oh my gods! Bancroft!” He laughed, dodging to the side to escape the chill of her touch. He leaned a little too far to the right, and without his arm to steady himself, started to fall over. “Shit!” He twisted, tipping backwards with a laugh and pulling Cleo down into the grass with him. “How are you that cold?”

Cleo squeaked as she fell beside Graves, but laughed once she was on the ground. “Um, because I’m not wearing pants out in the middle of the woods? You should feel my legs right now, I sure can’t.” She sighed and rolled over to look at the sky again. “Speaking of, I know we haven’t been here long, but would you mind if we headed back to camp soon? Before I turn into a human icicle.”

"Shit, if your hands are that cold, I bet your legs are freezing. I can't have a Croftsicle on my hands." Graves slowly climbed to his feet and reached his hand out to help Cleo up. "C'mon, let's get you home before you're frozen solid. I can't carry you right now," he laughed and flashed her a grin.

Cleo laughed and pushed herself up, taking his hand once she was sitting, and not dropping it once she was standing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you tried, honestly.” She smiled back at him and pulled him back the way they came, pulling out her phone to use the flashlight this time.

Graves followed Cleo down the path back to the cabins. “I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t think about tryin’.” He smiled, even though she couldn’t see that he had, and gave her hand a squeeze. “I promised L I wouldn’t do anythin’ that could make my shoulder worse though.” His foot caught on a tree root and he stumbled for a second but quickly righted himself.(edited)

“You dope,” Cleo chastised with a shake of her head, clearly amused. She squeezed his hand back when he almost fell, stopping so that she might be able to help him up. “Oh my gods. You’re gonna have L find me and kill me herself if you fall.” She slowed down a bit so that they could step over roots and branches more easily, eventually finding themselves back out on the path. Once back to her cabin, she kissed his knuckles before dropping his hand so that she could unlock and open the door. “Did you leave anything inside?”

"I'll be fine, I'm fine! L won't come hunt you down," Graves swallowed a laugh, being extra careful not to trip for the remainder of their walk. He bit his lip as Cleo kissed his knuckles, looking away, trying to hide the smile tugging at his the corner of his lips. He looked back at her as she opened the door. "Hmm, I can't remember what I had, other than my flannel."

Cleo tilted her head as she smiled at him and stepped inside. "Huh, that's funny. I don't remember you having a flannel at all."

He stepped inside, right behind her and caught her hand. A grin was plastered to his face. "Ma'am, am I, the son of the god of thieves, bein' robbed right now?"

Cleo turned to look at Graves, grinning mischievously. "Are you? That'd be such a shame."

Graves tugged on Cleo’s hand, pulling her closer. He raised an eyebrow. “That’d be a damn shame, considering that’s my favorite flannel.”

"Oh my gods," Cleo smiled up at Graves as she was pulled in. "You lost your favourite flannel? That's so sad."

“Heartbreakin', really.” He couldn’t stop smiling at her.

"Heartbreaking?" Cleo asked dramatically, touching her hand to her cheek as she gasped softly. "What will we ever do about this?"

"Heartbreakin'," Graves repeated, his expression mournful. He squeezed her hand then tilted his head. "Did you hear that? That, darlin', was the sound of my heart, just shatterin'. It's in a million pieces now." He looked at her with his best puppy dog eyes and sighed dramatically. "I don't know how I'll ever put it back together."

Cleo tried to keep up with the playful energy, but upon being called darlin’ and then immediately being flashed puppy dog eyes, she melted. “Oh my gods, Cameron, don’t look at me like that.” She laughed as she spoked, then stepped backwards, pulling him along by his hand toward her room. “I know about heartbreak, and if there’s anything that can put it back together, it’s ABBA.”

"Like what?! I don't know what you're talkin' about," he laughed, following Cleo as she pulled him into her room. Once inside, he dramatically sank to his knees, still clutching her hand. "Yes, please. I'm beggin' you, Bancroft. Put my heart back together before I just die."

“You know what I’m talking about,” Cleo scoffed. She shook her head at him, then laughed as he dropped down to his knees. “You, Cameron middle name Graves, are too much.” She laughed and pulled her hand free to grab her phone, then pulled up the ABBA radio, put it on shuffle, and pressed a hand to her chest as SOS began to play. She reached for him dramatically and then put a hand to her head as though feeling faint, acting out the lyrics.

"Alexander," he offered simply. Still on his knees, Graves looked up as Cleo put on some music. He ran his hand through his hair and smirked at her, "Cameron Alexander Graves. For future reference." When she began to sing, his expression morphed into one of delight and he burst into laughter, reaching for her just as dramatically.

“Okay,” Cleo answered. “Cameron Alexander Graves, you are too much.” She grabbed his cheeks. “So when you’re near me, darling can’t you hear me S.O.S” She laughed as she sang and then backed up. “Do you not know this song? Should I change it to another?”

Graves smiled and his nose crinkled as Cleo grabbed his face. He watched her act out the performance, his smile growing as she sang to him. "I've heard it? But I don't know the words. It's a crime, I know." He reached his hand out when she backed up to change the song, "Help me up?"

“You don’t know the words?” Cleo gasped dramatically and reached out to take his hand to help him up. “It is a crime!”

“I know this one!” Once he was on his feet, Graves dramatically clutched his heart and spun around Cleo, acting out the song as he sang. “I've been cheated by you since you know when.”

Cleo laughed at Graves's dramatization. "You should have stayed on your knees for this!" She picked up a hairbrush from her desk and sang into it as though it was a microphone.

"You prefer that?" He raised his eyebrows at her and sunk to his knees again with a smirk, still singing along. Cleo's makeshift microphone made him laugh and he stopped singing for a moment, smiling up at her.

Cleo laughed harder and touched her hand to his cheek as she sang. When the song was over, she smiled, then dropped down to her knees as well so that she could press a palm to his chest. “How’s the heart?”

"It's doin' a little better. Not quite repaired yet, though." Graves covered her hand with his own. "That thief really did a number on me, ma'am. A shame we'll never catch her."

Cleo tossed her hairbrush onto her bed and smiled at him, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Can I do anything to help?”

"Hmm..." He dropped Cleo's hand and stood, walking over to her desk chair. Before he sat down, he tapped the flannel draped along the back of the chair and raised an eyebrow at her. It was another one of his; he recognized it immediately but didn't say a word as he their eyes met. Graves sat down in the chair and spun to face Cleo. "Serenade me some more maybe?"

As Graves stood, Cleo pretended not to notice the fact that there was another stolen flannel on her chair. She got to her feet once he was sitting and grinned at him. As the next song began, she clasped her hands. “Ugh, okay, perfect timing. This is my favourite one.” She danced around the room at the intro to Voulez-Vous. She sang along to the song and eventually rested a hand on his shoulder to sing directly to him, taking a break only to laugh.

"Your favorite? Okay, okay." He listened to the song for a moment and realization dawned; she had the title of the song tattooed on her inner elbow, Graves had seen it a few times. He watched her dance and sing along with the song, unable to keep a smile off his face. When Cleo placed her hand on his shoulder, he bit his lip to stifle a laugh and shook his head lightly. "And you say I'm too much, Bancroft."

"You are too much!" She grinned widely at him. "But that doesn't mean that I am not also too much." Cleo pressed her hand into the side of Graves's neck and took a seat on his left leg. "It makes us a good pair, yeah?"

"I- yeah," Graves faltered at her touch. He tilted his chin upward slightly, the movement automatic. "Too much, " he inhaled as she sat down. He felt his cheeks get hot and gave Cleo a curious look. "Debatable," he hummed, wrapping his arm around her waist to make sure she didn't fall if he moved. "Who's askin'?"

Cleo tilted her head at him, pleased as he moved his arm around her. She ran her thumb over his jaw. "I just did, didn't you hear me?" she joked.

Graves closed his eyes, leaning into her touch for a moment. After Cleo's comment, he tried to come up with a clever retort, but found himself to flustered to say anything at all. Not wanting to ignore her completely, Graves made a sound in acknowledgement. He opened his eyes and stared at her in a daze, chin still tilted upward, feeling her fingers trace their way across his jaw.

Cleo was glad that the music was still playing, since the moment of silence between them was enough to make her stomach flip. She lifted her hand to rest in her lap instead and looked away from him, but didn't move. "What's your favourite ABBA song?"

When Cleo dropped her hand from his jaw, a small frown flashed across Graves' face, but as quick as it had appeared, it vanished. Since she made no move to get up, he kept his arm around her waist, reclining slightly in the chair. "Hmm...'Does Your Mother Know?' is a good one. But 'Waterloo' and 'Andante' are also great." He smiled at her. "I assume your favorites are the two inked on your arms?" His gaze drifted from her eyes, across her lips, and finally arrived at the words tattooed to her inner elbows.

Cleo looked back at him as he leaned back, and rested a hand on his chest with a small smile. "Those are all amazing songs. I think they're in my top five more often than not." She turned a bit to face him as she flipped her arms out to show them off, as though they were visible under the flannel she was wearing. "Sure are. It'd be kinda silly otherwise." She laughed.

"Did you doubt my taste in music?" Graves asked, willfully ignoring the accelerated pace of his heart. He silently prayed to the gods that Cleo couldn't feel it racing through his chest. He grinned, "I love that. I don't have any musical tattoos...yet."

"Not too much, but not knowing the words earlier knocked you down a peg." Cleo smiled as she shook her head. "Do you know what you'd get, and where?" She leaned against him and tilted her head, looking down at him as if surveying where she'd put a tattoo on his body.

He laughed at that and gave her a one-shoulder shrug. “I’m not sure, but...” Graves paused, shifting so Cleo could lean against him without pressing again his injured arm. He followed her gaze and smiled, continuing his train of thought. “Maybe you could help me decide.”

Cleo made sure not to put too much of her weight down into Graves, pushing some of the weight into where her toes met the ground. “Hm.” She pressed her lips together and ran her fingers along the collar of her shirt, running them from his collarbone to the nape of his neck. She met his eyes once more. “Both? What’s your favorite song? One you could never get sick of?”

Cleo’s fingers on his neck tickled and Graves tried not to squirm beneath her touch. He closed his eyes briefly, breathing in through his nose. When he opened them again, he met Cleo’s brown eyes with his hazel ones and smiled softly. “Both, why not? That’s your thing right?” Graves dropped his arm for a second, so that he could tap two fingers to the tattoos on her leg. Tapping turned into lightly tracing one of her tattoos and he quickly stopped himself, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “My favorite song? Bancroft, gods.” He hooked his arm around her waist again, this time pulling her slightly closer, humming as he thought of a song. “Fuck, I dunno. Something by the Front Bottoms probably,” he paused, then mumbled. “Can’t think...um...maybe ‘Twin Sized Mattress’? Have you, um, heard of them?”

As she reached the nape of his neck, Cleo rested her arm on Graves’s shoulder and played with the hair at the back of his head idly, glancing down as he touched her leg. She bit her lip, smiling slightly when he started tracing over her tattoos, goosebumps prickling her arms as he did. She leaned into him as he pulled her closer, and tilted her head to scan his face. “I, uh, no, I don’t think so. Maybe if you played one of their songs?” She checked the front pocket of the flannel and pulled out her phone with the hand not playing with Graves’s hair. “What were they called?”

Graves relaxed, feeling Cleo run her fingers through his hair. Even though his hair was  trimmed shorter in the back than on top, his waves were still long enough for her fingers to twine through. He smiled and bit his lip as Cleo tilted her head towards him. “The Front Bottoms, thought I’m not sure if you’ll like ‘em.”

Cleo turned on the song once she found it, and leaned against Graves as she listened, letting her hand travel further up the back of his head through his hair. She waited until the song was over to speak again, looking at him seriously. "They're not really my kind of music, but... they seem very you." She nodded. "I don't think I got all the lyrics, but it seems potent. You should get the words jaws theme song tattooed onto you."

He tipped his head back so Cleo didn’t have to reach very far to play with his hair. As the song played, Graves was hit with a wave of nostalgia. The song reminded him of summers back home, spent driving his friends around in his beat-up pickup truck: windows down, music blasting. The song ended and the weight of Cleo’s look dragged him out of his memory. “I love them, they make me think of summer.” Graves grinned, trying not to laugh. “I dunno about that phrase, but I’d let you give me a tiny shark tooth tattoo. Maybe. As for lyrics I’d want tattooed? I’ve always liked contribute to the chaos - what do you think?” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Put on ‘Peach’, you’ll like that one better.”

"I love things like that." She smiled, thinking about things that reminded her of home, of a certain feeling. "It's like how a smell can whip you straight back into a classroom when you were in third grade." Cleo grinned. "You'd let me give you a shark tooth tattoo? I'll absolutely hold you to that, you know. I think that phrase is pretty perfect for you, though," she said, still carding her fingers through his hair. She nodded and changed the song, slowly untangling herself from him so that she could sit up and press her hand to her hot cheek. "Gods," she exhaled the word. "This song is really cute."

“What smell takes you back to your third grade classroom?” Graves pressed his cheek to his shoulder, hiding his laughter. He turned back to face her. “Absolutely, yeah. I love that line. Honestly, Bancroft, I’d let you give me a few tattoos.” He nuzzled his head into her hand, enjoying the feeling of her fingers in his unruly hair. When she changed the song, he turned to watch her face, humming softly along. “Cute, yeah. I love that one. I don’t know if they have any other songs you’d like, though. What’s your favorite non-ABBA song?”

“Hush up, I was talking figuratively.” Cleo laughed, trying not to sound too embarrassed. “Like you know when you hear a song or smell something and it takes you right back to a specific moment and it’s just so... whatever.” She shook her head and then smiled at him again. “Good. Once you’re healed up, come to me and I can give you one. It’ll be hand-poked so make sure you want something small or are prepared for it to hurt a bit.” She squinted as she tried to think, though it seemed like all the songs she knew left her head the moment he asked. “At the moment? Do you know Tegan and Sara?”

"Hey, I knew what you were talkin' about! There's a lot of songs that do that for me." He nudged her again and smiled, reassuring her that he hadn't been making fun of her. As she talked about tattoos, Graves' eyes glinted with mischief. "Only one? Well, alright. I think I can handle one hand-poke. Haven't you seen how many tattoos I have?" He laughed, pausing for a moment to think of the artist Cleo had named. "I don't think so? Play me your favorite of their songs?" With a soft smile, he quietly added, "Please?"

Cleo pouted down at Graves but smiled at him after a moment. "Okay, tough guy, in that case, I'll give you ten." She pressed her lips together and flushed, ducking her face away from him as he asked for her to play the song. She played it and stood, shaking her head at him. "You asked for this song without knowing... but it's impossible not to dance to." She laughed and started swaying around, then started jumping around as the beat picked up, laughing as she spun and held out a hand to him.

Graves scrunched his nose and laughed. "Ten? I can handle it, bring it on." He grinned and flexed his bicep, as if that would prove just how tough he was. He bopped his head along to the first few notes of the song, standing to take Cleo's hand with a bright smile. They danced for a few minutes, Graves laughing as he tried to keep up with her. He lifted his arm to twirl Cleo and pulled her close to him just before the song ended. His cheeks flushed and he looked away, breathless from dancing.

Cleo laughed, dancing along with him as she sang a few parts of the song. She took a moment to catch her breath and then grinned up at him and pulled away. “So that’s walk, check, dramatic karaoke, check. Anything else on the agenda?”

“Nah, I think we just about covered it all.” Graves stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he mumbled, flashing Cleo a sheepish grin.

“How dare you yawn.” Cleo laughed, stifling her own yawn as she took a seat on her bed. “It’s cool, I’m getting tired too. Gods, what an exciting Saturday night. Karaoke and in bed before midnight.”

Graves yawned again, trying not to laugh. "Don't forget hiking and stargazing. Ma'am you've had too much excitement for one night. I should- um," he gestured vaguely in the direction of the door.

Cleo smiled and watched him from where she sat on her bed. “Yeah.” She bit her lip. “Is it, um, hard to sleep with your shoulder like that?”

Graves blinked, “Oh, um. Yeah, I‘m supposed to keep the sling on and try sleep on my back but it’s not...that easy.”

She pursed her lips. “Would it be easier if, like, someone slept with you to make sure you stayed on your back? I mean, maybe you’re just a back sleeper, but, I dunno, I was just... thinking, I guess.”

His ears pinked as Graves tried not to smile. “It...would definitely be easier. I usually, um, sleep on my side.” He raised an eyebrow, “Is that, like, are you asking me to stay?”

Cleo half-rolled her eyes but stopped herself because yes, that was indeed what she was asking him. “Not if you don’t want to. Just, like, if you wanted to.” She felt her face grow hot.

“Really?” Graves looked away, hiding his goofy smile. “Yeah, I want to. You sure that’s okay?” He glanced back up at her, grinning from ear to ear.

Cleo pulled her shirt collar up over her nose so that he couldn’t see her smile. “Um, yeah, so long as you don’t mind a twin-point-five,” she said, letting her shirt drop back down as she patted her bed. “And do you need to borrow some sort of toothbrush? Or a shirt to sleep in?”

“Nah, I don’t- I don’t mind at all. A toothbrush would be great.” Graves rubbed his eye, a wave of exhaustion settling in now that they were talking about sleep. “Um, I can just? Sleep in this, I guess.”

"Okay." Cleo nodded and stood. She walked through her door and motioned for him to follow, leading them to her bathroom. She squatted down to look below the sink and pulled out a pack of cheap toothbrushes, then handed him one. "Got these a while back. So handy when your friends need to stay over because they're too drunk." She glanced up at him. "Or just cause." She smiled a bit and picked up her own toothbrush so that she could brush her teeth.

He followed Cleo into the bathroom, accepting the toothbrush with a quiet, “Thanks.” Graves brushed his teeth in silence, standing shoulder to shoulder with Cleo. He met her eyes in the bathroom mirror and winked, smiling around the toothbrush.

As she brushed her teeth, Cleo tried not to think about Bring it On, and instead tried to think about dental hygiene. She exhaled a small laugh through her nose, then spit, rinsed, and raised her eyebrows at him as she continues to brush her teeth.

Graves raised his eyebrows in return, spit, rinsed, and continued to brush his teeth, trying all the while not to laugh.

Cleo spit again and snorted as she rinsed out her mouth, leaning against the sink as she descended into a fit of giggles.

Graves finished brushing his teeth, looking at Cleo as he rinsed his toothbrush. "What? Do I have toothpaste on my face?"

“No.” She laughed, not quite sure as to why she was laughing. “You were giving me a look.”

Graves squinted, smirking. "Was I? Maybe it was just my normal expression."

Cleo shook her head, still grinning, as she clipped her hair back. “Well I guess you just have a funny normal expression, then.” She splashed water on her face.

"Harsh, Bancroft," he laughed, running a hand through his hair and moving to lean against the doorframe.

After Cleo washed her face, she turned to Graves, flushed, and led him back to her room, where she took off his flannel and draped it over his other flannel on the back of her chair. She looked from her bed to him and tilted her head. “I guess you can sleep on the outside and I’ll weigh you down on your left side? So you can’t roll over.”

Graves eyed Cleo's desk chair, shaking his head. "Are you just collectin' my flannels? Is that the fee to be graced with your presence?" He eyed her bed. "Um, yeah. That works, I guess." He blushed.

Cleo exhaled a laugh and climbed into bed. “Fee for being graced with my presence. I like that, yeah, let’s call it that.” She patted the space beside her. “If you wanna just walk home and not have me wrapped around you like an anchor that cool too.”

"Oh, no. Please. No, I'm stayin'." Graves blinked a few times, feeling his contacts still in his eyes. He knew he was going to regret sleeping in them come morning, but right now, he couldn't give a damn. He adjusted the strap of his sling and got into bed, taking the spot beside Cleo a little hesitantly.

Cleo shifted over as he got into bed and leaned over to turn her lamp off. She waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness to adjust her position against him. She rested her head on his shoulder but didn’t immediately wrap around him. “Comfy?”

Graves blinked in the darkness, then stretched out his arm so Cleo could rest more comfortably on him. He took a deep breath, feeling his cheeks get hot. "Um, yeah. Yes. Are you?"

Cleo cuddled closer to him, shifting a bit so that she was more comfortable. She hummed, then rolled over, still against him, and wrapped both of her arms around his, hugging it to her chest. “Yeah.”

"Okay, good," he answered, his voice low. Graves smiled as Cleo wrapped herself around his arm and pulled her a tiny bit closer. "Thanks for letting me stay," he whispered.

Cleo pressed her cheek against his arm and hooked her foot around his ankle. “Thanks for being my body pillow space heater,” she whispered back.

Graves let his eyes drift closed. "Anytime, Bancroft," he mumbled, voice heavy with sleep now that his head was on a pillow.

[blitzturtles]

[[Erasermic. Day 6: Recognition, Appreciation, Admiration. I’ll post on Ao3 in a bit. This is quite possibly the longest thing I’ve written in years.]]

-

They tell him that the odds don’t look good. They’ve done everything they can. Recovery Girl can only do so much with her quirk, and his body is limited on what it can take. His energy is low, among other things. The trauma and stress don’t need to be compounded more than they already have been.

He knows the situation must be particularly grim, since they don’t offer him a number. No statistics or similar anecdotes to base some hope off of.

He doesn’t necessarily feel anything right now, anyways. Hope would take far too much commitment. His only real concern right now is how he’s going to tell Hizashi.

-

His husband is, understandably, crushed by the news. Hizashi tries not to show it. His words are optimistic, tone upbeat, but the foundation is shaken. There’s doubt blooming underneath. Hizashi knows his husband to be strong, but he also knows the compounding past injuries takes a toll, and if Recovery Girl can’t fix it… who can?

-

Reality doesn’t greet him like an old friend so much as a scorned lover. The first slap stings. Sharp and unexpected. He feels burning underneath the bandages and thinks wetness would follow if he were actually capable of crying. When he hasn’t quite gotten over the initial shock, she reminds him of everything he’s lost. Everything he’s yet to, but will, lose. She spares no details, and he clings to each one with ever growing regret.

He will never get to see the look on Shinsou’s face as he steps into the classroom as part of the Hero course for the first time. He will never again see one of Eri’s rare smiles as she slowly adjusts to the world around her. He will never get to see the irritated look that he gets from a particularly expressive feline that will then turn her tail to him and disappear to sulk after he didn’t return home for a few days. He will never see any of the kids again, and he knows there’s no way he can continue to be their teacher. He might be able to finish out the year with some help, but he would be a hindrance. Keeping him on the staff would be more sentimental than logical. Never mind his work as a hero.

Worse than any of that is how he will never again get to see his husband’s face.

-

He does his best to act strong. Particularly when Hizashi visits him. It’s easier in the hospital. He plans everything by his husband’s schedule, making sure that his afternoon walks and bathroom breaks are out of the way by the time Hizashi returns. He doesn’t want his husband to have to watch him stumble about with uncertainty and anxiety. He does the same when it comes to taking his medications and redressing the wound.

The most frustrating part is that he’s trained himself blind before. He’s always known that his eyes could be a target, and that means he needs to be useful enough to either escape from the sort of situation that leaves him blind or be useful enough to keep from hindering any fellow heroes. None of that training seems to matter now.

No one can blame Hizashi for not noticing the scheduling. He has so much to deal with.

-

It’s when they return home that everything becomes a problem. Hizashi stays beside him. Ever patient and upbeat. He walks slow and announces obstacles in advance, and he doesn’t comment on the general gracelessness and stumbling that occurs. 

The only true blessing that comes with returning home is that he finally gets a real shower.

-

He returns to work despite protests. The school isn’t exactly looking to hire anyone on short notice just to fill in the last couple of weeks. It’s too much of a security risk. Besides, having him there, no matter how limited he might be, is better than having to completely fill in for his absence. 

The kids don’t give him nearly as much trouble now. They’re too afraid to upset him.

-

Healing sessions with Recovery Girl take place once a week. They aren’t to better his chances at recovering his sight, and he knows that. There had been a very awkward conversation that insured he understood that. This is strictly to encourage tissue regrowth and to cut down the risk of infection.

After every session, his eyes are wrapped once more, and he’s left to wait for his husband. When they get home, he goes to bed and pretends it’s the exhaustion from Recovery Girl’s quirk and not anything deeper. 

-

“Why are we still doing this?” He doesn’t mean it to sound as demanding and ungrateful as it does, but he’s so frustrated. They’ve long since gotten passed the stage where they’ve healed him beyond the risk for infection. He doesn’t see the point of going any further.

“Shou…” Hizashi can’t bring himself to say anything else, and it only makes him angrier. It’s irrational. He knows it is, but he’s so damn tired. 

Recovery Girl doesn’t immediately say anything, and he can practically hear the way her lips purse. 

He wishes he hadn’t spoken up at all. Regret fills him instantly. The silence is somehow worse than the babbling that had been happening before his little outburst. This has been his life lately. Guilt eats at him constantly. Every little thing is a reminder.

“We want to restore as much as we can,” the doctor -- and Shouta really ought to know his name by now considering how long it’s been -- says. He’s the only one of the three that speaks so frankly. Usually that’s Recovery Girl’s job, but she’s understanding of his frustrations. As much as she can be. “This will allow for normal functioning in terms of eye movement.”

So he can look normal without being it. As if aesthetic has ever been a concern for him, but he shoots that negativity down by trying to be reasonable about it. He’s had his sight his entire life. Eye movement has been a part of his communication for as long as he’s been allowed to do so freely. It makes sense that they would want to restore what they can. 

“Right,” he says eventually. 

Recovery Girl resumes wordlessly with Hizashi and the doctor equally silent on either side of her.

-

He never could have imagined his migraines getting worse, especially not after losing his eyesight. Photosensitivity has always been one of the most significant factors that determined the severity of one of his migraines. He swears it still does, but he knows it’s absurd. His eyes might look relatively normal now, but they don’t respond to light. 

Despite all the logic and reasoning, he ends up wrapping bandages around his eyes and crawling into bed far too early. 

The next day, he does something he’s never done before: he calls off work. Come the day after that, he does it again. The day after that, he fails to wake up.

-

Everything hurts. His whole body feels exactly like he’s been run over by a train, and his head is going to explode any minute now. He must make a sound, because there’s someone beside him, touching him. He can’t make out the words that follow, but there’s more noise and then blissful relief. 

-

The next time he wakes up, he doesn’t feel quite like his head is stuffed full of C4 and ready to blow. 

“Hey,” Hizashi says from somewhere on his left. He’s definitely been crying, if his voice is anything to go by.

“Hey,” he whispers back. His own voice sounds almost as rough. 

“You scared me,” Hizashi breathes the words out in one rush of air. His hand reaches for Shouta’s, and he holds on like both of their lives depend on it. 

“What happened?” Shouta says instead of saying, ‘I’m sorry’. He feels like that’s gotten a bit stale over the last few months.

Hizashi hesitates somewhat, “They don’t know for sure. Whatever it was, it’s passed, but…” It doesn’t stop Hizashi from worrying or the hospital from doing more tests. There are plenty of things that won’t show up once the event is over, and plenty more that can lie in wait.

He squeezes Hizashi’s hand gently. “I’m okay,” he tries to reassure. That’s not his area of expertise, but he doesn’t know what else to do given the circumstances. He feels like he could sleep a month straight, but he has a feeling the hospital staff won’t let him.

“Recovery Girl is on her way. She’s going to look you over,” make sure the doctors didn’t miss anything. That there isn’t something to heal so much as some kind of bizarre, one-off occurrence. 

He nods and instantly regrets it. A quiet groan escapes him, and Hizashi is petting through his hair in an instant, redirecting his attention from the nausea that bubbles up. “Get some sleep, Shou.”

-

The next time he opens his eyes, it feels like he’s peeling the lids apart. The surface burns horribly, and his fingers twitch for eye drops. Something cool pulls across his skin, reminding him that he’s still in the hospital with at least one line in his arm. He frowns in its general direction and tries to recall everything that happened. 

He vaguely remembers talking to the Principal. Vaguely. How many days ago had that been? He recalls pain after that, and then Hizashi’s voice, and maybe Recovery Girl’s? There’s beeping in there somewhere, but none of it works together in a way that makes sense.

His husband -- or who he assumes to be his husband -- stirs beside him. He turns his head in that direction, but that effort is as useless as every other attempt at information gathering he’s gone for so far. Hizashi is one, vague blur. The only notable thing that he can make out is that his husband’s hair isn’t up, which means he isn’t here straight from patrol or the studio. 

Then, rather abruptly, he says, “You have your hair down,” with such disbelief that Hizashi makes a confused noise.

“I lost my hair ti-” He cuts himself off and stares for several, long seconds. “What did you just say?”

He wants to say something intelligent, but all he can do is repeat himself, “You have your hair down.” In his defense, it’s really the only detail he can make out.

The rush of movement probably shouldn’t surprise him, but it does make him a little dizzy, especially when Hizashi collides into him with his arms squeezing a bit too tightly to be comfortable.

Everything after that is a bit of a whirlwind.

-

The doctor warns him about becoming too optimistic. The fact that he’s regained any vision at all is already a miracle in of itself. There’s nothing to say that he’ll recover any more of it. 

-

Weeks go by, and very little changes in terms of his sight. Everything is blurred together and a lot of detail gets completely lost. He can’t see anything on the board or in textbooks. If he has it close enough, there’s smudges of black, but, at a normal distance, the ink gets swallowed by the white. 

His quirk likes to switch on at odd times, which has made for some interesting training situations for the kids. It only lasts for a second, possibly two, but he deems it long enough to be problematic in the future. Support fixes up his goggles to completely shade his eyes. Yagi’s more than happy to fill him in with his own version of a play-by-play. 

He’s yet to have any success with triggering his quirk on purpose. Sometimes it makes him feel useless, but he’s been teaching kids for long enough that he knows he has value elsewhere. Part of him is holding out hope that he can figure out the quirk thing. If only so he can activate it long enough to slow his students down.

-

Shinsou insists on training. 

Shouta thinks the kid might have a bit of a sadistic streak, but he also thinks he might deserve the amount of time he spends on his ass after the first few training sessions where he had done the same to Shinsou. The kid is determined, though. He does his best to egg Shouta on. It doesn’t work in the traditional sense. He doesn’t get angry, but it does get him up because Shinsou expects him to, and he can’t let Shinsou down.

-

“You’re like me,” Eri says to him out of the blue one day. When he and Shinsou have decided to take a day to rest and Hizashi is actually home without much more than a little light grading to do.

Shouta blinks at her, but he can’t make out her expression. “How’s that?”

Eri holds up her arm and reaches for one of his hands.

Shouta lets himself be guided. His fingers run over the bumps of scar tissue like they have dozens of times before, but then Eri reaches up to touch his face. Her fingers run along the scars surrounding his eyes. 

‘Oh.’ Shouta barely knows how to respond to that, but he doesn’t need to, really.

Eri wraps her arms around as much of his middle as she can reach. He hugs her back gently, but then she’s gone in a flash. Bouncing off already to go chase down one of the cats. 

-

“Does it bother you?” He asks Hizashi one day. 

“What?” The confusion in Hizashi’s voice in genuine. He isn’t playing dumb, and that frustrates Shouta a bit. He doesn’t know how to ask without it sounding like an accusation. 

“Me,” he says it with such uncertainty that Hizashi seems to put the pieces together.

“‘Course not, Shouta. Why would it?”

“You were excited. At the hospital.”

“Oh,” Hizashi sounds like someone might have punched the air out of his lungs. “Oh, Shouta. That’s not- I mean, yes, I was excited, but you… you should have seen your face.”

Of all the explanations and answers he had prepared himself for hearing, Shouta doesn’t think that’s one of them. “What?”

“You looked so amazed and relieved, Shou. It was exciting, yeah, but your face was… you forgot about the last few months.”

It’s Shouta’s turn to let out a little, breathless, ‘Oh’, though he doesn’t recover as quickly as Hizashi did to follow it up with anything semi-intelligent.

The blonde doesn’t seem to mind. He pulls Shouta in against his chest and tucks Shouta’s head under his chin. “I love you. No matter what,” he murmurs against Shouta’s long hair.

“I love you, too,” Shouta says. What he doesn’t say, but means just as much, is, ‘Thank you.’

[cobblepot-comfort]

The Rescue

Chapter 5 - Served

‘Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light’ - Oswald Cobblepot

‘....And if one of them stumbles and falls in the dark, the other will catch them and lift them up again <3’ - Cobblepot’s Comfort

“Back on kitchen duty, I see, Cobblepot,” Jim remarked saucily, as he slipped his hands inside the penguin patterned apron, sweeping his hands high and low over his lover’s warm naked skin.  He nuzzled at Oswald's neck and nipped at his ear, hearing him making a little humming noise and feeling him quiver and arch his neck in response.

Oswald had kept the apron on especially for Jim, wrapped around his naked body - and there could not have been a better homecoming present for his tired, frustrated cop -  in the cutest wrapping.

Oswald felt liberated, cool and comfortable, and this could only enhance his lovemaking abilities.

He turned and threw his arms around Jim’s neck, making Jim jump with surprise and then embrace him eagerly.

“Before you serve me, I want to serve you - my King!” Jim murmured, nuzzling again at Oswald’s neck and pressing his lips against his warm, soft skin.

Oswald quivered and arched his neck again,  but this time he pulled away - teasing himself by denying himself the sensuous feel of Jim’s mouth on his skin.  His piercing eyes stared deeply into Jim’s, studying their darkening blue irises with delight.

His lips stretched into a knowing,  feline smile.

“Are you serious, James?”  he purred, cocking his head curiously.  “You want to....serve me?  You want to be my slave?”  His eyes glinted playfully.

“Yes, I do. I am serious. I want you to dominate me.  I’ll obey you, I’ll do anything you ask!”

Oswald’s eyes opened wide and flashed with excitement.  His pupils dilated with arousal, his breath quickened and his heart started to race.

Up until this moment, he  had been too shy to initiate proceedings, but now he felt a rush of adrenalin, a force hitherto unknown to him, power coursing through his veins, and all because of this man - this handsome man, who loved him, and would do anything for him….just anything….

And of course, if he was expecting to be mastered, he would hate to disappoint him…

“Very well - get down on your knees - now!”  he commanded.

Jim fell to his knees, glad to be subservient to his beautiful kingpin.  He looked up, his eyes full of longing, waiting for instructions.

 Oswald lifted his apron -  revealing the majestic jewels in his kingpin’s crown.

Jim's eyes opened wide, his pupils blown,  gazing upon the sight lustfully.  He tormented himself by waiting for Oswald to give the order.

Oswald stared down at Jim's expectant face, making sure to make him wait, but not too long...

“Now!” he ordered, his eyes full of animation.

“Your Majesty,” Jim said solemnly,  then he reached out and grasped his prize.  He toyed with it teasingly, seeing - and feeling - its magnificence grow in his hand before taking it eagerly into his mouth. 

Oswald’s knees went weak as he felt Jim’s wet, warm and hungry lips close around him.  He dropped the apron and grabbed onto Jim’s shoulders to steady himself.

He gave a soft moan, forgetting the role-play - he was putty in Jim’s hands again now.  Jim hummed happily in response - his sounds of pleasure muffled by the apron canopy draped over his head.

Oswald closed his eyes tightly,  feeling Jim’s amazing actions and listening with delight to the sensational sounds he was making.    He trembled to feel Jim’s warm breath on his skin, gasped as Jim’s hands lovingly stroked his thighs and then clutched his naked cheeks, grasping them and holding on tightly.

He began to rock his hips, and Jim responded immediately by taking him in deeper.  Oswald groaned with much more than gratitude and began to thrust harder.

He opened his eyes and glanced down, amused to see Jim's head bobbing up, down, up, down, under the penguin patterned  apron.  It looked like he was being given head by a ghost  -  with a legion of dancing penguins!  That was adorable.  Halloween had come early, and he was sure he would too….

He gave whined and gasped with ecstasy as his climax rapidly approached. 

Jim was serving him so well…  going harder, faster, making sounds of pleasure as he pleased  his man.   Oswalds grip on Jim’s shoulders tightened,  and he prepared for his moment of sweet release.

Oh, he was so happy, he had Jim, and now Jim was having him….

He remembered the time when Jim had taken him on the sofa - he had been on his back, his legs akimbo, Jim inside him and thrusting furiously and gasping “God, you're beautiful!”  over and over again. And just before they had both come he had suddenly cried out,  "Oh Jim! I want your babies!"  It had just spilled from his mouth before he knew what he was saying.

That had made for a very interesting post-coital conversation, and it was a subject they would bring up quite frequently afterwards - it would have a very special meaning to them in the future.

Then there was the time when Jim had been in the middle of things and cried out “I don't deserve all this beauty!” That had made Oswald come so fast, he'd been turned on so much.  His handsome Jim, saying that,  was almost too precious for him to handle…..

He never knew he could be so happy.

A few weeks earlier,  the situation had been very different….

It had been some time since Oswald had been rescued by his loving police detective.  Now he was back on his feet, recovering well from his ordeal with the aid of Jim’s love and care, Lee's medical expertise, and, last but not least,  his own bloody-minded determination.  After all, how could he possibly get revenge on the Galavans if he was lying in bed, immobilised?

Lee looked in on him from time to time, and was more than satisfied with his progress.  She hoped she wouldn’t have to make many more visits - for more reasons than one.

Jim had felt honour bound to take Lee aside discreetly and break it to her that he was involved with Oswald on a personal level.  She had tried her best to act surprised, but it had been more than a little apparent that this news hadn’t come as a total shock to her.

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into here, Jim,"  had been her cautious comment on the matter.

“Lee - look,  I know you don’t understand my feelings, and I know you don’t trust Oswald - but I do know what I’m getting myself into.  I - well, I love him, Lee - and I know he  feels the same about me.  I’d trust him with my life.  No, don’t look like that  - please. I would. And  I want to bring the Galavans to justice - not just for him, or for us, but for everyone in Gotham. We can’t have Galavan remaining as mayor - I’m sure you agree with that, at least.  Please believe me, and I am sorry if hearing this upsets you….”

“I’m not upset, Jim - I’m just concerned about you.  I don't mean to be hurtful about Oswald, but  he is a criminal and so it's natural for me to be cynical.   And….  I have to admit, Jim, if I’m honest with myself, I’m asking myself how he made you feel something that I couldn't….”

Jim’s face crumpled. “Lee, please, don’t….”

“No, it’s ok, Jim - I’m sure I’ll get over it, I just need time.  I guess...well, we can’t have been meant for each other.  I couldn’t have made you happy, and you couldn’t have made me happy either - face it Jim, we were kidding ourselves by thinking we could belong together.  But, Jim -  I DO still care about you.”

“Thanks, Lee.  I know I don’t deserve that, so it means a lot to me.   I care about you, too, and I’ll always be grateful that you saved Oswald’s life - I’ll never forget that.”  

“You know I would have done the same for anyone, Jim.  I’m a doctor!  Saving people’s lives is what I do….”

“Yeah, I know - but I’m still grateful all the same.   And it’s great knowing we have someone we can trust to keep this under wraps.   Hopefully you won’t have to keep this secret for much longer, once we’ve dealt with the Galavans.  But for now, it’s better if they believe that Oswald didn’t make it….that he bled to death, all alone….” 

Jim paused to swallow down the lump that came to his throat.

“Hey - Jim -  I’m sure everything will be ok,”  Lee cut in, giving him a brief, light touch on his arm.   “And I do hope Theo and Tabitha both end up behind bars.  They are hateful people.  I’ll do all I can to help with that too - you know, with the evidence and all.  I can get Ed to help, he’s really smart and y’know, in a funny way I feel that he can be trusted to keep a secret too - although we both know he’s a little weird!”

They both laughed, the tension lifted for a few moments.

But Jim was overwhelmed with Lee’s genuine kindness and concern.   He hoped she would find a love that was as powerful and deep as the love he shared with his beautiful gangster.

Because he loved Oswald so much it hurt.  He knew he was a dead dog for the Penguin and he was glad to feel that way.

“Seriously - thanks, Lee,” he added, smiling softly, and he gave her a fleeting kiss on the cheek.

Lee blushed.  “Seriously - you’re so bad, you know that?” she laughed incredulously. “Oswald Cobblepot is one lucky guy.”

Now Oswald was able to function independently, he had been moved to a new safe house on the outskirts of the city.

The little gangster had promised that he would start cooking REAL food for them both - emphasising the word ‘real’ with a meaningful stretch of his black brows that had made Jim chuckle on the outside and melt on the inside.  

Jim couldn’t remember when he last laughed so much or felt so bright.   His heart felt light despite all his worries about the tricky situation they were in and the lurking memory of the traumas and tragedies they had both experienced.  No matter how dire their situation seemed, they could always manage to make each other smile.  

“If that’s not love, I don’t know what is," Jim had remarked, staring at Oswald adoringly and fondly stroking the dimples on his face.   Oswald had lifted his hand and held it against Jim's in tacit agreement, his ice blue eyes igniting with joy.

Oswald was on a mission to recreate his mother’s signature goulash for their dinner that evening.  This was no mean feat - he was anxious to execute this recipe exactly as his mother would have done. 

He was sure that Jim would say it was delicious no matter how it tasted,  but he, Oswald Cobblepot, the son of a humble yet accomplished cook, had his mother’s very high standards to live up to - and this was a wonderful way to honour her memory, but he also didn’t want to shame it by creating anything less than a masterpiece.

He suddenly wondered - with a sharp pang in his breast -  how much progress Jim had made in his search for her body…. he was trying his best to be patient….he knew Jim would tell him if she’d been found.  He really needed to hold her again, say a proper goodbye, and give her the decent burial she deserved.   It would be terribly traumatic, he knew that, but he couldn’t rest until he saw her again, and she had been taken care of properly and shown the respect that was due to her.

“Mother, this is for you,” he said softly, tears coming to his eyes, as he prepared to get together all the ingredients and utensils he needed.  

Jim had been tasked with buying the ingredients for the goulash using the recipe Oswald had provided - along with other ‘essential’ items he always brought in with the groceries.  The olive oil always came in handy for many applications and some gave more exciting results than others.

Jim made sure he ticked off each item as he was going along,  just to make sure he missed nothing.  His fussy Cobblepot had emphasised most strongly how important this recipe was. 

“And you don’t want to risk me giving you a tongue lashing, do you dear - well, not the bad kind anyway!” Oswald had said, with a wink.

However, when Oswald came to make the goulash, he couldn’t find the paprika anywhere in the house.  He hunted high and low, to no avail.

There was no way he would even attempt to follow his mothers recipe without paprika, it was a key ingredient!  

He would just have to call Jim.  This was a very important mission.  He’d said not to bother him unless it was urgent, but well, this WAS urgent - wasn’t it?   He couldn’t let his mother down - he was sure she would haunt him if he got this wrong.  Surely Jim would understand….after all, it was for his benefit too.

Meanwhile, at the GCPD:

Jim’s senses were on high alert.  He had new leads not only on the case against Galavan but also on the whereabouts of Gertrud’s body.  And the two weren’t mutually exclusive, because the stab wound on Gertrud’s back was bound to hold a clue to the weapon that was used to despatch the poor innocent old woman who had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Which would most likely be the dagger owned by a certain cold-blooded murderer, Tabitha Galavan.

He didn’t want to mention any of this to Oswald yet, especially as he still didn’t have any concrete evidence - he wasn’t sure of his sources - but his nerves were jangling with anticipation.  

Oswald’s heart had already been broken, and Jim was trying his best to put together the pieces again, protect him, and then prepare him for the next inevitable trauma as much as he could. And that included preventing him from doing something they might both live to regret. 

“Be careful about calling me at work - only call if it’s really urgent, ok Ozzy?”  Jim had emphasised, softening his stern command with a gentle kiss, just before he’d left the house that morning.  

“Mmmm.  Loved that kiss!  Detective, you’re sexy when you’re assertive, did you know that?”  Oswald had replied silkily, distractedly straightening the knot in Jim’s tie and patting it into place.  

Jim was, as usual, completely disarmed by the sight of Oswald’s fluttering raven lashes, the smell of the fragrant scent on his newly-bathed body and the sound of his rich, seductive tone.    It had taken all his resolve to resist taking his beautiful dark angel into his arms, forgetting that he really had to be in work that day,  and showing him just how sexy he could be.  

“Do that thing you do to me, my sexy Detective,” Oswald had coaxed only last night - his pretty lips pursed, and his blue eyes blinking - and how could Jim refuse?  Despite his extreme fatigue, his body took over on autopilot.  He had resisted the urge to roll over and go to sleep and had ravished his kingpin eagerly until they had both fallen asleep, blissfully exhausted, in the early hours of that morning.

The pair’s lovemaking had become more frequent and vigorous with Oswald’s return to health.  Jim’s shy virgin had really come out of his shell - being increasingly willing both to receive and return the sexual favours Jim bestowed on him.  Jim wasn’t about to complain about that, even when he turned up to work looking and feeling half asleep after a night of the most amazing sex he’d ever had.  And that was no exaggeration.  He had never known anything like this. Oswald had taken him over completely,  body and soul.

Jim still hadn’t told Harvey that he was sheltering - or, of course, ‘sleeping’ with -  Oswald.  To all intents and purposes, Oswald Cobblepot was still missing, and luckily for Jim, Harvey didn’t even think to ask about him. Well, why would he - he didn’t care, along with Alvarez, Barbara, and all the other officers inhabiting that precinct.

If only they could see Oswald through his eyes - and feel him through his heart - he knew they must change their opinions, at least a little.

However,  to Jim’s surprise,  there was one person who had shown an interest in Oswald’s whereabouts.

The man had given him the fright of his life as he was bending over the case files, deep in thought, to have him suddenly speak as if from the ether.

“Hey Jim,” the voice behind him had said, and Jim had almost jumped out of his skin as he’d spun round to see a smiling Ed Nygma studying him with what seemed like amused curiosity.

He was an odd guy!   Always talking in riddles.  Lee had let him stay on as her assistant - after her predecessor left under a cloud - because he was really intellectually bright, exceptionally good at forensics, and ‘he seems sweet and harmless, if a little strange’’ - in her words.  Yep -  there was something definitely not quite normal about him. 

Then again, this WAS Gotham….normality was in short supply around here.

Jim usually humoured Ed politely, but on this occasion what the tall man with the nerdy glasses said made him pay attention -  and wonder about the man’s underlying motive.

“Hey, Ed. What can I do for you?” Jim had said - with forced politeness.  He really could have done without the interruption.

“Well, nothing, Jim,” Ed laughed nervously.  “I just had a thought, that’s all.”

“A thought?  What about, Ed?”

“Well, Jim - it’s this.  You know that little guy who came to see you a while back  - the one with the limp, the one Galavan shot…”

“Oswald...erm, Cobblepot?”  Jim faltered.

“Oh - yes.  That’s him.  Oswald Cobblepot.  Disdainful little fella, told me to keep my distance if I remember rightly…he told me I was standing too close….”  Ed chuckled and tilted his head thoughtfully.  “I had to back off, y’know, the way he was looking…”

“What about him?”  Jim had cut in quickly.

He felt irritated, and also a little off guard, but he also couldn’t help feeling relieved that Oswald had been so dismissive in his ‘brief encounter’ with Ed.   A little green eyed monster had crept into his brain, and try as he might to shake it off, it still whispered, “Yeah, keep your distance Nygma - he’s mine!”

But irrational jealousy wasn’t the only emotion bothering him.   He felt guilt too - deep, painful remorse.  He remembered that day vividly, and he couldn’t forget the shabby way he had treated Oswald.  

The little kingpin had made a special visit to present Jim personally with an invitation to his club’s opening.   He had looked so excited, his ice blue gaze lighting up with warmth - all starry eyes and hopeful smiles, as soon as he had caught sight of his favourite police detective.

And he had been so keen for Jim to accept his invitation, risking ridicule and derision from all of the officers on duty there, as he had thrust the card into Jim’s hand and held it there, saying “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

The look on his face, his smile fading, at Jim’s stubborn refusal to accept  had torn at Jim’s heart.  The feel of his hand, holding onto his just for a second, had filled Jim with a desperate desire that he couldn’t afford to admit to.

 He still felt so bad about that!  

He’d been scared to show his true feelings, and had over-compensated by behaving like a total asshole towards Oswald.  But he was determined to make up for that now, and Oswald seemed happy enough with his efforts so far.

“I hope you find him.  You know, still alive.  He’s an interesting guy!” Ed continued, staring thoughtfully at Jim through his heavy rimmed spectacles.

“Find him?  That would suppose I was actively looking for him,” Jim said cautiously, holding Ed’s gaze as steadily as he could so as not to arouse his suspicion.

“Oh. Yeah.  Sure.  Why would you go looking for him, right?  You’ve got better things to do,” Ed shrugged casually.  “Anyways Jim, just thought I’d ask.  It’s not that important.  Well I’m off then, toodles!”  he’d grinned, and turned sharply and shuffled away, casting Jim another awkward toothy smile over his shoulder as he went.

Jim wondered if Ed had guessed an inkling about the truth?  He was super smart, after all….he hoped he hadn’t, at least not yet.

Jim was talking to Barbara and felt his cell rumble in his pocket.  When he withdrew it he saw Oswald's name flashing up on his phone screen.   He masked the screen swiftly, excused himself and made his way as fast as he could to a place of privacy, the phone still buzzing in his hand as he left the precinct for the street outside.

He had to  find out what was wrong, Ozzy might be in terrible danger…or maybe he’d even had  a relapse of some kind?

”Hey - are you ok?”  he panted breathlessly.

“Ah, hello honey,” came the velvety voice on the other end, sounding very unlike anyone who was currently going through any kind of crisis.  “Why, of course I’m ok!  Are you alright James, you sound really out of breath…or is this your idea of a heavy breathing call? If so please carry on, I like it!”

To say Jim frowned with annoyance would be putting it mildly.

“Ozzy - what the hell?!” Jim responded in a low hiss.  “I thought you’d been attacked or something!”

“Oh!  Really, Jim?  What made you think that?”  Oswald replied innocently.

“Because I thought it was an emergency!  Remember what I said to you this morning, Oswald? About not calling unless it was VERY urgent?”

“Oh.  Hmmm, I see.  Well Jim, this IS very urgent, in a way.  Do you know where the paprika is?”

Jim’s response was understandably abrupt.

Then he got called back in by Alvarez, and so had to leave off calling Ozzy back, which wasn’t really ideal  because he immediately felt bad about the way he had spoken to him, despite the provocation.  

He couldn’t stand to leave things on such a negative note - and despite being so busy on the case, Jim longed to call Oswald right back and apologise.  Oswald was too precious to him, he just couldn’t leave things the way they were. 

He longed to hear his lover's velvet voice again - it was all he needed right now.  

However,  he couldn’t call him because Alvarez had stressed the urgency of the matter in hand.

When he went back into the precinct,  Alvarez, Barbara and Harvey were all waiting to break the news.  There was a strange silence about the place, the atmosphere heavy and expectant.

Gertrud’s body had finally been found and she was lying in the morgue, waiting for her son to identify her.  The son who everyone believed was probably himself dead. 

Jim listened to all they had to say, his brow furrowing.  He tried not to show too much emotion, but it was killing him.  He had to go to Ozzy and tell him….

So as soon as he could, he excused himself, saying he had to go to the restroom.

He went off to find somewhere quiet, and ended up in the deserted locker room. 

When Oswald answered the phone, Jim’s heart turned over.  He didn’t know where to start.

So he began by apologising for his terse response to Oswald's earlier call.

“Jim, my dear, think nothing of it.  I realise I caught you at a bad time.   I just wanted this dinner to be perfect, you see.  But seriously, James -  I didn’t realise how much that call would worry you.  I’m sorry.  It won’t happen again - I promise.  Anyway, the goulash is simmering away nicely now, it smells divine, and I just tasted it - it’s perfect!  Mother would be proud.”  

His voice wavered a little and he cleared his throat.  

“Anyway,” he continued brightly, “the meat will be lovely and tender by the time you get here.  And, um, speaking of ‘tender’, Jim - can you guess what I’m wearing at the moment?”

“Erm….wearing?”  

Jim gulped hard.  He was suddenly aroused, and this was highly inappropriate in the situation - with Ozzy’s mum lying in the morgue, and Ozzy completely unaware of it - but he couldn’t help himself.  

“Yes Jim, you know, clothes….”

“Yeah yeah I know what you mean,” Jim interrupted quickly. “Erm...Ozzy….seriously...”

“You want to be serious?!  Oh James, dear, you really are no fun sometimes, ha ha!  All right, I’ll tell you.  It’s that lovely apron you bought for me.  Because I’m busy cooking dinner at the moment.”

“Apron?”  Jim echoed.  Ozzy sounded so happy, he hated to spoil this.  He wanted to stay in this perfect moment, just the two of them in this bubble of bliss, flirting shamelessly on the phone.

“Yes Jim -   you know, the one you bought for me just last week, the one with with the baby penguins all over it?”

“Ah.  Yeah, sorry, I’ve just got a lot on my mind today.  Yep,  of course I remember it.  Glad to hear you’re making use of it,” Jim replied gruffly.   He coughed awkwardly.

“Come on man, for God’s sake, just tell him!” his inner voice shouted, but he still couldn’t begin to form the words.

He couldn’t break Oswald’s heart like this.  He had to go home and tell him face-to-face.  Hold him, comfort him and prepare him for this next  ordeal.  He didn’t care about anything else.

Then he visualised his little Ozzy wearing that adorable apron, and his heart just melted.  The corners of his mouth lifted, despite what he knew.  

“I bet you look cute,” he said softly.

“Oh yes Jim.  I do.   Very cute.  It’s a great pity you’re not here to see just how cute I do look, Detective.    And oh it’s so hot in this kitchen at the moment, so I’m not wearing a stitch underneath, it’s so cool and comfortable, Jim!”

“Erm.…what!?”  Jim’s eyebrows almost hit the roof, along with the tone of his voice.  For a moment or two, he completely forgot the original purpose of his call.

“Yes, honey - you heard right.   I’m buck naked under this apron, Mr Police Detective.   What do you want to do about that?  Do you want to investigate further?”  Oswald probed.

Oh, the things Jim would love to do about it - and he would so love to investigate further - but his hands were tied, and not in a good way.  He felt himself grow and harden in between, he so wanted to show Oswald exactly what he wanted to do about it….but he knew he couldn’t.  And shouldn’t.

He felt guilty for feeling lustful.  He still had that difficult news to deliver and he would be going home for a totally different purpose than the one he would like right now..

“You know I do,  sweetheart,” he sighed.  “But….”

And then the door was flung open, and Harvey strode in.

Jim quickly hung up.  “Damnit - can’t a man get any privacy in this place?!” he thought angrily.  

“Harv,” he sighed, with thinly-veiled frustration. 

“Hey Jim.  I wondered where you’d gone, and came looking for you.  This is the last place I’d expect to find you, I have to say.  Who were you just talking to, buddy?”  

“No-one,” Jim said defensively. 

“No-one, huh?” said Harvey, staring at him with a puzzled expression.

“Yeah -  like I said.  It was just….a junk call,”  Jim floundered.

“A junk call?  But I swear I heard you use the word sweetheart, Jim.”

“Oh - did you?  Well - I was just being sarcastic, that’s all.  You know, as in, don’t bother me sweetheart, I don’t want any of your company's shaving cream.”  Jim hoped Harvey couldn't see the beads of perspiration starting to spring out on his brow.

“Ahh, well,” Harvey sighed.  “That’s a shame, Jim.  Cos y’see, I was maybe thinking you had a new woman in your life, or something.    I mean, you’ve been walking around like there’s bluebirds tweeting around your head just lately, proper Snow White territory!   Plus, you've been coming in looking like you hardly slept and when I made remarks about it, you just had that look you always get when you're keeping things from me.  And you come in smelling of a certain scent I’ve not smelt on you before.  A partner picks these things up, y’see.  And since you broke up with Lee I sort of expected you to mope around, but you’ve been the exact opposite. You haven't got back together with her and not told me, have you? You two have been a little furtive just lately, whispering and stuff…. "

"No, Harv, we haven't," Jim cut in impatiently.

"Ah. Right. Well, you haven't got a new woman then have you?"

Jim rolled his eyes and huffed, "No, Harv, I do not have a new woman!"

"No need to get snappy Jim. Just wondered why you've been so preoccupied of late, that's all."

"Sorry Harv. I guess it's this case against Galavan, it's been on my mind a lot."

“Well, yeah - I guess I can understand that.  Still,  now we found Gertrud Kapelputs body, God rest her soul, it might just make his conviction for murder a lot easier.  Pity her son’s not around to identify her though, huh?  I mean, he’s probably dead in a ditch somewhere himself by now, right?”

Jim winced.

He'd been trying to keep that image out of his head.

“Erm, Harv,” he said,  “I need to get out of here, now.  There’s something I really need to do...I'll explain everything when I get back....” 

“Erm, sure, Jim….”

He knew he would have to tell Harvey, and he would have to hope he could trust him.  But first and foremost, he had to go to Oswald and break the news in person. Now, not a second later.

Jim called Oswald before he drove off to tell him he was on the way home, apologising for hanging up on him so abruptly. 

 “It’s ok, honey, I appreciate you were interrupted, glad you managed to get away,”  Oswald replied graciously.

“That’s very understanding,” Jim said.  “Thank you Ozzy.  Are you ok?”

He was so glad he was now able to talk to Ozzy openly and express his feelings to him without worrying about prying eyes and intrusive ears.

He would of course have to extend the  knowledge of his relationship with Oswald not only to Harvey, but maybe even Barbara and Alvarez - something he really wasn't relishing - but he put that to the back of his mind.

Oswlad was his chief concern - always.

“Well Jim, yes, I’m fine - but of course, I’ll be much better when you get here.  I miss you.” 

"Awwww.  Ditto sweetheart."

"Ahhh James. So glad you're coming back now. You’re early, I won’t ask why - I’m just glad.  I'll have a lovely surprise waiting for you when you get here. Bet you can’t guess what it is!" 

Jim swallowed hard.   He would be spoiling the lovely surprise Oswald had planned - and he knew it was a good one, Ozzy sounded like he was excited enough to burst.  His heart ached so much for him.

"That's great," he said gently, trying to inject a smile into his voice.  "And no, I’m clueless, can’t wait to find out what you’ve got for me.  See you soon, sweetheart.  Love you." 

[tarotguided]

Prompt 43, 8:30 // A large purple feline ambles over to the pink hedgehog with a stuffed frog as big as he is. "Amy, look what I won! Isn't this great? He reminds me of Froggy with the stripes on his legs. Huhuhu. This is a great carnival so far, huh? Have you tried any of the rides yet?"

   ❝ Oh my goooooooooooooosh!! ❞ She squealed at the sight of the frog. She was such a SUCKER for stuffed animals, and wasn’t afraid to show off the large collection she had at home. She nodded excitedly, confirming that it indeed was great. She hops up and down a little bit. ❝ I haven’t yet! I can’t decide what to go on… there’s also a test your strength game I wanna try. Hammer swinging is my expertise! ❞