Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I've been busy. You can check these bits out here or at AO3 (Michael_Johnson) I'm gonna try and be either weekly or bi-weekly over there, and post when I can here. Leave a constructive comment!

It was a slow day in the Jellicle Junk-yard for one Mr. Mistoffelees, the tuxedo tom deciding it to be a great day to laze about and do absolutely nothing. Which he not only intended to do, but was succeeding in doing, relaxing under the shade of a wrecked cabinet and nearly asleep. Of course, sleep brought with it many things for the magical cat- peace, tranquillity, rest, and thoughts of a certain young queen.

Now, Mistoffelees was acutely aware that, despite what his wildest fantasies told him, he should not be having lovely dreams of running through fields of flowers (she adored flowers, for a cat) with his sister's best friend; or sharing a romantic moonlit (she did love the moon) dinner of rats or poultry with said friend; or curling up near a fireside while it rained (rain startled her terribly) and he whispered reassurances and calming words into her ears. He was acutely aware that he should not, under any circumstances, have an infatuation with his sister's best friend beyond her being his sister's best friend.

Especially when she was his best friend's niece. Especially when said niece was the daughter of the Tribe Guardian. Especially when said daughter was the granddaughter of the Tribe Leader. That would certainly be a… curious scenario.

But, of course, none of this was true. He did not have an infatuation with the tortoiseshell queen. He did not take immense pride when he put on a show and she clapped louder than others or began a chant of his name in Tugger's absence. He did not want to go to Munkustrap right now and ask for his daughter's paw in mate-hood. He did not.

"… Bast, I need to stop thinking." He sighed to himself, planting his forehead into the dirt.

And so he tried. For several hours. The morning sun turned to noon, and noon to early evening, his shade shifting every now and then, but it didn't matter. He'd go about on some train of thought and suddenly it led back to her. He'd be reminiscing about a particularly grand time he had and remember searching for her face. He'd think about how funny a particular weasel-shaped cloud looked and, well, weasels were a delicacy in the Yard and she loved weasel.

But finally, after hours of trying, he was feeling his mind drift (not to his sister's best friend, as his mind would never do such a thing) and his limbs slacken on their own accord. He began to be numb to his surroundings and stupid to their shifts. Finally. I just needed a good sleep. This will all be better later. He thought assuredly to himself.

But the loud sound of paws hitting the ground beside him jerked him from his beautiful (much like Je- No.) sleep. He repressed a hiss and forced his eyes to remain shut, futilely hoping that whoever it was that was bothering him would go away. He received a poke in his nose for his trouble.

"Come on, Misto. I know you're awake, you've been tossing about all day." The Conjurer grit his teeth violently, refusing to give the tom before him the satisfaction of a returned remark. He did, however, relent in opening his eyes to the tom, glaring at the brown and white tabby with a large frown.

"What do you want, Tumblebrutus?" Said tom smirked, clearly pleased with himself for getting under the tuxedo's fur. He sat backwards on his haunches, licking his paw and not sparing Mistoffelees more than a passing glance.

"Pounce, Plato, some of the queens, and I were going to head down to the river for a bit this evening." He gave a disgustingly knowing smile. "They asked me to come and see if you wanted to join us?"

Surely the magical tom had misheard. Surely. He was older than every cat in that entourage except Plato by nearly a year, not to mention he was a bit of a recluse. Oh sure, everyone liked him well enough, but no one would go out of their way to invite him to a trip to the river. Except maybe three cats he could list off, one of which wanted him dead and would drown him in the river. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me, Misto." The tabby returned to his 'grooming,' once again all but ignoring the smaller cat. "Do you want to go to the river with us?"

"I'm sorry, but I'd rather prefer some sleep." Be congenial, be congenial. Uncle Bustopher doesn't like it when you explode on cats. Munkus doesn't like it when you explode on cats. Tugger… Munkus doesn't like it when you explode on cats. Jem- Uncle Bustopher doesn't like it when you explode on cats.

Tumblebrutus smirked that Bast-damned smirk. "Oh, that's too bad. I was planning on testing my luck with Electra. Maybe I'll go and see if Jemima is up for a trip." Every muscle in Mistoffelees' body grew unnaturally tense (painfully so) and he hissed violently at the younger (if larger) tom.

"You rotten son of a pollicle!" He stood and began stalking towards the now cowering tom, electricity crackling about his raised coat. "You… you tom-whore! Get out!" And the tabby did, fleeing to the right in a jolt and not slowing his pace until he was well away from the Conjurer. Said tuxedo took a breath, then two, then three. Attempting to calm down from the spike of rage that had surged through his system like a tidal wave. He was so focused on his breathing that he did not hear the soft pad of paws coming from his left.

"Well, Misto, I must say it has been a while since I've seen you that angry." The tuxedo groaned loudly, hanging his head as he did. Can I not just take a sleep in peace?! What must a cat do to be left alone? He thought as the manned Rum Tum Tugger sidled up next to him. "What ever could have made our lovable magician want to rip poor Tumblebrutus'…"

Oh no. Tugger was not (contrary to popular belief and Mistoffelees grandest wishes) an idiot, especially in romance. Between him and Bombalurina, the Tribe had enough romantic advice to fill two whole volumes and a good chunk of a third (despite the fact that very few had ever asked for the two's help). And considering his reaction to Tumble's words, there was only one possible conclusion to be drawn. And by the looks of that awful smirk that could make Macavity wary, the Terrible Bore had.

"Oh." Was all he said. A part of Misto- a very small and vengeful part, mind- wanted to shock the poor Maine Coon into next Thursday. "Oh I see." Mistoffelees had seen that gleam, and nothing good ever came of it (well, he supposed many good things had come from it. But they were never good right in the moment!). The small part grew larger with each passing minute.

"Well isn't this interesting." The Coon purred, and the tuxedo exploded.

"What must I do to be left alone!?" He yelled at his friend. But still that smirk did not leave his face.

"Oh no. I was just going." He took a small, nearly imperceptible sniff of the air. "I'll see you around, Magical Mister Mistoffelees." And with a turn and a flick of his tail, the manned nuisance strutted from the clearing. Back the way he came. But Mistoffelees did not care. He was too tired to care.

Finally. Peace and qui- "Oh, Jem! How nice to see you!" The Conjurer nearly jumped seven metres in the air, violently repressing a yowl from escaping his mouth as he did so. The absolute worst case scenario had just sprung and the poor, shy tom was not prepared for it.

The two cats entered the small clearing (one of them returning, side-eyeing the magical tom in a pointed fashion and receiving a murderous glare in return), Jemima smiling brightly at her uncle. "Good to see you too, Uncle Tugger. I was just searching for Mistoffelees. I heard him yelling earlier and wanted-"

"Oh don't you worry about that, kit," he swung an arm around her shoulders, leading her directly to the frozen tom with a smirk on his face. "He's right here and everything's fine. But, he's been in desperate need of some sleep- performers need their beauty rest you know," said cat began to seethe at the older tom, a look that would make him a mass genocide-er present on his face. "But he keeps getting interrupted."

"Might I remind you, Tugger," he said after finding his voice box. "That you were one of them?"

The Coon waved a dismissive paw, shaking his head as he did. "Details, my friend. Details. But here's the thing, kit." He turned to Jemima, flashing his famous swooning smile. "I'd love to help Misty-" he plowed through the dangerous hiss at the name- "and chase off any disturbances, but I have an appointment with your aunt in about now."

"I'm going to kill you, Tugger. Do you under-"

"Do you think you could help me to help him, Jem-stone?" He asked, ruffling her hair a little and smiling as easy as day. Mistoffelees couldn't help but to also notice the easy lie he had just pulled. And of course, the damn act worked.

"Of course!" She chirped (not unlike a dove, he noted) smiling brightly from Tugger to Misto. "I'd love to help anyway I can." Even with as much pent up rage as Mistoffelees had built, he couldn't help but let it all melt at that beautiful smile.

"Excellent. I'm gonna be about an hour or so, so have fun." The Coon left, pausing at the very far side of the clearing and looking back over his shoulder. "But not too much." He cackled at the look of outrage of his friend and the questioning look of his niece, narrowly avoiding the bolt of lightning that was aimed for about his mane area.

"You're going to be without an uncle soon." The tuxedo ground out through his teeth, glaring at the point where the cat had disappeared. "I think I'll skin him." What Mistoffelees actually wanted to do would not be very smart to admit to Jemima, who adored her uncle beyond reason. Munkustrap, however…

The line of thought ended as she whacked him in the shoulder. 'Gently.' "Don't say that. He's only trying to help you." She gave him a look that can only be described as queenly-Munkustrap, the thought of which terrified Mistoffelees more than it should have. But she brightened soon after, smiling her (not at all) beautiful smile. "You get some sleep, I'll keep the others away!"

With that, she leapt up to one of the ledges supporting the devastated cabinet, leaving Mistoffelees practically alone. He sighed, trying to convince himself that this was a good thing. He could get sleep after all. But when he looked up- only to check the sky for the sun- he saw Tugger, peering at him from one of the taller piles of junk, gesturing in a circle with his paw. The spike of anger returned, but quickly faded. He could have a conversation with her, right? Nothing odd about having a conversation with you best friend's niece. Nothing at all. Especially since she was his sister's best friend!

Yes a conversation was completely in the realm of 'okay' and not something that he should not be doing. And he could hold a conversation quite well (maybe not if you asked Victoria, but what did she know). So, that decided, he called up to Jemima. "Jem?"

Her head poked down from above, wide eyes visibly dilating in the shade and piercing his heartsoulown. "Yes, Misto?"

For a moment, he forgot how to speak- mouth opening and closing like one of those live fish he'd seen in Uncle Bustopher's clubs. For a moment, he forgot all his inhibitions (well, he did. His tongue saved him, thankfully) and wanted nothing more than to tell the gorgeous queen in front of him that he loved her. He wanted to reach out and hold her in his arms and simply stay there for eternity. The way her sleek fur caught the light and almost sparkled, the way her eyes truly did pierce his heart, to the subtle quirk of her head because he was taking too long to respond. It was all adorable and beautiful at the same time.

"Misto, are you okay?" She jumped down from her perch, walking up to him and stopping just a few inches short of his nose. A part of him wanted her to have continued. She met his eyes and he found his voice box. Unfortunately, his voice box had lagged behind the rest of him, and still had one incriminating phrase in it.

"You're beautiful." He muttered, not fully conscious for the effort but conscious enough to register what he had just admitted. Jemima, surprised, jerked back, wide eyes growing wider and mouth in a thin line.

"Huh?" She asked, her own mind reeling from the statement and trying to restart. It was enough to jolt Mistoffelees from his stupor and snap him back to reality. Unfortunately, it was also enough to cause him to stumble over his words entirely.

"I-I-I mean, the-the-the sky!" He panicked, yelling the first thing that entered his head. "The s-sky is uh… beautiful, today. Not that you're not lovely looking today! But I meant the… the… sky…" He trailed off as his salvage attempt failed and no shift in her posture occurred. His ears drooped and his head hung. He was certain he could hear Tugger's disappointment. Oh Cat, why me?

After several seconds of nothing, she shifted, moving closer to the defeated magician slowly, as if the ground around them were flaming coals and she'd be burned if she stepped wrong. Once she was only several centimetres from him, and only then, did she stop. She reached forward, hesitance in every muscle, and lifted her paw to his cheek and forcing him to look into her eyes. And he hadn't lied when he'd said the sky was beautiful. Her eyes were its exact colour.

"What did you mean, Misto?" She asked quietly, almost softer than a mouse. Surely he couldn't answer that. More than that, he should not answer that. It was, in fact, the absolute last thing on the planet he should do. But those eyes, those sky blue eyes that held so much hope and beauty held his mind captive, allowing his heart to take over.

"You're beautiful, Jem." Her breath hitched just slightly at the sincerity of his tone, but the floodgates were open and he wasn't stopping then. The corner of his eye caught Tugger nodding and leaving from his perch, satisfied to have succeeded in another one of his matchmaking games. "I've thought it for as long as I can remember. The first day Victoria introduced us, I was in love with you."

"Why'd it take you so long?" She asked, drawing just a tad closer.

"I didn't want anything to change between you and Victoria. I was worried what your parents and Tugger would say." He said honestly. "I could list off so many reasons, we'd be here all day. But at the end of it: I was afraid. Afraid and shy and not ready to admit it to myself."

She was silent, staring into his eyes and smiling. He reflected it with one of his own. "I've loved you for just as long, Misty." His breath hitched. She was the only cat in the world who could call him that. The only one he'd ever let. A small part of him realized that he'd been playing favourites his whole life with that name. The rest of him didn't care.

He stared into her brilliant eyes, ones that reflected so much love he could practically feel it reverberate in his head. He was so lost in those eyes that he didn't notice when he began to lean forward, and wouldn't have cared if he could. Her eyes closed and so did his, and they continued to move closer.

"Well, what's this then?"

Jemima squealed and Mistoffelees yelped, both leaping nearly a foot from the other and staring at the silver tabby who had just entered the clearing- a frown on his face and a look that Jemima did not like in his eyes.

"Dad!" She cried, busying herself with smoothing whatever fur had stood up in her excitement and shock. Her father, however, paid her little mind as he turned the glower to Mistoffelees.

"And what, Mistoffelees, exactly were you intending?" The magical cat sputtered, tripping over his words and panicking as if Macavity stood in front of him (Jemima was certain he would much prefer that).

"I-I-I had no- that is to say I didn't- I mean-" her new-found lover had no chance to finish his explanation, as he promptly fainted under the heavy glare her father was sending him. This, of course, shocked both cats left conscious and silenced the clearing for a time. After several seconds, her father turned his all-seeing-eye to her, and she shifted under it.

He raised an eyebrow, mouth still pulled in that terrible frown. "I thought we agreed toms were off limits until a week from the Ball?" Jemima would have normally bowed her head in defeat, muttered some sort of an apology, and then gone about her day trying to get her father to forget whatever incident had occurred. This particular time, however, she felt her eye twitch and she met her father's glare with one of her own.

"I'm not a kitten any-more, Dad. We agreed that I wouldn't choose a mate until a week before the Ball- nothing at all about finding a suitable tom-friend." She sat, holding strong in her glare and resolve. I can make my own decisions. Misto's a good cat anyhow.

Her father made no movement for a time, observing her look and occasionally darting his eyes over to the fainted Conjurer. After a few minutes, he sighed heavily. "You're right. You're not a kitten. I would still prefer if you didn't get too involved with toms before the Ball, however." He turned and looked over at Mistoffelees, still unconscious. She followed suit, a slight panic jolting through her system. Is he okay?

"Come on. Let's get him back to Jenny's." He began hoisting Mistoffelees as best he could (which was very well considering the difference in weight, stature, and over all size), but Jemima paused for a moment. Her entire life, she had never expected her father to be kind to the tom she selected as a mate until he had earned his respect (something few had ever done). But here he was, actually trying to help her future mate (granted, he did already like Misto so maybe it wasn't all that odd). "A little help, please?"

His request jolted her from her spot and she quickly moved to hoist the tuxedo's other side. Together, they made their way back to the central clearing and Jenny's den, a slight tension between them. After it became unbearable, the young queen broke the silence. "Thank you, Dad. For helping him."

Her father gave her an odd glance, as if he were confused by her thanks. "There's no need to thank me for doing my job. Beyond that, I rather like Mistoffelees' ideas concerning your uncle- Cat knows I can't come up with half of them." They chuckled as some of the more notable ones came to mind; a missing mane, part of said mane being dyed a disgusting colour, tail shortened by about three paw lengths, etc.

The tension eased a little as they neared the centre, and her father continued. "I think… I think you've made a good choice." Jemima turned to her father (carefully, so as to not drop the cat sprawled across their backs) with surprised eyes. "I don't have any issue with Mistoffelees- certainly a better choice than some." He did not need to mention who was included in that list of 'some'- it was likely most every other cat in the Yard.

Jemima felt a tear of happiness sting at her eye, and she blinked them. She had the urge to throw her arms around her father and hug him as tightly as she could, crying 'thank you,' as loudly as she could. She didn't, simply because it would cause Mistoffelees to drop, but she had to force that urge down. Instead all she said was a whispered "thank you."

He nodded, smiling lightly. A soft groan drew their attentions backwards to Misto, who had begun to finally stir. They sat him down and gently helped him wake up. "What happened?"

"Well, I would say you've made one of the best decisions of your life, Mistoffelees." Her father said, the gentle smile calming the rush of panic that surged through Misto's system. She chuckled and gently wrapped her tail in his and he calmed further. "I have only two requests of the two of you if I'm to allow this."

"Of course! Anything, Munkustrap." Misto answered immediately, placing a paw over hers and smiling at her father. She did too, that thankfulness returning at her father's blessing.

"Number one," he looked pointedly at her, and she immediately knew what the request was. "Do. Not. Tell your mother. I would rather like to sleep in the den, and in our nest." She nodded sagely, and they both received a slightly panicked, slightly confused look from the tuxedo. She mouthed later and he shrugged.

"The second," he smiled (she noted not too dissimilar to her uncle's) and the both of them went completely still and ramrod straight. Oh no. "Nothing happens until the ball." She felt her face grow hot and Mistoffelees sputtered before passing out again. Her father laughed his deep belly laugh that he saved only for the best of jokes and pranks. She, did not join him.

"DAD!"