#397 words

[the-metaphorical-jellicle-cat]

It has been a long bit since I have written anything and posted it but here we are. As part of @storyweaverofgondor's Cats-Pril event.

This takes place after the Ball and features Munkustrap and Mistoffelees. Tuggoffelees is mentioned but not important.

No Warnings needed

Have not decided if this will be posted on ao3.

The energy from the night’s ball had finally ended. Everyone was headed back to their dens, their mind, and body finally succumbing to sleepiness. 

Everyone but Munkustrap who sat high on the tire watching as the Jelicles cleared out of the main part of the Yard. 

He knew, in his mind, that he should be in his den with Demeter and Jem relaxing. But his body was still tight with anxiety as he thought about Macavity showing his face and his mother going to the Heavyside Layer. It was still fresh in his mind.

‘Just a little longer. Then I’ll go to the den.’ He thought to himself.

Just as he finished his thought, he heard a soft and familiar voice. 

“You know, I thought you’d be gone by now.”

He chuckled. “I could same the same about you Mistoffelees.”

The younger tom took his seat next to the Jellicle Protector. 

“I’d like to think you’d be with Tugger. Afterall. You must be tired after using all that magic.” His tone was light though Mistoffelees could hear how tired their Protector actually was.

“I am. But then I saw you here. By yourself. I mean you must also be tired from the fight with Macavity.”

He seemed embarrassed. The complete opposite of the confident cat Munkustrap saw at the Ball today.

Munkustrap grinned. “Tired doesn't even cover it. Then again. Your little show with my brother made it all better.”

The other tom suddenly found the ground more interesting. “Tugger does have a way to make one feel…” he paused, “special.”

“He does. Though I think that only applies to you.” He replied. “I don’t think that’s the reason you are here talking to me. Isn’t it?”

Mistoffelees huffed and rolled his eyes, “You're right. Demeter saw Tugger and I on our way to one of our dens and asked Tugger to make sure you got some sleep. I volunteered instead.”

“Thank you Mistoffelees. I appreciate your concern.”

Mistoffelees stood up, “Does that still mean I’ll have to force you to get down from the tire?”

Munkustrap laughed, “No. No. I’ll follow you down.”

And so Munkustrap finally gave into what his body needed.

Was his mind still filled with all  the panic the Jellicle Ball had given to the Jellicle Protector? Yes. 

But his mind was also filled with the love and peace his family provided.

[redvsbluemicrofic]

October 3rd, 2016 (October Fic-a-day)

York hit the mattress so hard he bounced.  He enjoyed the satisfying sound of the springs creaking for a moment before turning onto his back.  He tucked his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

It’d been a tough day.  Seemed to be a lot more tough days lately.  Of course there would be – he’d be delusional to expect otherwise.  He’d adjusted fairly well to life with only one fully functioning eye, but… well, you had tough days, that’s the long and short of it.

York sighed, turned his head to the side.  He found himself staring at his bedside table. After a moment, he reached over.

His fingers closed around a baseball, one of the few personal items that he had brought from home.  This one from his high school days, the ball his coach had saved for him after the game where he’d come so close to pitching a no-hitter.  He held it in his hands, running his calloused fingers over the familiar stitching.  He changed his grip a bit - fastball. He changed it again - slider. York rolled once more onto his back, changing his grip over and over – slider, sinker, curveball, fastball – then stuck with one position that felt best and gently tossed the ball straight up into the air, watching it spin.  

He realized it was a stupid thing to do. He still kept going until the fifth throw though, when his eyes and compromised depth-perception finally betrayed him and the ball came down straight onto his nose. It hurt like hell, but he could tell that nothing was broken. His eyes watered to the point where he couldn’t see, but he still managed to stand and walk carefully across the room. York rested his forearms on the edge of his tiny sink, pressing a wet cloth to his face and leaning forward so tears and a couple drops of blood landed on wet metal.

After a few moments, his eyes stopped watering.  He checked for more blood before carefully drying his face.  He walked back to the bed, stooped to pick up the baseball where it had landed on the floor. He kept hold of it, laid back down in bed.  He turned onto his side, staring at it in his hand. When he finally closed his eyes to sleep it was the last thing he saw.

Yeah. Tough day.

[soundofez]

Gaunt

Here in the Mother’s hamlet, everything is different. Everyone is kind without guile, is placid without passivity. There is no need to return a favor: there is no rudeness that goes unnoticed.

There is no coercing of gaunts.

She does not doubt that they feel her wants. It is surprisingly uncomfortable— while before she would have willed one into her bed, she now wills and is met with embarrassing mildness.

That was when she first arrived, as instinctual as thieving. She was sent here to cleanse herself, a new order for “disturbed youths,” as she has been labeled.

So when she sees him, thin and fragile and beautiful, and she wants him, she is surprised when he reacts in kind— smiles boyishly, beatifically, quietly coming to her from across the room will all the impossible grace that gaunts possess.

He beds her rather than the other way around. It is a new, astonishing experience. In the past, she pleasured herself with fantasies and gaunts, willed them to please her. Her chest, thankfully flat so as to pass as a boy more easily, she ignored.

Now this gaunt, under his own will, is pleasing her, and she discovers with astonishment the sensitivity in her nipples among the thrill of new fantasies she never could have dreamed.

When the strength of her desire subsided and the wave of her curiosity swells, he explains.

"I was born here, in the Mother’s hamlet, after Heptarch Patience came to power. I did not understand the strength of human will over my own. I sought to leave the Mother. I was finally permitted to leave with the Heptarch and found the rest of the planet a sad and desolate field of lust and fear and no love at all. Here, in the Hamlet, she gives me the will to love those who have never known it."

She feels betrayed. He feels it, too, of course, and soothes her with gentle fingers massaging her scalp.

"Humans are fickle," he whispers in her ear. "We gaunts are the perfect lovers, but humans wanted us because we were convenient. They never loved us truly. Nor could they, for we were stolen away whenever we encountered a stronger desire. Here, now, I can choose who to love, and I have chosen you."

How long?

He smiles. “As long as you need me more than you desire me.”

[aspirewriter]

The Story of a Cat

Once upon a time, there was a cat and his brother. The cat was a nice cat, if he said did say so himself, and his brother wasn’t half bad either, if those teeth weren’t so scary-looking.       His brother liked the colors of a warmer persuasion, so he was often away in those bleaker zones that held little in terms of life. Valerie preferred the other zones—though he wasn’t sure which one he liked best, of course, though he was partial to the Library—he spent some time wandering about in the other zones.       Once he dared to drink from the meat rivers of zone 1, but he found it too raw and terribly iron-filled, thoroughly unfiltered. Valerie had a red stain on his teeth for days, and that was simply not good for one’s complexion. Not that cats in general needed to worry about their complexion. Besides, the rivers smelled horrible, though the Elsens didn’t seem to share his sentiments. Perhaps they couldn’t smell as well as he. Valerie had trouble identifying anything resembling a nose on those people, anyways.       Nothing in particular appealed to Valerie in zone 3; he didn’t particularly care for sugar—it did horrible things to his digestion. Among most things. Most food just did not agree with that cat. The merchant alerted him to the irony of a lactose-intolerant cat, which he did acknowledge was quite funny in a way. He could buy some other foods from Zacharie for a few credits, though most contained sugar in some manner.       Finally, the cat settled in the blue zone 2. The Library was rather nice, after all. As long as the cat didn’t bother with such terrifying things like that awful rollercoaster or those balloons popping in his achingly sensitive ears.       He found a little bird once. It seemed rather distressed, yelling in its tiny voice, going on and on about something or other. The little thing tired itself out and the next time Valerie came across it, it seemed quite ill and near death.       So he ate it.       Very gently, of course, it was so small he didn’t even need to hear that awful noise of cracking bones. Valerie swallowed the little thing whole, and he dared say the snack quite agreed with him.       That is the story of a cat.