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aeempress · 3 years

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Apritello Express Evidences, part 3

Apritello, my dear friends, is really all hints, devil in details, little pieces that, in the end, become a huge picture.

I can't say that there are a lot of episodes with April and Donnie spending quality time together, no. But all episodes are important to understand how their relationship are involving, growing. If you have sharp eyes and think about all of this even a little bit, you will be surprised how gracefully their relationship changes and grows, how characters evolve.

Dear passengers, we're about to start. Mind the gap!

Episodes “The Gumbus” and “Mrs. Cuddles”.

I think it would be appropriate to analyze these episodes in bunch, because they have common situations of spooky supernatural stuff and reactions of characters to this.

When you watch these two eps in raw, it's easy to see how alike are reactions of Donnie and April in some scary, really odd situations.

Adrenaline ‘n’ reclessness

April is really into all spooky things in “The Gumbus”, she's not afraid of some creepy stuff and she's really brave girl who easily copes with stressful and life-threatening situations.

Donnie is incredibly calm and collected when alive doll talked to him.

But still, April was frightened about plush rabbit because it was really unexpected for girl, she wasn’t ready to realize that plush doll that she’d worked with is alive fear-eating monster who will hurt and intimidate to get their precious screams. But point remains: Donnie and April share crazy fearlessness, which turns into an adrenaline addiction.

And here I am, a science guy, who tell you: adrenaline is a big deal for our body. This hormone can even provoke an onset of romantic feelings. Chemistry and anatomy come to fill the gaps: when a person is afraid, their pulse quickens, a cocktail of hormones is releasing into the blood, which sharpen the senses and reflexes. It will create a strong emotional bound, that's important for maintaining romantic kind of feelings. The more impressions there are (even negative ones), the higher the chance that person will remember his|her partner, and want to see them again – the body gets hooked on adrenaline, like a drug.

That’s why D&A have so strong, unshakeable boundaries. They are so alike: their attitude to scary things, the way Donnie and April cope with them, the adrenaline addiction their share. They even express feelings the same way.

And one tiny detail: April and Donnie start the teasing Raph for his fear of mrs. Cuddles. So they become the first victims of plushie.

Friendly reminder: they were the 1st victims, and what’s happened with them we don’t know, because it wasn’t shown due to not ruin the atmosphere of suspense.

But we have a beautiful quote of mrs. Cuddles and this precious shot which explain everything

Raph: Where’s Donnie?

Cuddles: In a happy place where he’ll scream and I can grow forever and now you’re gonna join him!

In a happy place, huh? Tied up with April in Splinter’s bedroom, a really happy place. Hold a sec, are they -

And after that Donnie’s responding is killing me.

Donnie:[OS] I'm afraid of togetherness.

Yep. All normal here. We should continue.

"Operation Normal" even though doesn't show a lot of interactions between April and Donnie, however continues the general outline highlighting the topics that were mentioned earlier in the show.

Firstly, April's relationship with her classmates. We're able to see how poor her scholar life is in "Hypno Part Deux" and "The Purple Jacket". She has no "normal", human friends except some strange remora guy, more like acquaintance than friend, though. But still, having "be normal" kick she's fine with Donnie's weirdness ( Mikey is always beyond all normal comprehension, Raph goes weird while he's alone, without brothers, and his fear of miss Cuddles is no big deal to fam, Leo didn't show any weird stuff during the series, like, reeeeal weird, m'kay?).

Conversation between April and Donnie at pizza spot

Really interesting and smooth scene. We’ve got Donatello who stares at April while he’s waiting his favourite pizza, no big deal.

And his legs.

If a person is interested in you, during a conversation, they will put their right foot forward (a left-handed person is more likely to put their left foot forward) in order to close the distance between you. - Check.

being in company, peson will point the sock at the most pleasant interlocutor for them. - check.

April’s legs are ponted at Donnie. Checkmate.

Yeah, April is hanging out with Donatello and Leonardo, but the main focus of hers is on Donnie.

All these scene makes me think that Donnie, knowing about how badly sometimes April wants to be normal, is up to help her overcome this. Fight fire with fire: fill up her life with all of this weird, mystic stuff so it will be normal with time. Regular people go to pizza spot to spend some quality time together, so we have pizza restaraunt here, in Hidden City. Make all odd normal, and problem will solved.

Donnie really tries his best, look at his face. Dee’s fine with all this bizzare things what happens to April, he’s fine with her. But still he fails, because April’s concept of normalcy differs drom Donnie’s.

And again, for Donnie it’s not a problem at all. He’s always was at the opposite side of normalcy and it doesn’t matter for him if April is in the same boat with him. Cause, as I said, Don’s fine with that.

Second, how much Donnie knows about April.

- Scoff! Are you really still on this whole "I want things to be normal" kick?

- Yes, what big city girl doesn't have a kayak and has hazmat suit?

Interesting detail here: this line launches Donnie’s flashback (because the first scene is from “Purple Jacket”, it’s Dee’s episode, obviously). And Don, as far as I can tell, has in his flashback moments with April when she did something reaaally impressive. His face is way more louder than any words.

- Short answer: no. Long answer: nnooooooooo.

- Oh, no! You know how April freaks out around the cosplay wizards!

These tiny lines are containing a lot of background, stories, intimate conversations that April and Donnie share. This show always does the same trick: we never see a direct action, we are only able to see a result or statement of the result. But series do a great work telling us with such small and imperceptible gestures that their bonding at this point is mutual. Not only D tells April about his inventions, family and fam's issues he has and even his falls, mistakes and failures. April does the same thing, sharing with Donatello one of the most important things to her. Problem that really bothers her.

C'mon, he'd even memorized Sunita's name, though April messed up with this situation a bit. It seems Donnie memorizes facts about April - he remembered the wi-fi password from old April's work as we can see in "The Longest fight" (he could hack it easily, he's a genius, why he's been keeping in mind some piece information that useless for a year? It doesn't make any sense)

Oh, and that. Just a coincidence, I guess?

Just alike suits, no big deal. Plus, the whole family has it (and something tells me that guys have suits at the behest of Don, so probably April does). But Donnie and April has a lot in common like emotional expressions, reaction about some kind situations, fight style and even tastes in fashion.

Also, it seems like Donnie's been watching April for sometimes.

While Leo was hiding in trash can, to not catch anyone's eye rather than April. He definitely couldn't know who was passing by, but there was Donnie to observe from above. That's why he was hanging down the stairs when Leo spoke to April.

It’s not the first time Donnie dress up as old lady to monitor April’s day.

Leo: Why do you always make us dress up as old ladies? Donnie: №1: confort, №2: to blend in as we monitor April’s day for max normalcy.

3. Even when D took away this cosplay wizard, he's still keeping eye on her.

Oh no, you don’t. Grandmas here!

Donatello changes his foe to save April exactly. He fought all evening with Brutus, but when April slightly gets in danger, Donnie just attacked anyone who has intention to hurt her and ruin her evening.

Is that a flying turtle in an old purple dress?

April, who all evening was trying to look “normal”, hiding her real friends because they are mutant turtles and pretending that nothing unusual happens here, finally gives up when Sunita mentioned Donnie. Even though new April’s friend has asked her before about Leo.

His eyes.

Donnie is really impressed but what he saw, and the reason - April O'Neil.

The episode "Warren & Hypno, sitting in a Tree" is another incredible piece of whole picture.

Turtle tank is decorated for April birthday in purplish scheme, definetely Donatello's work.

Dee's nonverbal speech.

• He seems more interested and softer than usual looking at April. It's easy to say comparing him with brothers. Mikey is in anticipation of fun mode, Leo relaxed and show his "whatever it will be fun" attitude, Raph is listening carefully, but still, Donnie could just turn his head in April's vouce direction, not a whole body.

• Warren felt Don's gaze while talked with April, so worm made the remark. Pay attention to the construction of the frame of neighboring scenes. The second frame is April's perspective. And Don is looking namely at her.

Indignation. Disappointment. Spark, storm, madness (i love this russian meme, sorry not sorry)

• Donnie seems sincerely sorry for this situation with April's b-day. And again, this soft gaze and "Raph, shut the shell up, your nonsense is upsetting her"-eyes.

• Donatello is kind of person, who’s avoiding a proper confrontation, so he rarely stands up for someone. He were remaining silent, when Raphael tried to cheer April in the most radiculous way, but when Hypno tried to play with April’s feelings, Donnie blew it.

He’s obviously in wrath as D emote that expressively. Yeah, he had much on his plate at April’s birthday, but it’s her b-day on the line, not his pride.

Warren used April, playing with her fan feelings. Her idol betrayed her, she was locked up in a cage, and now we have Hypno who wants to use her again by pitting and pushing for her compassion, because, it’s obvious - boys would do everything she said.

And Donnie tries to keep Hypno away from her, protect her feelings from another betrayal.

As he’s already stated - “For you, anything”.

The show always tells us: if you wanna trigger Don, bring April in.

Hypno tried to turn this thing around, Leo did the same in “Al be back”.

If Hypno-tamus did that accidentally as he found out that April O’ Neil is a birthday girl, so her wishes that day were laws, Leo did it on purpuse.

Leo is good at manupulating and pulling some strings, plus he knows his twin as back of his hand. That’s why Leo mentioned April in the end as she was always the most powerful argument, the reason and motive for Donnie. At second he’s even panicked, but remained calm. He almost blew up his coolheaded image because of one certain girl in yellow.

• Donnie is really happy to present Warren's arm to April. He even holds it like a rare, priceless treasure. D is really proud of himself right now: he saved the day, after all. The emotional reaction of hers is exactly what Donnie wants to get. And then, his final pose, while April is on 9th cloud from happiness - that's really territorial gesture, D claims his supremacy and confidence, telling "See? That's my happy birthday girl".

Leapfrog with a composition

Donnie and April are more and more eager to be together in the frame. Composition’s boners, m’kay.

Special ride for April

Yeah, Donnie used to offer his battleshell to give April a special ride. It even has a seat and handlebars for her comfort. She can control the flight as well as Donatello, they are like co-pilots. But he never carried her on his back before.

Usually, April is carried by Raphael, on his neck/shoulder, and she’s fine with it. Raph is strong enough to carry her without any difficulties or slowing down.

It’s not Donnie’s weak to carry her - no, he strong enough to carry his battleshell with a lot stuff in it everyday, Don can carry Splints on his shoulder without any apparent difficulty. He strong enough to hold the weight of his battleshell+April. Oh, c’mon, D assembled the Turtle tank only by himself and this for sure requires a lot of physical strength in order to engage in auto mechanics. Try lifting the wheel with tyre, and you'll see what I mean. Of course, there is a jack, but it will not solve all the problems. Don could use hydraulics and Archimedes ' laws, but I'm sure he did most of it with his own hands. Lifting and carrying, all by himself.

Not the strengh what’s matter but another point.

The sequence where Donnie carries April on his back doesn’t last long, it’s pretty easy to miss, while Raph openly do that with April on him.

Plus April’s gaze: she’s staring right at us with her “ninja-eyes” as if they were caught in the middle of something. The duration and length of the sequence, the way it is made all of this arouse certain thoughts.

It’s like nobody should see this. Too personal. To be more specific - too close and intimate?

Donnie stated a few times that he’s not into togetherness, tactile interaction and phisical side of contacts. Although he's fine with his brothers, don't forget that April is a girl. Even if she feels like part of family, she’s not his relative. She’s not his sister.

Some people tend to avoid physical contact with the objects of their interest. And this behaviour fits in Don’s character. He’s anxious type with a lot of psychological and emotional issues. Yeah, he tries to cover it up, built a shell to protect himself, behave as confident extravert but he’s nothing like that. Sometimes D tends to distance himself from his family, to hide in his shell, and we've seen that throughout the show.

Don hangs by his phone quite often, he addicted to this as his comfort zone, his peaceful cave, where everything is much easier,

Don pretends he’s so busy with his science stuff to ward off his brothers (ep. Mind Meld),

Don went to the lab to work on his projects, while he could hang out with April and the brothers (ep. Mrs. Cuddles). And he left for what? To work on self-cleaning tooth pick, or the titan bust of himself? It’s seems like lame excuse to be alone. He’s definetely an intovert, who sometimes needs some space and time with himself.

All his cocky behaviour is showing off to hide insecure, diffident and vulnerable creature, softshell purple turtle. Yeah, Donnie has confidence in what he’s great in: tech, science stuff, where he’s only one is capable of. But if someone steps on his domain or doubts his authority, his true colours exposed.

And, once again, “Mind meld” is a great evidence of that. Would callous, unsumpathetic guy without heart have a wall with pictures of his fellows? I’m afraid not. Donnie has a soft, caring heart.

There’s an alley of his the dearest moments, because photos - are always memory, precious moments we want to keep.

1 - from “Minotaur Maze”. Don loves good pizza, loves his brothers, and they have a little adventure together. Yeah, this photo isn’t on champ wall, but still.

2 - from “Mascot melee”. Important day for bros as they show themselves to people at daylight to rescue Raph and their operation to buy a new robe for his father. It’s their joint brothers dance, and D is loving to dance, remember? Definetely special occasion.

3 - from “Mascot melee”. Splints was really glad to receive a gift from boys. And Donatello, as we know, is always eager to achive for pop’s approval. This for sure must be in his precious moments collection.

5, 7 - from “Donnie’s gifts”. He even keeps a dorky photo, which Raph uses as profile pic at Donnie’s number.

8, 9 - “Down with the sickness”. It was funny to survive all the 7 stages to achive what boys wanted. They failed, but still.

10 - from “Al be back”. Who knows that Splints is so good at singing?

4, 6 - from “The Fast and the Furriest”. Strange choice, cuz, you know, photos ten seconds before his collision with April bat?

And yeah, he HAS April’s photo here. And at this pic it’s April, and April alone,without his brothers.

Don’s a real softie, see?

And avoiding physical contact is a way to protect Donnie’s already shattered self-esteem. To not cause any doubts in front of girl which he’s interested in. That’s possible reason why we did not receive any heartwarming hugs in “The Purple Jacket”.

But Donnie carries April, because it’s her birthday. On the one hand, the girl claims that her b-day is cursed, and Donnie could, by any chance, do something nice for her, and on the other hand - any request of the bithday girl - is the law, as we could see earlier.

Gift for birthday girl

There is no Donnie in the scene after Draxum throw off Warren's arm. While Raph comfort April about her birthday, Donnie was looking for it to present it to April.

He knows the best what is the most precious gift for her. Warren Stone, her idol, goat of making news; she have been in Stoneheads fanclub for 9 years. Also, it seems that Donnie is the one of turtles, who collected info about this worm.

Also, he stopped immediately when April stepped between them and show no disappointing (remind you about Donnie's sadistic science guy nature). The reason is April.

And another cute detail: their glasses are the same form.

Another episode "Mystic library" has slightly touched D&A interaction. But were talking about Apritello, it's all hints but quality.

When Mayham trapped in the mirror and Raph, Leo and Mikey obviously are not coping, April decides to call Donnie to clear situation up.

Donnie, mister "I ruin everything", she's going to call for help. I repeat this. April calls for help Mr. Science to solve mystic problems with her pet. MYSTIC PET.

And he AGREES.

Turtles dissuade their friend from calling Donatello but after a while, April returns with Donnie, and sees the bathroom in ruins.

I'm gonna clear this moment.

1. April haven’t called Donnie.

2. Some time later she returns with Dee.

3. Our girl is pretty shocked to see her bathroom in ruins, argo she didn't see/hear Raph chose to solve problem with smashing.

It must mean only ine thing: April went for Donnie by herself. We don't know where was he, we don't know what the reason April brought Donnie with her by herself, 'cause we know that if she call Dee, he will definitely get to her immediately.

Something is definetely off.

By the way, April changed Don’s profile pic.Yeah, the first one is very informative since Donnie is a turtle and he’s purple and he has bandana. Seems like April have done it by herself, editing the photo of real turtle. She didn't put a lot of effort into this, this image doesn't show her real attitude towards Don. But second is more personality-tinged. Sleeping Donatello in all his gear - this detail can tell us about only one thing - he was photographed when he fell asleep after his sleepless night(s) working hard at something - is something she can catch or receive by boys (namely speaking, it’s Leo, according to Ben Schwartz stated in an interview, that if Leo had an Instagram account, that 60 to 70% of his photos would be his brothers caught sleeping or slipping on things). And still. April has a dorky and little embarrassing pic of Donatello and this is... Interesting and cute?

This profile pic remind me about ROTTMNT: Sound off! (2nd issue)

The next station is “The Purple Game”.

Another episode in which the interaction of the characters is small in timing, but great in content.

And once again: they have a lot in common. I’d never tired of repeating this thing ‘cause the series do the same trick, showing one thing from different points of view. April and April shares the same taste in games, the same attitude, the same mojo.

But the most important thing here is how D&A interacrions are shown in this episode. Unlike other episodes, the interaction here is indirect, is provided by gaming.

Their customized avatars reflects their personality. I mean, the colour schemes (though Donatello has never shown any interest in yellow, he used it for customization of his persona), the way their avatars looking. Game even refering to Sherlock_Corn as “she”, albeit it’s impossible to refer to her avatar in female pronoun. Because, you know, design and nickname?

And the in-game interaction of the avatars resembles D&A irl relationships. Bootyyyshaker 9000 don’t like togetherness, he’s looking like Donnie’s expectation of himself (cool and tough guy, as D sees himself in his own dreams)

Their dialogue

Actually. Actually, Donnie and April are not able to hear each other as game has no voice chat, but their lines make an perfect dialogue nevertheless.

April:Bootyshaker9000? Donnie?

Donnie:April? You’re the last person I need to destroy to achive rank №1!

April:Ditto!

Both:There can only be one!

Donnie said the cheat combination, so April would know for sure what he is supposed to do, but she has no idea.

So, once again: their sync is incredible.

And can we talk about that?

April’s attack

As it seems, attacks may be customized by players. Bootyyshaker has attack that refers at Donatello main feature - superior intellect.

And this attack isn’t effective, because REAL April O’Neil has a resist towards it. She has known D for years, she knows what he’s capable of, she’s aware of his nerd side. April’s immune to it, so Sherlock_Corn is.

Sherlock_corn has a default attack - kernel cannon. It’s nod to her nickname: kernel, corn, the same book. But her second atteck is something reflecting her personalitiy. Plus, April is aware of Donnie’s “fear” of togetherness. All’s fair in love and war, right?

April took a lot of BS9000 hp by her “friendly hugs”. And, by the way, his sweet reaction for hugs.

So:

The selection of the final opponent. It might be literally anyone, but we wouldn’t be able to see Dee’s obsession in that case. Yeah, he’s already had a demon possesion ™, but it was too easy to him to win. No challenge. No “kill or be killed”, “It’s me or you” mojo. He needed some tough gamer for challenging, to develop his character, push him too far. And April, actually, is an excellent choice to reveal the character of certain purple turtle.To expose his true colours. And April do a great job: they know each other, so battle will be spicy, they are both compepitors, they are so alike, so it would be intersting to watch Donatello vs April. And it will, ‘cause In-game April and In-game Don is somewhat different than them usual.

April is Don’s slayer for sure. She’s good at gaming, her last attack was almost fatal for him. So he had to to cheated on her.

Captain Cuddlecakes. Yes, she know about his afraid of togetherness. And there’s lovey-dovey attack animation with this cuddling and Donatello’s persona behaves like him. And it was SPECIAL RUN, so... I haven’t the foggiest why. Cute detail, I mean.

Just look at it. Isn’t it cute?(at least we got their hugs somewhere... kinda. kinda.)

“Snow Day“, albeit being family episode, shows a lot about D&A relationship through “family war”.

First of all, the same taste in films.

Donnie’s already shown the same attitude to fashion, scary things as Cap O'Neil, April shares the same gamer’s mojo as Donatello, but now? We have Donnie and April that are loving the same movie.

For love of purple supernovas, of all the Jupiter Jim’s movies (and there are more than 60 of them), that's a convinient coincidence, they like the same movie.

It stated in series several times that Dee is fond of Atomic Lass. He had crush on her when he was child, he admires her by all his heart, so it will make sense if films with this character he would be his favourite. It’s logical, isn’t it?

Atomic Lass, even if she is part of JJ-universe, however, isn't in every movie. Leo described "JJ: Pluto vacation IV" and there is no sights of Atomic Lass. Like, at all.

Nevertheless, April’s claimed that “PV-4” is the best movie of the time, and Don agrees.

April:What the whaaaat? Hold up, Skip. “Jupiter Jim Pluto Vacation 4″ is the best JJ movie of all time.

Donnie:Ranked, by us, just now. So it’s basically official, no arguing.

And they do this thing again. Reflecting each other. Facial expressions, intonations, poses and etc. Haven’t I mentiones that? Mirroring is natural way to build communication. People, who communicate enthusiastically, who have sympathy to each other, feelings of certain nature, unconsciously copy each other's poses.

Direct reflection and close contact have a strong effect. This is used between lovers, people with close relationships or interested in each other.

And you can see that during not only episode, but through the whole series.

Poses, gestures, facial expressions they share constantly. Even if they are apart, they are mirroring each other, showing their bound. Because Apritello is not always about sitting close, holding hands and blushing. Apritello is about staying together even if they are not. It’s about solid foundation, about synergy, about chemistry Donnie and April share. And all of these are not always so obvious and clear, evident. But so realistic nevertheless.

And that’s why they splitted off the fam - they are too close and alike.

I stated it before but DonniexApril team is way more effective than Donniexbrothers team. Donatello and April are equal, worth each other. They are comfortable with each other, their teamwork is amazing.

They are always near, close to each other for the entire episode. Stand up for each other, side by side. They have no need to do team-building, because their sincronization is incredible. April works well together with Donnie, their skills compliment each other.

I love that April in a first place look at Donnie to check is everything alright.

And a cherry on top?

This inviting gesture. Donnie just watched all along how his brothers and April try to throw some cold water on this situation (khem, it slipped). But when April call him with this inviting gesture, he’d like to help.

In other words, he was waitng when April requests for his help.

Composition’s boners

Sometimes it happens during the show, but this episode beat hte score at this point. I say only one word: physics. Or, more precisely, the force of attraction. Or, maybe Mayham.

... Anyway.

Fitting in the type

April can play not so nice against her enemies, she got steady hand and meanness, merciless and reclessness. She’s passionate and kinda badass, sassy - in a positive way, she’s baddest girl who can kick your butt if you mess with her, and she really good at this.

She has a fire, and Donnie likes that. Dee never stated that directly but miss O’Neil impressed him so many times and in different way so it’s kinda pretty obvious.

Just look how Donatello reacted the way April took Raph down a peg. Her actions are elegant, relaxed but really sly. She almost dare Raph to put his flag on top only to bring him down to Earth in really painful way. She destroyed Bros’ team so easily just by waiting a bit and by calling Mayham.

She’s definetely got some pepper.

Pretty cute but baddest, don’t you think?

And Donnie was impressed for sure, he admitted it - “That is fun for me”. He don’t even stand a chance, c’mon: she’s smarass and elegant, she can be mean and cute at the same time.

Even though that’s it for season 1 analysis (the last series is more appropriate to review as part of 2nd season, plus it was a reaally big post, I need some time)

You can refresh this whole situation in the car 1 and the car 2 or follow the hashtag #apritello express as you please. It’s a pleasure of mine, keep in touch :)

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someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

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Come to Me

This is my submission for @levihan-drabbles Trope Tuesday - I jumped firmly on the bandwagon and went with prompt #4: Injured/hurt Levi & caring Hange. Juuuust eeked inside the max word count, but I’ll take it!

Warnings: This fic does contain some depictions of injury, nothing too graphic, but be aware if this is something that bothers you!

“Who was it this time?”

Hange expected no answer. As such, they were unsurprised at receiving nothing but a grunt and a hiss as they pressed an alcohol-soaked swab to the apple of Levi’s cheek, where the flesh, feverishly red and swollen now, had split like a burst seam.

Only rarely did Levi disclose the particulars of his adventures, and never when prompted. Hange knew better than to press. It wasn’t their role to ask questions, but the silence quickly grew oppressive when left unattended, and Hange would much rather listen to the sound of their own voice than the stifling quiet.

“Do they at least look worse off than you do?” They asked, tilting Levi’s bruised jaw to angle him better beneath the hanging bulb. Levi gave another noncommittal grunt, this one accompanied by a shrug of his shoulder and a grimace that tugged at his bust lip. The forming scab cracked open, and a thin trail of blood dripped towards his chin.

He was quiet, tonight. Moreso than usual. It wasn't in Levi’s nature to divulge too much of anything, but he could be vocal, in his own way. Hange’s poking and prodding was most often met with a grumbled ‘mind your damn business’ or ‘keep your nose out of my shit’ and occasionally, when Hange was in a particularly obnoxious mood, ‘quit jamming your finger into my ribcage’.

There was none of that now. Levi remained perplexingly silent while Hange disinfected the open wounds on his face and knuckles, cleaning smeared blood and palpating the joints, checking the swollen flesh for signs of damage they couldn't hope to fix in their parents' tool shed.

This had been their routine for a little while, a semi-regular occurrence since the first night Hange had found him crumpled over a bench in the park, sucking wet breaths through his teeth and trying in vain to stem the blood flow from a yawning gash on his arm. He had colourfully refused Hange’s offer of calling him an ambulance, and had vehemently denied that he needed to see a doctor, but he had eventually resigned himself to at least allowing Hange to help however they could with the first aid kit in their kitchen and what little medical knowledge they had absorbed from their mothers medical journals.

He had been a relative stranger to Hange, then. They’d seen him around sometimes, in school corridors between classes, or in the lunch hall, or around the back of the science block, where Hange had caught glimpses of him sparking up or stubbing out a cigarette, but besides these sporadic sightings, Hange's knowledge of Levi came only from whispered rumours.

The rumours, more than anything, made Hange worry that this was not a solitary incident.

“Just come to me,” Hange had said, as they'd finished wrapping the bandage around his wounds. “If you need help again. I kinda like my evening walks, and I think it’d ruin my night if I found you dead next time.”

In truth, Hange hadn’t expected him to take their offer seriously at all. Shocked as they were to see him turn up bloody and bruised at their window, they had stayed true to their word. Levi had tolerated their needling questions with surprising resilience, but eventually acquiesced to give some vague answers when Hange had suggested that he might be involved in something highly illegal.

“You’re in a gang,” they’d said.

“Like hell.”

“Selling drugs?”

“You think I’m stupid?”

“I got it—human trafficking."

“For fucks sake, four-eyes! I’m not—no, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Hange had accused him of every offense under the sun, but as it had turned out, there was nothing so terrible, nor so immoral or unlawful, about Levi’s affairs.

“I just get in fights, sometimes. I live in a rough neighbourhood. Tensions are high, people snap easy.”

“Do you? Snap easily, I mean.” Levi had given her a noncommittal shrug.

“Depends,” he had said. “Whether something’s worth snapping over.”

Hange had never asked what held that kind of wealth, for Levi. He had a deceptively calm aura about him whenever Hange saw him in passing; a little grumpy perhaps, with his thin eyes and drawn brows and pouted lips, but he never exuded the crackling energy of a bomb ready to explode.

Now, though, he seemed stormy. There was an intermittent twitch in his jaw where the muscle bunched and flexed. Despite Hange's close proximity, sitting with their knees tucked between his splayed legs, his gaze remained resolutely fixed somewhere over their shoulder. His freshly bandaged fists rested clenched atop his thighs. There was a pallor to his skin, the sickly hue of it exacerbated by the fluorescent glow from above them; the angle of the light deepened the shadows beneath his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks. He looked, if possible, more sullen than Hange had ever seen him.

Perhaps more tenderly than intended, Hange smoothed their thumb over the last steristrip on Levi's cheek. Something in the softness of the action must have caught his attention, for he drew his gaze towards Hange's face for the first time since turning up tonight. Hange tilted their head at him.

"Are you okay?"

Levi scoffed. "Do I look okay?"

No, Hange thought. You never do. "You've looked better."

"I'm fine."

Hange fought the urge to roll their eyes.

"Like pulling teeth," they mumbled. Levi shot them a look, something petulant and withering. Hange poked their tongue out at him, and winced when he aimed a kick at their ankle.

"Stop being difficult," Levi said. Hange looked at him incredulously, chest swelling and cheeks puffing with indignation. Levi was watching them calmly now, his brow quirked, and Hange felt the futility of arguing with him before they even began. Instead, they blew out a long, calming breath, and began packing the first aid supplies back into the kit.

Silence swelled between them, broken only by the crinkle of plastic as Hange, perhaps with more force than necessary, jammed spare wipes, swabs and bandages into place.

For once, Levi broke it.

"Oi, Hange."

Hange, not looking up from repacking their first aid kit, huffed loudly, and tried their best to ignore him. In the end, though, curiosity won out. "Mm?"

"If—" Levi began, then cut himself off with a harsh huff, and ticked his tongue against his teeth. "If anyone bothers you. Come to me, okay?"

Hange looked up at him, surprised. Levi wasn't looking at them, head turned away and eyes cast down towards the floor.

They weren't friends, exactly. Outside of their strange arrangement, they never really spoke to one another. Hange had, once or twice, caught Levi watching them with a curious expression on his face, but he never spoke to them in public. Hange was mostly at ease with the whole thing. There was an itch of intrigue they longed to scratch, but Levi's responsiveness to questioning had already made itself well known. Excluding their meeting in the park, they had never shared a single word with one another beyond the confines of the tool shed. Why, then, would Levi expect Hange to approach him anywhere else?

"Why would anyone bother me?" It was an earnest question, but Levi met their questioning gaze with a scowl. He opened his mouth with the kind of frustrated ferocity that preceded an argument, then closed it again, and huffed through his nose.

"I heard some things," he said. Hange said nothing, only blinked openly at him, and Levi was pressed to fill the silence. "Someone saying shit. About you."

Hange's brows lifted towards their hairline. "Oh?"

Levi scuffed the toe of his boot over the floor, face twisted in a sneer. Hange found it difficult to tell where his disgust was aimed; at whatever conversation he had overheard, or at himself for bringing it up.

Hange shuffled forward in their chair, one of their knees bumping against the inside of Levi's thigh. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, then up to Hange's face. Hange nudged his leg harder.

"C'mon, you can't say that and not tell me."

When Levi showed no signs of budging, Hange sat up straighter and folded their arms over their chest. "At least tell me who."

Levi rolled his tongue between his cheeks, deliberating. His gaze flitted over Hange's face as though he was hoping he might find something reflected in it. Whether he found what he wanted Hange didn't know, but after a long moment, he slumped back in his chair and crossed his arms to match Hange, and said, with no absence of venom, "Zeke."

Ah. That at least explained some of Levi's seething. He and Zeke had a history. Hange was unclear on the details, and much of the story was based on rumours passed down in hushed whispers, morphing with each new retelling, but what was clear enough was that the two disliked one another. On Levi's part, it was all clenched fists and frosty glances, while Zeke carried himself with a mix of smug satisfaction and barely restrained resentment.

Still, Hange found it hard to believe that Zeke would have anything too terrible to say about them. Their communication had been inconsequential at best—he had an air of self importance that Hange found a little grating, and an overconfidence in his own opinions, but the handful of instances in which they'd spoken to one another hadn't been unpleasant. Hange told Levi so, and watched with interest as a hint of colour rose in his cheeks and his frown deepened.

"He's a creep," Levi said. Hange's brows arched even higher.

"What, did he threaten me?"

Levi said nothing.

"Is he gonna beat me up?" Still nothing. "Did he call me ugly? Say I smell bad?"

"You do smell bad."

"Did he perv on me?"

Levi's response was both fascinating and telling. He tensed visibly, spine snapping straight, fingers curling tight into his palms—even his thigh, still resting against Hange's knee, clenched hard. Hange's grin widened.

"Jackpot," they said. Levi curled his lip

"Well, I'm honoured by your chivalry, Levi. But you didn't have to pick a fight with him just because he thinks I'm hot. It's kinda flattering, you know?"

"He doesn't even mean it," Levi said harshly. "He's just saying it because I—" but Levi cut himself off again, sharply, and pressed his lips into a thin line. The forming scab tugged, threatening to tear anew.

"Because you what?"

But Levi had had enough. He stood quickly, barely avoiding the low hanging bulb, his chair scraping back with a clatter. The new angle of the light cast his nose and brow into deep shadow, and illuminated his cheeks with a bright glow—despite the washed out look the light gave his skin, Hange could see twin strips of pink on either cheek.

"Thanks," he said. Hange blinked owlishly up at him, their mouth open. They wanted to press him, demand he finish saying what he'd started—and perhaps they would have, perhaps this time, curiosity would win out, and Hange would succeed in wrestling an answer from him for once, but he didn't give them the chance.

He ducked around the bulb and moved to brush past Hange's chair and out the door. Beside them, he stuttered in step and paused; Hange thought—hoped—that perhaps he might be debating telling them the full story. He opened his mouth, and closed it again, opened, and snorted quietly to himself.

Then he raised a bandaged hand, and ruffled it into the messy hair atop Hange's head.

"Thanks," he said.

And before Hange could speak, could move, could do much of anything but stare ahead in shock, Levi had gone.

If, come the following morning, Hange was at all surprised to see the cuts and bruises colouring Zeke's face—a rather delightful collage of red and purple, black, and blue—they hid it very well.

Levi's self-satisfied smirk was far less subtle.

#levihan #screams in exhausted #my schedule the last two days has not been conducive to writing anything ghjhg #they're supposed to be in like high school but I do not have the brain power to make it more obvious #snk #my writing

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nitrateglow · 3 years

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Halloween marathon 2021: 5-7

See No Evil

See No Evil is about a newly blinded woman named Sarah (Mia Farrow) staying with relatives in their remote English estate. Through a chance encounter, Sarah’s uncle unwittingly insults the dignity of a mysterious psychopath, who proceeds to butcher Sarah’s entire family while she’s on a date. Sarah returns home to a house of bodies she cannot see and before long, the killer comes back as well, intent on collecting incriminating evidence from the lonely house. Once she senses danger, Sarah tries to run for help, only to find herself wandering a hostile landscape without her proper bearings.

I always say you’ve never really seen a movie until you’ve at least seen it twice. On a cold viewing, you experience the story and on rewatch, you can better appreciate the tools used to contribute to a project’s success or failure. The second time around, I better appreciated See No Evil’s visuals, which are certainly effective in linking the (sighted) audience with the blind protagonist’s horrible predicament.

The camera is often kept low to the ground, almost as though it’s cowering in a corner, nervously observing the proceedings. The filmmakers also opt to shoot Farrow from the front and in close-up when she’s on the move, preventing the audience from seeing where she’s going, thus intimately linking us with her fear and disorientation.

Unfortunately, the cinematography is about all I have a greater appreciation for. My old problems with this movie remain: Sarah is an underwritten, reactive character and the movie is so sadistic in piling indignities and torments upon her that it ceases to be enjoyable. There is no reversal where she turns the tables and fights back “final girl” style, and her moments of resourcefulness are scant. Because her character remains a static victim, the movie also becomes pretty tedious, little more than a 90-minute catalog of misery.

As a mystery-thriller, the script is at least twisty, cleverly incorporating clues to the killer’s identity throughout. The scenario is slow-going—it takes about fifty minutes before the central chase gets underway—but at the very least, the atmosphere is strong throughout, emphasizing isolation and autumnal gloom. I suppose what makes this movie so frustrating is how skillful it is. The camerawork, atmosphere, and mystery are all compelling. Just something vital is missing...

Au Secours!

Directed by the legendary Abel Gance and starring comedian Max Linder, Au Secours is best described as a French surrealist riff on Buster Keaton’s The Haunted House. Linder bets that he can handle an hour in a notorious haunted house—should he call for help before the allotted time, he loses. Novel camera tricks and bizarre characters assail Linder at every turn, but he takes them all in stride. For the most part, this is amusing in a 1920s surrealist way.

And then things get weird. Like uncomfortable weird.

Linder gets a call from his wife, who’s being menaced by a grotesque thug in her bed. The viewer is pressed with tight, harrowing close-ups of Linder’s panicked and tear-stained face, stuff that looks like it should be in a horror movie. For real, it does NOT come off as comedic overreaction, it’s weirdly unnerving, especially since the film has been so frothy up to this point. I won’t spoil the final twist, but it’s just—what the hell??

It really has to be seen to be believed.

Black Christmas

This was a rewatch. I went from liking this movie to loving it. Black Christmas (the 1974 original-- I refuse to watch either remake) is about a group of sorority girls stalked by a killer during the holidays. Despite being an early slasher movie, the focus is less on gore and more on old-fashioned suspense. The film only benefits and remains quite intense.

I love a thousand things about this film, but what I appreciate most is how the filmmakers went out of their way to make sure you care about the characters before they start getting picked off. So many slashers just present you with generic dumb teens as the victims, but Black Christmas makes them all human and funny. In fact, the abundant comedy throughout the movie only augments the horror, making it more effective when characters are put in danger.

In fact, this movie differs from later slashers in other key ways too, like in the characterization of protagonist Jess (played by Olivia Hussey). Jess is the “final girl,” but she breaks the mold in clearly not being a virgin-- in fact, she’s pregnant out of wedlock. She is not an outsider among her peers but one of the leaders, taking on an almost maternal role when needed (in fact, there’s a lot of mother-based imagery associated with the character, such as the pieta-style position she takes on with idiot boyfriend Peter in her arms towards the end of the film).

Despite not being explicitly significant to the plot, the Christmas atmosphere adds a lot to the movie as well. The majority of the action takes place at night, lit only by the soft, colorful glow of Christmas lights.The wintry chill is palpable (especially when poor Jess is at the door, shivering while she listens to carolers), emphasizing the isolation of the characters in later scenes. Along with The Nightmare Before Christmas, this is a film you could watch during Halloween or Christmas, and it would not feel out of place.

One more thing-- the killer Billy is creepy as hell. He was creepier on rewatch than the first time, mainly because I started paying more attention to his ramblings about “Agnes.” They are so, so disturbing and imply a lot of horrible things about Billy. I like that the film opts to keep him mysterious, never sharing some tragic backstory to explain his behavior. As a result, the last scene is as chilling as Halloween’s, making Billy appear like a boogeyman figure, a personification of never-dying evil.

#see no evil #black christmas #thoughts #halloween marathon 2021 #horror #au secours

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general-kalani · 2 years

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Rough

A sister writing piece to Gentle

Essentially a “what if” romance study on if it was Veers Thrawn was admiring, not Pellaeon

Fic will also be available on AO3 to read after being posted here!

-------------------------------------------------------

Watching Veers, Thrawn believed he didn’t deserve the man.

Those hazel eyes the man wore, hardened by the war raging on just outside the Chimaera without a sign of ending. When the light hit just right they looked beautiful even if they were haunted having seen bloodshed firsthand. Hands calloused and roughened by the war that thought the General before him deserved it.

Different to Pellaeon who he missed so dearly. In so many ways. Pellaeon’s eyes had held just the right amount of soft and hardness. Brown eyes that were sweet in a way, but could be overpowering if one wasn’t careful. Hands that while calloused acted with a softness that made Thrawn melt under the simplest of touches.

The differences set them apart. But if all three of them could be together. The softness of a feather combined with the hardness of iron, perhaps there could be no difference. Blur the lines and admire everything about the two in a heartbeat with both of them there. Perhaps-

“Thrawn. I’m not going to leave you, I promised you that didn’t I?” The gruff voice asked, teasing in a manner, fingers almost dancing over the Chiss’ cheek before placing the entirety of the hand there, caressing the cheek bone.

The voice had even made his name sound rough. Steeled and harshly forged by iron before being spoken out loud. It made his heart stutter for a moment or two. He almost missed the soft way it was spoken by Pellaeon.

It made Thrawn blink once to refocus on Veers. There was a softness around Veers that made him more like Desh at the moment than Iron, as the nickname had gone around. He didn’t want it to leave. “I apologise I’m like this I-”

“I understand Thrawn, don’t worry. Six years is a hell of a long time for a human to handle. For you? The most brilliant tactical mastermind we have? Must be even more hellish. I understand though, don’t rush for me. Sort out your grief in your own time, no one elses. No one can replace Gilad, not even me. But I’ll try and support you all I can.”

Somewhere in the back of the mind, he needed that confirmation. It relaxed him more than he’d ever admit. Veers was the rock amongst a raging tide he needed to cling to at the moment. And he’d happily oblige to cling until the war was over.

Though worry kept him realistic. The man was part of the army. Any moment he could be gone and it would take minutes to hours before Thrawn heard any of it. The man could have asked for aid and Thrawn wouldn’t be there to assist-

Thrawn smiled back at Veers, taking the mans hand to first kiss the wrist, indescribable intimacy, then the second kiss pressed a little harder to the middle knuckle, a promise to protect him with his own life. Or attempt to.

“Thrawn, please. I can handle myself! I’m not ‘Iron Max’ for nothing now am I?”

Humour. This is what Pellaeon had been missing.

It made Thrawn smile a little more, even if he knew that it was unlikely. That the man before him could disappear in an instant without his assistance.

“I know, Max... I just like to see you get flustered over it.”

“The Iron Max does not get flustered.” He stated, indignant yet there was a faint blush on the cheeks Thrawn could easily pick out.

Please, stars or whoever listens, protect him from further harm...

I’d devote my very own life and soul to keep him safe.

#thrawn x veers #thrawn #maximilian veers #mitth'raw'nuruodo #minor hurt/comfort #implied character death #take my trash writing and go again lmfao #WHO IS LETTING ME WRITE #desh is a real metal #you can bite me for it before you take it away from me #mentioned thrawn x pellaeon

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emsleyanbluejay · 3 years

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Nonhuman AU Ideas condensed into a non-dashboard obliterating post:

Marko is a combination ambush/pursuit predator. As such, he loves a good game of chase, both as chasee and chaser. His favorite variation is hide-and-chase, with Sammy as the unwitting victim.

Jungle Boy likes to climb everything because he feels safer up high, and it’s very hard to get him down without bribery. His preferred payment is honey granola with dried fruit.

Luchasaurus can often be found basking on the roof of Daily’s Place in the summer before matches, and Jungle Boy has had to come get him on multiple occasions because he fell asleep.

Out of the three of them, Marko is the only one with an active prey drive, and he can get very hard to handle when he’s low on stimulation and enrichment for those instincts.

Jungle Boy bares his teeth when he’s stressed or overstimulated, an instinct he shares with the others, but he’s the only one who hasn’t entirely gotten the hang of smiling as a happy thing.

Contrary to popular belief, Luchasaurus cannot roar. His rumbles and growls are more than unsettling enough if need be, though, and he can almost chirp like a bird if he tries hard enough.

There’s several bets among the roster regarding when and how Sammy will finally figure out that Marko’s not human. Fuego’s money is on Marko bringing it up casually during a vlog sketch, while most of the Dark Order has a slightly more NSFW theory.

MJF is, surprisingly, not as much of a dick about Jungle Boy being only partly human as he could be. He will completely sidestep it if you try to ask why, but Luchasaurus’ current theory has something to do with Max not smelling quite human himself.

Brandon gets a bit of a kick out of driving Luchasaurus up the wall about the dragon thing. He’s a shapeshifter like Marko, so yes, technically he’s not a dragon, but it’s much more fun to engage in some harmless flirting call Luchasaurus out on being a hypocrite.

Luchasaurus gets the urge to make a pseudo-burrow when it’s cold, but it takes a truly hilarious number of blankets to make one that fits him. Pillow forts also work in a pinch, which Jungle Boy and Marko love to take advantage of.

Marko thinks it’s funny to freak people out by eating bones and raw meat. He doesn’t need to, he just can, and Joey’s horrified face when he cracks a bone open with his teeth always makes him laugh.

Jungle Boy almost entirely suppressed his social grooming instinct because humans find it weird. It took a lot of gentle encouragement from his partners for him to feel comfortable even combing their hair.

MJF is very cagey about his humanity (or lack thereof) and no one is quite sure what he is. Theories vary from a half-elf to an android to a faerie, but the last person to ask him to his face got a beat down from Wardlow for their troubles.

Neither Brandon nor Marko are your typical chameleon. Brandon has almost no prey drive whatsoever, while Marko has no real interest in actually shapeshifting beyond using it as part of his gimmick.

Lance is a ghoul, and he freaks Marko the fuck out. Realistically, Lance is no real danger to anyone outside of the ring, but since being thrown a good 15ft and nearly (kayfabe) murdered by a predator three times his size who could both figuratively and literally eat him for lunch, Marko is understandably jumpy around him.

Jungle Boy has ridiculous grip strength. If he doesn’t want to let go, you cannot force him to let go. Unless you’re Luchasaurus, in which case you just have to tell him to very sternly like the disappointed parent you are. Similarly, he has a very intense bite force and can put his canines clean through someone’s hand if he wants to.

I’ve touched on this before, but Chuck is friend-shaped to the vast majority of nonhumans he meets. Part of it is that he’s incredibly accepting of any weird instincts or behaviors, but most of it is that he’s just a funky little human doing his own thing and it’s oddly endearing.

Mox gets weirdly territorial about the ring sometimes, especially during tag matches, and especially near the full moon. This mostly gets expressed via crowding his opponents in his corner or trying to keep them outside for a count-out while he stands at the ropes threat posturing.

The Dark Order are Brodie Jr.’s Emotional Support Humans and proud of it. Silver and Reynolds have even proposed a t-shirt based on the concept. They’re all mostly immune to fae charm, with Five being the most susceptible and Ten being completely immune.

The Bucks flat-out refuse to believe that Marko and Brandon are the same species no matter how much Brandon anyone tries to convince them. Jurassic Express, for their part, thinks it’s hilarious how indignant Brandon gets about it and refuses to back him up.

Luchasaurus is completely desensitized to people messing with his tail. JB used to be very curious about it when they first met and would poke and tug at it because he’d never met anyone with a tail before, while Marko still play-hunts it from time to time when he’s bored, though he claims to have grown out of it.

#Blue Jay Chirps #see i told you i was going to be insufferable #take this as a hint that i’ve got another part to this in the works #i’m never off my bullshit about this AU #i would have more ideas if i could figure out what certain people are #i’ve got a whole list that i know is nonhuman but idk what the fuck they are #i’m not tagging everyone and you can’t make me #Nonhuman AU #Blue Talks Wrestling

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adamgaskell · 3 years

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miracalicethebookgirl · 4 years

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The Phony and the Famous Pt. 3

AO3

Pt 1. Pt 2.

Summary: Lila spreads lies about being famous with worldwide connections to increase her local popularity. She’s confident that Marinette will never be able to prove otherwise. What she, and even Marinette herself, don’t realize is that Marinette won’t have to do any of that to come out on top. - A story in which everything Lila lies about, Marinette turns into reality for herself, usually unknowingly (our girl is quite the lucky one, after all).

“Yes, I suffer from tinnitus, a constant ringing in my left ear. I've had it ever since the sound of an airplane engine burst my eardrum on the runway when I was saving Jagged Stone's lost kitten.”

Season 3, “Chameleon”

...

Fang was a simple creature.

He was hatched straight into the hands of the human he now called his owner and raised among those who often cowered from him. Very rarely did a human try to test Fang’s temper, so he grew up rather tame. His owner fed him well and presented him with many interesting gifts, most of which were quickly chewed through within days, if not hours. When Fang was not feeding or playing (or taking delightful baths), he would walk with and rest near and carefully watch his owner, for Jagged was a human worth Fang’s avid attention.

He could see when his owner was happy and content. It happened most when Jagged’s frequent companion—that human with the clipboard in her hands and the phone to hear ear, “Penny” she was called—would smile at him. It was even easier to tell when his owner was irritated and upset. Such moments were less frequent but still happened once or twice a week. Fang was now very accustomed to emitting a loud hiss on sight of the annoying man with the sunglasses and clanky jewelry.

And so Fang had his routine. Eat, play with his owner, sleep, growl happily at Jagged and his friends, hiss at the rabble, lounge in the bath, repeat (some steps more often than others).

Sure, Fang was unusual for a crocodile, but he was still a simple creature.

…

There was one girl who Fang recently began to see often. She was one of the few he was happy to ask for pets from, considering his owner always shouted happily when he saw her.

His owner called the girl “Marinette” or something of the like, but Fang thought her name should be Treats because she typically brought a box of cookies with her on her visits. Normally Fang wouldn’t care for human foods, but ever since the girl began bringing a variety of meaty snacks for Fang along with the cookies, the crocodile learned to become just as excited by her presence as his owner.

She was also very kind to Fang. Sure, she was reluctant to approach him at first as most humans do, but Fang understood that was how humans protected themselves. It proved she was a cautious one, yet also a brave and understanding one when Fang noticed that over time she became more comfortable with him, allowing him to nuzzle against her legs and growl in joy before climbing atop some furniture to beg for treats.

So one day, it was with little fuss that Fang allowed himself to be led out of the usual hotel by Treats. As a crocodile, he understood just enough that he would be in her care for the day.

Together, they walked down the streets of Paris. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping and nearby humans consistently gave them a wide berth on the sidewalk with horror on their faces. Just how Fang liked it.

He prided himself on being able to keep the massive crowds away from his owner when they traveled around the world. Under Fang’s watch, not once did a “rabid fan” lay their hands on even the hair from his owner’s head.

Well…except for that one time one of those “fans” managed to zap Fang with a bright light, thus sending the crocodile to some empty white place.

But that was neither here nor there.

Treats was watching Fang for the day, yes, but that also meant Fang would watch out for her.

“Wow, Marinette! You weren’t kidding when you said you were pet-sitting a crocodile today!”

And there it was. The first test.

As soon as the two of them entered a park through its gated entrance, a tall boy came running at them, followed by a few others. Fang was quick to intercept as he maneuvered himself in front of Treats and snapped his jaw in the air once. The boy instantly recoiled.

“Whoa!”

“Sorry, Kim! Fang doesn’t like it when strangers come too close.”

“Unsurprising. Crocodiles tend to get aggressive when their space is invaded and considering their large size, that space can span a couple meters radius from their body. I can’t quite tell if Fang is of the freshwater or saltwater variety, but I can tell you that 95% of attacks on humans are caused by provocation no matter what species the crocodile is.”

“That’s a pretty good explanation. Thank you, Max,” Treats said as she bent down to pat Fang’s head. “Fang is just really protective of his owner and it extends to other people he likes. It takes some time for him to know a person so best to keep your distance for today.”

The first boy slumped. “Aw, man.”

Fang turned his snout away. That was the human’s problem. No way was Fang going to let his guard down just from some pitiful look.

By then, more young humans had gathered around but stayed far away, much to Fang’s satisfaction. They seemed to be friends with Treats, judging by her easy smile as she conversed with them, so he figured he’d keep his hissing to a minimum.

The afternoon passed peacefully in the park. Treats’ friends came and went without bothering Fang much as he lounged in a sunpatch.

He kept a watchful eye on one boy, though, who seemed a little too familiar with the girl. When the boy placed a hand on her shoulder, Fang let out a quiet warning hiss only to be met by a short hiss from the boy himself. It was oddly high for a human and the others didn’t seem to hear. Fang retaliated by crawling over and draping himself over Treats’ lap.

She let out an indignant squawk but Fang ignored it, reptilian eyes focused on the boy who had smartly moved away when Fang had approached. All the boy could do then was narrow his eyes at the crocodile momentarily before his face smoothed over and he went back to smiling at Treats.

If his cold-blooded body had allowed it, Fang would have scoffed.

Crocodiles may be simple creatures. But cats were even more so.

…

At some point, Fang became hungry.

He plodded a circle around Treats, who by then had moved to sitting on a bench as she struck up conversation with more friends. He rumbled and groaned for attention, which she was quick to give, and he delicately snapped his jaws at her to indicate his hunger.

“Oh, no! That alligator is about to eat Marinette!” came a shrieking from the distance.

Fang’s jaws clamped shut as he was quick to look for said alligator so he could fight it. Maybe he could make a meal out of it because such a scuffle would take a lot of him.

He was ignorant to the random screaming that erupted from all around the park while Treats’ friends spread out to try and calm people. Fang huffed.

Seriously, how was he supposed to find the alligator with all the chaos?

He turned back to Treats to see her glaring at another human girl. Ah, this must be another test. Perhaps the girl cried alligator as a ruse to distract Fang.

“No, really!” the girl continued. “I’ve seen rabid reptiles before and this one just isn’t safe! They latch onto one prey and they’ll keep on chasing no matter what you do! We have to get Marinette away from that alligator!”

Humans around the park hadn’t stopped running every which way while Treats’ friends looked on uncertainly. It confused Fang, because he still did not know what alligator the girl was screaming about. So he simply plodded closer to Treats and nuzzled her leg, hoping she would clear things up for him.

She must’ve understood crocodile language because thankfully her next words cleared things up for everyone.

“Lila!” Treats shouted reproachfully. “You need to be quiet for five seconds so I can explain to you and everyone else in this park that it’s all a misunderstanding. I am absolutely safe right where I am!” Her expression reminded Fang of when Penny would stand up eerily straight with a glare and somehow tower over his owner despite being much shorter. Needless to say, the posture and tone got the girl to shut up just as quick as Jagged would.

Treats marched over to this “Lila” and Fang was quick to follow. At least until Treats turned back to him and kindly motioned him to stay. Fang was a good crocodile so he did as he was told. The friends kept their distance.

“Now listen here, Lila,” she started off quietly once she stood just a meter away from the girl. “I need you to remain calm because panic from you and panic from everyone else is not going to solve anything. Fang is a completely tame crocodile and though he might look threatening, he knows better than to attack anyone. In fact he’s lived with humans his entire life.”

Fang nodded in satisfaction. He understood now that the girl thought he was the alligator. How silly. But an unfortunately common mistake.

The other humans seemed to share the same sentiment. Many of them nodded and smiled in relief. The Lila girl however, notably did not look reassured. If anything, she looked about ready to burst into tears.

“But Marinette! I thought you knew that I’m deathly afraid of crocodiles. I was traumatized as a child when I had to save baby flamingos from a herd of them in Africa!” And then she covered her eyes with her hands and actually started to cry. “How could you ignore that and do this to me!” she wailed.

Okay, Fang felt kind of bad at this point. He was sure Treats would never purposefully scare someone but he didn’t want to stick around any longer if a human was so terrified of him.

A few of Treats’ friends rushed over to the crying girl and tried to comfort her but they also defended Treats.

“I’m sure Marinette didn’t mean any harm!”

“Yeah, she didn’t even know most of us would be at the park today.”

“Come on, Lila, maybe we should get you home?”

Treats herself took a step back to let the others surround Lila. She held a frown on her face but said, “If Lila needs some time to calm down then Fang and I will head out first. Better to take away the cause of her trauma immediately, right? Besides, it’s about time we get him back to Jagged anyway.”

Some heads perked up at that.

The cat-boy from earlier, who stood apart from the crowd (and noticeably much closer to Treats) had a little glint in his eye. “That’s right! Fang is Jagged Stone’s beloved pet crocodile. Pretty neat that you were the first person he thought of to pet-sit for him. He must trust you a lot.”

Lila had been taken to sit at a far off bench by then, but Fang’s crocodile senses allowed him to hear that her sobbing had stopped and surprisingly a low growl had replaced it. One glance at her and he could spot the fury and shock in her eyes, unseen by anyone else.

If Fang had eyebrows he’d have raised them so high up. He settled for a confused hiss.

He really wished humans were simpler creatures.

Most of Treats’ friends wandered back to them after seeing that Lila had calmed down considerably and they excitedly began to ask Treats questions about Fang’s owner.

She just raised her hands up placatingly and shook her head, insisting that she get Fang back to the hotel to avoid any other mishaps. It made Fang a little sad to go back indoors so soon, but he didn’t put up a fuss. He just waited patiently as Treats finally turned around to walk over to him.

However, as soon as she looked in Fang’s direction, Treats’ eyes widened and she screamed his name. Almost too fast for his eyes to follow, she sprinted towards him before scooping his entire body into her arms and lifting him above her head.

Nobody moved for several seconds as a large runaway food cart went speeding through the exact spot Fang had been in.

The cart crashed into a nearby tree and a man—probably the owner—rushed by in distress, a constant stream of apologies spilling out of his mouth.

Fang felt himself being lowered to the ground. When he turned to look at Treats, he saw that everyone looked as gobsmacked as he felt, even the heroic girl herself.

“Holy kwami,” Fang barely heard cat-boy say under his breath. The sound of his whisper seemed to break the group out of their trance.

“DC, that was insane!” shouted the tall boy from before. “You just deadlifted a massive beast! Max, how heavy was that?!”

“U-uh, let’s see. Based on Fang’s size, he could be anywhere from 80 to 85 kg (approx. 175-188 lbs).”

“She reacted so fast I didn’t even see her move!”

“My girl’s always been on another level. Guess I didn’t realize how much until now.”

“Marinette saved Fang’s life! Ooh, we’ve got to post this!”

While her friends continued to chatter in amazement among themselves, Treats didn’t even notice them. She merely stared at Fang in relief before she patted him on the head. He looked up at her in question.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” she sighed and slumped forward. “That was way too close.”

Fang was sure he could have handled it just fine, but was thankful nonetheless. He showed his gratitude by giving a low grumble and nuzzling her hand.

Soon the other humans finally calmed down, allowing Treats and Fang to leave the park. Treats herself seemed paranoid on the walk back, looking every which way to make sure danger didn’t come flying at them again. Meanwhile Fang made sure she didn’t accidentally walk into a busy road or run into objects.

They met with Jagged and Penny back in the hotel suite and were immediately brought into a group hug by the man.

“Marinette, your rock n’ roll heroic deed went viral and it’s all anyone’s been talking about for the past hour. I may have written a song about Ladybug and Chat Noir but I think I’m gonna dedicate it to everyday heroes like you, next time I perform it!”

The girl stuttered out some response while his owner kept shouting happily about this and that. Fang ignored it and ambled over to the couch to take a nap, something he felt he earned after such an exciting day.

He was a simple creature after all.

#ml fic #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #fang #lila rossi #miracuclass #the phony and the famous #croc facts #adrienette

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tessadoesstuff · 4 years

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Run It With Love - Chapter 1

For the KOTOBER event from Tumblr!

For Day 1 - Beast

Next Chapter!

A non-linear story of Bly, Aayla, and Quinlan in the time of the Knights of the Old Republic games (about 3,800 years before the prequels) designed to be read without any knowledge of that game or time.

This story will eventually use all of the prompts from KOTOBER, although for the sake of my sanity I will be posting around 3 prompts a week rather than one a day :D

Thank you to LadyVadar and GoBayern for betaing this fic for me!

Aayla fiddles with the gloves she is wearing, even as she sends a cocky grin over to the crowded sidelines of the racing track. She scans the mass of sentients gathered at the dusty, questionably legal, sandy swoop-racing track until her eyes find where Quinlan has chosen his space. Aayla’s master is about 100 yards past the starting line, leaning over the edge of the track to wave at her. Mission has perched on his shoulders, cackling at something Quinlan must have said. The 14-year-old twi’lek is gripping Quinlan’s shoulders with her legs, her hands in the air, waving at Aayla. Admittedly, that was a very good way to get her attention and make sure she spotted them. Mission’s bright blue skin stood out from the dusty shades of green and brown worn by most of those local to Tatooine.

The organizer of the day’s races, Motta the Hutt, begins speaking over the intercom. He announces that the race would begin soon, which draws Aayla’s attention back to the track ahead of her. She tunes out the fake voice that one of the announcers is putting on – if she had to guess she would put her credits on the twi’lek girl trying to play up the stereotype of the weak, pretty female twi’lek. Whoever the announcer is, they’re repeating the fake backstory Aayla produced when she found herself in this time, declaring her the rookie racer this swoop-racing season.

A second, male announcer takes over as the start light ahead of Aayla starts to power on. She listens a little closer when the announcer mentions the time to beat. 23 seconds doesn’t seem too bad – she had watched racers on Taris do much better when she had watched the season opener. Although to be fair, that had been an entirely different track on a different planet.

Aayla flips the lever on the side of her speeder – no, they’re called swoop bikes at this point in time – to turn on the bike’s custom accelerator on and feels it hum to life beneath her, the extra power surging through the bike. As the lights begin to count down to the start of the race, Aayla wraps her hands around the throttle and brake controls attached to the handles of the speeder. As the go light turns green, Aayla slams the throttle trigger to the handlebar, squeezing it tight, and the bike leaps into motion.

Immediately she shifts to avoid the huge pile of debris in front of her, dodging left towards one of the ten acceleration pads placed along the track to give a boost of speed to a racer. As she passes over the pad, she slams her left handlebar forwards, releasing the speed that her accelerator has been building up. Combined, the two speed boosts send her shooting ahead. Through the air, she can feel the vibrations that mean the male announcer is commenting on something, but only barely.

Her lekku stream out behind her as she hits another speed panel and dodges between two more piles of the Hutt’s junk out on the field, the wind rushing around them as she gains speed until the only vibrations she can hear are the ringing songs of the air. She speeds over two more speed panels placed back to back, releasing her speed from the accelerator again as she hits the second pad, and its ever-so-slight slope is enough that she gets a fair amount of air as she does, and she sails over the ridge of sand left in the track by a previous racer. If her count is right, she’s ten seconds in, and almost halfway there. Her count has never been wrong in any of her practice runs.

The following pad is on the far side of the wide track, and at her high speed she only manages to clip the corner of it, but that sets her up for the next one. She squeezes between a rock arch and an artificial obstacle for a straight drive at the oncoming pad.

She takes a deep breath, and just as she reaches it, she slams both her handlebars forward to activate all of her accelerator’s speed, and then adds just a touch of brakes and twists the handlebars the way Anakin would twist the steering wheel when he pod-raced in the lower levels of Coruscant with her, and the bike shoots into the air, clearing two obstacles and sailing for a good hundred yards, despite the fact that the swoop bikes were clearly designed to hover at less than knee height above the ground.

In the air, Aayla sails over another speed pad without activating it, but the next two are in a straight shot to the finish line. On the ground, Aayla would have to dodge several obstacles to get to them, but airborne, she is able to sail right to them, landing on the tail end of the first and shooting straight at the second and final speed pad, releasing her accelerator’s speed for the last time as she shoots across the finish line.

In the end zone, Aayla lets go of the throttle, which she had been squeezing at max since the start of the race, and eases into the brace as she loops around the circular end zone. When the swoop bike finally comes to a rest, she hops off the bike and looks over to the entrance to the end zone. The gate slams open, and three figures come bounding through into the end zone.

“Bly!” She cries out, throwing her arms around her boyfriend, who gives a chuckle and hugs her back. “How did I do?” She asks. She had been moving too fast to hear when they announced her time. Bly gives a dopey grin back at her.

“22 and a half seconds. You did it! That gives you the top time today unless there are any late challengers.” Aayla grins, still full of the adrenaline from moving that fast. She can see less than half the track from where she’s standing. She leans forward and kisses Bly on each cheek, right on top of his golden tattoos.

“With a race like that? There won’t be any late challengers.” Sam comments from where they’re leaning against their swoop-bike, the Jedi checking the ignition and the accelerator on their swoop bike.

“I know! You were incredible!” Juhani adds. The cathar has one of the biggest grins Aayla has ever seen on her face, and the ponytail that is perched on the back of her head sways back and forth a little as the Jedi padawan bounces up and down a little.

“Oh please, my bike was incredible. You were okay.” Sam comments as they bang their lightsaber against the brakes. Aayla giggles, even as Juhani and Bly make twin noises of protest. “We should start heading back – we agreed to meet Master Vos and Mission outside the swoop offices,” Sam adds, and Aayla waves over one of Motta the Hutt’s employees to take Sam’s bike back to the swoop offices on one of their trailers, now that Sam has given it their thumbs up.

Once the bike was all loaded up, Aayla loops her arm through Bly’s and ducks out of the gate onto the path through the sandy Tatooine wastelands. Sam and Juhani follow one step behind them, the sand crunching under their feet as they begin their trek. The sun is beginning to set, so it is only horribly hot out, as opposed to the nearly deadly heat it had been when the races had started.

“When did you and Juhani get here, Sam? I thought the whole point of me riding this race was that you were going to be busy with our side project.” That gets a sigh out of Juhani.

“We hit a dead-end for today. Mission’s brother definitely came here with his girlfriend after he ditched Mission on Taris.” The cather offers, but that was hardly new news. They had heard as much from said ex-girlfriend when Mission had run into her on Dantooine.

“And Lena’s theory was definitely right – after she dumped Griff, he was employed by Czerka Corp for a while. Unfortunately, he’s missing right now, and the Czerka representative is being dodgy about answering any questions about him.” Sam adds on.

“The more I hear about Mission’s brother, the less I think he’s half the man she thinks he is,” Bly adds. “I mean, he was already on thin ice for abandoning his 12-year-old sister on a planet where the system is designed to oppress and marginalize non-humans like her. But every time I learn something new about him, he still manages to surprise me.” Bly grinds out. Aayla can feel his indignation strong in the force. Bly takes being a good older brother very seriously.

“And, the Czerka representative expressed that while they are too busy to look into it now, if someone were to, say, deal with their Sand People problem on the West Dune Sea, they would be more than happy to help. Not that they would be able to pay the said person.” Sam adds.

“You got to love casual, openly corrupt businesses, don’t you?” Aayla chimes in, and gets snorts of laughter from the others, so she considers it a success.

“It’s horrible. I can’t believe the things Czerka gets away with.” Juhani responds, her disapproval filling the force.

“So, what’s the plan? Do you need us to distract Mission again while you guys keep hunting down this lead?” Aayla chimes back in.

“If that’s possible? That would be ideal.” Sam responded, and Juhani nodded.

“Of course, it is. There’s another race tomorrow.” Aayla smirks.

“Maybe Mission will manage to drag Zaalbar to the race with her this time.” Bly offered, a fond smile on his face.

“I doubt it. I bet sand is a pain to get out of Wookie fur.” Sam chimes back in.

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whatelsecanwedonow · 4 years

Link

I’m picking out parts of this conversation I found especially interesting. Italics are mine:

You know, I’ve been trying to think of some precise, encapsulating question to ask you about what we’ve been witnessing over the last few weeks, and everything I was coming up with felt forced or phony. Maybe it’s better, because you’ve been eloquent during times of crisis in the past, just to ask what you’ve been thinking about and seeing in the aftermath of George Floyd’s killing? I’d like to say I’m surprised by what happened to him, but I’m not. This is a cycle, and I feel that in some ways, the issue is that we’re addressing the wrong problem. We continue to make this about the police — the how of it. How can they police? Is it about sensitivity and de-escalation training and community policing? All that can make for a less-egregious relationship between the police and people of color. But the how isn’t as important as the why, which we never address. The police are a reflection of a society. They’re not a rogue alien organization that came down to torment the black community. They’re enforcing segregation. Segregation is legally over, but it never ended. The police are, in some respects, a border patrol, and they patrol the border between the two Americas. We have that so that the rest of us don’t have to deal with it. Then that situation erupts, and we express our shock and indignation. But if we don’t address the anguish of a people, the pain of being a people who built this country through forced labor — people say, ‘‘I’m tired of everything being about race.’’ Well, imagine how [expletive] exhausting it is to live that.

Does the scale and intensity of the protests suggest some positive strides toward accountability? Maybe. Look, every advancement toward equality has come with the spilling of blood. Then, when that’s over, a defensiveness from the group that had been doing the oppressing. There’s always this begrudging sense that black people are being granted something, when it’s white people’s lack of being able to live up to the defining words of the birth of the country that is the problem. There’s a lack of recognition of the difference in our system. Chris Rock used to do a great bit: ‘‘No white person wants to change places with a black person. They don’t even want to exchange places with me, and I’m rich.’’ It’s true. There’s not a white person out there who would want to be treated like even a successful black person in this country. And if we don’t address the why of that treatment, the how is just window dressing. You know, we’re in a bizarre time of quarantine. White people lasted six weeks and then stormed a state building with rifles, shouting: ‘‘Give me liberty! This is causing economic distress! I’m not going to wear a mask, because that’s tyranny!’’ That’s six weeks versus 400 years of quarantining a race of people. The policing is an issue, but it’s the least of it. We use the police as surrogates to quarantine these racial and economic inequalities so that we don’t have to deal with them.

...we’ve got a [expletive]-up permanent campaign system with too much money in it. Don’t people know that already? The politicians don’t even know how [expletive] up their system is. Nancy Pelosi was on ‘‘The Daily Show,’’ and we were talking about how money has a corrupting influence in politics. I said, ‘‘You raised $30 million. How does that money corrupt you?’’ She said it doesn’t. So money corrupts, but not you? That’s someone within the system. And when I went down to Washington for the 9/11 victim-compensation bill, I learned something that shocked me. We had a program that was working. Bureaucratically, it wasn’t broken. What is broken about Washington isn’t the bureaucracy. It’s legislators’ ability to address the issues inherent in any society — and the reason they can’t address them is that when you have a duopoly, there is no incentive to work together to create something better. Plus, you have one party whose premise is that government is bad and whose goal is to prove that, which makes them, in essence, a double agent. All these things coalesce to make problem-solving the antithesis of what we’ve created. We’re incentivized for more extreme candidates, for more extreme partisanship, for more conflict and permanent campaigning, for corporate interests to have more influence on the process, not less. The tax code isn’t complicated because poor people have demanded that it be that way.

What do you think of the news media’s handle on this political moment more generally? I don’t think it has ever had a good handle on a political moment. It’s not designed for that. It’s designed for engagement. It’s like YouTube and Facebook: an information-laundering perpetual-radicalization machine. It’s like porn. I don’t mean that to be flip. When you were pubescent, the mere hint of a bra strap could send you into ecstasy. I’m 57 now. If it’s not two nuns and a mule, I can’t even watch it. Do you understand my point? The algorithm is not designed for thoughtful engagement and clarity. It’s designed to make you look at it longer.

Have there been any positive changes, though? Let me give you an example of what might be one: When you were doing ‘‘The Daily Show,’’ part of what made you unique was your last-sane-man-in-Crazytown quality. You would actually say that someone in power was telling a lie when the nightly newscasters wouldn’t. Now they will say that. Is that a step in the right direction? The media’s job is to deconstruct the manipulation, not to just call it a lie. It’s about informing on how something works so that you understand the lie’s purpose. What are the structural issues underneath the lie? The media shouldn’t take the political system personally, or allow its own narcissism to rise to the narcissism of the politicians, or become offended that the politicians are lying — their job is to manipulate.

How much might his administration’s response to Covid-19 hurt him in November? That’s the question the media asks. What they should be focused on is, here’s what happens when you hollow out the pandemic-response team. You have to go after the case of competence and anticorruption. The media wants to prosecute the case of offensiveness. That doesn’t matter. But there were decisions about P.P.E. and the states that were made without any federal response, and that does matter. It’s really about, what is government? Are we the Articles of Confederation? Are we the Constitution? Are we the United States? What are we? If we’re just 50 states, and if New York can push Delaware out of the way and get masks, and now Delaware has got to pay 10 times what it was going to pay — are we being led or not? It’s the wildest thing. I’ve never seen anybody who can say in the same breath, as the president does, ‘‘I am in charge, only I can fix this, and I take no responsibility.’’ You cannot process that. So what you have to process is the actual process: How do masks help? Do they help? You have to really explain it to people, but we allow the mask-wearing to be reduced to its symbolic meaning. Things like masks can’t just become another avatar of political representation. That’s where we go wrong.

This might be a little Civics 101, but I hope you’ll indulge me: A lot of your work has fundamentally been about interrogating certain truths or ideas about America and the American experiment. Things like: What does this country mean? What are its ideals and values? What’s its character? Over the last few years those questions have only become harder to contemplate in any coherent way, let alone answer. Do those questions still hold for you? Every society lies to itself to some extent. Every person does. And sometimes you have to face the truth. The truth of the American experiment is that government is messy. It’s hard to manage. We are melding cultures and religions in a way that most countries don’t. But we have an exceptionalism that we have taken for granted, and we get lost in the symbolism of who we are rather than the reality. The reality of who we are is still remarkable. You can’t take the anecdotal and pretend it’s universal. You can’t take a picture of the Lake of the Ozarks and people on top of each other drinking and say, ‘‘That’s how America responded to the pandemic.’’ Because it’s not. The boots-on-the-ground response has been phenomenally resilient and responsible and courageous. The sense that this could all turn into ‘‘Mad Max’’ tomorrow always hangs over everything — but it hasn’t. There are issues, but again, we point a spotlight on the anecdotal and pretend that it’s universal. What that does is feed the narrative for people who want to use it for their own purposes. That’s what drives me bananas. We’re basically having giant public fights about symbolism, while the reality of our situation goes unexamined.

Are you hopeful about what lies ahead? Always. Because the view we get of the country is not accurate. We get the artifice of it, the conflict of it. I’m not naïve. I don’t think that true divisions and animosities and bigotry and prejudices don’t exist. We see that every day. But fundamentally, we are a resilient and strong and resourceful nation that has oftentimes overcome our worst tendencies — ‘‘overcome’’ is probably too strong a word. But our biggest problem as humans is ignorance, not malevolence. Ignorance is an entirely curable disease.

How? Information and work. You need to talk to people. Ignorance is often cured by experience, by spending time with what you don’t understand. But I honestly don’t know. Well, you know what? I do know: In the same way that Trump’s recklessness is born out of experience, so is my optimism, because good people outweigh [expletive] people. By a long shot.

#the good people have to be in control tho to speak to the last two sentences #the weight of the good must be felt #but 'you can't take the anecdotal and pretend it's universal' is!!!#'we're basically having giant public fights about symbolism'#yes #b/c it's listless insanity there's no one at any wheel #being able to succinctly discuss topics like this is a hell of a thing #i don't rly care to tag this and have randos interact #'an information-laundering perpetual-radicalization machine' is also twitter dot com #and like... all of social media #anyway #long post

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carmenlire · 5 years

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Ever After, After All

read on ao3

Alec lays awake, staring at the ceiling.

He should be the happiest person on the planet-- and he is. Turning his head, something in Alec eases at the sight of Magnus, moonlight bouncing off warm skin, making him look at once ethereal and deeply human.

His fiancé of a handful of hours is stunning, even with messy hair and chapped lips. A part of Alec-- the unforgivably sentimental part that he usually tries to tamp down-- thinks that Magnus is the most gorgeous man on earth, just like this.

Twisting his ring by sight alone, Alec feels the coolness of the gold band and he smiles a little. The happiness that curls around his heart is stymied, though, and he hates it. He hates that there’s room for anything else right now except blinding joy and all the love in the world.

Because there’s grief, too. There’s a weight in his chest that just grows more oppressive whenever he tries to push it away. It’s a dank cloud that covers everything, turning it into the worst sort of purgatory.

Lifting up onto an elbow, Alec leans over Magnus and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Love you,” he murmurs and Magnus stirs, turning onto his side, reaching out for Alec with a hand that doesn’t quite manage to find him. The move warms Alec, pushes the maelstrom away the tiniest bit. Still, he sighs and carefully climbs out of bed, grabbing his phone on his way out.

Using the moonlight, he leaves their bedroom and pads into the living room. He reaches for one of the squat glasses on Magnus’s drink cart and then the decanter along the edge. The low light sets the crystal gleaming and Alec sighs into the quiet darkness, pours a splash or two of brandy and takes a small, lingering sip.

It’s a warm summer night and so he makes his way to the french doors. Opening one door, a light breeze drifts over him and Alec takes a bracing breath as he steps onto the balcony. He sits down on the couch-- or really, he falls onto it.

He feels heavy and exhausted and he’s not quite sure how to fix things.

Shifting forward on the couch, Alec rests elbows on his knees. Head down, slowly rolling his glass between his hands, his shoulders droop.

Out here, like this, it’s easy to imagine that he’s the only person in the world. Like this, it’s hard to know the right answer to a question he’s been asking himself for years.

Frustrated, Alec throws back the rest of his drink. Swallowing hard, he sets the glass down on the ground as he pulls out his phone. The light from the screen glares up at him, makes him wince.

His eyes adjust quick enough though as he swipes to unlock the phone and he opens his contact list, scrolls down to a number he knows by heart.

His thumb hovers over the call button. He hesitates for what seems like ages but he just can’t do it. Forgetting that it’s the middle of the night, Alec doesn’t even know where he’d start that conversation.

Raking his free hand through his hair, Alec doesn’t know what to do. In an ideal world, sure. Unfortunately, this world isn’t perfect and he’s achingly aware of that fact.

“Trouble sleeping?”

Looking up, Alec smiles wanly at Magnus. “You could say that.”

His fiancé has haphazardly thrown a robe on, leaving it untied, and he doesn’t waste a moment walking over to Alec. Sitting down next to him, Magnus wraps an arm around his shoulders, hugs him a little closer before he kisses the side of his head.

Nosing along his cheek, Magnus’s voice is low as he says, “Talk to me, darling.”

Looking over at him, Alec shrugs a little before he looks back down. His hand falls to Magnus’s thigh, strokes an absent thumb over skin and silk.

“I just,” he starts, before breaking off with an exasperated breath. Tilting his head so that it’s resting on Magnus’s arm, Alec stares up at the sky, at the millions of stars twinkling down on them.

“I just,” he repeats softly, “Wish that I could tell my mom that I’m engaged, that I met a man and fell head over heels in love with him and that I know, without a doubt, that he’s the love of my life.”

Shifting over to look at Magnus’s face, Alec sees him already staring down at him, expression soft and full of dawning understanding.

“I wish I could tell her that the past five years have been the best five years of my life and that when he asked me to marry him tonight-- when I finally realized why he’d been stealing furtive looks in my direction for the past few weeks and why he’d seemed so nervous all damn day-- I started crying but it was okay because he wiped the tears away with a shit-eating grin as he held up a ring.”

Alec’s voice is hoarse as he continues, “I wish I could tell my mom that I’m happy and just how much I love you but I can’t. Not if I still want her in my life, not if I still want a relationship with her. There’s this whole part of my life that she knows nothing about and it feels wrong and weird but I can’t change things and I hate that for the rest of my life, she’ll never know this piece of me. I hate that I have to censor myself, that whenever I talk about you, it’s just as a friend. I hate that I’m thirty goddamn years old and afraid to tell my mother the truth.”

Closing his eyes to keep more tears at bay, Alec’s voice is barely above a whisper as he manages to finish, “I hate that I know just how conditional my mother’s love is and that I have to keep these secrets-- that I have to protect her whenever every lie, either outright or by omission, feels like fucking glass in my throat.”

“Oh Alexander,” Magnus whispers. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

With a wet laugh, Alec shakes his head, resigned. “You don’t need to be sorry, babe. I am so fucking happy to be your husband. I just wish I could share it with my mom.”

Magnus’s voice is tentative as he asks, “I know we’ve talked about this before but are you sure about Maryse’s reaction? I know she’s a stern woman but I’ve seen the way she looks at you and she loves you, Alec. She really does. You’ve said yourself that she’s so much better since she divorced Robert.”

“And she is,” Alec agrees before he frowns. “But that doesn’t change how conservative she is. Divorce notwithstanding, she’s very traditional. As much as it hurts, I know that she loves me-- but only to a certain point. We're from an old family and she's always kept those values, that outlook that scorns any hint of scandal. I couldn’t stand to see her face if I told her I was gay, that I was marrying a man. It would infuriate her and devastate us both.”

Alec closes his eyes on a deep sigh, twisting so that he can shove his face against Magnus’s neck. He hugs him tight, breathes a little easier at the heat radiating from Magnus, thankful for the millionth time that his boyfriend-- fiancé, he corrects with a smile-- runs warm.

Rubbing his back, Magnus kisses the shell of his ear before he says, “I support you no matter what you decide, Alexander. And while I’d love nothing more than to shout to the world that I love you and you’re my everything, I’m perfectly content being introduced to your mother as simply your best friend. We've done it for years, after all.”

Silence falls over the balcony as the two of them turn to their own thoughts. After awhile, Alec finds it in himself to laugh. “At least Jace, Max, and Izzy know. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to hide us from them, too.”

Making a little noise of amusement that Magnus would deny to his dying day is a snort of laughter, he pulls back to meet Alec’s eyes. “Yes, it’s a very good thing indeed that your siblings know about us-- just think how traumatizing it would’ve been when they walked in on us that time during vacation if they hadn’t.”

Alec shudders, a little dramatic just to see Magnus’s smile widen. “I never would’ve lived it down,” he replies gravely.

Alec relaxes into Magnus and they stay out on the balcony a little while longer until he shivers in the coolness. Magnus takes that as a hint and urges Alec to standing, guiding them back to their bedroom. Alec’s breath catches as their hands interlace, as he feels Magnus’s thumb run over his engagement ring.

As they fall into bed, Alec finally feels the weight slough off him. He knows it’s but a respite, that these feelings will plague him again, but he has Magnus and he can’t regret anything to do with the man he’d fallen for ages and ages ago.

Turning onto his side, Alec feels Magnus lay a bare kiss on between his shoulders, relaxes under the arm thrown over his waist.

He falls asleep, eager for morning to dawn bright and early, eager for the future he knows will be spent at Magnus's side.

Laughing, Alec opens the car door. Getting out of the backseat, he sees Magnus already standing on the sidewalk, shaking his head in bemusement.

“What,” he asks, grinning. “I’m right and you know it.”

Magnus pouts, actually pouts, and Alec’s helpless to do anything but pull him closer as soon as possible, immediately. He closes the door to the cab with barely a thought, all of his focus on the man in front of him.

Thankfully, the street isn’t busy and Alec’s able to wrap his arms around Magnus, hands resting low on his back as he guides his fiancé back, away from the curb. The doorman opens the door, expressionless, and Alec keeps walking him forward until they’ve entered the lobby of the hotel.

Magnus isn’t fazed at all. Trusting Alec to keep him from running into anything, he wraps his arms around Alec’s neck, sending him a half-assed glare.

“I know nothing of the sort, I assure you,” he says, playfully supercilious and infuriatingly attractive for it.

“C’mon,” Alec wheedles. “Chocolate peanut butter is a combination fit for kings. Our cake is going to be so delicious.”

Magnus voice is dry as he replies, “Alexander, you seem to forget that our cake is going to be three tiers. That’s three different flavors, none of which should be a glorified Reese’s cup. Peanut butter and chocolate is disgusting and I refuse to subject our guests to it.”

“Disgusting,” Alec squawks, indignant. “How can I be in love with someone who apparently has defunct taste buds? Why do you hate joy so much, babe?”

“We have two hours to decide on our wedding cake, darling. I’m sure we can come to an agreement in that time. For instance, mint chocolate chip is absolutely--”

“A no-go,” Alec says firmly.

Magnus nods, grimacing in distaste. “Definitely. Ugh. Now those are people are wrong. Imagine liking that combination, dear God.”

Biting back a laugh, Alec leans in and kisses Magnus before he can get too worked up. He’d once listened to a twenty five minute diatribe on just why mint chocolate ice cream was the devil’s flavor.

It’s early fall and the two of them have started planning things in earnest, having decided on a winter wedding. Neither one had seen the point in waiting any longer and with only those closest to them invited, they’d found a charming hotel in Brooklyn that had an elegantly cozy vibe that they both enjoyed and a weekend free in December.

Working with the hotel’s kitchen, they’d finalized the menu just last week and this afternoon their appointment was to work out their ideas for the wedding cake.

Wryly, Alec thinks about just how different their opinions were on sweets. The next two hours promised to be lively, if nothing else.

They walk to the maitre d and are escorted through the restaurant and back to the kitchen immediately. It’s an off time between lunch and dinner and there are only a few tables taken. Alec’s eyes scan over and see a mother and daughter in the corner having tea and a few elderly women near the front having drinks. There’s a large table on the far side of the room, chatting loudly but it’s full of people in suits and Alec doesn’t pay them any mind.

The afternoon’s productive and Alec gets his peanut butter chocolate layer. It’s the top of the cake, which means it’s the smallest, but Alec will take what he can get. The both agree on the other two tiers easily enough and most of their time is spent on how they want the cake to look instead of what’s in it.

They walk out of the restaurant in the late afternoon, Alec’s arm over Magnus’s shoulder, and come to a stop in the hotel lobby. Magnus comes around until he’s facing Alec, little grin on his face and Alec doesn’t even try to stop the urge to lean in and kiss him.

He’s so caught up on Magnus, on the euphoria of completing yet another step to their forever, that he doesn’t notice that the large group that had been dining in the restaurant are finished with their meal, that they’re standing and coming towards the hotel restaurant’s entrance across the lobby. Smiling into the kiss, Alec’s hands sweep up to the lapels of Magnus’s blazer, hauling him a little closer when he hears his fiancé let out a little hum of happiness.

He doesn’t notice the figure that comes to a screeching stop, her companions continuing on past them without taking note of the couple in the lobby.

“Alec?”

Wrenching away from Magnus, Alec breaks the kiss with a gasp. He looks over at the voice he’d know anywhere. Eyes wide, the flush that had bloomed in his cheeks just a few moments before leaves in a rush, leaving him pale and stricken.

His gaze is glued to his mother, standing in the middle of the hotel lobby, hands gripping each other so tightly that even from here he can see the marks her nails are scoring into tender skin.

“Mom,” he replies hoarsely. “What are you doing here?”

Back ramrod straight, she nods stiffly towards the group that are walking out of the hotel, into the fall sunshine outside, oblivious to the carnage behind them. “I had a business lunch with the firm this afternoon.”

Her eyes flit between him and Magnus. Alec catches the way her gaze lingers on the way one of his hands have come up to rest against the side of Magnus’s neck before she stills and grows pale. Alec stops breathing as he realizes she’s seen the ring on his finger. He feels Magnus start to pull away but it’s from a distance.

Alec jerks back, clearing his throat. His mind is fuzzy and he can’t think. It’s just white noise and terror, nausea building in the back of his throat at what his mother just saw, at the realization he can see forming in her eyes.

Taking another step back, he shoves his hands in his pockets. His shoulders hunch but he doesn’t notice the instinctive need to make himself smaller, less visible.

Maryse’s voice is quiet as she speaks, finally breaking the spell of silence that had decided on them.

“What’s is this, Alec?”

Eyes burning, Alec opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He can feel Magnus’s gaze heavy on him but it’s nothing to his mom right in front of him.

Speechless, Alec can’t form the words he needs to release the tension. He can’t deny that he was kissing Magnus and most of him-- damn near all of him-- abhors the very thought. Self-preservation wars with pride and he’s stuck in the middle, watching hopelessly as his relationship with his mother crumbles into fucking dust in front of him.

All of a sudden, Maryse shakes her head, just a little. She smiles but it’s brittle, already breaking at the corners as she says in a bright voice, “You know what-- I’ m sorry. I forgot I had a meeting and I’m running late. I have to go.”

Without another word or a backwards glance, Maryse sweeps past them, sunlight pours into the lobby from the hotel entrance for a few brief seconds before the door closes behind his mother and then it’s just him and Magnus, alone except for hotel staff that are keeping a discreet distance.

Alec just stands there, in the middle of the lobby. He stares at the door his mother had all but ran through and feels his heart break.

Tears blur his vision but they don’t have a chance to fall.

Magnus comes into his line of vision and Alec looks up to see his fiancé watching him with steady eyes. Alec closes his own as the knowledge crashes down on him about what just happened.

His mother saw him with Magnus and left. His breath hitches at what that means.

Despair starts creeping in, grief an insurmountable wave. He feels the first tear fall and knows it’s going to be the first in an ocean of devastation.

Magnus wipes away the tear, brings his other hand up to cup Alec’s face. He brings them together until their foreheads are touching but Alec keeps his eyes closed, desperately trying to stave off the tsunami of emotion that’s roiling just below the surface. He bites his lip and tastes blood but it helps stop him from breaking down in the lobby of the hotel and for that, he’s grateful.

“Come on, darling. Let’s get you home.”

Alec doesn’t say anything, just lets himself be guided outside and into the back of a cab. The ride home passes in a blur, all of his thoughts still back at the hotel.

Magnus leads them up to their loft and Alec changes mechanically into a pair of pajamas, pulling on a ragged hoodie of Magnus’s from when they were in college.

His fiancé doesn’t say anything, merely climbs into bed with him. Alec crawls over until he can rest his head on Magnus’s chest and even though he squeezes his eyes shut hard enough to hurt, he can’t hold back the sobs that have been building for almost an hour.

Shadows grow long in their bedroom as Magnus’s shirt grows damp. Neither one says anything and Alec’s fingers dig into Magnus’s sides trying to get a handle on the overwhelming pain of knowing that his mom had seen his truth and left him.

He’s an adult, a grown man, but it still hurts. It hurts so goddamn bad to know that his worst fears have been confirmed, that his mom can’t love him despite this one thing.

A small piece of him wishes he could be different for her. A larger piece is angry, furious that she would stop loving him just because he’s gay, because he’s not straight.

Most of him is just tired, though, and sadness is a suffocating blanket that lays over him like lead.

A headache is throbbing behind his eyes when Alec finally falls asleep, Magnus’s hands smoothing his hair, their hands held over his heart.

A few days later, Alec’s phone rings just as he’s about to take the lasagna out of the oven. Preoccupied, he doesn’t glance at the screen as he fumbles to answer, assuming it’s Magnus asking which wine would be appropriate for dinner tonight.

“Hey, babe, I’m making pasta if you wanna get--”

“Alec.”

Everything comes crashing to a halt as Alec hears his mother’s voice instead of Magnus’s.

“Mom.” Wariness seeps into his tone along with dread. He doesn’t know what to think, had assumed that they’d probably just never talk again.

Maryse is brisk and no emotion bleeds into her voice as she says, “I’m coming over tomorrow for lunch. I’ll see you at noon.”

She waits for Alec to manage a weak, “Okay,” before she’s rushing out a goodbye and hanging up.

Pulling the phone from his ear after he hears the two little beeps that signal the end of the call, Alec stares at the screen as it goes black.

He has no idea what to expect tomorrow and he’s startled from the whirlwind thoughts as his phone starts vibrating in his hand, this time Magnus’s name popping up on the screen.

He curses as he shoves the phone between his ear and shoulder, reaching for the oven mitts he’d abandoned just a few minutes prior.

He gets the lasagna out just before it starts to burn and when Magnus brings home a bottle of zinfandel, Alec ignores the inquisitive looks as he manages to drink the entire bottle--sans Magnus’s lone glass-- before they’re even done with their salads.

They make it an early night after watching a few hours of HGTV and when Alec wakes up the next morning, he has a faint headache as dread makes his stomach lurch.

Magnus had left early for work and Alec spends most of the morning cleaning the apartment. While Maryse had been over before, she’d always thought that the two of them were roommates. They’d shared a dorm room their freshman year of college and both had cited time and time again whenever she was within earshot that it was convenient to live with a friend they’d known so long and it helped cut rent costs.

Cursing the fact that he was a writer and had nothing to do since he’d just sent his latest book to his editor for final review-- Alec would’ve given just about anything today to have an office to go into-- he flinches when he hears a firm, insistent knock on the door.

Taking a deep breath, Alec opens the door to see his mother standing there. He’s surprised to find that instead of her usually severely cut suits, she’s wearing a pair of jeans with an oversized sweater.

He can’t remember the last time he say his mother dressed so down.

Her purse is held in a death grip.

“Mom,” he manages, opening the door for her to enter.

Maryse doesn’t say anything for a moment but then she stuns him by stepping forward and pulling him into a hug.

Not knowing what else to do, Alec wraps his arms around her and swallows hard when Maryse doesn’t immediately let go, when she just squeezes him tight and starts swaying them back and forth gently.

When she does finally pull back, Alec’s shocked and not a little dismayed to see tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Let’s have a seat,” Maryse says with a small smile and Alec must not move fast enough for her because she rests an arm around his back and pushes him toward the living room.

They sit down on the couch and Alec watches as his mom takes a deep breath, as though bracing herself, before she looks over at him. Whatever bravado she’d seemed to have has vanished and Maryse looks uncertain as she asks quietly, “How long?”

Taking the abruptness in stride, Alec’s voice is gentle as he breaks the news. He won’t hide the truth any longer and there’s a piece of him that’s glad to finally be honest. “We’ve been friends since college. We started dating five years ago.”

Maryse clears her throat and he thinks he sees disappointment in her eyes as she asks, “And how long have you been married?”

It takes a moment for the question to register but once it does, Alec merely shakes his head. “We aren’t married-- yet. We’re engaged.” His mouth kicks up into a quiet smile. “Magnus proposed a few months ago.”

As her shoulders slump with obvious relief, Alec’s hackles rise. It’s one thing to know his mother’s reaction; it’s another thing entirely to see just how relieved she is that he isn’t married yet.

Before he can snap at her though, she surprises him yet again when she says, “I knew you could afford rent on your own,” as though to herself.

Blinking stupidly at her, Alec doesn’t know what to say.

Maryse sighs and he’s horrified to see tears forming in her eyes. She smiles up at him and it’s sad. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Clearing his throat, Alec says the first thing that came to mind. “I didn’t want you to disown me.”

Maryse closes her eyes, looking as though she’d just been dealt a blow. “Oh God, Alec.”

When she opens her eyes a second later, she meets his eyes and he’s a little taken aback at the intensity of her stare. “I love you, Alec. You’re my son. Of course I would never disown you.”

While a part of Alec thrills at the words he can’t help the bitterness that coats his insides. “You told me once that it would break your heart if any of your children were gay,” he reminds her. “You said that you would consider them ruined. Remember that and ask me again why I never told you.”

Maryse’s face leeches of all color. Her lips are bloodless as she asks, “When?”

Alec shrugs. “In high school.”

Maryse leans forward. Resting her elbows on her thighs, she stares in front of her, eyes unseeing. The steady ticking of the grandfather clock is the only sound in the room for a long while. Alec feels like his nerves are shredding but he stays still and waits for what comes next.

He remembers that day-- that morning-- with crystal clarity. He remembers the way his stomach had dropped at the words, the way he’d had to hide his unshed tears as Maryse signed a permission slip for Max. He remembers the ease with which she’d said the words and had known that she meant them with all her heart.

Those words had rattled around in his brain for ages before he’d successfully pushed them down. They still reappear sometimes-- whenever he thinks of ever telling her, whenever he sees the looks he and Magnus sometimes get when they hold hands in public. He’s in such a better place now than he was back then, though, and it’s with that thought in mind that Alec steels his shoulders and looks up to meet his mother’s eyes.

He sees tears spill over and Maryse wiping them away with a careless hand. “I won’t pretend to remember saying that, though I’m sure I did. I’ve had a lot of time the past few days to sit and think and I know now that I’ve said things that must have been hurtful. I am so sorry, Alec. I’m sorry you ever felt like I would disown you, like I would-- what? Stop loving you?”

Alec doesn’t say anything, merely nods mutely. Maryse takes his response and her eyes close in defeat. She covers her face with her hands and shudders.

Alec doesn’t comfort her. He doesn’t say a word. Most of him is on tenterhooks but there’s a big part of him that’s getting vicious satisfaction at seeing her so torn up over this. Maryse will never know just how deep her words cut or what he did to silence her voice in his head. They've gone a long way in mending their relationship since she divorced Robert but he figures she can handle a few tears.

Still, she is his mother and he does love her. When she drops her hands to look over at him again, he merely raises a brow, a challenge in his gaze.

Taking a deep breath, Maryse reaches over and covers his hand with her own. “I’m sorry,” she repeats helplessly. “I know it doesn’t mean jack shit, that it’s probably too little too late, but I am. You are my son, Alec,” she says with a smile that reaches her eyes. “You are my darling baby boy and you always will be. I want you to know that I love you and I accept you and there’s nothing-- absolutely nothing-- that you could do to stop that.”

Alec’s gaze drops down to his jeans. He’s suddenly uncomfortable under the onslaught but Maryse doesn’t let that deter her. She moves over on the couch and wraps her arms around his neck, hauling him close for a hug that hurts his ribs but eases his heart.

“I mean it,” she whispers and Alec’s breath catches on a sob as he realizes that this is actually happening. His mom isn’t yelling at him, isn’t staring at him with frigid disgust in her eyes. “I love you more than you could possibly know, Alexander Gideon Lightwood. I spent a lot of years unhappy and taking it out on everyone else, including my children. It shames me now how cold I was towards you, that it was to the point that you felt you couldn’t talk to me, couldn’t share that piece of yourself with me.”

Pulling back, Maryse smiles into his eyes as she thumbs away his tears. “You’re in love with Magnus,” she says softly. “And you’re going to marry him and I had no idea. I won’t offer excuses but I hope that you decide to let me in starting today. I never want you to feel like you can’t talk to me, Alec. About anything or everything. I’m always here for you, whatever you need. There’s nothing you can do to make me not love you. Okay?”

Alec’s throat aches and his voice is gone so he just nods.

They both sniffle and end up laughing, wiping their own tears away.

“I love you, mom. Thank you for being okay with this.”

“Of course I’m okay with this. I was shocked when I stood up from the table and saw you kissing Magnus and I didn’t handle that well, I’ll admit. I’m probably lucky that you even opened the door for me today,” she says with a grimace. “But whatever I was feeling, it was about my own blindness and whatever I had done to push you away. It was never in condemnation of you or your relationship. I hope you can believe that.”

“I can,” Alec replies just above a whisper. “It shocked me, too, to see you there.”

Maryse nods a little shakily. It’s quiet for a moment but it’s not awkward this time; it’s not tense. No, instead it’s contemplative and more comfortable than Alec could’ve imagined, to sit with his mother after she knew his biggest, darkest secret.

Eventually, Maryse shifts in her seat and Alec looks over at her to see his mother smiling and it’s teasing, yet still gentle.

“So, you and Magnus? I’ve got to admit that once I got over my shock and thought about it, it’s appallingly obvious that you two have been together for years, that there was more than friendship there.”

“What do you mean,” Alec asks blankly.

Throwing him an unimpressed look, Maryse drolly replies, “There was that time I visited your dorm at college-- this would’ve been your senior year-- only to find you moping around. I took you out for dinner and you spent the whole time talking about Magnus and his new girlfriend and how she was a vampire sucking all the life out of him.”

Alec rolls his eyes but can’t contain his blush. While he hadn’t known it at the time, Magnus had only gone out with Camille to try and bury his feelings for Alec. Alec, thinking he didn’t stand a chance next to Camille, had been heartbroken and snappish towards Magnus for the entirety of the three months the couple had dated.

Neither one of them had been at their best senior year, he thinks back now with a wince.

“There was also that time you and Magnus spent Christmas at the house and Magnus bought you that rare first edition book while you’d gotten him that Cartier ear cuff.”

When Alec gives her an incredulous look, Maryse just shrugs. “I know Cartier when I see it, Alec. I thought it a bit excessive to get your friend a piece of jewelry that easily cost a few thousand dollars.”

Groaning, Alec glares but it’s without heat. The heat in his cheeks returns, though, as Maryse continues.

“Oh, and let’s not forget that time we went on a family vacation and you insisted on bringing Magnus. At the time, you said it was because everyone else was bringing a date and you didn’t want to third wheel the whole trip. But then I went out to the pool one night and you and Magnus were there. Naked. You stammered something about you two forgetting your trunks but still wanting to swim and Magnus didn’t look me in the eye for weeks afterward. I really should’ve put the pieces together sooner,” she ends with a huff.

“I guess we weren’t all that subtle,” Alec grudgingly admits as he hides a smile.

“No, you weren’t,” Maryse agrees and they share a laugh before she suddenly sobers.

“Alec?”

“Yeah, mom?”

“I know that an hour can’t erase a decades-long chasm but I was wondering if . . .”

She breaks off and Alec turns to look at her, expectancy. “Yeah?”

“I was hoping that I could attend your wedding. I know I have no right to infringe upon your day but I would love to see my son get married, to see you happy.”

Alec’s quiet for a moment as he looks down at his hands, fidgeting with his engagement ring. “You know,” he starts. “When Jace and Clary got married, I was Jace’s best man. I sat at the bridal party table at the front of the room and watched as Jace and Clary shared their first dance. And then Clary danced with Luke and-- and you danced with Jace.”

Alec breaks off with a shuddering breath as he gathers his thoughts, turning over to look at his mom. “I watched Jace dance with you and I was struck with an envy so intense I could hardly stand it. I wanted that. I looked from the two of you over to where Magnus was sitting with all the other guests and I burned with resentment and bitterness and grief. I teared up and I cried and everyone just thought I was overcome with emotion because of Jace and Clary. They didn’t know it was because I was seeing something I’d never have but wanted so badly that I could taste it.”

Maryse’s expression is stricken as she listens to him but she doesn’t interrupt as he continues, “When Magnus proposed to me in July, I was the happiest man in the world. There was a piece of me, though, that mourned the fact that I couldn’t tell you, that I couldn’t share that joy. And I hated you a little for it,” he admits now. “I hated that even though you’d changed so much and our relationship was so much better, I still had to keep a piece of myself from you-- a pretty fucking big piece.”

Alec’s voice fades away as he reaches over and covers his mother’s hand with his own. “I would love nothing more than for you to come to my wedding, mom. I want to you to be there on the happiest day of my life. You can expect your invitation at the end of the month but consider this an official offer.”

“Yes,” Maryse chokes out. “Of course I’ll be there, baby.”

Alec smiles tremulously. “Thank you.”

Laughing incredulously, Maryse replies, “No, thank you Alec for giving me a chance. I promise I won’t fuck it up.”

Alec laughs a little at the language, something his mother rarely indulges in. “I’ll take your word for it,” he says and he knows by the look in Maryse’s eyes that she knows how important those words are.

Relaxing into the couch, Maryse looks over at him. “So, tell me all about Magnus, dear. It looks like I have a decade to catch up on and I can’t wait to hear about it.”

Alec looks at her for a minute, a pregnant pause where neither of them dare to breath before he’s leaning into the couch too for a more comfortable position and he starts talking.

He tells his mom about the first time they met and when Alec knew he had a crush on the man. He talks about their friendship and how it had become so much more and how both of them had been idiots for a couple of years before Alec had finally gotten drunk at his birthday party and confessed his feelings to Magnus who-- also drunk-- had immediately surged forward and kissed him.

Things had been a bit of a disaster for a few weeks after that, both of them thinking the other had merely done what they had because of the alcohol, before their friends had reached the breaking point and set them up on a blind date.

The rest is history-- except it isn’t because then Alec talks about their first date and the first time they said I love you and it winds around until he’s telling her how Magnus was his first boyfriend and how he’d realized he was gay in middle school and they laugh and they cry and Alec’s wrung out and exhausted and he can see his mother is the same but they don’t stop talking.

Eventually, when his face hurts from smiling so much and Maryse has curled up in the corner of the couch, his mom changes the subject.

“So, I did some research and I was wondering if you had plans for the afternoon?”

Looking over at Maryse, Alec’s interested is piqued as she reaches for the purse she’d set down on the floor. Opening it, she pulls out a dvd and holds it out for him tentatively.

There’s a hopeful look in her eye, cautiously optimistic, as she explains, “I ended up taking yesterday and Wednesday off. Whenever I left you at the hotel, I walked around for a couple hours and when I went into work Tuesday, I couldn’t concentrate worth a damn. I left before lunch and I’ve spent the past few days reading about what it’s like to have a child that-- that’s gay.”

She holds up a hand defensively though Alec hadn’t moved a muscle. Most of him is pleasantly surprised to see she’d cared enough to do anything.

“I read a few books and when I was online, I found a list of LGBT movies. This one is a newer one and had rave reviews. I thought maybe-- if you weren’t busy-- we could watch it together.”

Looking down at the dvd case, Alec bites back a laugh as he sees Love, Simon. Magnus had taken him to see it see it the day it premiered in theaters and the fact that his mom of all people had bought it and brought it over is an olive branch he never saw coming.

Nodding, Alec smiles at Maryse and catalogs the uneasy tension drains out of her at his acquiescence.

“I’d love to, mom.”

Alec stands and puts the dvd in the player. While the movie previews play, he makes a big bowl of popcorn and when he comes back to the living room with a glass of his mother’s favorite wine, she smiles up at him gratefully.

The two of them watch Love, Simon and while Alec had enjoyed the movie the first time he’d seen it, he’s distracted as he spends most of the movie watching his mother’s reactions.

She laughs and he’s a little-- a lot-- surprised when his mom mutters, “Fuck him,” when Martin starts blackmailing Simon, when she reaches for his hand and squeezes when Simon’s outed and his friends abandon him.

They both cry when Simon breaks down in his room, when his mom tells him that he’s the same person he’s always been, that now he gets to exhale.

When Magnus comes home, Blue has just been revealed and Maryse is crowing in triumph.

“I knew it,” she exclaims, turning to look at Alec. “I knew since he ate the damned orange oreos."

Hearing the front door open, Alec sees the way Magnus’s eyes widen at their tear-streaked yet happy faces. He sees his fiancé start to back away and turn tail, not wanting to intrude or his own sense of self-preservation rearing its head-- but Alec pulls away from where he’d been leaning into his mom to gesture Magnus closer.

Looking up at what had caught Alec’s attention, Maryse focuses on Magnus.

Alec catches his breath, knowing that this is make or break. Maryse can talk but when she’s confronted with the man Alec’s given his heart to, the man he spends his life with, he wonders if she’ll be able to really accept things.

Maryse stands up and Magnus looks caught between fleeing and steeling himself for whatever’s about to happen. His mom surprises them both when she pulls Magnus into a hug, holding him tight. Magnus, for his part, looks stunned but he drops his briefcase and returns her hold, slowly relaxing.

Pulling back, Maryse doesn’t even acknowledge Alec, all of her focus on Magnus as she says, “Thank you for loving my boy, Magnus, and while this is long overdue, I’d like to welcome you to the family.”

Magnus blinks twice before he eases into a grin. “Thank you, Maryse. I appreciate that and I hope you mean it.”

“Oh, I do,” Maryse whispers. “You’ve no idea how much.”

She smiles at him before making her way to the couch and as the end credits of the movie start to play, Magnus heads toward their bedroom to change into something more comfortable and appropriate for the evening they’d planned to spend at home.

Excusing himself from Maryse, Alec follows him and when he pauses at the threshold, it’s to see a dress shirt flying out of the closet to land on the floor. He walks over to Magnus and wraps his arms around his fiancé from behind, nosing along the back of his neck, kissing the juncture where it meets his shoulder.

“It looks like you’ve had quite the day, darling.”

Alec huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. She texted me last night, telling me that we were having lunch today.”

“So that’s why you got wine drunk.”

“Yeah,” Alec confirms before moving right along. “We had a talk and she’s okay with me-- with us. More than okay, in fact. It’s been a hell of an afternoon but we’re good, babe. Everything’s finally out in the open and it doesn’t look like it’s the end of the world, after all.”

Turning in his hold, Magnus lays his hands against Alec’s chest. “I am so incredibly happy to hear that, Alexander.”

The two of them talk for a few more minutes, catching up on their day before Alec asks, “Would you be okay if I asked her to stay for dinner? It’s okay if you had a long day and just want it to be the two of us but--”

Magnus holds up a finger, silencing Alec with a smile. “Of course it’s okay. You never have to ask to have your mother over, darling.”

Alec grins, a little dopey, and he takes Magnus’s hand and leads him into the living room. Maryse looks up at the sound of their steps and while he sees her take note of their joined hands she does nothing but smile.

She stays for dinner and ends up drinking so much that she spends the night in their guest room. The night had ended with the three of them having wine and swapping stories of Alec and while his face had burned in embarrassment, Alec wouldn’t have changed the evening for the world.

It’s everything he’d dared to hope for and nothing that he’d thought he’d ever get. For the longest time, it was nothing he thought he’d deserved and as he climbs into his side of the bed and moves over until he can reach Magnus, Alec’s content for the first time in longer than he cares to admit.

He hadn’t known just how heavy the weight of the truth had been all these years but now that his mom knows, he feels so light that he’s dizzy with it.

He’s the happiest he can ever remember being and he falls asleep without a care in the world.

Later that year, Alec looks up as the DJ announces that it’s time for the mother-son dance. Maryse stands from her seat and he can already see the tears in her eyes as she walks toward him, holding out her hands.

Alec takes them and they start a slow dance as the music starts to play. Maryse had asked to choose the song and as he hears the beginning notes, his gaze flies to hers to see his mom already grinning.

“They were you’re favorite when you were little,” she says with an arch look. “Nick was your favorite wasn’t he? Or was it Brian?”

He rolls his eyes a little, though he can’t help but mutter, “Nick Carter was cute, okay? At least back then.”

He’s treated to Maryse throwing her head back and laughing out loud and Alec echoes her as they move around the dance floor.

He listens to the words and lets the lyrics soak into him. By the end of the song, they’re barely moving, just moving back and forth really and Maryse is crying in earnest. A few tears slip before he can stop them and she wipes them away with a careful thumb.

When the song ends, instead of pulling back, Maryse pulls him close for a bone crushing hug and Alec holds her just as tight as he feels a piece of himself he’d thought gone long ago slot back into place.

It’s the feeling of coming home and whenever his mom eventually guides him over to his husband, she reaches for Magnus’s hand and lays it over his before letting go and saying, “Take care of his heart like I never could.”

Magnus looks at Maryse before his gaze lifts to Alec’s and Alec smiles, faint but real, as the love of his life replies, “Don’t worry, that’s just how I plan to spend the rest of my life.”

Alec hauls him close as Maryse steps back and lays a searing kiss on his mouth.

When they go out to the dance floor a few minutes later, they start an easy waltz as they grin at each other.

“And they lived happily ever after,” Alec says quietly, staring at Magnus like he’s his whole damn world.

“And they lived happily ever after,” Magnus echoes before pulling him down for a lingering kiss that breaks just a few seconds later, the couple smiling too brightly to continue.

#oof i wrote this entire thing today #I think it's some kind of record lol #im so tired #and it's finally time for dinner #ever after after all #malec fic #my writing

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tea-cake-and-melancholy · 4 years

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Skull and Shackles-part one

Hello everyone! Stuck here in quarantine after finishing college (graduation, woot!) and decided to practice my heavily rusting fictional writing skills. Skull and Shackles is an Adventure Path from Pathfinder Roleplaying Game® owned by Paizo. The only thing I own is the original characters. Any writing advice would be welcomed. Hope you enjoy.

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This adventure does not start with the busy chatter of a tavern, no heroic call to arms against some great evil, not even with being arrested by a government that didn’t appreciate this group for sticking their noses where they don’t belong. This adventure starts with a dark room. The sensation of swaying and an incredible headache that may have either been accompanied by the taste that numbs the tongue or a whack. Impressment wasn’t just restricted to the Cheliax Navy, it extended to pirates as well. It’s been known that Press Gangs are known to skulk about inns, taverns, the streets at night and even pluck unsuspecting men and women from their very beds after a short chat concerning their sailing ability. That was the situation for this group of adventurers.

The first to awaken was a catfolk thief named Gumqu, a lanky feline looking humanoid creature with the head, paws, and tail of a cat. With grey peach fuzz and mismatched blue and gold eyes, she looked about to try and remember how she had gotten there. Ah, yes. She had just returned from her latest voyage on the “Old Renegade”, a ship that she had served for 5 years working on the rigging. Coming across a rather fat merchant ship, she decided rather foolishly to spend her earnings alone at the Formidably Maid a rather popular pirate tavern. Gumqu absent-mindedly rasped her tongue against her sleeve to take away the numbing and bitter taste off her tongue, feeling rather embarrassed to having fallen for such an old press-gang tactic. At least she can feel the outline of her thieves’ tools in her hidden pocket. Another from the pile stirred with a curse and a spit, human looking and irate to boot.

Anne Salis angrily looked about with dark eyes, cursing her luck and possibly fate for not being careful. Her husband always did warn her against drinking at the Formidably Maid with all those wayward pirates. Being the resident shaman for the Besmara, there was a priest though he took a 12-year fishing trip and had not returned yet, it wasn’t uncommon to getting free drinks from old salts who appreciated fair weather charms. She shook her headful of honey curls and clutched her unprotected scalp when the throbbing headache was aggravated by her swift movements. They took her hat but not her dagger in her belt, typical. She gnashed her sharp teeth and tried to stand but was prevented by the moving room and tangled bodied. Nevertheless, with that she inadvertently kicked a rather large half-orc in the ribs, shocking him to consciousness.

Ausk Oddfellow never failed to live up to his name. A shocking giant that can easily take up the length of the room. He slowly sat up while rubbing his now smarting side, looking like a picture out of those risqué nobles’ romance novels. Tall and muscular with a tiny waist, the symbol of Cayden Cailean (a flagon) hung around his neck and slightly messy black hair caused by the welt in the back of the head. He was tavern hopping, singing about various pirates and legends with his bestest best mate in all the world, Skender, who always works in his dark little alchemy shop. So, as any best friend would do, he dragged with away for a good time and maybe show him the meaning of fun. Well, on the way from Suffering Tiger Pub, The Boot and Helm, The Forest and Shield, Hovering Drake and The Clam and Whale Tavern, and the Formidably Maid, there was a scuffle in a dark alley between 2 blokes and a lady. Being the dashing bard that he is, of course he rushed to the rescue. Right before being knocked on the back of the head. Hard. He quickly looked around in panic! Where’s Skender?! As he is reaching over, his hulking green mass squished the figure next to him, causing an indignant shout.

Now Mordren Paella was typical for a pit-born tiefling; some had one or two minor imperfections that can be easily hidden or explained away, some are more…drastic. The only normal features she possessed was her height, black hair usually tied back and olive skin. Unfortunately, her abnormalities were drastic enough to detract from those features. From golden cat eyes, exposed fang-like teeth that frame her entire jaw, a left arm that resembled a blue dragon’s claw, bird’s legs to the barbed snake’s tail. Many had expressed that she was most likely the product of a god after a very heavy night of drinking. She was a witch that worked on various pirate ships as a cook. Never had a bad reference and no complaints with her small book of recipes that she can feel she still had on her person. She had left her hometown of Ilizmagorti, due to the heightened Red Mantis activity, to Port Peril. To celebrate, she went for a small meal and drink for the smooth trip. Seeing some sketchy characters at the corner of the tavern she and decided to leave, until the world started spinning and the floor was incoming fast. Nearby her was a rather angry “Must you be such a bumbling bugbear? Move over, you green lummox” a thwack barely missing her head and swatting the half-orc’s back.

The person in question was Skender Korzha; a half elf with mocha skin and high contrasting white tattoos on his arms that appeared arcane in origin. His black hair was halfway taken out of his ponytail and he feels a crick in his lower back after hours in an odd position. He knew that he should not have gone out with Ausk. Nothing ever goes well when he goes out with him. Granted, he is a flamboyant, needlessly boisterous, optimistic glass ¾’s full kind of bard but really he’s not a bad friend. However, based on the pounding headache and possible concussion, he’s gotten them into trouble again. He needed that brain, damn it. He checks himself to find what he had left, only to find a health kit. Wonderful. Trying to pull himself to sit up, he felt his sleeping leg being weighed down by someone who may just have beaten his friend in height.

The last in this room was a peculiar species of troll called the Va’al, hailing from the islands closer to Freeport. Though not nearly as muscular as Ausk, Hau'ri’s musculature was overshadowed by the sheer height. This was hidden by him being currently curled on the floor of this room. He slowly sits up and rubs his sore jaw, luckily his tusks were still intact for they were a pain to regrow, almost as bad as a leg or the inconvenience of a missing finger when you only have a max of 3 to start with. The only hair was the short light blue fur covering him from head to toe, bat like ears ringing from the beating he received just the other…time? Honestly, he doesn’t know what time it, not that it matters. His amber eyes scanning the room, satisfied that there’s more than him in this situation. He clenches his fist and quickly hides the brass knuckles that he always kept on him, chuckling at his luck.

It was at that time; a series of heavy footsteps came from above to then slam the door open violently. Bright light pouring from the handheld lantern blinds everyone inside, causing some to curse and some to hiss in discomfort.

““Still abed with the sun over the yardarm? On your feet, ye filthy swabs! Get up on deck and report for duty before Cap’n Harrigan flays your flesh into sausage skins and has Fishguts fry ye up for breakfast!” roared the stranger. He stands tall in typical pirate garb, this human male had probably has seen salt water more often than clear water used for more than cooking or drinking. Skin cracked from long days in the sun and gold teeth gleaming in a cruel smile as he used his whip to motivate everyone onto their feet. This took a bit of time before the group proceeded to follow him up the stairs of the ship.

As they were walking, Anne spat on the ground to her right, finally deciphering the taste in her mouth as taggit oil. A favorite of press gangs if they think they can get away with it. Put it in spicy food or particularly strong grog and you have between 1 to 3 hours with a dead to the world body. Cheap, easy to obtain and hard to overcome when ingested. Both Hau’ri and Ausk must bend down to clear their heads from hitting the beams above.

Once they’ve reached the top they were once again blinded, this time by the tropical sun hanging high in the sky. Looking about, they find themselves surrounded, 10 pirates not including the one that guided them there and ocean as far as the eye can see. Some were up in the rigging while others were scattered about on deck, all stopped to gawk at the new arrivals. Skender looks at the ship and can tell that it’s a three-masted sailing ship, 100 feet long from stem to stern, and 30 feet wide amidships. Decent but just one person short of manning it effectively without hardship. At the ship’s mainmast, on a high platform than the confused party in question, there stood two individuals. One was a broad, muscular human man with Garundi descent; a shaven head, long beard bound with braids and gold rings, and an eye patch. Based on his standing and finery, this was the captain in charge. The other to his right was a younger, balding man with a long black ponytail, wearing a long coat and carrying a well-used cat-o’-nine-tails.

The group was corralled towards the middle with 4 other recruits, a red headed human woman with a lovely tricornered hat, a muscular halfling brunette that could possibly bench-press Ausk, a human male with a blue varisian scarf wrapped around his head to protect his scalp and a rather fabulous male gnome bedecked in dandy purple attire. While the group was placed in a row, the captain smirked and finally addressed them.

“Glad you could join us at last!” his rasping voice bellowed over the crashing waves “Welcome to the Wormwood! My thanks for ‘volunteering’ to join my crew. I’m Barnabas Harrigan. That’s Captain Barnabas Harrigan to you, not that you’ll ever need to address me. I have only one rule—don’t speak to me. I like talk, but I don’t like your talk. Follow that rule and we’ll all get along fine.” He made his way to walk away, paused and spoke over his shoulder, “Oh, and one more thing. Even with you new recruits, we’re still short-handed, and I aim to keep what crew I have. There’ll be a keelhaulin’ for anyone caught killin’ anyone. Mr. Plugg!” addressing the man with the ponytail “If you’d be so kind as to make pirates out of these landlubbers, it’ll save me having to put them in the sweatbox for a year and a day before I make pies out of ’em.” Before walking away from sight. The new overseer, Mr. Plugg, descends to the Amidships where they stood.

“Now” he unhooked the cat-o’-nine-tails from his belt as he surveys the crew-to-be. “Time to see where you lot belong.”

#Skull and shackles #pathfinder #RPG #My writing #Chapter 1 #pirates

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gentlelarkspur · 5 years

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Faces Through Time [a short Good Omens genfic]

In which a young aspiring art historian stumbles across a pair of figures that seem to haunt the artistic world through the ages.

Its been so long since I wrote any kind of fanfiction that I don’t even know how this works anymore lol. So long in fact that I don’t have access to the email I made my original AO3 account with and didn’t realize you still have to wait for invites to sign up again, so no AO3 link for this.

Tags: Genfic, OC, Aziraphale/Crowley implied. Word Count: 2,138

FACES THROUGH TIME

“It’s a coincidence, Carmen, that’s all.”

“I’m telling you Maxwell—”

“That, what? The same figures featured in art across the millennium, around the world? That’s simply—”

“More than a millennium, Max!” Carmen Fernandez sat down defiantly in the large over-worn chair behind her, dropping the folders in her arms with finality on her advisor’s desk. She flipped open the top one and pulled out a handful of papers and spread them in front of her. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised to see them in a couple of cave paintings, if they had that kind of detail. Just look! Here!”

Carmen started to pull out another group of papers, the whole mess seeming to multiply of its own accord across the desk like particularly industrious rabbits. Maxwell ran a hand through a shock of gray hair with a sigh, and sat back in his office chair, leveling a weary gaze at his student. She ignored it with the ease of practice and held up a large photocopy from a book.

“Right here, see? The same two figures, light and dark, sometimes separate, usually together. I’ll admit, some of them are too stylistic to be sure, especially the vases, yes, I agree, but see, look! Here, in this painting unearthed in Pompeii just last year—”

Carmen pushed the photocopy toward Maxwell. A beautiful wall painting depicting a lavish banquet with entertainment sprawled across the paper. Two figures had been circled in highlighter; a tall man in dark robes drank wine from beside a shorter man, robed in white, as he dined on bread and meats. Maxwell only had time to take it in for a moment before Carmen pushed another paper into his hands.

“And here, later, this bust, with those striking features and those strange eyes, it has an uncanny resemblance to this sketch—” another paper replaced that one “--by Michelangelo AGAIN with that second figure! And here—” another paper “-- even earlier, in this illustrated manuscript, and then later—“ yet another “--in this painting from France during the revolution in a crowd at the guillotine, and even in Seurat’s most famous painting!--” a book, this time, large and awkward “--you can see a pair of figures in the far distance, one light and one dark, strolling side by side along the walk. And look—”

“Carmen,” Maxwell interrupted as quickly as he could, before yet another piece of evidence could be thrust his way.

“But--”

“Carmen, please, stop!” Maxwell rubbed his eyes and set the book down gingerly with the other hand. “I applaud your enthusiasm, but listen to yourself for a moment, for Christ’s sake. I mean, what are you even trying to suggest? That these men are somehow immortal and… what? Also happen to be favorite subjects for artists across the globe through time?”

It’s not that Carmen couldn’t hear the sarcasm or the exasperation. It’s just that she didn’t want to.

“Yes, exactly that, actually,” she said curtly. She flipped open another folder containing more notes and photocopied proof. “I have more—”

“No more, Carmen.” Maxwell spread his hands in a gesture that managed to be both denial and defeat all in one. He stood up quickly from his desk and pulled the sweater from the back of his chair behind him. “It’s Friday. I’m going home. I SUGGEST,” he said, holding up a finger as Carmen began to speak. “That you go home as well and think about something more productive you could spend your time on. As far as this thesis proposal goes, I’m sorry Carmen, but I can’t give you the green light on it. It’s a crackpot theory, and you’d be laughed out of your defense before you even started.”

He raised his finger again as Carmen started to open her mouth in indignation.

“Enough! Now go home!”

-----

Outside, in the cool fall air, Carmen fumed her way down the stairs of the department building. She had been muttering to herself all the way down the elevator, and now that she was outside in the open the muttering raised a noticeable volume, until Carmen was half shouting over her shoulder at a very confused and rather insulted piece of wall.

“Crackpot theory! I’ll crackpot theory you, you stubborn old son of a—"

Carmen’s mobile began to ring, and she fished it out of her coat pocket with annoyance.

“Hello?!” she said aggressively. The voice on the other end seemed taken aback.

“Um, hello? Miss Fernandez? It’s, um, me.”

“Me?” Carmen blinked. “Me who?”

“Mr. Bux, miss. You called about the lithographs.”

“Oh!” Carmen’s brain snapped back from whatever curses she had been imagining upon Maxwell and found itself squarely in the present again. “Of course, Mr. Bux! My apologies. Were you able to find anything?”

“Oh, well, um, not the original stand-alones, unfortunately. But I did find a reference to them being reprinted in a book on travel, published in 1835. I don’t personally have a copy, but I have an acquaintance who just so happens to know someone who knows a man who told him of a fellow who runs a bookshop that he believes might have just what you need.”

“A bookshop? Where?”

“On that account, Miss Fernandez, you’re in luck…”

-----

The bell above the door gave a quiet chime as Carmen entered. Outside, the busy Soho street was a din of human noise, but the moment the door shut the sound seemed to fall away. Inside it was quiet and empty, aside from the rows of books that crowded together like curious onlookers, watching the intruder with a cautious eye. Dust floated through the occasional shaft of chilled afternoon sunlight, giving the air a gilded look. For a moment, Carmen couldn’t move, didn’t dare to breath. Breaking that stillness and that silence felt like a crime, like blasphemy against something old and sacred.

The feeling was broken when some of the gilded dust reached Carmen’s nose and she sneezed, so loud in the quiet that she made herself jump. The spell broken, Carmen shook her head and moved into the shop cautiously, calling ahead.

“Hello? Excuse me, is anyone here?”

The young woman walked past row upon row of old leatherbound books on dark wooden shelves. Nothing stirred. No other customers, no shop assistants. Not even the air seemed to move much around her, though despite the stillness it didn’t feel stuffy. In fact, it was surprisingly comfortable. Carmen found herself taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent of books and dust and… something else. Something earthy, or maybe woody. Familiar, but Carmen couldn’t quite place it. It reminded her of being home with her grandmother on the weekends, or the sweet scent of candles and incense on Sundays, or…

Carmen couldn’t place it. But it smelled good.

“Hello?” she tried again. She reached the center of the shop, and looked at the beautiful display around her, admiring the artistry of its design and the way the skylight above lit it like a gentle spotlight. As she was looking up, a polite cough sounded behind her. Carmen looked down immediately, startled. Her eyes were momentarily blinded from looking so quickly into the shadows of the shop after staring up into the light, and she squinted at the blurred figure before her, not able to see it quite clearly yet.

“Hi, yes, hello,” she said. “Sorry, um. Are you Mr. Fell?”

“Yes, that would be me,” said the figure in a light voice. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, um. I was sent here by Mr. Bux, the bookseller. He said you might have a copy of an old book of lithographs that I’m looking for.”

The figure in front of her moved a little closer, out of the shadows and into the light. Carmen blinked, her eyes finally readjusting. As they did so, she gasped, and nearly took a step back. Only her manners, and her shock, kept her standing still.

Before her stood a man, more or less. The face was not a young one, nor an old one really. The hair was a halo of light, feathery blond curls that went whatever way they seem to desire, though most of it was vaguely upwards. His clothes were old fashioned by any standard, all tan and cream in color, one perfectly manicured hand holding a lapel mindlessly, as if it was just an easy place to rest the thing until needed. There was something curious about him, something that felt in between rather than anywhere solid, and yet he was wholly real, and wholly here.

And wholly familiar.

Carmen stared in disbelief, her eyes wide. She didn’t need to pull out the mountain of photocopies just to make sure. The recognition was instant. She knew.

“Are you alright, my dear?” the man asked, a look of concern crossing his face. He took a step forward.

Carmen stepped back.

“I…uh…that is, you…”

Whatever Carmen was going to say was interrupted by the front bell chiming, and the sound of the door being slammed rang out like a shot through the silence. Carmen nearly jumped out of her skin, and both she and the man before her turned their heads to look toward the entrance as a voice called out.

“Aziraphale! Are you ready yet?”

“Oh, um, oh dear…” Mr. Fell –Aziraphale, Carmen corrected in her head as she turned back toward him again—looked flustered for a moment and glanced between Carmen and a figure that was making its way down the main isle. “I’m sorry, young lady, just...”

He had started to move to intercept the figure but was already too late. Somehow, despite moving at what Carmen could only describe as a casual saunter, it had managed to cross the distance at a surprising speed, and now stood like a lank shadow next to the nearest bookcase.

“Oh, what’s this?” the shadow said in a voice that dripped like honey, if honey was feeling particularly languid that day. “Customer? You actually get customers?”

Aziraphael moved closer to the newcomer, placing himself somewhat between Carmen and the man.

“Uh, yes, Crowley, I do. If you just give me a moment, I’ll get this sorted and…”

“Seriously, angel, I thought you did everything in your power to prevent this kind of thing,” the man said, with a gesture around the shop. “Selling the books, I mean.”

“Yes, well, needs must as they say.”

Carmen stared at the two men, her eyes darting between them like a tennis match.

Angel. The word caught on her mind like a hook. And then—

“Oh,” she said, the matter very suddenly and violently setting itself to rights in her mind. “OH.”

Carmen sat down with a hard thump in the chair nearest to her.

“Oh, my dear, are you alright?” Aziraphale turned from Crowley and came over to her, his hands moving rather uselessly in the air as she stared at the floor. “Are you ill? Is there something I can do?”

For a moment, Carmen was ill. A wave of nausea overtook her, and she put her head between her knees and waited for the floor to stop moving. And then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. And three months of curiosity and investigative spirit was gone with it.

Carmen looked up quickly at the man standing over her, and then across his shoulder to the one that slouched in the shadows. She didn’t smile. She just nodded, something between an acknowledgement and a final dismissal, and then quickly stood up.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said. She politely pushed past Aziraphale and started to head for the door. She nodded again, curtly, at the lanky figure in sunglasses as she passed him, who followed her movement with a raised eyebrow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale looked after her, confused. “Weren’t you looking for something, miss?”

“I was,” Carmen said.

“But don’t you want to find it?” he called after her.

Carmen waved a hand back.

“I already did, thanks!”

-----

On Monday, Maxwell stepped into the hallway of his department offices and sighed. Carmen sat on the floor in front of his office, with a folder in hand. As he approached, keys in hand, she stood up and held out the folder.

“Good morning, Carmen,” Maxwell said, shying away from the folder like a wary horse. “Got some more proof for me today?”

“Nope,” Carmen said, her lips quirking into a strange half-smile.

Maxwell looked down at the manila folder suspiciously.

“Then what?”

“Some thesis ideas. I was hoping we could go over them.”

“No more crackpot theory then?” Maxwell asked, visibly relieved.

“No. No more theory,” she said.

Who needs a theory when you have the facts, anyway? she thought, and smiled.

#Good Omens #good omens fanfiction #fanfiction #ineffable husbands #hereditary enemies #Rem writes stuff #I just wanted to write about somebody putting two and two together and just going NOPE #I don't even know if this is good its like 8 am and I haven't slept yet #enjoy the word vomit

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