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realinspirations · 4 months ago

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10 Lessons I Learned from My Startup’s Failed

Failure is an extremely good teacher, and nothing underscores this just like the crumble of a startup you’ve poured your coronary heart into. As painful as it was, the enjoyment taught me useful instructions about commercial enterprise, management, resilience, and the satisfactory artwork of studying from errors. Here, I’ll outline the classes I discovered at some point in my entrepreneurial adventure and percentage how they’ve formed my attitude.

Lessons I Learned from My Startup’s Failed

Passion Alone Is Not Enough

When I started my business, I was fueled by passion and a burning preference to create something significant. I believed that my enthusiasm could be sufficient to hold the project to achievement. Unfortunately, I learned the difficult manner that ardor has to be paired with strong plans, market expertise, and execution.

Passion is essential—it’s what keeps you going when things get difficult. However, relying solely on it may lead you to disregard essential red flags. For instance, I spent too much time perfecting the product I loved with out validating whether or not capacity customers wanted or desired it. The end result? A beautifully designed method to a problem that didn’t exist.

Customer Validation Is Critical

One of the most obtrusive errors I made was no longer making an investment in sufficient time in expertise my target audience. I assumed I knew what they desired because I had a strong private connection to the trouble I turned into fixing. In fact, I changed into projecting my possibilities onto them.

After the startup failed, I interviewed some of the humans I had first of all considered my audience. What I determined became sobering—they didn’t have the same urgency about the hassle that I did, and a few didn’t even see it as trouble at all. This strengthened the importance of conducting patron validation early and often.

The lesson? Talk to capability clients earlier than you make investments time, power, and sources. Let their feedback shape your products or services.

Team Dynamics Make or Break You

Assembling the proper team is as important as having a stable concept. In hindsight, I didn’t place enough concepts into the composition of my team. I selected co-founders and early hires based on friendship and availability rather than complementary competencies and shared imagination and prescient.

This caused a lack of clean roles and duties, which bred confusion and inefficiency. When demanding situations arose, the cracks in our crew dynamics became glaringly obvious. Misalignment on dreams and a loss of responsibility in the end eroded consider inside the team.

From this, I found out to prioritize abilities, values, and a shared dedication over personal relationships while building a crew. A superb crew can adapt to demanding situations, whilst a poorly constructed one can actually expand them.

Cash Flow Is King

Financial control became some other Achilles' heel for my startup. We raised a small quantity of seed funding, which I thought would be enough to cover our runway. I underestimated how quickly fees should pile up and hyped up how soon we might begin generating sales.

Without a clean financial approach, we made terrible spending selections, such as overinvesting in advertising before product-marketplace fit. When we hit financial roadblocks, it became clear that we had failed to plot for contingencies.

I’ve due to the fact that found out the significance of retaining a close eye on coins go with the flow. Startups must be lean and prepared for monetary uncertainty. This consists of developing special budgets, regularly monitoring prices, and being organized to pivot quick if revenue projections fall short.

Timing Matters More Than You Think

Even with a terrific idea and a strong execution plan, timing can be the figuring-out aspect. In our case, we launched our product at a time when the market wasn’t ready for it. Either the era wasn’t mature enough, or client conduct hadn’t shifted to include what we had been offering.

The enjoy taught me to evaluate the timing of a concept cautiously. Is the marketplace geared up for this? Are there other groups succeeding in adjacent areas that indicate the possibility is ripe? Timing isn’t everything, but it’s a massive piece of the puzzle.

Don’t Underestimate Competition

When we started, I believed our product became specific and innovative enough to face out. What I didn’t account for was the velocity at which competition could copy our thoughts and improve upon them.

Rather than specializing in differentiation and staying ahead of the curve, I have become overly obsessed with what others have been doing. This reactionary approach distracted us from refining our precise cost proposition.

The lesson right here is to renowned the competition however now not permit it to dictate your method. Instead, attention to non-stop innovation and serve your clients better than everyone else.

Pivot Early If Needed

One of my biggest regrets isn't always pivoting whilst the signs pointed to hassle. I became stubbornly connected to the unique vision and refused to consider alternative instructions. By the time I found out a pivot become essential, we had already burned via maximum of our assets.

The potential to pivot isn’t pretty much converting your product or enterprise model; it’s approximately spotting when something isn’t working and having the courage to make bold adjustments. Being bendy and open-minded can imply the distinction between survival and failure.

The Emotional Toll Is Real

I underestimated the emotional rollercoaster of running a startup. I internalized each setback and blamed myself for every mistake, which led to burnout.

I’ve considering learned the importance of intellectual health and resilience. Building an aid device, training self-care, and gaining knowledge of how to split non-public identification from business outcomes are critical for navigating the emotional challenges of entrepreneurship.

Seek Mentorship Early

I tried to figure everything out on my own, believing that learning through enjoyment is a high-quality way to develop. While this approach taught me many lessons, it also meant I made avoidable errors.

Having a mentor or guide who has walked the direction before you can provide treasured insights and steerage. They can assign your assumptions, provide perspective, and connect you with resources. In hindsight, seeking mentorship earlier saved my startup.

Failure Is Not the End

Perhaps the most crucial lesson I learned is that failure isn't always the stop of the street—it’s a stepping stone. While the crumble of my startup felt like a private failure at the time, it has due to the fact come to be one of my maximum treasured experiences. I now see it as a crash path in entrepreneurship, full of classes on the way to serve me in destiny endeavors.

Failure taught me humility, adaptability, and perseverance. It pressured me to confront my weaknesses and grow in methods I never imagined. Most importantly, it jogged my memory with why I began inside the first area: to create, innovate, and make a distinction.

#Lessons I Learned from My Startup’s Failed

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writingwithcolor · 4 years ago

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Hey! I’m currently writing a Jewish character and was wondering if this would be offensive: my character has a family where her mother is Jewish but her father celebrates Christmas, so they fuse their holiday celebrations to bring their two families together for any holidays that fall in line with eachother. Would this be a problem? I’m basing her off of irl friends who’s family does this, but I want to make sure it doesn’t seem like I’m erasing her Jewish heritage and pride. Thanks so much!

Celebrating Hanukkah & Christmas in interfaith family

No problems from me other than to note that I hope you meant to say that they're both celebrated, not that they're literally "combined." Because putting Christian ritual into a Jewish holiday would bug me, as a reader, but someone watching Mom light the menorah before going out caroling with Dad would not--for example. Does that make sense? There are plenty of interfaith families out there that do both, but keeping the actual practices separate is the best way to keep the Jewish ones Jewish. (And in my example I was picturing both parents there for each activity, so it's not like I'm calling for that much separation -- just, not bringing up "the meaning of Christmas" while you're literally telling the Chanukah story.

You may also want to decide if the character themselves is drawn in one direction or the other, or neither yet. (You said "Jewish heritage and pride" so from this I gather that's how she believes? In that case, is Christmas totally just a fun secular thing for her or is it something she regards as an outsider, religiously speaking?)

--Shira

I'm going to start by saying that interfaith families exist, and have a variety of ways of expressing their combination of cultures. I'm absolutely not here to argue with that, be negative about that very real way of life, or invalidate those experiences in the slightest.

With that being said... people outside our community really, really love to show us celebrating Christmas, and Easter, and eating bacon, or doing anything else that might code us as assimilated (regardless of our internal identities). These are things that some Jewish people do, and I think it's absolutely good to show the breadth of the community, and the varied ways we express ourselves, but I do not, at all, trust someone outside the community to do that mindfully.

In wider media, whether books, television, movies etc. Jewish characters are so often shown to be either assimilated, or from an interfaith family. Interfaith does not necessarily mean assimilated of course! But the fact of their interfaith relationship is often used as a convenient way to get the Jewish character into situations that are intended to show how "not really" Jewish they are. There is an obsession with showing us as assimilated, a delight that is taken in trying to prove that we either are exactly the same as the broader culture, or that our differences can be erased and eroded until we are.

A Jewish person remains Jewish, whether they go to a Christmas party or not, whether they have shrimp at dinner or not, whether they marry a non-Jewish person or not, but the intent behind constantly showing Jewish characters doing this is suspect to me. This asker may not have this ill-intent, but frankly, it's hard to come by a character, written by a non-Jewish person, that says "I'm Jewish" in the beginning of a work, and then "oh, no thank you, I don't celebrate Christmas" in the middle, let alone even continuing to say "I'm Jewish" by the end.

When I read a work about interfaith families, and their specific traditions by a person inside the community, or coming from an interfaith background themselves, I'm interested, happy to learn about the characters, and their lives. When I read a work like that by someone outside the community it leaves me with a bitter taste in my mouth, and the feeling that even fictional versions of us are being gleefully, voyeuristically, intentionally assimilated.

-- Dierdra

1) If your character is invested in their Jewish heritage, celebrating Chanukah is not enough to show this. Please please please research our other holidays and traditions, talk to Jewish people who feel the same level of connection to their Jewish roots, consume #OwnVoices materials.

2) Agree with Dierdra that interfaith families exist and deserve representation, but that writing an assimilated character requires a lot of research and sensitivity; any blatant disregard of halacha should probably be avoided in case it is consumed in that voyeuristic way by the reader.

3) And with Christmas in particular, you can be close to touching a nerve because not all Jewish people have fond memories of Christmas, to say the least. To people of minority faiths, it can be the time when our othering is the most blatant and impactful (we’ve included some personal stories below).

It would be best to listen to many Jewish experiences of December shenanigans, from people who celebrate Christmas partially or fully, to those who are indifferent, to those who have mainly negative associations and memories.

-- Shoshi

Our personal experiences with Christmas (Jewish Mods)

Also, as a note from all of us, discussing this question brought up so many stories about our own experiences with Christmas, and the culture surrounding it. A selection of them are below, just to give an idea of what it can be like:

- Just not having lights up was enough to get our neighbor asking our then roommate if we were "you know... sorta..." When our roommate confirmed that we are indeed Jewish, he reassured him that it was "fine." It didn't feel fine to be told that though. I also had a neighbor ask what we were doing for Christmas once, and I said "oh, we do Chanukah in this house" just to keep it casual. She excitedly yelled back "JEWS!!" Even without Covid I was getting to the point where December was just a month where I tried to stay in, and avoid getting grumpy at people who are just enjoying their holiday (they just happen to be enjoying it everywhere, all the time. And sometimes kind of aggressively). God forbid you correct someone when they wish you a Merry Christmas.

- Me too, it's the marketing, it's so aggressive. Last year I got so fed up with Christmas music being on in the office that I decided to bring a dreidel and spin it casually on my desk throughout the day, just so that my own space could feel like it was somewhat reserved for my own identity, you know? On day two of this, a colleague I didn't know that well came up to me and said, "Please could you stop doing that? It's really loud." I wanted to yell "NOT AS LOUD AS YOUR MUSIC!", but I didn't, I just stopped spinning it because I'm a darn pushover at times. I had to sit through my first hand-wringing 'how will we do Christmas with Covid?' conversation in about September, even though Pesach and Eid were both during the height of lockdown in this country and no one said a thing until after the fact.

- I've had people scoff, and sniff, and make snide comments to my face in my old workplace when I politely reminded them that I don't celebrate Christmas. It can get so uncomfortable, just existing in the world, and Christmas can end up a really miserable time.

#minemelody #Chanukah #Hanukkah #Christmas #interfaith #Christianity #Jewish #Judaism #holidays #assimilation #asks

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grassisblue22 · 3 years ago

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Stories of Retail

I started my first job in retail when I was 18 years old. I don’t know if I can say the company’s name but we’ll just say it was like Ross, but it wasn’t Ross. I worked there for about a year and a half. By the time I left I was almost 20 years old. But I felt like I was 80 on the inside.

People always told me working in retail opens your eyes about how a lot of humans actually are. I never really understood what that meant until my time at, “Not Ross”. Then I understood: humans kinda suck.

The customers at this store were awful, to say the least. When I first started there, I was working fitting room. I was in the back, by myself, handing out numbers to guests that corresponded to the number of items they were taking back. The rules were simple: try on clothes, take whatever you liked with you, bring me whatever you didn’t. Sounds easy enough, right? Wrong. Mountains of clothes were constantly left in fitting rooms. “I just left what I didn’t want. You’ll take care of that, right?” I mean, I guess so.. It was also super easy for people to steal clothes. They did it all the time. We made easy it for them. Loss Prevention stood at the front and did hourly “walks” but they never really could do anything if they caught someone.

My store did not have public bathrooms. This is something I grew to dislike, not only because people gave me so much shit about it, but because if they did not like that they couldn’t use our bathroom, they’d simply use the clothes in the fitting rooms. Or one of the aisles in the childrens section. Or just have their children pee directly on the floor. It was usually grown women who did this. It happened almost every other two days. You don’t get used to it. It becomes a real problem though when all the pee starts to erode some of the wall in the fitting room. That’s when management started to see people peeing in the store as a problem. One time, I let someone use our personal bathroom. They ended up pooping all over the floors and wiping it all over the walls. For what reason, I don’t know. Humans are weird sometimes. Unfortunately, this only scratches the surface of that year and a half I spent there.

I wish I could say I had coworkers who made the job a little easier. That I had management who had my back with certain things. I didn’t. In fact, I only had about two friends in those times (both of which are still friends of mine. We all left at the same time). I had a lot of older women who did not like me. One in particular did not like me because she mistook me for a girl who worked in stock room (We started around the same time and had the same name. The stockroom girl hooked up with an LP guy whose girlfriend worked the front end). When she found out she got us mixed up, she did not care enough to stop talking ugly about me. I never understood why a woman who was in her late 40′s hated me so much. I guess I’ll never know. Her daughter was nice to me though.

I remember being up for a manager position that I was working really hard for. It was almost mine until my manager gave it to her sister who had no experience in retail or management. I don’t remember her name, but I remember her not liking the wall of socks I organized so she threw everything onto the floor and tried to make me redo it. I wish I were making this up. At this point, though, I was already annoyed with my job and did not care anymore. I walked away, finished my other tasks and went home. I got written up the next day. I’d like to think it was worth it.

I feel like I should stop here for now. I had a sudden urge to write and this was the only topic I could think of. Unfortunately, this only scratches the surface of that year and a half I spent there. I could go on and on about specific customers, coworkers who had a little too much nerve, and the managers I had to take orders from, but, alas, I think this is where it ends for now. If you’ve read this far, thanks. I look forward to writing more one day soon.

#retail #story #shopping #rant #funny #writing

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wanderingwomanwondering · 3 years ago

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Strange New Worlds Commentary/Meta

**this post is NOT spoiler-free** AND **long post!**

We’ve gotten 4 solid eps of Strange New Worlds so far. Ep5 dropped today but I haven’t seen it yet. Overall, I like the show and I also have some constructive criticism. Here are my thoughts:

Episode 1 - Strange New Worlds

This ep was fun and it was GREAT to meet the main characters, especially Uhura. She was more fully presented and developed in this one episode than she was in TOS. Overall, I enjoyed this episode. I’m a sucker for cosmetic genetic modification for away missions lol.

What I did not love (at all) was the paternalism shown toward the citizens of the war-torn, warp incapable planet. The leader that Pike and Spock spoke with made it clear that she and her people had no intention of listening to their plea they not use warp technology as a weapon in their war efforts. Pike pushes the issue by waving the entire damn Enterprise around AND inviting himself to a meeting of the warring factions to force an Earth history lesson on them to discourage them from obliterating themselves.

On the surface, that seemed like a fine tactic on Pike’s part but scratch the surface and the persistent paternalism displayed is staggering. Pike has zero right and zero jurisdiction on an alien world. Period. Of course, if he had left it alone after the original demand that he and Spock leave, it would have been a very short episode lol. So, for entertainment purposes, it’s less concerning to me that Pike took it upon himself to (paternalistically) instruct an alien world on how to lessen their growing pains and is more concerning that no meaningful discussion of that action was supplied within the narrative. They chat for like 2 seconds about the precursor to the Prime Directive but then explain away their social and political interference with the aliens by saying that the only reason the aliens had warp technology in the first place was because of the war with Control in Discovery.

Mind you, the Federation has no way of knowing how many other pre-warp worlds may have been negatively affected by what they saw in their night sky during that epic battle with Control (or any other space battle for that matter). Does the Federation plan to scan for ill-gotten warp-signatures in every star system where a space battle ignited the sky in inhabited systems?

The Federation is not a “divine power” that can or should play with the destinies of worlds, which is why the Prime Directive among other regulations was established in the first place. But without some full-on, in-depth discussion within the narrative about these situations and the parameters for intervention (if any!) the show is buying into and perpetuating harmful logics that erode the agency and autonomy of worlds in the name of paternalistically-driven harm reduction. It’s...a problem LOL one that I hope they actually talk about a lot INSIDE THE NARRATIVE. We as long-time viewers of Star Trek know the basic ethical issues being alluded to in the episode but without a real exploration of those issues in the narrative (which is harder to do, but not impossible, in an episodic format) we are left only with the problematic implications of the “solutions” worked out by one Starfleet captain.

Another issue: Pike’s thinking about what his future disability will mean for him has been framed in an ableist way so far. I sincerely HOPE that framing of his thought process is on purpose so that the audience can go with him on the journey of deconstructing his ableist attitudes and changing them!! Seriously, if that doesn’t start happening in earnest soon, I’m going to have more to say about how deeply problematic his current conceptualization of his future is. *side-eye emoji*

Episode 2 - Children of the Comet

Super fun ep! Uhura, my beloved. Anyway, what I did not enjoy was the name calling (e.g. zealots), Like. How dare an alien species blend religion and science I guess??? It was an interesting choice of words for a man that regularly discussed the spiritual implications of the Red Angel while they were all figuring out exactly what was going on in s2 of Discovery. I had a lot of side-eye during the episode.

I did appreciate that at the end, Uhura (my boo!) presented scientific evidence that Ma’hanit was in fact runnin’ shit in the galaxy LOL. Just as Spock flying his shuttle mission factored into Ma’hanit’s role in seeding greater life on the planet (and Ma’hanit had foreknowledge of this), the Shepherds’ reverence and defense of Ma’hanit was important too and factored into the overall positive outcome. Arbiter of Life and Shepherds for the win!

Again, what I wanted was some engaging discussion of these issues/ prejudices/ assumptions and a visible/overt shift in crew viewpoint in light of the information Uhura shared. Preconceived notions + one scene where those preconceptions are proven wrong is nice but in 2022 it doesn’t feel sufficient imo. Within the Star Trek universe, there are a lot of lessons to be learned at this point in time in terms of the Federation’s and Starfleet’s development. I don’t know about other fans, but I want to see how the mind-changing sausage is made LOL.

Episode 3 - Ghosts of Illyria

I liked this ep too! It hit another Star Trek plot trope that I love: alien virus that makes the crew go a little cuckoobananas. Yes! Bring it! Also, we got the superhuman alien trope, my beloved. I was winning with this ep lol.

Overall the issue of genetic engineering was fun to explore. It’s been a theme throughout Trek and is hotly debated every time it comes up and I always find it fascinating. Those issues were at the center of a few eps involving Dr. Julian Bashir in DS9 and it was fun to watch. So I loved the reveal about Number One being Ilyrian. The Illyrians genetically modify themselves (instead of terraforming) in order to fit with a natural environment. They are contrasted with the Augments and I hope like hell we get more discussion of the (perceived) similarities and differences between the groups.

Anyway, at the VERY end of the episode, Una offered FANTASTIC commentary on the consequences and problems inherent in being designated as an exception to a series of stereotypes (”one of the good ones”, a “hero”, etc.) by a person in power (Pike in this case), then the personal log entry was deleted, the ep ended, and I don’t know if they will carry it forward in BOTH small AND large ways. I mean - we will probably get a big moment in the future where Pike defends Number One to Starfleet a la TNG’s The Measure of A Man but who knows. Still, I wonder about the small ways that we’ll deal with Una’s identity among the crew and the day-to-day intraship politics of that now that it’s known. That pathway wasn’t really made clear and highlighted in the ep. We got Una’s discussion with La’an but I doubt that same level of interpersonal challenge will come through for Una ship-wide especially given Una’s rank. So where/how/to what degree will that character arc get to take us viewers on a meaningful journey?

Episode 4 - Memento Mori

Dire stakes. Mental health issues. Grief. Mind meld. Ingenuity. More backstory for La’an. Great character beats for Uhura (my love) and Hemmer. We glimpsed a possible love connection forming with M’Benga and Una. Nurse Chapel was in excellent form. Ortegas being snarky. Pike visibly feeling the weight of the captain’s seat. I was winning with this one yall. YMMV.

Ah, the Gorn. A faceless, predatory species easily glossed as “monsters”. The ep doesn’t do much to deal with that highly problematic characterization of an entire species but I think they laid the groundwork to approach that issue later in the show?

La’an noted that because of her past traumatic experience losing her entire family to the Gorn, she does not feel that empathy is possible and that they are true monsters, though not supernatural. That’s a big friggin statement and they HAVE TO come back around to that in a meaningful way. New life, new civilizations and all that. Conflict is of course a part of the mission but the demonization of one’s enemies, while very human and understandable is STILL A PROBLEM.

Be enemies if that’s how it has to shake out because one side won’t see you as a human/person worthy of not being violently consumed but demonization feels beyond the pale (for Star Trek). Yeah yeah I know this is an way early in the ST timeline but still. They have to unpack that in the show (right???) otherwise what the hell are we even doing here???

Pro & Con of the Episodic Approach

I understand the fandom’s collective longing for the “simpler”, “easier”, episodic, exploration-driven times that defined the STU prior to Discovery. DS9 sort of started to break that mold in its final few seasons when the war with the Dominion began, but Strange New Worlds seems to be bringing back the episodic approach for the franchise. My basic point is that has a big con and a pro imo.

The big con I think is that the episodic format limits what they can really say/do AND FULLY ATTEND TO over the course of the season. We get snippets of deep/meaningful stuff but then those MAY get lost over the course of the show???

The pro is that the episodic approach is less “heavy”. We get mostly bottle episodes that exist in their own right and don’t require us to think and feel about the same/consistent cultural/social issues very deeply from week to week. Like. All four eps so far were good but they aren’t connected by anything but the characters themselves and their mission to seek out new life and new civilizations etc.

I have theories about deeper connective elements at play across episodes but the show hasn’t been very loud about any of those yet. That’s understandable since the show is still very young, but it does make me wonder where we’re going in a deeper sense than just “the mission”. Like. What does that mission mean? How do we accomplish that mission? How, why, and to what degree must we grow and change to truly accomplish it? These are my questions and I think they are the show’s questions too? I just haven’t fully seen it on screen in SNW quite yet.

Season(s)-long narrative arcs imo allow for stronger clearer statements about key social/cultural issues presented in the narrative. Check out my post here to get more of a feel for what I mean. SNW returning to the episodic format is nice in many ways but my fear at this very early point in the show is that key character issues and larger/in-depth social commentary may not be as fully developed and explored as they would be in a season(s)-long arc format. I know some in the fandom may prefer this and I understand the various reason why but it still kinda concerns me.

#star trek strange new worlds #star trek snw #star trek snw meta #star trek meta #christopher pike #snw spock #nyota uhura #number one #la'an noonien singh #strange new worlds #ghosts of illyria #children of the comet #memento mori

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inkribbon796 · 4 years ago

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Lost in a Lightning Storm Ch. 2: Far from Home

Summary: You shouldn’t talk about people, and not expect them to find out.

Chapters: 1, 2

While Henrik and Anti were talking to Tubbo and Logan, and then subsequently went off to Nate’s house to do some research, Mare went to go find Anti.

Anti was cackling with the Duke on some rooftop, who had escaped arrest after the chaos he had created. The two chaos-loving criminals were laughing and joking.

“Anti! Your boyfriend is getting too brave, you gotta[1] do something!” Mare said as he leaned over a massive air conditioning unit to get into the glitch’s face. Anti was lying on his back on the rooftop.

“Ooooooohhh~ You have a boyfriend?” Remus gave a huge smile, turning on his stomach and kicking his feet up like they were a bunch of pre-teens at a slumber party. “And you didn’t tell your best friend? For shame.”

“Shut up,” Anti kicked him in the face. Then he turned back to Mare. “I don’t got[2] a boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah, then what the hell is he?” Mare bit back.

“None ‘a yer fookin’ business,”[3] Anti spat back.

“M’kay,[4] whatever,” Mare rolled his eyes. “Point is, he’s trying to find you.”

“I’m right here, let ‘im[5],” Anti scoffed, still lying on the ground.

“No, the old you, the human one,” Mare warned.

“Why?” Anti spat.

“I don’t know, humans are dumb,” Mare spat. “He’s your problem, you deal with him.”

“Fook[6] you!” Anti spat and stormed off.

Directly after he stormed off, he realized that he hadn’t asked Mare where Henrik was. But it was too late to storm off. Mostly because he overheard Remus trying to weedle information out of Mare. Anti was too in his own head to admit to even himself that he was embarrassed.

So he went out to find Henrik. Except he wasn’t at the hospital . . . and Logan didn’t seem to know where he was. He wasn’t at the hospital either so Anti ran around for a little bit and found them in Nate’s house.

For a couple moments, Anti debated on how upset Mare would be if he barged into his territory. Then he figured that if Mare didn’t want him to trespass, he shouldn’t have told him to take care of Henrik . . . and Anti had been in Nate’s house before on multiple occasions.

So Anti tripped about three alarms to get into the house and Nate and Henrik watched him stroll right into the living room where they were.

“Don’t yeh[7] two know not ta[8] talk about someone behind their back?” Anti layered on the glitching and blood as much as he could.

“You are certainly getting better at zat[9] effect,” Henrik complimented.

“You bleed on my carpet and I will stab you with a soul splitter,” Nate threatened.

Anti pulled out his knife, completely offended that they weren’t screaming in terror.

Nate helped up a stake, the wood was etched with runes and spell writing. “Anti, I don’t want to explain to the rest of your friends why you’re in pieces.”

“Why the fook are yeh diggin’ inta my personal shite?”[10] Anti demanded.

“Because zer is much I do not know about you, und I vish to correct zat,”[11] Henrik told him, Nate was on his computer, still looking through old census records and newspaper reports.

“I’m right the fook[6] here,” Anti spat.

“I cannot recall a time ven ve have ever talked about any’zing,”[12] Henrik told Anti pointedly.

Anti glared at him, his nose scrunched up like the demon was about to pull his lips back in a snarl. “Why, though? No point in lookin’[13] fer[14] a dead man.”

Henrik stood up, really studying Anti’s expression, “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can stop.”

Anti sputtered for a moment, “I don’t care.”

“I am serious Anti, if all zis[15] investigation makes you uncomfortable or vas[16] a traumatic experience, I vill[17] stop.”

A myriad of uncomfortable feelings, that Anti refused to unpack or acknowledge, prickled under his skin and boiled his blood. He absolutely refused to be afraid of some past specter he could barely remember. Anti was better than some human who’s only contribution to the world had been dying so that Anti could be brought into the world.

So instead Anti just scoffed, some derisive, forced laugh, “Whate’er yeh two arses wanna dig up some dead bitch that did me the favor ‘a dyin’, go ahead. Here, I’ll e’en help.”[18]

Henrik watched for any sign that Anti was joking or would destroy Nate’s computer. “If you are certain.”

“Oh yeah,” Anti dismissed. “What did yeh shitebags find?”[19]

“Well,” Nate stalled as he watched Anti walk over, he stayed braced with his stake. “Don’t break my stuff.”

“I won’t,” Anti smiled. “Come on, we got some loser ta[8] find.”

“That “loser” is also a past version of you,” Nate pointedly reminded.

“Watch it, meatbag,” Anti warned. “If he wanted ta[8] stay alive, he shouldn’ta[20] died.”

“Eloquent,” Henrik commented.

“Shut,” Anti hissed back.

“Do you remember your country of origin?” Nate asked. “I’ve got several different deaths from lightning storms and factory accidents from the past 150—”

“I ne’er[21] worked in a factory,” Anti huffed, before mentally stalling because he couldn’t remember how he knew that, just that he did.

“Really?” Nate commented without even blinking. “That helps narrow it down. Means you only could have died from lightning if you’re as old as Mare says you are.”

“Mare needs ta[8] learn ta[8] keep his trap shut,” Anti scoffed.

“You were right there when he told me that, and you didn’t say anything,” Nate reminded.

Anti looked away from him, “I don’t remember this, it didn’t happen.”

“Anyways, do you remember where you came from?” Nate turned back to his computer. “I know the Septics first met you in Ireland, but are you from there too?”

“Been ta a lot ‘a places,”[22] Anti shrugged. “How am I supposed ta[8] know?”

“Well it vould[23] make it easier,” Henrik reminded.

Anti rolled his eyes, “I woke up in Australia. I hitched a ride on several hosts until I got ta[8] Ireland. I don’t know if I died there, my first ten years were a blur.”

“You are Australian?” Henrik was staring at Anti.

“No.” Hunching his shoulders up defensively, Anti glared at the doctor, “Maybe? I can’t remember. What’s it ta[8] yah[7]?”

“No, it’s not a bad thing,” Henrik rushed to say. “I just . . . it is a good thing.”

Nate and Anti just stared at him, neither of them sure which direction to take that comment, but Henrik wasn’t looking Anti in the eyes anymore. He was glancing at Anti though, a lot.

But with a country narrowed down, Nate was able to eliminate several different possible candidates. Until there were five people left, four men and one woman. Mostly because it wasn’t unheard of for gender changes to occur when a human became a demon.

“Okay,” Nate said. “We have: Caleb Carson, Hannah Laverty, Brendan O’Heyne, Angus Collins, and Joe Morrin. Does anyone sound familiar, I don’t see any pictures so . . .”

Anti’s brain felt clouded, like there was something wrong but he couldn’t place it. He felt the urge to stab something and run. Like he was in danger.

“Anti? Are you alright?” Henrik asked, there was a look on Anti’s face that the German doctor hadn’t seen on him before.

Anti’s attention drifted towards one of the names in particular. He had no memories left of that person.

Much of that person was gone now, eroded away by time, but snippets remained. Being arrested for something . . . feeling disgusting inside afterwards . . .

. . . Feeling sick as the boat wouldn’t stop shaking the world around him . . .

. . . The heat of the sun burning his skin, almost hot as the anger that burned inside of him . . .

. . . And then a deafening CRACK as he felt like his body was exploding with pain. And how they’d just . . .

“They left me there,” Anti remembered, his form glitching erratically. “They left my fookin’[24] corpse ta[8] rot!”

“Anti‽” Henrik called out but the two humans watched Anti violently shatter apart in a discorporation.

Nate surged up immediately and took out an amulet necklace. One he had once’s a while ago to safely carry Mare around. But he used his magic to scoop up as much of Anti’s aura as possible to keep him from fracturing.

“Vat[25] happened?” Henrik demanded.

“He must have remembered something,” Nate tried to calm Henrik down as he was casting spells to see how violent the discorporation was, “I don’t think it was a good thing.”

Henrik snatched the necklace away, looking at it. “Vill[17] he be alright?”

“He still seems to be in one piece, but it might take a while for him to reform,” Nate warned.

“I zink ve should stop,”[26] Henrik looked over at Nate’s laptop. “If I had known his reaction vould have been zis violent I vould have stopped ven he confronted us.”[27]

“Yeah,” Nate agreed and watched Henrik put the necklace on. “Be careful with him, an injured demon’s a more dangerous one.”

“I vill[17],” Henrik promised, and gathered up his stuff with a stiff thank you for Nate’s help and the doctor went over to his apartment with the necklace. Anti took a couple of days to reform, but he didn’t talk to Henrik. The demon would escape the necklace and then slip back in whenever Henrik was distracted or busy.

After almost a week since the incident at Nate’s house, Henrik decided that, if Anti wasn’t going to talk to him, Henrik would talk to Anti. He started out small, complaining about the coffee machine at the hospital, about how muggy the weather was.

Then, one night, while Henrik was sitting on his couch, watching some TV show, or at least had it on in the background while he was staring down at the necklace in his hands, the doctor decided to be a bit more blunt. He watched the gem, saw almost like glitchy lightning crackling underneath the surface. “I must admit, part of ze[28] reason I went digging vas[16] to get a reaction out of you.”

There was a pause to the energy in the necklace. But after a bit the glitched lightning continued as if nothing had happened.

“If you do not vant to talk about zis matter, I vill not force you,”[29] Henrik told him. “But I had hoped to get a violent reaction out of you, not to actually harm you. For zat[9] I am sorry.”

Anti’s aura shot out of the necklace was just staring at Henrik. “Why was that what yeh were goin’ fer?”[30]

“You have tried to kill me und[31] my friends many times, und[31] I vanted[32] to get you to attack me,” Henrik admitted.

“Why?” Anti scoffed, plopping down on Henrik’s couch. “If I wanted yeh[7] dead, I would’a[33] done it already.”

He took glared at him. “Zat[9] is exactly the problem, you have zis[15] odd stalking infatuation but you have tried to kill me in the past. Not to mention you utterly ruined Average’s marriage und[31] his ability to visit his children.”

“The fooker was gettin’ cucked an’ e’eryone knew it,”[34] Anti dismissed.

“She vas doin’ no’zing of ze sort,”[35] Henrik defended heatedly.

Anti looked away angrily.

The two sat in angry silence for a little while, before Henrik sighed, taking off his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose before carefully putting them back on. “Anti, vat do you vant out of zese interactions ve have?”[36]

The glitch demon decided he would rather talk about literally anything else, but his only other option was talking about his former human life and he wasn’t sure which made him look worse. “I like it when yeh[7] get angry at me.”

“Is it simply ze[28] anger or ze[28] attention?” Henrik asked, genuinely trying to understand.

Anti still wasn’t looking at him, deciding that he’d rather take the human talk. “My name used ta[8] be somethin’[37] else.”

“Vich[38] do you prefer?” Henrik asked.

“Anti,” Anti told him hesitantly.

“Zen[39] you are Anti,” Henrik agreed. “As you said, zat[9] man is dead, und[31] you are here.”

Something in Anti’s chest tightened, he didn’t like it. He didn’t like even the reminder that he was human. But he started leaning over towards Henrik. It was just a little bit of a lean, not enough to even get near Henrik. So the doctor closed the distance for him, lightly resting his shoulder against Anti’s.

“I zink zat you like the attention, vich I am more zen happy to give to you,”[40] Henrik smiled at him as Anti still refused to hold eye contact with him. “Und ven you know vat you vant, you can tell me in your own time.”[41]

For the rest of the night the two of them sat in almost near silence. Anti wasn’t ready to admit anything, but still tantalizingly close all the same. Anti getting closer and close to Henrik until the doctor was pressed up against the side of the couch and Anti was leaning against him. Anti sat next to Henrik as the doctor just ran his fingers through his hair. Anymore and Anti would have started hissing and pulling away. But as he leaned into the touch the glitch decided that he liked this attention.

Henrik occasionally looked over at Anti, smiling at him.

And if, as he scratched his fingers across his scalp, heard him give out very quiet purring sounds, the doctor decided not to tease the glitch demon about them . . . at least not yet.

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

Post A/N: Anti in his AU used to be a man by the name of Angus (Jack’s “survivalist” character he made super early in his channel and in this AU Angus was arrested and sent to Australia where he subsequently died from a freak lightning storm, and then cue villain arc.

Side note: Henrik likes Anti’s Australian accent, he likes it a lot! No I will not back down from this extremely unpopular headcanon.

Accessibility Translations:

1. have to

2. have

3. None of your fucking business

4. Okay

5. him

6. Fuck

7. you

8. to

9. that

10. Why the fuck are you digging into my personal shit?

11. Because there is much I don’t know about you, and I wish to correct that

12. I can’t recall a time when we have ever talked about anything

13. looking

14. for

15. this

16. was

17. will

18. Whatever you two assholes want to dig up some dead bitch that did me the favor of dying, go ahead. Here, I’ll even help.

19. What did you shitbags find?

20. shouldn’t have

21. never

22. I’ve been to a lot of places

23. would

24. fucking

25. What

26. I think we should stop

27. If I had known his reaction would have been this violent I would have stopped when he confronted us.

28. the

29. If you do not want to talk about this matter, I will not force you

30. Why was that what you were going for?

31. and

32. wanted

33. would have

34. The fucker was getting cucked and everyone knew it

35. She was doing nothing of the sort

36. Anti, what do you want out of these interactions we have?

37: something

38. which

39. then

40. I think that you like the attention, which I am more then happy to give to you

41. And when you know what you want, you can tell me in your own time.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #birthday post #footnotes #henrik von schneeplestein #antisepticeye #Nathan Sharp #Antistein #Doctor Glitch #Anti trying desperately to run away from his emotions #finally some relationship progress #Anti's just a scraggly alley cat that doesn't know how to get a home #Anti has feels #angst and feels

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 5 years ago

Text

Time - Good Omens Fic

Goal was to write three fics for this weeks @bingokisses prompts. Well, I got two! The first is “Time” a Night At Crowley’s Flat/Pre-Body-Swap/Wing Grooming fic. It’s for the prompt “Wrist kisses” which I had twice on my card, the first paired with “Wing Grooming.” I’m going to do edits before I move this to AO3, so let me know if anything sounds off!

“So that’s it.” Crowley lounged against the wall, arms crossed. Not looking at Aziraphale. Not looking at anything.

“Yes. I pretend to be you, you pretend to be me. Hellfire. Holy water. We survive.”

It wasn’t easy, keeping his voice steady. Aziraphale mostly managed it by not looking at Crowley, not thinking to hard about it, acting as though the entire problem were simply some clever logic problem. Most certainly by not imagining what would happen if they failed.

“Don’t like it.”

“Come now,” he tried to smile. “Let’s not start over again. We’ve considered every angle. The plan works, and it’s our – our best chance.”

Crowley grunted as if regretting his promise already. “Not going to argue. Just. Don’t like it.” He’d been belligerent since the moment Aziraphale had suggested the swap, inspired by his own recent experience with discorporation. He’d expected Crowley to dislike the idea, but the demon had fought against it, tooth and nail, every step of the planning process.

Not that Aziraphale didn’t have his own doubts. He’d struggled to keep them at bay since stepping off the bus. Now he pressed his hands together, ordering them not to tremble, as the fear started to grow in his gut, building, pushing out into his limbs and his heart.

Choose your faces wisely – that was clear enough. But playing with Fyre could mean many things, only one of which Crowley was immune to. What if he’d missed something? What if there was more to it?

What if the prophecy wasn’t intended to save both of them?

He imagined Michael’s sword, blade aflame, swinging towards Crowley while he was bound to a chair—

It wasn’t a noise, just a sharp intake of breath as he pulled himself back to reality, but it was as loud as a scream in the silent room. Crowley’s head snapped around, eyes pinning the angel through his dark glasses. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Nothing.” Oh, his voice didn’t sound certain at all, his eyes still burned in the imagined light of Heavenly swords. Aziraphale cleared his throat and tried again, but no words at all came out this time, just a strained squeak.

Heaven would see this coming, surely. They would suspect as soon as Crowley stepped into the flames. He needed to outsmart them, needed to think of the next step, and the next, a hundred moves ahead, but he didn’t have time…

“Angel.” Crowley’s voice was sharp, a whip crack cutting through the silent room, and Aziraphale cringed, huddling into himself instinctively. “Bless it, Aziraphale, if you’re having doubts too, we need to rethink this. There’s still time, we can – can take off, be out past the Oort Cloud before either side notices. I know plenty of stars they’d never think to look.”

“Crowley, no. We’ve been over this already.” His voice didn’t sound calm but at least it wasn’t breaking anymore. “We can’t hide forever, they’ll – they’ll find us eventually.”

“I’d rather they chase us across the galaxy than – than stand around waiting for them to grab us. At least we’d have a chance. At least we’d have time.”

Aziraphale wanted that. Time. More than anything, he wanted time to think, to plan, to prepare. To stand beside Crowley and not be afraid.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? There was no future if they ran, no earth, no them, just this one terrifying moment, stretched on and on for eternity, poised forever at the last moment before the attack. Always waiting. Always afraid. He couldn’t take a life of this, he couldn’t even take one night of this.

He was so lost in his own thoughts – torn between wanting time and wanting it to be over – that he didn’t even notice Crowley’s approach until the hand landed on his shoulder. It wasn’t rough – it was the gentlest touch, barely felt through his jacket – but the suddenness of it startled Aziraphale, making him stumble away.

“Crowley! There’s no need – I’m – please—”

“You aren’t fine, don’t try to tell me you’re fine,” he spat. Then, in a lower voice, “Talk to me.”

It was too much. Already he’d nearly given in to the fear, but this – this moment of concern – it tugged at him, threatening to break his last thread of dignity, of control, and that was the only thing keeping him going right now.

“There’s nothing more to discuss.” He tugged at his waistcoat, trying to school his expression. “And if – if you’re just going to argue, I’d rather you left me in peace.”

“Aziraphale…” A warning.

“I mean it, Crowley.” He interrupted, fighting to keep his mind from shattering. “That’s enough. Go!”

Crowley spun away, with a noise halfway between a snort and a snarl, and stalked through the enormous revolving door, disappearing into the next room.

Leaving Aziraphale alone with his thoughts.

Crowley glared at his trembling plants, burying his fingers in leaves, tugging at them for any sign of weakness, of spots or yellowing, any imperfections. But he didn’t really see them.

His mind kept shifting, jumping between a bookshop in flames, a voice in a bar, and the sudden appearance of Aziraphale at the airbase. A hurricane of worry and relief and fear and longing with nothing remotely like calm at its center.

He wanted to run to Aziraphale. Override all his objections, drag him away. Haul him off this world, to the stars, to Andromeda, to the farthest corner of the universe, far from the beings that wanted to hurt them, had hurt them again and again for thousands of years.

It wasn’t the first time. He’d wanted to at the airbase, run up, grab Aziraphale by the lapels. Make sure he was unharmed, shout at him to stop taking foolish risks. The same at the church in 1941, the Bastille in 1793, again and again, across centuries of companionship –

Wanted to reach out, pull him close, promise that everything would work out.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Never could. Maybe never would.

He’d always blamed it on their sides, needing to stay apart to stay safe. But he didn’t have that excuse anymore, did he? And that’s all it was. An excuse.

It was Crowley’s nature to be cold and distant. Aloof. Project coolness and confidence so that no one could see what lay underneath, the shattered worthless wreck of demon. Keep them all at arm’s length, even the being he least wanted to push away, and where did that leave him?

Alone in his solarium, shredding the weakest leaves off a fig tree, on what could be the last night of his personal eternity.

Had he always been this way?

Crowley didn’t think so. There had been a time when he’d been open, inquisitive, carefree. Long ago, before the Fall, before six thousand years in Hell and on Earth, before he learned…everything.

He could never go back to that. You couldn’t unlearn the truth of the world, once you’d learned it.

One glance over his shoulder, back at the door. He could go back. Apologize. Open himself up to the one being he knew would never hurt him. Say the words that had sat on his tongue for countless centuries.

He could, but he wouldn’t. Not tonight. He needed time. Time to get his head on straight, to learn to be honest with himself, to know what it was he even wanted.

And time was the one thing he didn’t have.

Aziraphale rested his hand on the door frame, wishing he had the courage to step through.

It was his own fault, of course. He’d pushed Crowley away. As he always did. It was easier.

He didn’t belong here, among humans, beside a demon. Simple fact: he was an angel, and he belonged in Heaven. There was no place else an angel could exist and feel whole and happy.

That, he’d always told himself, was why he had this aching emptiness inside – because he was far from his home, corrupted by earthly influences. A degraded angel.

Heaven talked a great deal about love. Angels love Creation, they love the humans, they love God most of all; they love each other, and they love him. In spite of all his flaws, he was constantly reminded, they loved him.

And he believed it. For a long time, he believed, because not believing was dangerous, and painful, and terrifyingly. And because, well…because that’s what he believed love was. How was he supposed to think otherwise? It was the only thing he ever knew.

But six thousand years on Earth slowly eroded his ignorance. He saw humans develop friendships, saw them fall in love, saw them care for their children, their parents. Saw some become cruel, or manipulative, or negligent; saw others be loyal, and warm, and welcoming even to strangers.

He learned all the ways that love could be expressed. All the things that masqueraded as it. What it could look like. What it should look like.

And even then, he could keep pretending that he found that in the cold, distant praise of Heaven, but only so long as he could pretend he didn’t find it anywhere else. That he didn’t have a being in his life who always supported him, always stood by him, never made him feel flawed or broken, never abandoned him.

Even now, when it might mean destruction for both of them, still at his side.

In the face of that, how could he ever believe that Heaven loved him?

He pushed the thought away, back into the dark recesses of his mind, where he’d carefully hidden it from himself for longer than the lifetime of civilizations. It was still a dangerous thought, a dangerous word. A distraction.

It wasn’t the time for such things.

He had to put their survival before everything else. It meant staying here and facing their former sides head-on, not running away and waiting to be caught. It meant deceiving Heaven and Hell, not angering them from some foolish desire to fight or take revenge. And it meant facing the challenge with cool logical minds not clouded by any newly acknowledged emotions. It made sense.

The best thing he could do for himself, for Crowley, was to keep his distance tonight.

I need a new plant mister.

For ten minutes, Crowley had managed to keep himself focused on pruning the trees, silently clearing out some leaves or stems to make room for new growth. The emotions raged somewhere deep inside, but the surface was as calm as ever. But then he noticed the echeveria was a little dry, went to give it a bit of water, and realized the bottle was gone.

Hastur had destroyed his plant mister, and he needed a new one.

He could simply manifest one, he supposed, as easily as he’d created the pruning shears. But the ones at the corner shop were so cheap, it was easier to just grab one on the way to Aziraphale’s bookshop, and take a few moments to see what new sprouts had arrived, then stop over at the bakery for some coffee and one of those crispy pastries.

Except.

Except there wasn’t a bookshop anymore, was there?

Which meant he wouldn’t be heading over tomorrow, or the next day, or ever again.

No more surprise breakfasts before the first customers of the day. No more late nights sharing a dozen bottles of wine and arguing about philosophy. No more perusing the poetry section when Aziraphale wasn’t looking, or thumbing through the latest illustrated guides to botany or astronomy that always found their way onto the shelf beside his sofa.

No more secretive walks in the park to share secrets and feed ducks. No more shoddy pretenses for a weekend drive. No more weaving the Bentley through four lanes of traffic.

The world had ended, but only for him and Aziraphale.

It wasn’t fair.

After everything they’d done, everything they’d suffered to save the world, they still lost everything and it wasn’t fair!

The knot of emotions he’d been holding back broke free in a flash, flooding him faster than he could control it. With a shout he hurled the little plant at the wall, cracking the pot, spilling soil everywhere. Then he grabbed the aloe vera, the orchids, the antherium. One after the other, thrown against the wall, the floor, the window.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He screamed, pulling over the umbrella tree, shredding all its leaves. “All of you! You worthless pieces of shit!” He kicked over a dragon tree. “You had your fucking chance! No more excuses, no more second chances.” A glass bowl full of air plants; he snatched it up and smashed it hard against the table, shards spinning off in every direction. “Make your fucking peace with the soil, because every one of you is—”

“Crowley!”

He spun around to find Aziraphale watching, wide-eyed, from the doorway.

Fuck.

Well. That’s the end of that, he supposed. After that sort of display, Aziraphale wouldn’t want anything to do with him ever again.

He clenched his fist, turning away, but that sent a sharp pain through his hand. Hissing, Crowley looked down to find a shard of glass, stuck in the side of his hand. Of course. Exactly what this day needed.

“Are you hurt?”

He shot a glare at the angel, suddenly beside him.

“Just a scratch. Leave me alone.”

Aziraphale’s hand landed lightly on his wrist, pulling the hand over for closer inspection. “You need to be more careful, Crowley.” He ran his thumb lightly up the side of Crowley’s palm and the little triangle of glass fell free.

“I’m not going to – to die from a little cut, Aziraphale.”

He’d meant it as a joke, of a sort, but Aziraphale’s hand tightened around his. “Don’t.” The angel’s thumb brushed across the cut, making it disappear in a small burst of healing. “You need to be more careful.”

“It’s a bit late for careful.” He tried to pull his hand away, but Aziraphale ignored it, bending over as if to inspect his palm for damage. “Look, Angel…”

“What a mess!” Aziraphale tutted. “An absolute disgrace.” But he hadn’t so much as glanced at the graveyard of ruined plants all over the floor. Instead, he was inspecting Crowley’s nails. “And you expect me to go out wearing these tomorrow?”

“You’re one to talk. I saw the state of your wings earlier. Have you groomed them this millennium?”

“Even if I hadn’t, it still wouldn’t compare to this – this—” He held up Crowley’s hand, nails caked with dirt, cracked, uneven. “I thought you took pride in your appearance.”

“I’ve been a bit busy.” Crowley snatched his hand back and tried to walk away.

“I don’t want an argument tonight.”

“Then stop trying to start one!” He took a deep breath. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll go take a shower. You wait in the kitchen, or wherever you want.” He glanced around at the mess he’d made. “Don’t bother cleaning. No point, is there?”

“Crowley, stop!”

“It was ‘go’ before, now you want me to stop? Make up your blasted mind.” But Crowley stood still, glaring at him. “What is it? What do you want?”

“I want to take care of those nails.”

“You what?” But Aziraphale’s face was dead serious, set in his most stubborn frown. “Look, you fussy bastard, this isn’t – we don’t have time for this!”

“You have somewhere else to be tonight?” But when his hands reached for Aziraphale’s again, the touch was strangely gentle. “Let me take care of these. Please.”

The demon groaned, but what was he supposed to do? Not say yes? “Fine. If you insist.”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Between them was a bowl of warm water, an array of tiny torture implements, and a towel, which Aziraphalehad used to briskly brush the dirt from Crowley’s fingers. Now he held the demon’s right hand, turning it this way and that to inspect each nail in the light of his halo.

“That’s a little better,” Aziraphale murmured, picking up the clippers and starting to trim.

“You know, I can do this myself.”

“Can you? Really?” It was strange, having his hand held this way. Entirely in Aziraphale’s power, unable to move, yet it was only the lightest pressure, really. Firm, but gentle. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you chewed them.”

“Only when they break.”

“That isn’t funny. Look at this.” He lowered Crowley’s right hand and picked up the left, pinching the thumb between his fingers. “Just look!”

“Looks like a thumb.”

Another tsk, and Aziraphale set to clipping again, not trimming each nail as low as he could (as Crowley usually did), but instead quickly removing the sharp edges or cracked portions, leaving a few millimeters on each. When he was satisfied, he picked up an emery board. Crowley expected him to start scrubbing roughly, sandpapering his nails smooth. Instead, with a few quick delicate motions, he reshaped each nail into a perfect oval. Now and then, he paused to scrape underneath with the point of a nail file.

“What is this, anyway?” He held up the tip of the file, covered in hard flakes of black residue. “I thought it was soil, but it isn’t the right consistency.”

Crowley gulped. He remembered charging into a burning shop. Driving for almost an hour in a flaming car. Falling to the ground at the airbase more than once—

“Dunno,” he said weakly. “Could be – lots of things…”

Aziraphale’s hands hesitated over Crowley’s smallest finger, and he could see how the emery board trembled. Yeah, you’re cleaning the last of your bookshop out of my nails. How does that feel? Crowley wished he had something comforting to say, but he just felt hollow. The day had left him without anything to offer.

With a deep breath, Aziraphale steadied his grip and got back to work.

“Why?” Cowley found himself saying, as the angel moved back to his right hand. “Why are you wasting your time on this?” On me?

“Don’t be foolish. Time spent with you is never wasted.” Blue eyes flickered up again to catch his gaze before focusing on the nails once more. “Although I do wish you’d put a little effort into basic maintenance without my needing to nag you.”

“But—” He bit his words off, not knowing what to say. “Why?”

“Why? Why? You spend an hour every day on that ridiculous hair, not to mention weeks spent putting together your – your ‘new look’ every few years. I would think you’d agree that personal grooming is its own reward.”

“No, I…” He watched the long, thin board move back and forth. His fingers were curved slightly in Aziraphale’s grip, pinned in place by his thumb. “I just thought you’d want to be alone.”

Silence for the length of two fingers. “Why on Earth would you think that?”

His stomach was hard as a rock, twisting with emotions he couldn’t name. “I…I’ve been awful,” Crowley confessed. “All night long, since we got back, I argued, I snapped at you. Threw a tantrum. The other day, I shoved you against a wall. And…and this morning I called you stupid…I’d think you’d want to be as far from me as possible.”

“As I recall, you were the one who wanted to abandon me for the stars.”

“No…” But he had said that, hadn’t he? “I didn’t…I wouldn’t really…”

“Oh, hush.” Aziraphale frowned and moved to the last nail. “I’ve known you for six thousand years, Crowley, I’m well aware you have a temper. I have never held against you the things you said, or did, when you were angry.”

I have plenty of other people to ‘fraternize’ with. I don’t need you.

“Never?”

“Never.” Aziraphale put down the file and pressed Crowley’s hands between both of his. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear.”

He lowered Crowley’s hands into the bowl of warm water. Aziraphale had added some sort of soap, and it clung thickly to his fingers in a pleasant way.

“Still…I don’t like you to…to see me like that…”

“You’ve seen me at my worst,” Aziraphale reminded him. “Do you think less of me?”

His worst? Crowley couldn’t even imagine what that would mean. The embarrassing smile as he showed off his latest magic act or shouted encouragement at the actors in a play? The possessive gleam when he saw a priceless first edition, whether one of his own or one he was about to acquire? His incorruptible desire to see the good in absolutely everyone, even Gabriel, even Crowley?

“No,” he whispered as his heart surged anew. “No, I never have.”

Aziraphale nodded, watching Crowley’s hands as they soaked in the water. “It’s good, you know, to-to have a simple ritual in a time of stress. Something you can walk through, step by step. Unhindered by, ah, by emotions. Very calming.”

“I do feel a little better,” Crowley admitted.

“I expect you do. But…I meant for myself.” He lifted Crowley’s hands free of the water and gently patted them with the towel. “I’m…I’m…well, I’m rather convinced I’m going to let you down tomorrow. Not play my part well, or…or lose my nerve…or overlook some vital clue…”

Crowley felt the tremors in Aziraphale’s hands before he suddenly pulled away, fingers twisting in the towel, pressing it against his mouth. But he couldn’t hide the wave of emotion that overtook him before Crowley’s eyes.

“Angel!” Crowley grabbed his shoulders, newly manicured fingers feeling more sensitive against the fabric of his shirt. “Aziraphale look at me.” Slowly, the blue eyes came back into focus. “We don’t have to do this.”

“We do. Crowley, it’s the only way.” The towel crumpled further as he crushed it in his grip. “I – I – I won’t – I’ll find a way, I just need to – to buck up…”

“Are you scared?”

“What? No, I – I—”

“Because I am.” Crowley let go with one hand to pull his glasses free, toss them aside, then reached up to brush the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “Have been for…longer than I can remember, but then I lost you. Last night, and this morning, and then…the fire…” He swallowed. “And you know what? Each time it felt more real and more painful than before, and I don’t…I can’t…”

His gut heaved. The hollowness he’d felt after the fire opened again, threatening to devour him, permanently this time. “Aziraphale. I am more terrified right now than I’ve ever been in my life, and I don’t know how to stop it. So. If you’re scared…that’s fine.”

The towel fell, and Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in both of his again, but this time clinging to it, clutching it, pressing Crowley’s fingers against his lips where the towel had been a moment before. Crowley reached with his free hand and…what? Touch his face? His hair? What was he supposed to do?

Before he could decide, Aziraphale seemed to blink his eyes clear and look again at Crowley’s nails. “Just a few hangnails to trim, and then we’re done.”

“Nh. Yeah.” He settled more comfortably. “Whatever you want.”

Aziraphale held Crowley’s hand, carefully massaging moisturizer across his palm, between his fingers, and into his nail beds. Memorizing the shape of them, the knobby knuckles, the veins on the back of his hands.

He’d wanted to do this once before, when the thoughts that needed to be hidden, even from himself, had threatened to overwhelm him. 1941. He’d longed to sit Crowley down and wash his feet, check them for burns and injury after his walk across hallowed ground. Let the activity distract his mind from the thoughts and emotions he couldn’t afford to acknowledge, and just be there, in the moment, caring for Crowley. Appreciating him. Holding him.

It was just as well he hadn’t attempted it back then; evidence tonight suggested it didn’t work.

He ran his thumbs across Crowley’s palm one last time, smoothing in the moisturizer, feeling the skin plump up, taking note of the calluses here and there just below the fingers. He didn’t want to let go.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, when his fingers had lingered perhaps a bit too long. He looked up to meet the demon’s golden eyes. They were soft tonight, and vulnerable, and filled with pain that tugged at his heart. But that pain seemed to be fading, replaced by…by one of the things Aziraphale was not supposed to be naming. What with the thunderous pounding of his heart in his chest and the blood in his ears, Aziraphale almost missed Crowley’s next words: “Thank you.”

Very suddenly, his heart went absolutely still.

“You…you’ve never…said thank you.”

“Grave oversight.” Crowley turned his hands over, running his thumb across his newly manicured nails. “This is…yeah, this is nice.”

“Ah. Well.” Aziraphale waved a hand, neatly teleporting his supplies into a different room. It was his usual method of cleaning up – eventually, things would wind up where they were supposed to be – but he realized alarmingly late that this now meant he and Crowley were simply sitting on a bed together. “I…I suppose I should thank you. For, ah, for indulging me—”

“Should I…return the favor?”

“Ah!” He snatched his hands against his chest, as if afraid Crowley would steal them entirely. Well. That wasn’t quite what he was afraid of. “Return? How – how would you – Crowley, my nails are – are already in tip-top shape, and you wouldn’t—”

“Your wings. Like I said,” Crowley went on, familiar sharp edge slipping into his tone, “absolute mess. You’re one to talk about grooming, carrying around two disasters like that.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was about to snap something else, but his eyes accidentally met the demon’s, and there was nothing mocking about them at all. Anxious, shy, almost waiting to be hurt. Did he always hide that expression behind his glasses?

“I, ah…I’ve never…how do we do this?”

Crowley’s eyes went wide. “Ngk. Unh. I mean. Sit there or…or maybe…lay down? On your stomach?”

“Ah, yes, I wouldn’t want to – to get tired, holding them up.” Aziraphale stretched out across the top of the duvet, resting his cheek on one of the pitch-black pillows, and extended his wings.

He could have sworn he heard a heavy breath – maybe a gasp, maybe a sigh. “Just as I thought. Look at this utter disgrace. When was the last time you preened?”

“Well, as I never walk around with them out—” Aziraphale was cut off by an impossibly gentle touch, two fingers brushing lightly across the leading edge of his wing. It felt…good, an electric shiver that ran down his wing and up his spine.

“Oh! S-sorry.” Crowley sounded embarrassed, which was something Aziraphale had never heard before. “I shouldn’t have…is this alright?”

“Yes. It’s…it’s very much alright.” He wrapped his arms around the pillow, feeling the need to brace himself, and stretched his left wing slightly. “Please, continue.”

The touch of Crowley’s palms against his wings was electrifying, yes, but also gentle, soothing. He carefully explored down the length of them, not stirring any feathers yet, just learning the ways they lay against each other, where they grew thick, where the flight feathers emerged. Aziraphale could feel the feathers that were out of place now – they snagged and tugged against Crowley’s hands, bunching in the wrong spots. Uncomfortable, the way sitting in a chair too long could be uncomfortable without even noticing.

“You’re lucky you didn’t need to fly,” Crowley remarked, scolding, as if it was an everyday risk, instead of something that hadn’t come up in five thousand years. His fingers now flicked around the shortest patch of Aziraphale’s coverts, just shy of the leading edge, finding one of the culprits. Manicured fingertips burrowed deep into white feathers, hot against the skin and muscle beneath, and with a few quick but gentle scratches twitched it back into position. “Does this hurt?”

“No…That feels…” Crowley traced the feather from base to tip, pushing the barbs back into the correct alignment. A few more strokes ensured it lay, flat and neat, alongside the rest.

“One down, dozens more to go. And that’s just this side. Hope you’re comfortable.”

He was, though. Aziraphale closed his eyes, sinking into the gentle rhythm as Crowley moved – feather by feather – across his wing, setting each to rights. He felt as though a burden were being lifted, the worry in his stomach slowly unknotting, bit by imperceptible bit, as if the world were fading away, leaving nothing but that touch.

By the time Crowley reached Aziraphale’s alula feathers, the pain in his gut was gone. As he worked his way back across the primary coverts towards the scapulars, Aziraphale began to forget what he’d been worried about. Then the warm fingers ran down the first of his flight feathers, and time stopped entirely.

Crowley had never imagined Aziraphale’s feathers could feel so different from his own, but they did, so soft and delicate he would have believed they were pieces of clouds if not for the warmth that emanated through them.

Was it because angel feathers were somehow more pure? Or was it simply a matter of familiarity – that his fingers had stopped even noticing the texture of his own wings?

He was nearly finished. Really, he was done already, but his hands still glided across coverts and primaries, feeling for anything out of place, any excuse to delay longer.

“Right there, please.” Aziraphale suddenly interrupted. “Just…just a little itch. Could you…?”

“Got it.” Crowley let his fingers sink in again, scratching gently at the base of a feather. “Here?”

Aziraphale just murmured in relief, a little sigh. Crowley had knelt beside him to better reach the wing, but now Aziraphale shifted, pressing their hips together. “This feels simply marvelous.”

“Y-yeah,” Crowley said, clearing his throat. “S’why you’re supposed to do it regularly.”

“I should have asked you to, years ago.”

Crowley smoothed the feathers back into place. He was finished. It was time. Time to switch and part ways, possibly forever.

He didn’t lift his fingers from the edge of Aziraphale’s wing.

“Would you have?” Crowley wondered, surprising himself to hear the words out loud. “Would you have let me, if I’d asked?”

Stirring, Aziraphale tucked his wings away, all that glorious heat vanishing to another plane. He rolled over and considered Crowley, but didn’t sit up yet. “I’m not sure. I…I would have wanted to. But…well…”

“And if I’d – I’d asked for other things?”

“I don’t know. Would you have asked? If I’d indicated my interest?”

Somewhere, the sun was rising. Somewhere, the day was starting. Time, never any time.

“I don’t know,” Crowley confessed, the words ripped from his soul. And then, not letting himself think, he fell forward, onto the pillows.

Aziraphale caught him, pulled him into an embrace. “I want to find out, Crowley. What we are. What we can be. I wish…I wish…”

Long fingers reached up to cradle Aziraphale’s cheek. “I know, Angel. I know. We’ll get our chance.”

Aziraphale nodded, though the tears in his eyes said he didn’t believe it. A brush of fingers on the back of Crowley’s hand, and Aziraphale turned to kiss his palm, his wrist. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I wasted our time. And now…”

“No, you didn’t waste anything.” He pulled Aziraphale roughly against his chest. “You hear me? Nothing. I’m…I’m glad for every moment we had.”

The angel didn’t respond, just sobbed, once, face pressed into Crowley’s shirt.

“Shhh. We’ll survive this. I swear it. And then we’ll have eternity to figure this out. Alright? You and me. And…and things will be different this time. I’ll be different.”

“Don’t you dare,” Aziraphale said, his arms locking behind Crowley, strong enough to break his spine. “Don’t you change a thing, Crowley. I don’t want anything to be different.”

“Really? You’re happy with how things were?”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale pushed back, just enough to meet Crowley’s gaze, eyes wide and wet and earnest. “So…so very happy, when we were together.”

“Well, then.” Crowley bent forward, resting his lips on the top of Aziraphale’s head. “That’s what we’ll do, yeah? Be together. Forever.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #Wings #crowley's flat #aziraphale and crowley #angst #good omens angst #emotional h/c #pre-body swap #night at crowley's flat #aziraphale #crowley #manicure #tumblr fic #my writing

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mikauzoran · 4 years ago

Text

Lukadrien: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Six

Read it on AO3: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Six

When Marinette opened the apartment door, the script Luka had been practicing on the way over abruptly evaporated from his mind.

Her bloodshot, puffy eyes revealed she’d been crying lately, and the dark circles underneath them told of sleepless nights since their separation.

She looked weary and worn out but still oh so beautiful, and it made his heart ache.

“Luka?” she breathed, a flicker of light and colour coming back to her face and eyes when she realized he was really there and not just some mirage conjured by her exhaustion.

His heart crumbled as she pulled him into a tight hug, and he couldn’t fight the need to wrap his arms around her and hold her.

“…Did you change your mind?” she inquired doubtfully into his chest after nearly a solid minute had passed and she couldn’t allow herself to delude herself any longer.

He pulled away, mournfully shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I wish we could make this work, but…nothing’s changed…and I need to take care of myself. I can’t keep waiting and hoping for things to be different.”

She stepped back, looking away and crossing her arms with a tired sigh. “Okay…but let me know if you do change your mind. I can’t imagine ever stopping loving you.”

She looked back at him, meeting his eye, her own misting with tears. “I do love you, you know. It wasn’t fair for you to say that I didn’t. I can love more than one person at once. You’ve loved more than one person at a time.”

Luka winced, shrinking guiltily. “You’re right. That wasn’t fair of me, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that…but I still can’t be with someone who loves someone else more than me.”

“You are the one who decided that I love him more than you,” she replied coolly. “I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you think that, but isn’t the most important thing that I chose you? I picked you, Luka,” she stressed, a pleading note to her voice.

His gaze dropped to his feet as he muttered, “Because you couldn’t have him.”

“Because I love you and wanted to make a life together because I thought we could work,” she corrected.

He looked up at her, eyes scanning her face and seeing truth there.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t change the past. I come with baggage, and if you don’t think your baggage and my baggage go together…well, I’m really, really sad about that, but it’s okay. I do love you, and I want you to be happy. I’m sad it can’t be with me, but I want you to be happy.”

Tentatively, he pulled her back into his arms. “Thank you. That means a lot to me, Chanson. I want you to be happy too…I just don’t think we can be happy together right now. I’m sorry if that’s my fault.”

She shook her head, effectively nuzzling his shoulder. “It’s not. Not totally your fault. Obviously, I’m part of the problem too.”

They stood there quietly holding one another for a minute before Marinette spoke up again. “…This sucks.”

“Yeah,” Luka chuckled tearfully. “Yeah, it does.”

“We can still be friends, though, right?” She pulled back to look up at him with desperation in her eyes. “This isn’t goodbye, is it? I don’t want to lose you, Luka.”

He gently wiped away the tears that had escaped and were making a break for it down her cheeks.

“Shh,” he soothed. “You won’t lose me. I don’t want to lose you either, Marinette. I think it’s just going to take some time before I’m okay…. I’d wanted to spend my life with you too.”

She nodded, resting her head back on his shoulder. “Okay. I guess…we’ll just see how it goes. Maybe once it stops hurting so bad, if we just act like everything’s okay, we’ll be all right again.”

“Maybe,” he sighed, pulling back. “I hope so. Right now, though, it’s just too painful to be around you. Don’t be mad if I don’t call you for a couple weeks.”

She nodded again. “All right. That’s…that’s a long time.”

He exhaled slowly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I think it’s going to take a long time to start to feel okay again.”

“Okay.” She blew out a long sigh, relenting and accepting that things were changing and that it was beyond her power to do anything about it. “Well…I hope things get better soon.”

“Yeah,” Luka mumbled, not so sure that was realistic.

“…So…was that what you came here to tell me, or…?” Marinette shifted awkwardly, reaching up to tuck a stray bang back behind her ear. “Did you need something?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” Luka turned around and grabbed the garbage bags full of Marinette belongings that he’d set down next to the door out in the hall. “I was cleaning the flat, and I found some of your stuff. I thought I’d better return it.”

“Oh,” Marinette replied, feeling off kilter as she accepted the bags. “Thank you.”

“I also came because…” He bit the inside of his cheek. “I need to talk to Plagg.”

She winced and shifted her weight again. “I mean, you can try, but…Plagg hasn’t been himself in years. He doesn’t like to come out of the Miracle Box, and he doesn’t like to talk.”

“He’ll want to talk to me,” Luka assured. “I have a message from Adrien for him.”

Marinette’s eyes widened, and she stepped out of the way to let Luka into the apartment. “That…may change things.”

“I hope so,” Luka sighed, running a hand through his hair as he followed Marinette up the steps to her room. “He’s not mad at Adrien for giving him up, is he?”

Marinette shook her head. “He’s mad at himself for not taking care of Adrien better.”

Luka snorted at that. “I’m sure he did his best. Plagg was the closest thing Adrien ever had to a father.”

“…How is Adrien, by the way?” Marinette inquired hesitantly, feeling somewhat better about asking now that Luka had introduced Adrien as a topic of conversation himself.

Luka exhaled slowly. “He’s…a little rough, but he’s going to be okay. He’s safe now, and things are going to get better.”

“Do you think he hates me?” she blurted out, pushing her trapdoor open and then turning around to look at Luka nervously once she was through it.

Luka rolled his eyes, brushing aside her same old fear. “Marinette, I’ve told you a dozen times that he’d never hold you getting his father arrested against you. He helped.”

“What about for keeping my identity a secret?” she pressed, needing to be sure.

Luka shook his head. “That’s probably a complicated subject that you two will have to figure out between yourselves, but he did say he wanted to get back in touch with you, so he obviously doesn’t hate you.”

She heaved an enormous sigh of relief, a hopeful smile filtering onto her lips. “Thank you, Luka.”

He returned her smile with a tired one of his own that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He knew what would happen when Marinette and Adrien reunited. Just because Adrien wasn’t ready for any kind of relationship now didn’t change the fact that he and Marinette would end up together eventually.

And then Luka would lose them both to one another, just like he’d always feared.

“Anyway!” Marinette quickly changed the subject, heading over to her sewing box and retrieving the Miracle Box. “You’re here to see Plagg.”

She pulled out the Black Cat Miraculous and handed it to Luka. “He’ll only come out when summoned by his Miraculous, so you have to put on the ring.”

Hesitantly, Luka took the Miraculous, and it changed to resemble the silver and black ring he used to wear.

Once he slipped it on, a droopy, irritated-looking Plagg appeared in a flash of green light.

“You rang?” he grumbled, making no secret of how put out he felt.

“Hi, Plagg. I need to talk to you, if that’s okay,” Luka greeted.

“Make it quick,” the kwami snorted. “You’ve got ten seconds.”

Luka looked to Marinette. “May I speak in private with him?”

Marinette shrugged, making her way back towards the trapdoor. “I’ll be downstairs when you’re done.”

Luka waited until the door was closed behind her and he heard her footsteps fade before turning back to Plagg.

“Sorry. Adrien isn’t ready for people to know he’s back in Paris yet, so I didn’t want her to overhear,” Luka explained. “Do you want to see Adrien, Plagg? I can take you to him.”

The kwami’s ears and tail perked straight up.

“You know where he is?” Plagg demanded, buzzing around Luka’s head, flying this way and that in agitation. “Is he okay? Where is he?”

“He’s rough, but he’s safe,” Luka quelled Plagg’s fears. “He just moved in with me the other day.”

“Take me to him. Now,” Plagg commanded, a threatening edge to his words.

Luka held up his hands in a placating gesture. “He’s not ready to see you yet. He’s…”

He winced and repeated, “He’s in rough shape, Plagg. What I can do, though, is take you home with me, and you can see him from a distance until he’s ready to see you face to face again. How does that sound?”

Plagg rolled his eyes and crossed his stubby arms. “Why is he not ready to see me?”

Luka shrugged helplessly. “I’m not sure I fully understand it myself. I asked him if he wanted me to go get you, and it looked like he wanted to say yes, but he said no, that he wasn’t ready to face you. He also said something about not feeling worthy of having a Miraculous.”

Plagg snorted hotly at that. “This is all That Man’s fault. He never treated Adrien right. He did everything in his power to erode Adrien’s self-confidence.”

Luka nodded, commiserating. “I’m going to try my best to help with that, but Adrien’s been through a lot, and he just needs a little time before you two are reunited.”

“Fine,” Plagg decided. “I don’t care. I just need to see him for myself and make sure he’s okay.” His voice softened as he added, “…He wasn’t okay last time I saw him.”

Luka nodded sympathetically.

“Take me to him,” Plagg repeated with an air of certainty.

“Okay,” Luka breathed. “Now, I just have to figure out what to tell Marinette.”

Plagg rolled his eyes and waved Luka’s concern away. “I’ll explain it to her.”

To Plagg’s credit, when they went downstairs to confront Marinette, he simply informed her, “I’m going with him.”

Marinette blinked in confusion for almost a solid minute but eventually shrugged. “Okay. Be good, though. Don’t cause Luka problems.”

“I never cause problems,” Plagg insisted.

“My dinosaurs,” Tikki peeked her head out to hiss.

“They had it coming,” Plagg replied, easily shrugging it off.

Tikki let out a bellicose scream and launched herself at Plagg, beginning to chase him around the room as he cackled.

“Wait,” Luka interrupted. “What do you mean ‘okay’? You’re just letting me take Plagg?”

Marinette gave her ex a watery smile, pointedly ignoring the frolicking kwamis. “He’s been moping for years now. He clearly wants to go with you. Why would I stop him?”

“This is why she’s the best Guardian ever,” Plagg praised, flying over to give Marinette’s cheek a sloppy lick.

“Plagg,” Marinette scolded through a shriek of laughter.

“She is the best, isn’t she?” Tikki cooed, perching on Marinette’s shoulder and smiling warmly to see her other half acting like himself again.

Luka almost agreed, but he caught himself. “…Well. I have to get going, but thank you so much. And thank you for trusting me with Plagg. Take care of yourself, Chanson.”

“You too, Bluebird.” She leaned in, giving him an air kiss to either side of his face. “I hope I hear from you soon.”

Once in his car, Luka texted Adrien that he was heading home and informed Plagg that Nino was there and had just had his reunion with Adrien.

He spent the entire drive white-knuckling the steering wheel as Plagg flitted energetically about the vehicle.

“You’re going to make me crash,” Luka sighed when they stopped at a light. “Could you please take a seat?”

Luka wasn’t sure if it were better or worse when Plagg landed on top of his head, but he decided to refrain from commenting.

Nino and Adrien were sprawled on the couch when Luka returned to the apartment, their limbs intertwined in a way that made a flame of jealousy flicker to life in Luka’s chest.

Nino was showing Adrien pictures on his phone while telling Adrien anecdotes that made Adrien laugh so hard he had to lean on Nino for support.

The laughter faded when Luka opened the door.

“Nino, why don’t you head on in to my room and get comfortable?” Adrien suggested, disentangling himself from his friend and getting to his feet to go to Luka.

Nino gave a salute and promptly made himself scarce.

“Hey,” Adrien nervously greeted, coming to stand awkwardly in front of Luka, rocking back and forth from the balls of his feet onto his heels.

“Hey?” Luka responded uncertainly. “Everything okay? You having fun catching up with Nino?”

Adrien nodded vehemently. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. No. It’s great. Everything’s great. I just…are you okay?”

Luka blinked, taken aback by the question. “Uh…yeah. Why do you ask?”

Adrien bit his bottom lip. “I saw that you took some of your ex-girlfriend’s stuff with you. Did you go see her? Are you okay?”

Luka’s mouth rounded into a little “o” of surprise. “Um…yes. Yes, I did see her. It…went well, actually.”

Adrien’s shifty attitude immediately evaporated, and a soft smile spread across his lips. “Oh, good. I’m really glad to hear that. And how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Luka replied honestly with a shrug and a sigh. “Sad. Relieved. Like I’m making a huge mistake…. It was good that I saw her and talked to her, though.”

“Good,” Adrien repeated, pulling Luka into a bolstering hug. “I’m so proud of you. That was really brave, and I’m glad it went well.”

Luka softened into Adrien’s embrace, letting himself enjoy it. “Thank you, P5.”

He kept to himself the fact that he’d only been able to do it because he’d been doing it for Adrien.

He gave Adrien a squeeze and then pulled back. “I’m kind of wiped, so I’m going to my room to rest. Let me know if you need anything, but you and Nino have a good time, okay?”

“Will do,” Adrien assured with a brilliant grin reminiscent of a young child heading out to the park to play. “I’m making chocolate cheesecake in the rice cooker at the moment, and it should be done in about an hour. Do you want me to let you know when it’s ready?”

“Uh… Sure,” Luka agreed, reasoning that Plagg would probably enjoy a slice, even if Luka didn’t particularly feel like dessert. “Thanks, Adrien.”

“Sure thing.” Adrien gave another bright smile before heading to his room after Nino.

“He’s not eating enough cheese,” Plagg bemoaned once they were sequestered in the privacy of Luka’s room. “He’s so skinny!”

“Don’t worry,” Luka coaxed, tentatively reaching out to scratch behind Plagg’s ear like he’d seen Adrien do in the past. “He’s only been here a day. He’ll fill out with time now that he has a secure source of food. I’ll make sure he eats.”

“You’d better,” Plagg threatened even as he accepted the scritches.

Plagg managed to go a little over twenty-four hours before outing himself.

He kept hidden while Nino was over and all during the next day, even through band rehearsal.

He woke up in the early hours of the morning his second night in the apartment and phased through the walls of Luka’s room and the intervening bathroom in order to check on Adrien.

His kitten was shifting in his sleep, muttering as he dreamed. He clutched a black cat plushie to his chest that reminded Plagg of the one Adrien had had from childhood and kept in his room back at the Agreste Mansion.

A sad smile tugged at the corners of Plagg’s mouth as a warm feeling welled up in his chest.

He didn’t see the harm in flying in for a closer look…until Adrien blinked his bleary eyes open.

“Plagg?” he asked sleepily reaching out and gently shepherding the kwami in to rest on Adrien’s chest next to the stuffed animal.

“I miss you,” he mumbled as he drifted back to sleep.

“Oh, Adrien,” Plagg whispered, getting choked up despite himself. “I missed you too.”

He gave Adrien’s chest a nuzzle, making Adrien spring back out of the bed and onto the floor with a yelp, suddenly wide awake.

Plagg floated over to peer over the edge of the bed, lime green eyes glowing in the dark. “You okay, Kid?”

“Plagg?!” Adrien gaped up at the kwami before looking around, taking in his surroundings and trying to ground himself. “Is this real?”

Plagg nodded sheepishly, beginning to come up with excuses to tell Luka as to how he’d gotten caught. “I’m as real as you are.”

“Oh my gosh…Plagg!” Adrien scrambled to his feet, scooping up his kwami and bringing him up to his face to nuzzle even as tears started to stream down his cheeks.

“Plagg, I’m so, so sorry. I never should have thrown you away like that. I don’t know if you can ever forgive him, but I’m sorry. I regretted it instantly, and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could take it back,” Adrien insisted desperately, the words coming out of his mouth as hard and fast as his tears.

Plagg reached out and put a paw over Adrien’s lips, lightly chiding, “Kid…it’s okay.”

Adrien shook his head. “It wasn’t okay. Plagg, nothing’s been okay these past four years.”

Plagg arched an eyebrow. “Are you still a drama queen, or how worried do I need to be about you exactly?”

A bashful smile peeked out behind Adrien’s distress as he admitted, “Okay. Maybe I’m being a little overdramatic, but…things have been really bad, Plagg. Some days I was glad I was all alone in the world because I didn’t think I could bear for anyone to see what had become of me.”

“Oh, Adrien,” Plagg cooed, flying up to nestle in Adrien’s hair and starting to purr soothingly. “I screwed up too.”

“What?” Adrien breathed, trying to look up and see Plagg’s expression.

“If you ever tell anyone about this, I’ll deny it, but you have to know that I screwed up too,” Plagg repeated, gently stroking Adrien’s hair. “Nothing that happened was just your fault…so I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I let you down.”

“You didn’t,” Adrien protested, getting back up into bed and fishing Plagg out of his hair.

“I did,” Plagg insisted wearily, not fighting as Adrien brought Plagg to his chest to cuddle. “…but let’s not play the blame game, okay? We can’t change what happened, after all.”

“Yeah,” Adrien sighed, settling back in. “I guess you’re right…but…you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Plagg snorted. “Do you forgive me?”

“I never held anything against you,” Adrien scoffed.

“All right, then,” Plagg declared with finality.

“All right, then,” Adrien agreed softly, a tired smile spreading across his lips.

There was a beat of comfortable silence before Adrien broke it, demanding, “…How did you even get here? Did…?”

Adrien shook his head. “Luka went and got you for me.”

“Luka came and picked me up,” Plagg affirmed, nuzzling Adrien’s chest. “He’s too boring and mellow to be my holder, but he’s a good guy. Definitely one of Sass’s, but…I’m glad you ended up with him to look out for you.”

“I got lucky,” Adrien admitted. “I got really, really lucky running into him…and I think he’s lucky he ran into me too.”

“Well, duh, but how do you figure exactly?” Plagg hummed, looking up quizzically at Adrien.

“He’s going through a rough breakup right now,” Adrien informed, a cloudy expression rolling onto his face. “He could use someone to look out for him too…and I’m much more capable than I was when you last saw me,” Adrien rushed to assure. “I can do all kinds of things now like cook and clean and fix things.”

Plagg nodded. “I know you’ve gained some new skills. I had some of that chocolate cheesecake you made, and it was exquisite.”

“Yeah?” Adrien chuckled, a pleased blushing rising in his cheeks.

“Yeah,” Plagg confirmed softly. “…I’m proud of you, Adrien.”

Adrien drew in a quiet gasp, eyes going wide even as they started to mist over. “You are?”

Plagg nodded, flying up to pat Adrien on the head. “I’ve always been really proud of you. I’m sorry I never told you that.”

Adrien scooped Plagg up and cradled him to his chest again, needing the contact. “Thank you. That makes me really happy to hear that. I didn’t think anyone ever was, no matter how hard I tried to be perfect.”

Plagg mentally kicked himself (not for the first or last time) for always being so tsundere and aloof with Adrien.

In a feeble attempt to start making up for lost time, Plagg gave Adrien’s chest another nuzzle and started another round of purring.

“…I love you, Plagg,” Adrien whispered, giving a weak purr in return.

“I love you too, Adrien,” Plagg confessed, dropping all pretenses. “I really missed you.”

“I’m sorry I can’t buy you expensive Camembert anymore,” Adrien choked through laughter and tears.

Plagg scoffed. “It was never about the Camembert.”

“Part of me knew that, but it’s nice to hear you say it out loud,” Adrien admitted with a lopsided grin.

“Don’t get used to it,” Plagg grumbled, the embarrassment of admitting to having feelings finally catching up with him.

Adrien smiled wider and began to scratch between Plagg’s ears. “It’s a good thing Luka is rich now. He can buy you the kind of cheese you’re used to.”

“I’d eat cheap, sliced cheese if it meant I could be with you again,” Plagg muttered. “Never disappear like that on me again.”

“I won’t,” Adrien promised. “I’m sorry, Plagg.”

“Yeah,” Plagg sighed. “Me too. Now, go to sleep. You look all sickly; you need your rest.”

“Night, night,” Adrien whispered, closing his eyes and drifting off as he petted from the top of Plagg’s head down his back rhythmically, over and over until he fell back asleep.

The next morning, he woke up early and relished the feeling of Plagg curled up in his hair while Adrien made breakfast.

Having his kwami back by his side made him feel more like himself than he had in years.

When Luka emerged from his room looking like a zombie, Adrien sprinted to Luka’s side and threw his arms around him.

“You’re the absolute best, and I can’t tell you how much I love you for going and getting Plagg back for me,” he gushed into Luka’s shoulder. “Thank you, Orpheus.”

Luka returned the hug and then pulled back with a tired smile. “You’re very welcome. I’m glad I could help make you so happy.”

He removed the ring from his finger and reached out for Adrien’s hand, slipping the Miraculous onto Adrien’s right ring finger.

“There,” Luka decreed as he surveyed his work. “Back where it belongs.”

“I won’t throw it away twice,” Adrien swore, eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you for bringing Plagg back to me. I’ll never forget this. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you, but…I won’t forget everything you’ve done for me.”

Luka reached out and ruffled Adrien’s hair with a fond smile. “Don’t mention it, Perfect Fifth…but if you share some of whatever you’re cooking with me, we can call it even.”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “I made enough for the both of us to start with.”

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Luka chuckled as Adrien tugged him over to the kitchen. “You’re a godsend.”

A grin of pride quickly spread across Adrien’s lips, and a pleased blush dotted his cheeks with colour.

“I’m glad you think so. Keep reminding me, okay?” he chuckled.

Plagg, meanwhile, rolled his eyes, muttering, “Not this mutual pining garbage again,” as he dug into his all-cheese omelet.

#Lukadrien #Miraculous Ladybug #Luka Couffaine #Adrien Agreste #Plagg #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Hurt/Comfort #Fluff #Friendship #Friends to Lovers #Slow Burn #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Reunion #Mikau's Writings #Zebras Can't Change Their Stripes

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ladyreapermc · 5 years ago

Text

Fic: Brooklyn Baby (John Wick x Reader)

Summary: AU. John knew he was going to regret letting his daughter Daisy throw her 21st birthday party in his house. He just didn’t know how much. Part 2: A little loss of innocence | Part 3: Insatiable Craving | Part 4: Make it Hurt | Part 5: Play with Fire |

Author’s Notes: This is pure filth ok? I have no excuse and I’m sort of scared of my brain for coming up with this idea. Also, this might turn into a series. Someone stop me please!

Wordcount: 1550

Warnings: huge age gap (but everyone is legal); smut (oral; dirty talk; D/S tones; praise kink)

Helen did warn John was going to regret agreeing to this: letting their daughter throw her 21st birthday party in his house. He did consider saying no, but Daisy just batted her brown doe eyes at him, pouting so big that John felt like the worst dad in the face of the earth once again and caved.

He already barely spent time with her since she was off to college and John himself spending so much time away in jobs, which had been the reason he and Helen had grown apart, and even if he still loved her, he understood why she called quits on their marriage.

A sharp high-pitched yell filled the air, the excitement obvious in their tone, and John flinched. Seeing Daisy’s friends made him feel so old that John sneaked down to his workspace in the basement to get away. He considered checking in at the Continental for the night but something told him it would be wiser to stay, but out of sight.

So he refugeed himself down there, focusing on the book he was supposed to be binding, some soft jazz playing on the background to help him focus, but not loud enough to dull John’s senses so he heard the quiet squeak of the third top step of the stairs.

He looked over in time to see a pair of long tanned legs appear into his view, followed by a very small dress that clung to her body like a second skin. John remembered her, she was one of Daisy’s new friends from college, his daughter’s roommate. The girl had been part of the small entourage that arrived earlier to get everything ready for the party. She smiled sweetly at him, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Sorry to bother Mr. Wick, but Daisy can’t find the other packs of beer...”

“On the freezer in the garage,” he replied with a sigh wondering how many drunken youngsters he would have to deal by the end of the night.

“Thanks,” she flashed another smile, attention focusing on her phone for a second before returning to the wall of books behind him. “May I?”

John glanced at the books he had bound and nodded. She moved closer and in the tight space of the basement, he could smell the salt of her skin mixed with the scent of vanilla as she browsed the titles in front of her. John swallowed a lump of lust when she bent slightly to take a closer look at the books on the lower shelves.

He hadn’t been with many women after the divorce and most of the time, it had been quick tumbles to ease the solitude of his life. They were women from his world too, who knew exactly what they were getting into when they chose to get in bed with him. They weren’t younger than him by 30 years, looking soft and sweet and naive and so fucking pure John felt like he was tainting her by just breathing the same air.

“These are so amazing, Mr. Wick,” her hands trailed over the leather spines in a way that looked a lot like a caress, and John couldn’t help but wonder how her hands would feel in his skin. “I have a couple of books, they were my grandpa’s, maybe you could bind them for me?”

“Of course,” he offered her a small smile as she beamed at him and it felt like he was bathing in sunshine. “Just bring them over and I’ll take a look.”

“Thank you so much!”

He wasn’t expecting the kiss on his cheek, much less the way it lingered longer than necessary. Or the way their eyes met, hers full of something John dared not name because it was wrong, and she was his daughter’s friend.

Still, the air was heavy with tension as they gazed into each other’s eyes and John really needed to look away, break this connection because his will was being eroded by the way she caught her plump lower lip between her teeth and the rise and fall of her chest, making her breasts push forward against the delicate lace of her dress.

She took the first step before John could, letting her lips graze against his. Only a soft brush of skin against skin, but it was enough to awake the beast of desire in John. He cupped her nape pulling her closer, kissing her hard, tongue invading her very willing mouth for a kiss.

She tasted so sweet it was addictive and John couldn’t find a way to stop himself, getting to his feet and crowding her against the shelves. God, she was so petite but seemed just as caught in this spell as he was because her small hands seemed to be everywhere on his body, touching and exploring.

“We shouldn’t,” he whispered, hands in her ass, kneading the soft flesh so she would moan in his mouth. “This is wrong.”

“So wrong,” she whispered back, sneaking her hands under his shirt, cataloging his scars with her soft fingers before exposing her neck in offering. “Daisy would kill me if she found out.”

“Don’t let her know,” he mumbled, sucking kisses down the column of her throat, one hand coming to her cunt, finding her so wet beneath the cotton of her underwear.

“Please, Mr. Wick,” she whined, rocking against his exploring fingers, spreading her knees to give more space to work.

All common sense flew from John’s brain, leaving only pure desire and need. His body burned and his cock throbbed as he took in how she looked: completely debauched, head thrown back, legs spread, hips moving against his hand as she cupped her own breasts. She was a sight to behold like this.

“Get on the table,” he ordered taking his hand away and she whimpered at the loss. “I want to see you.”

She obeyed as quickly as she could, taking time only to push the book he was working on to the side before taking a seat. John hovered above her, bending down for another kiss before he hiked her skirt, exposing her to his gaze and pulling off her white panties.

“Look at you, darling,” he sighed, watching her pretty little cunt on display for him. “You’re so wet your dripping on my table.”

She moaned low, a pretty flush rising from her chest to her neck and cheeks as she tried to close her knees, but John kept them open, giving her a warning glare. She wasn’t going to deprive him of this delectable view.

He took a seat on his chair so his face was at the same height as her cunt and ran two of his fingers through her folds, making her shiver and moan. Her sounds were going straight to his dick. John could feel it pressing against his zipper, uncomfortably hard. All he wanted was to bury himself into her tight heat but first, he wanted to explore her.

He brought his mouth closer, spreading her lips with the V of his fingers. John could see her glistening clit and he blew against it, making her shudder before he flickered his tongue and she bucked her hips, a loud moan spilling from her lips.

“So sensitive,” John grinned, repeating his actions again and again and soon she was writhing under his ministrations sobbing almost desperately as he ate her out, drinking on the sweet juices of her pussy, his tongue alternating between little flicks at her clit and broad strokes on her slit to gather all of her wetness.

She chanted pleas of more, trying to rock her hips to get a little more, a little faster, but she was under his power and would take what he was willing to give, nothing more, nothing less. However, John was feeling kind, so he pushed two fingers inside her, making her cries grow louder at the intrusion.

“So tight, darling.” He mumbled against her clit. “I can’t wait to feel you around my cock.” His hardness twitched and pulsed at the thought as he pressed against her g-spot and she arched and shook, a gush of wetness soaking his hand as she came with another cry. “Good girl.”

She heaved and panted, a blissed-out smile in her lips as she recovered and John could feel her walls spasming around his fingers, clenching and trying to pull him deeper. He could already feel the need growing in his chest, his leaking cock leaving a wet spot on his pants. But before he could go any further, John heard the door being pulled open, Daisy calling out her name.

In a flash she was on her feet, fixing her dress and hair, while John hid his problem under the desk just seconds before Daisy walked into view.

“There you are!” She rolled her eyes. “Is my dad boring you with all the bookbinding stuff?”

“Not at all,” she smiled at Daisy, but her gaze flitted his way. “He’s being the perfect host and indulging me.”

“Well, Jack and Don are doing push-ups, so come on!”

Daisy tugged on her hand, all but towing her friend with her, leaving John behind with his ragging hard-on, her white panties and all-consuming guilt in his gut.

xxx

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evolutionsvoid · 4 years ago

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The Colloscyt is a terrestrial bird that is found primarily in the labyrinthine caverns and tunnels of the Underworld. They can be found in cave systems that are closer to the surface world, but further investigations have shown that these systems are, or were, connected to the Underworld. So it seems they are directly tied to this land down below, which makes sense when you look at these strange beasts. Gone are the wings that give them flight, as their limbs are now specialized for climbing and scrambling across stone. Their legs and arms are now greatly elongated, giving them a better reach as they scale the walls and ceilings of the Underworld. Their eyes have shrunken and lost their focus, now only good for discerning between light and dark. Not only are their eyes reduced, but so are the specialized throat organs that run down their neck. Hold up second, those wouldn't happen to be external larynges, would they? And how about that third pair of limbs that are sprouting from their back? Those structures seem awfully similar to the ones True Sirens have! In fact, they are the same, because the Colloscyt is indeed a True Siren! "Now say there, Chlora," you may say, "if these things are Sirens, then why didn't you say so in the first place?" A fine question! The reason is because we didn't know it was a True Siren for quite some time! Today, we folk on the surface world call these Cave Sirens or Blind Sirens, but we didn't have these names in the past. Since this species is tied to the Underworld, the people up top didn't really have much of a chance to study them or even see them! The conflict between the two worlds made expeditions and research trips quite difficult, so what information we received about this species (and many others, at the time) came directly from the denizens down below. Even with that, the sources were quite limited, as there wasn't a whole lot of demons and shades who were willing to talk to surface dwellers (and not a lot of surface dwellers wanting to talk to these folk in the first place). With that, many species found exclusively in the Underworld were either unknown or had very little information attached to them. The Colloscyts were one of them, as we only had the word of those down below and few measly parts and pieces. The reason I have called them Colloscyts instead of Cave Sirens is because "Colloscyt" is the first name this species had. This was the name given to them by the people of the Underworld, and it was the name they told us when we asked about these creatures. So for a long time, we called them that as well, until relations between the two worlds got a bit better and we could send researchers downstairs. When a welcomed expedition finally got their hands on a Colloscyt specimen, they were immediately like "hey, this is a True Siren!" And I imagine their Underworld guides were like "what is that?" Obviously the people of the Underworld were not familiar with the creatures up above, so why would they follow our naming conventions? Honestly, it is for the best they don't, because, as far as I can tell, they aren't going around calling everything a freaking dragon! Now that we have covered that, we can take a look at the Colloscyt (or Cave Siren) itself! As I mentioned before, the external larynges of the Colloscyt are quite reduced compared to the other members of its family. This is because the Underworld is kind of a funky place when it comes to sounds and noises. In such an enclosed place with such an array of shapes and sizes, the way sound travels and bounces can be quite erratic. Since every part of the Underworld is quite different from each other, tuning oneself to the environment is a bit difficult. With this, the high-energy, specially tuned hypnotic song of the True Siren family is kind of worthless. They could make it work, but it seems the process would take much longer to finesse, which means it would burn way more energy. So it looks like the Colloscyts let their external larynges reduce a bit, losing their ability to create this entrancing tune while still retaining decent mimicry. Though they have lost this song, they have replaced it with something a bit more helpful. With the help of their external larynges and specialized ears, the Colloscyts are capable of using echolocation to help navigate this darkened world. Their vocal chords produce a special sound, which then bounces off the environment and is then picked up by their ears! Quite helpful when sight isn't really an option in such a lightless place.

This ability is useful with navigation, but it also helps them detect prey. Like other True Sirens, Colloscyts hunt prey, but they use a rather different tactic when it comes to subduing and eating these targets. Climbing silently through the darkness, the Colloscyt will move to position themselves directly above their prey. Hanging from up above, they open their beaked maws and vomit forth a shower of sticky nastiness. This species can create an adhesive mucus, which dries quite quickly when exposed to air. They store up copious amounts of it in their crop, unleashing the torrent when prey is within range. When their target is drenched with this saliva, it will quickly ensnare them and make movement difficult. In a short period of time, it will thicken and harden, trapping prey in a solid mound of spit. Before that can happen, the Colloscyt will drop down and grab hold of the struggling victim. With more gooey saliva, the Colloscyt will "spin" their target in a cocoon, ensuring that they are sufficiently covered and bound. Often, the victim will die of asphyxiation, as their breathing orifices are covered in this sticky crud. Once they are neatly wrapped up and the cocoon has properly solidified, the Colloscyt will jab their beak through the thick coating and into the prey. Through their nostrils, the Colloscyt will inject a digestive enzyme that is pumped from a special organ at the base of their beak. This enzyme is meant to break down the insides of the victim, turning all the organs, muscles and whatnot into soup! When it is all melted into a slurry, the beak will be reinserted and their long tongue will help slurp up what is left! When the cocoon is drained of all nourishment, the Colloscyt will retreat, leaving behind a hardened cocoon and a bundle of bones. This sticky saliva of theirs isn't only used for hunting, as it also helps with deterring predators. When they are hanging from up high, another climbing fiend or a beast on the wing may try to attack them. When this happens, the Colloscyt will use its spit to gunk up their limbs and send them tumbling to the stony floor below. In some cases, the Colloscyt may wind up feeding on their own predators! This saliva is also used by mated to pairs to create nests for their eggs. They will climb up to a hard-to-reach place and use their spit to form a basket to hold their precious young. This construction is not a one-time thing, as the two will tend to the nest and add more mucus to keep it strong as time erodes it and their young grow bigger. When their offspring finally leave the nest, the mated pair will abandon it, constructing a new one when mating season comes back around. This vacant space winds up becoming the home of another creature. A lot of different species can take over these empty nests, which is important to keep in mind if you go poking around in them. I saw one during my travels in the Underworld and wanted to take a closer look. My guides were wise and advised me to test the nest before I climbed up close to it. With a few misaimed rock tosses, I succeeded in agitating the occupant of the nest, which turned out to be a rather large and angry female Mound Roach! No clue why it was dwelling up there, but I am sure glad I didn't get my face close to that thing! This odd creature is known quite well by the denizens of the Underworld, and it should be no surprise that its spit is the star of the show! It's adhesive nature and quick solidification makes it quite useful when it comes to speedy repairs and patch jobs. Those who take excursions into the wilder parts of the Underworld will often keep a hardened bundle of this mucus on them. When equipment breaks or something needs to be glued, they will heat up the solid mass until it becomes gooey again. Apply it to the spot that needs fixing and leave it out to harden! Voila! If they don't have one on them, they can simply collect some from the field. Empty nests and discarded cocoons of previous prey are easy to come by, so they can just get it there. There are some groups down below that even keep a bunch of these birds as livestock, but not for meat! They harvest the spit that comes from them and then sells it as a material or even an ingredient! Turns out that demons and shades have made a dish out of this creature's mucus! "Cocoon Crust Soup" is the name, and it certainly made me curious when I heard about it! A soup made by bird spit? I thought it impossible, but my friends were quick to steer me to a restaurant that served it. I will admit that I was a bit hesitant before I ordered. Having spit in my food is usually something I avoid, and here I was about to order a whole bowlful! But I toughened my roots and gave it a shot! When I tried my first spoonful, I soon realized a problem: Cocoon Crust Soup is a bit too hot for a surface dweller like me! Keep in mind, I am not talking about "spicy" hot, I mean "hot" hot. Like boiling water hot. Turns out this stuff only liquidizes in extreme heat, meaning it must be prepared piping hot to get it to the proper consistency. Since the folk down here aren't put off by blazing temperatures, they serve this soup while its still boiling. One spoonful almost burned a hole in my mouth, so I had to wait for it to cool, which took a long time! Everyone had already eaten by the time I could even get my soup to a tolerable level! Eventually I got to taste it, and it was rather pleasant! A quite unique flavor, though the consistency was a bit gummy. To be fair, that was because I allowed it to cool, and thus it began to solidify. I have to imagine the waiters and cooks thought I was crazy. You get some weird plant person who orders a hot meal and then sits there for an hour and a half until it is stone cold. Sure, I could explain myself by saying "it's too hot," but I am in the Underworld! Who's going to believe me?! Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ----------------------------------------------------------------- It seems that that one of my go-to species ideas is take an animal that isn't a spider and make it a spider.

#monster #creature #bird #siren #art #drawing #barf bird

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aquadrazi · 4 years ago

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Find Someone to Carry You

Chapter 4

*****Thirteen years after the death of the Yiling Patriarch*****

“I heard the Jin Sect Leader died” “Died inside one of his whores is what I heard” “I heard the new young sect leader has been training with the Ghost of Gusu” “I heard that those young cultivators are the best in generations” “Is it true that the Second Jade of Lan turned down Chief Cultivator?” “I’m not surprised. He’s only seen around his group of Juniors when they are on night hunts” “Jin Guangyao seems to being a good job running the Jin Sect in the boy’s absence” “It seems the Jin and Lan sects are becoming closer and closer” “Maybe, but it doesn’t seem that the Ghost of Gusu cares about sect politics”

........Mo Manor…….

Lan Wangji arrived quickly after he saw Sizhui’s signal flare light up the night sky. He liked to keep his distance these days to see how his Juniors handled hunts on their own, and then would come when summoned if there were problems. They had been asked to rid the Mo Estate of some resentful energy, so apparently things were more complicated than they were led to believe.

As the Juniors recounted the events that led up to them signaling for help, Lan Wangji surveyed the area. One particular area drew his eyes.

He walked towards a run-down shack and signaled for the Juniors to follow him. The demonic hand would be dealt with, but he had a feeling there was more to this story than first appeared.

The Juniors had swarmed past him before he had finished taking in the scene, with their weapons drawn.

“Wait” He stopped them. “Tell me, what do you see?”

“Senior Lan, there is a demonic cultivator laying in the center of an array. We must kill him”

“Oh? Why must we?” Lan Wangji realized that it was high time for this lesson.

“Because demonic cultivation is evil”

“Who told you that?”

“Master Lan”

“Why is it evil?”

There was shuffling and silence.

“Is it the cultivation itself that is evil, or is it the cultivator?”

“Master Lan says that demonic cultivation erodes the mind and turns the cultivator into a monster”

“The Yiling Patriarch used demonic cultivation and he killed thousands before he was finally defeated”

“He killed my parents” Jin Ling added quietly, loud enough to only be heard by the few standing around him.

“Do you see a monster?” Lan Wangji asked calmly, despite the reference. He did not miss that most of the Juniors tensed up at the mention of Wei Ying. They had learned at a very young age that talk of the Yiling Patriarch was not tolerated around him.

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe”

“What is the array even FOR?”

“I see a boy in need of medical attention.” Sizhui said stubbornly while putting his sword away. The other Juniors followed suit. Sizhui had assumed a leadership role amongst them, they all seemed to follow his lead regardless if it was a night hunt or what game they were going to play after lecture.

“Alright. Sizhui, you take charge of seeing that Young Master Mo here doesn’t bleed to death. The rest of you, see what clues can be found in the room as to what happened here.” Lan Wangji was proud of his son. He had hoped that being raised in Cloud Recesses wouldn’t cause him to see the world as black and white, as it had for him when he was growing up.

Lan Wangji could see little bits of Wei Ying in the boy, even though he didn’t remember his time in the Burial Mounds. A-Yuan was so young when everything had happened, and when Lan Wangji had found him, the boy was suffering from a terrible fever. He still has nightmares from time to time, but Sizhui would brush them off as crazy dreams, and not memories of his past.

“Senior Lan” Jin Ling whispered next to him. “I think the spell was designed by the Yiling Patriarch.” He had found a bunch of papers and was presenting them to Lan Wangji.

How could he possibly know that?

“I- I recognize the handwriting.” Jin Ling’s hand trembled a little as Lan Wangji took the papers from him. As the Juniors grew older, Lan Wangji had spoken out loud to them less and less. However, since they had spent so much time together as they grew up, the Juniors all had an uncanny ability to read Lan Wangji’s miniscule changes in facial expressions and body language. Lan Wangji didn’t have to say anything to prompt the boy to continue his explanation.

“When I went back for my grandfather’s funeral I went looking for…” He looked around to see if anyone was in earshot, then spoke again even quieter “…the screaming man. I went back to the room I had seen him in with grandfather and Uncle Jin when I didn’t see him in the receiving hall. He wasn’t there, but there were a bunch of items that had belonged to the Yiling Patriarch there. I’m guessing that my grandfather had them collected so he could research demonic cultivation. I… read some of the journals. His writing was…distinct.” The boy almost looked ashamed as he finished his explanation.

It only took a glance for Lan Wangji to confirm that the spell was designed by Wei Ying. “You are correct”.

“It seems that the spell was designed by Senior Wei, probably during his time in the Burial Mounds with the Wen remnants.” Lan Wangji announced to the room. “So we now know that we are dealing with something that we probably haven’t seen before.”

“The Yiling Patriarch?”

“So it IS demonic cultivation.”

“I wonder if it worked…whatever it was”

Don’t be emotional.

Let them find the clues themselves.

Let them put it together.

Let them come to their own conclusions.

They are good kids with open minds, they don’t see the world as black and white.

They’ve been taught to think and gather evidence before they judge.

“Senior Lan. I’ve compared the array to the one in Senior Wei’s drawing, it was correctly drawn. I see no reason for the spell to not have worked. Also, it appears this spell is a Sacrifice Summon, so Young Master Mo would have given up his soul and offered his body as a vessel to…something… be it a demon or another spirit, to…get revenge for him.” Lan Jingyi reported.

“Has anyone found a note?” Sizhui asked from where he was tending to the boy. “If it was a Sacrifice Summon, then there would be a note with instructions for what the spirit needed to carry out.” He channeled spiritual energy into the slashes on the boy’s wrist. The ones that would only go away once whatever it was that the boy wanted done was accomplished. His eyes widened when they closed up. “Wait! The spell didn’t work. The wounds closed.”

“So that IS young Master Mo then”

“Oh good”

“What? He’s still a demonic cultivator”

“I heard he was crazy”

“At least he isn’t an ACTUAL demon”

“He must have been in a lot of pain to want to give up his life, and all future lives for revenge”

“What do you mean?”

“The caster gives up their body to another, and their soul is destroyed in the process”

“So he was expecting to die”

“Why would anyone do that?”

Uncle would be very irritated at the Juniors chattering while looking for clues. However Lan Wangji didn’t discourage it. He liked to hear what they were thinking, and where their thought processes were going. He found it was easier to teach them if he KNEW what they were thinking, rather than guessing. The irony was not lost on him. If he had been more verbal with Wei Ying maybe things would have turned out differently. He would not make that mistake again.

No, he encouraged his Juniors to voice everything they thought and felt. He wanted them all to know that they could rely on each other no matter the situation. He never wanted to see another cultivator on their own, battling the world, misunderstood. His Juniors would have each other, even after he was long gone.

“I found a note!”

“What does it say?”

“Who was he trying to summon?”

“Who did he want revenge on?”

Their questions were broken by a sudden screaming coming from young Master Mo. “No, no please. Please stop. Please let me go, I’m scared. I don’t want to. Please, it hurts. I’ll be good, I swear. I’ll be good. Please!”

Sizhui pulled the boy into his lap and held him tightly so he couldn’t thrash about. “It’s okay, Just breathe. No one here will hurt you. Can you breathe for me?” He said soothingly to the boy while rocking him.

The boy continued to sob and beg pathetically into Sizhui’s shoulder as Sizhui whispered into the boy’s ear and rocked him gently.

“He was trying to summon the Yiling Patriarch. He wanted revenge on those who…had abused him.”

“But the spell didn’t work.”

“Does that mean that the Yiling Patriarch is alive?”

“That can’t be. The Jin clan saw him burst into a million pieces”

“Well, if he is definitely dead, then that must mean there wasn’t a soul to summon”

No soul.

Wei Ying’s soul was destroyed.

Wei Ying hasn’t just been avoiding Inquiry for the past 13 years.

He wasn’t just hiding, feeling hurt and betrayed.

His soul was destroyed, so there was nothing left to talk to.

Wei Ying would never reincarnate.

Wei Ying no longer existed.

Lan Wangji felt like someone had reached into his chest, ripped out his heart, and was squeezing it in front of his eyes.

“Se-Senior Lan? Are you okay?”

The Juniors were staring at him with looks of concern. “Mn” was all he could manage for them.

“Let’s regroup back at Cloud Recesses.” Sizhui suggested, realizing that his father was having some sort of emotional crisis. The Juniors murmured and nodded in agreement as they took samples of the talismans hanging from the walls, and all the papers that had been found, and exited the shack.

The boy in his arms whimpered as Sizhui lifted him up, even though he was careful not to press against any of the injuries he could see.

“It’s going to be okay now. No one is going to hurt you again.” Sizhui tried to soothe the boy as he carried him out of the shack. “We will help you”.

“Senior Lan, can you fly on your own?” Lan Wangji felt an arm on his shoulder, steadying him.

“I will be fine” Lan Wangji responded. It wasn’t a lie, he was sure that he would be fine to fly. The Junior stayed by his side as he left the shack, which he was glad for because his legs were fighting him to stay standing up. “I will just need a minute.”

The cool night air helped him to focus on the present. There was a young boy who needed their help, and a demonic hand to get to a secure place. There was also the information that the Jin sect had Wei Ying’s work from when he was in the Burial Mounds, and had been using it in experiments for years. Young Master Mo was one of Jin Guangshan’s bastards, and had been kicked out for being crazy. Perhaps he had been part of the experiments. That would explain the demonic cultivation.

Lan Wangji breathed deeply and steadily until his mind calmed down. They would travel back to Cloud Recesses, the boy would be tended to, and they would look through the clues and try to get a better picture of what was going on.

Once those things were taken care of, then he would allow himself to fall apart.

#mdzs fic #the untamed

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deepsubmission · 4 years ago

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Validation

The trouble with validation whores is that we look for it everywhere but in ourselves

You're right about me, of course. You're right about me. Mostly right. But things change and time can erode and grow new things. There's that story about the new woods and old woods, the new being more difficult to traverse because of the heavy undergrowth. It is slow going.

Jim said something once about fear. That if you have the guts to search it out and then stand face to face with it, you are free forever. Bob says not even the birds are free. You know me, I don't take a side, just borrow little bits and pieces of everyone else's stuff. Like an interior designer or the Beastie Boys. I probably can't see it anyway.

If you refuse to acknowledge fear, does it go away, or just hide under your bed, growing, growing, growing? I know that whatever baggage and shit I have in me, I don't like glorifying it. I don't want the weight. Though it is nice to bring it out like an old memory box sometimes. Mhm, there's a problem with this old pattern of thinking. As I said, it is slow going

There was this time when Bonnie and that girl who had seizures (can't remember her name) and I were having a chat. Talking about something, it might have been love. Then you joined the room. I can't explain how you felt to me at that moment. Just. You, entering the room. Fuck.

Watershed is gone. I've been banished. As a result of recklessness and a fragile ego. What else would be the reasons? But I'm aware and it's actually what I need, though it hurts. But there's always another watershed, another coastland, another plains, another Lodge.

In 2015 I met some people and they let me live with them at this place called the Lodge. Somewhere in California or North Carolina mountains, possibly a combination of both. That girl was there, the one who said she liked to run wild in the woods. You might remember me mentioning her. Blonde hair in a green dress from the piano recital. One of the messengers. It was a place of healing for a while, and they were calling more out of me. They showed me magic and story and how to know my energy and power and love, all that stuff. A lot of back and forth conversations about feeling sorry for myself and I left. Door's open, they said.

I can feel your head nodding.

I heard M Ward's cover of Green River and thought you would like it. Barefoot girl dancin’ in the moonlight.

I've looked for you everywhere. No, that's not true. The only places I really looked hard were those first places, those first times. The road trip in the B. The time floating your River in the cave. The time you sent me that Fleet Foxes song. And then I figured out a little more about innocence and justified and... well I stopped. What if I can't decide who I am, I just am who I am? And what if I showed you everything and it wasn't enough? It was safer hiding behind the stage orchestrating marionettes for you, because maybe I didn't think you'd approve of the real me.

Leave behind some green eyed look alike. With each passing day, you and I, eyes fixed on each other take another step away. Away from the mirage from us. A flat plain, sun and clouds passing behind expressionless gazes. I am disappearing and trying to do it before you do. My only grim hope was that you couldn't stand not having the last word. That you couldn't not respond. But if I said nothing, said nothing for a day, said nothing for a week, said nothing forever, well then. There's justification and then there's you. There's condescending and then there's you. There are apple trees abundant with red and yellow fruit, leaves that shimmer in fall wind and then there's you. Don't be hasty, or don't be patient? When I hum the song, the lyrics interchange themselves in my head. Where are you now, oh brother of mine? I know. I know this with every person that has ever been inside. You forgot. Like everyone. You and the others, despite supernatural essence. Or maybe, death is final with you. In this way you deify yourself. But I carry the weight of memory. Free of the mantra of don't know, don't care. Say it a few more times, make sure you believe it.

You were in a dream not long ago. You and Bonnie and I were in a small windowless, door-less room. Elegantly furnished. I was panting for you, grasping and begging, dying for you. Me on another invisible plane, you feeling something like a draft against your neck. A ghost clawing and screaming your name through mist. Which blonde girl in a green dress is not like the others?

I'm sorry and I'll love you forever.

Gone

#love letter #eden #gone #justified #magic #lurking #blood on the snow

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beeexx · 5 years ago

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I uploaded this to ao3 too if you wanna read it there.

Takes place during 2x04. Just a missing moment of what Alex was thinking of before and after his talk with Michael. Also featuring Alex and Kyle bonding some more.

-----

Alex used to live for silence. Silence usually meant an empty house, with his dad gone for the evening, always with the threatening promise of being back of course (never forget it Alex, drilled into him at a young age), but it gave him a moment where he was allowed to be. Just be him, without walking on eggshells and constantly scared of overstepping some made up boundary his dad had come up with him. But the peacefulness of silence that he used to crave growing up had been eroded off him during the years of service. It was never quiet anywhere he went, he was always surrounded by his squadron and when he wasn’t, wherever he was stationed, the bases were never quiet either. Silence is something he has had to get used to again, and he is struggling with it still. His hyper-awareness to his surroundings is constantly on edge when he is alone and he doesn’t always know how to relax around it.

Which is what he has been since he came back to Roswell too. Alone.

The other problem with silence is that he then has too much time on his hands and when that happens he ends up trapped in his head where his thoughts are on constant loop about things he has spent years suppressing. And they come out, unannounced and catch him off guard. He went to therapy after he lost his leg and he knows what some of his triggers are thanks to his therapist, but Roswell New Mexico seems to bring out new ones he never even knew he had. The other day a movie had been playing on his television while he was absently working on going through some of the files left from Claufield when there was the loud banging of a fist on the table that had sent Alex flinching so hard he had knocked the glass of water off the table and bruised his knuckles in the process. For a moment he was back in his kitchen at the age of 15, his dad’s fist close to Alex’s own hand, looming over him and staring him down. That was his dad’s thing, intimidate him before he struck out, the blow so unexpected Alex never knew when it would come. It had taken him a whole lot more of his breathing exercises to calm him down after that and he had quickly changed the channel to re-runs of FRIENDS instead.

Alex has wondered if he should write down silence as a trigger too? Because at this rate it might as well be. He had zoned out completely at the grocery store a while back and he really has no clue how long he had been in there, the complete dissonance so strong that he lost track of time completely. Kyle had found him at some point and given him a look that Alex had hated. He had opened his mouth but Kyle had beaten him to it.

“Look man, I’m not pitying you don’t worry. I am however pitying that depressing looking basket, if that’s your excuse for a dinner it wouldn’t surprise me if your basket suddenly wakes up at yells at you in disappointment.”

It had been so unexpected that it had actually made Alex snort in amusement.

“Yeah I guess you have a point.” He said and looked into the basket which contained a ready made meal and a couple of bears. His only excuse really is that he’s a busy man, he’s spent years in the Air Force and hasn’t really had time to practice any cooking and sometimes he feels the only reason he eats is because he must.

“What are you doing tonight? Why don’t you come over for dinner. I’m making spaghetti carbonara. I’ve spent years redefining this recipe so I can guarantee it will be the best you have ever tasted.”

Alex was ready to protest. He did not want to be someone’s charity case, especially not Kyle’s.

“If it makes you feel any better I live alone and I haven’t exactly had the chance to sit down and cook a decent meal for a while, if you know what I mean?” Alex had a very clear idea yes. “So I could use the company, and man I think you could too.”

“I cannot believe you are giving me your puppy dog eyes.” Alex can’t believe it, but Kyle totally are, in the middle of the grocery store. Kyle looks smug, but seems to remember himself and pouts some more.

“Fine.” Alex relents, and he doesn’t really know why, but something shifts inside of him at the look, a throwback to their early friendship, where he was on the receiving end of that look when Kyle needed a favour. Like asking Mrs. Valenti for cookies, because if Alex asked then she would definitely say yes.

“Yes, great.” And Alex can’t help himself but smile too, because Kyle looks genuinely happy at the thought.

“I can’t believe I’m like Liz now, falling for those eyes.” He mutters.

“What can I say? I have a cute face.”

“You’re not really my type Valenti.” Which is a half truth really, but no one’s ever been his type after Michael anyway, his small crush on Valenti diminishing completely compared to Michael. And he’s moved past that little infatuation anyway, this banter is probably the most action he has gotten since Michael called it off completely.

“You are wrong there, I am everyone’s type.”

Alex rolls his eyes at the joke because Kyle is actually ridiculous.

But Alex ends up spending the evening at Kyle’s, eating his first home cooked meal in a long time, that turns out to be incredibly good, and has two beers which is more than he normally drinks and almost ends up falling asleep on the couch. He drives home late, shrugging off the offer of staying the night in Kyle’s guest bedroom because he can’t bare it and ends up taking hours to fall asleep in his cold and bare apartment instead. But it had become a thing since, Kyle would text him and ask him over for dinner and after a while Alex couldn’t find a reason why he shouldn’t and he gave in to the part of him that was enjoying the company. It did not take long after that before he started staying over too in the guest bedroom that had a bed way comfier than what Alex had slept on in years and by now he’s basically living with Kyle. Which is not as bad as he’d imagine it would be. They have an unnamed deal really, because Alex has a set of spare keys that Kyle just gave him one morning without saying anything, his nose in his phone and a coffee in his hand and had just left them there, like Alex was supposed to know what to say to that. But they never really said anything about making it official that they do live together, and a distant part of him thinks that’s something you do. His 16 year old self would never believe his ears if he’d been told that in the future he would be sharing at least one hot meal a day with Kyle Valenti he would have laughed. But Kyle really isn’t half bad to live with to be honest. He’s tidy, but not crazily. He cooks, and he works out and he is a bit of a workaholic, which Alex definitely is too. And he’s constantly moving, barely ever sitting still. He’s always tinkering with something. In so many ways he is like Michael in that regard, constantly on the move and surrounded with an energetic vibe. Alex doesn’t hate that. He kind of enjoys it, because it means it’s never silent. Deep down Alex is an introvert, and Kyle is definitely not. But years of being in the Air Force has of course left its traces and Alex really doesn’t mind the energetic presence of Kyle these days. It’s comforting.

But it says something of the state Alex is in now that he didn’t drive back after the day he’s had to Kyle’s apartment, but instead to his own, which he does go to from time to time, but very rarely these days. The day with Michael, looking for clues about Nora, hasn’t been too bad. Yet Alex feels rough. Because the problem with the silence around him now though is that it screams Michael. He’s been pacing his living room since he got back, staring at the piece of consol he’s left on the small table, trying to sort out his racing mind. In his youth his father had tried to drill hatred into him, he very nearly succeeded at times, but Alex came out the other end of that surviving the cruel abuse. But right now, after learning the pain and damage his family has caused Michael’s, he feels that hatred towards himself and his family burn strongly within himself. He wishes his legacy wasn’t this brutal war, this history of violence he has inherited unwillingly. He doesn’t want to be a Manes if this is what it means.

He knows he has to do something though. Fix a little part of what his history has broken.

He grabs the console and gets into the car.

-------

Alex has walked away from Michael many times before. Most of those times it had never felt like the right choice. Not until today. Today, he knows with his whole heart that walking away was the right choice to make. Because now it is abundantly clear to him that Michael really deserves better than him. The last months Alex has still secretly clung to it that maybe they could, with a little bit of distance find their way back to each other, he just knows now that that is not going to happen. Alex will not let it happen. Because his family is toxic and dangerous and they have already hurt Michael too much. Giving back the console, which he knows he should have done months ago, is kind of like a parting gift from Alex to him. Now too, with everything he knows he feel incredibly selfish that he didn’t give it to him earlier, because what kind of person was he who wanted to keep a part of Michael to himself? The reason too, even when he had said why to Michael had felt pathetic. Even though it was the truth. He didn’t want him to go. But Michael was never really his to keep either. And staking a claim on him was not the right way to handle it. Alex’s always been unable to think clearly with Michael around him. That’s the reason why he’d put him in danger when they were teenagers and why he kept making the same mistakes over and over. Strangely enough he feels clear headed now and maybe that comes with him actually being honest with himself.

He does not deserve Michael.

Michael deserves better than him.

His hands stopped shaking a while ago, with the look Michael had given him before he had left, haunting him the whole drive back. He couldn’t seem to shake it, however badly he wanted. The smile had fallen off Michael's face completely when he had heard that Alex had kept this from him. The look on his face unreadable, and after he had reassured him that what happened in the past wasn’t Alex’s fault, the betrayal felt much worse. Alex had clung to the console in desperation, but he had given it back in hopes that it could smooth over parts of the violent past. He hopes that it is a start of something at least.

He feels clear headed and lucid though, even if parts of him also feel like shit. It was a strange combination and he’s probably been sitting out in this car for close to an hour. He’s just not had the energy to walk up to Kyle’s apartment looking the way he probably does and explain why. He really didn’t feel like having an emotional talk with Kyle Valenti about his feelings for Michael. No thanks, he’d pass on that forever. But he can’t sit in here forever and his hands are getting cold and with the lowering temperature comes to pain of his prosthetic that he needs to take off. So he sighs, rubs at his reddening eyes and tries to hide his inner turmoil that is threatening to undo him. It’s simmering just under the surface, he can really feel it. When he unlocks the door he expects to be bombarded with Kyle’s reprimanding voice of skipping dinner. Instead the whole flat is dark, except for the TV that has been left on. Nothing is playing, just the blue background that paints the room in a haunting colour. Alex doesn’t like the artificiality of it. On the sofa Kyle lays, with a bottle of alcohol by his side, staring into the wall.

Okay, this was not what Alex was expecting.

“Erm Kyle?” He asks, a little uncertain. Kyle jumps about a mile in the air, and it is kind of comically how he ends up sprawled on the ground, groaning, but clearly alive.

“Man, not cool.” He makes no move to get up, which means something is clearly wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Alex asks because he’s sometimes nice to Kyle, he sits down on the sofa.

“I’ve had a day and half.” He mutters and moves to take another drink. Alex swiftly moves it away from him and holds it out of reach.

“Hey!”

“Talk first drink later.” Alex says and pats the seat beside him. Kyle groans loudly but does get up, he’s steady which means he’s probably not had that much to drink.

“I just… it’s really pathetic, god.” He snorts to himself.

“Try me.”

“Promise not to laugh at me.”

“Yes.” Alex hopes he can keep that promise, this situation really is odd even to him.

“Why didn’t Liz choose me?” Kyle sounds dejected and sad. It’s an unusual look on him.

Oh. Oh. Alex sighs and very slowly reaches forward to place a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer comfort. He’s never been good with his words but Kyle seems to need to the comfort. But honestly Alex never thought that he and Kyle would be in the same situation at the age of 28, it’s ironic but it doesn’t make him feel good about it either. Alex thinks of the olive branch Kyle had extended to him in the bunker and makes up his mind.

“I don’t know Kyle. We can’t make people love us. Even if we want that above anything else.”

Kyle looks at him for the first time, really looks at him. Alex takes his own swing of alcohol, letting it burn down the sour feeling in his throat.

“You have first hand experience in this?”

Alex thinks about lying, because he doesn’t want to talk about it. He stares into the wall in front of him.

“Michael chose Maria over me, and even now I can’t even say I blame him for it.”

“Shit, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I guess we finally have something in common.” He snorts. Kyle laughs and takes the bottle of alcohol back from him. He eyes it and then hands it back.

“I promised I’d have breakfast with my mother tomorrow. This seemed like a good idea a few hours ago. Now though, maybe not.” He gives it back to Alex. The turmoil is still simmering underneath Alex’s veins, but the alcohol seems like a really bad excuse even to him. He looks at Kyle, who looks sad. Alex feels bad for him, he does.

“So what do you want to do then?” Alex asks.

Kyle shrugs. “Let’s just sit here for a while.”

Alex nods. He can do that.

#roswell new mexico #fan fiction #my writings #alex manes #malex #alex x michael #kyle valenti #just a little one shot #that I wrote really late last night

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bladekindeyewear · 5 years ago

Photo

Freed up some time, actually! Gonna blog the new pages of HS^2. Liveblogging resume...

FYI, the post I glimpsed that alerted me to the fact that new pages exist had a translucent screenshot of Brain Ghost Dirk on it, so I know that at least is in store for me. Makes sense; a way to involve Dirk’s voice obnoxiously heavily even when he’s too far away to narrate. And ties into this... chapter(?) name, of course. Chapters, huh?

> CHAPTER 1. Ghostflusters

God. Damnit.

Could we NOT??? No?

Fuck you, Dirk. I blame you for this.

So we have greenery, a can-city and Sburb-legal human house mix... some sorta cow-looking thing from far away in the front yard...

The void resounds. Space seizes and warps as the bounds of relevance erode away to nothing but the wishful nostalgia of times passed. There is a hole in the middle of the universe, and it is hungry.

All very literally true.

But the denizens of this particular iteration of Earth C don’t know it. All of this is just business as fucking usual for a planet plagued by war, continuous inclement ghost weather, and the general malaise of being absolutely severed from canon.

--oh, FUCK. This isn’t the new planet, this is Candy timeline Earth. I didn’t wanna come back here! :C

I guess that explains most of the content warnings. Except fucking ALCOHOLISM. Gee, thanks for adding THAT to the Candy timeline, as if it wasn’t fucked over enough!!! Bluh.

I thought the closing lines of the Epilogue were that after RoboDave, Aradia and alt!Callie dove out of the Candyverse inside the singularity, the black-hole timelines and Dirk’s presumably-still-”relevant” nonsense weren’t going to collide with each other again? So... why are we seeing this? Is there going to be MORE influence like that, and the ending line was just fancy-talk? Is it just an irrelevant little follow-up to Candy to show things turning out okay or pseudo-okay, like an epilogue to the epilogue? Or is some of this Dirk nonsense presumably within the bounds of some sort of canon going to still have some last bit of influence on this so-called non-canon timeline?

That last one would make sense, given that it echoes how Homestuck^2′s dubious canonicity would still have definite influence on fanworks outside of canon. Right?

Let me pull that last line from the epilogues again--

...where’s the Epilogues’ log, this is getting kind of hard to find with all their reorganization... fuck, I had to guess at the URL even. Here we go, the last page of Meat...

The hole leaves behind an absence in the sky so calm that continuing to call it a sky wouldn’t seem to do it justice. It’s a perfectly neutral expanse into which anything one can imagine might be summoned. And for a while, anything was. But not anymore. Where the hole gaped just moments ago, there now exists an imaginary line.

Above this line resides all that matters. Below exists all else. Never again the twain shall meet.

...Right. This implies that Canon and Non-Canon shall never meet again. BOTH ways. Doesn’t quite gel with the fact that we’re cutting back here--

Oh.

This is about Jake and Brain Ghost Dirk isn’t it. I noticed his name down further on the page. THAT’S why we’re cutting back here.

So, Canon and Non-Canon aren’t exactly meeting... not for anything relevant, anyway. But we’re using Candy Jake’s visibility of Brain Ghost Dirk to get a better idea of Dirk’s broader self and plans through a splinter of him? While getting another glimpse into how the post-epilogue Candy timeline is going for our, er... “curiosity”? Is that it?

Hm. I guess that doesn’t count as the twain “meeting”... I’ll just keep reading now.

They spend their days absorbed in the petty and pointless pursuits of “having jobs” and “raising families” and “falling in love”.

Is this Dirk’s narrator voice? This sounds like something the current megalomaniacal Dirk would say.

I’m not going to quote the rest of the text’s further reminders of how Jane has been made into an absolutely fucked-over asshole in every timeline except the one where she grew old to open a Joke shop, adopt Dad, die, get prototyped and timeline-doubled, then mysteriously disappear from any mention in the Epilogues as if the Sprites were just forgotten about completely eventually.

> (==>)

Oooh, using the less-relevance-surrounding-parens that were used on retconned ghost!Vriska back in Homestuck proper to denote our presence in the non-canon Candy timeline? How handy!

Not a far-away cow, then.

John has been an incredible pal, opening up his home to Jake and his son on such short notice, and even offering him a pair of pants, as well as a shirt that he has so far neglected to put on.

Alright, that got a chuckle from me.

John’s house doesn’t have air conditioning.

What the flying fuck.

...Ah, John’s been away patching things up with Roxy some more, I presume.

It, like the rest of his assets, is in her name. She’d seen to that as soon as they were married.

Life players and assets, huh? Always gotta be hoggin’ em.

He hasn’t seen much of Tavros today either, but that’s not unusual. He’s probably out with his kismesis, the one he thinks Jake doesn’t know about.

Huh. Maybe Candy’s young Vriska? Couldn’t get the real Tavros with your main self, so your alternate nigh-clone self settled with a human by the same name? Or one of the other kids we heard of from this ‘verse..?

> (==>)

Jake’s hot man-bod cropped out of this image to avoid titillating my readers too much.

(Tumblr keeps jumping back to the top of my post after I add images and I keep thinking the title reads “Ghostfuckers”.)

Jake washes the dirt out from under his fingernails, and his eyes fall on the bottle still sitting on the counter. John had opened it, but together they’d barely touched the stuff. Jake had promised him and Tavvy he’d dry up his act and all, but... well.

God damnit. If this is still Dirk-voiced narration -- I’m not sure it can be, now I think about it, as he’s supposed to be “out of range” or something, unless non-canon is just malleable like that, which wouldnt be surprising (or Dirk’s splinter’s presence allows it) -- he could literally be inducing or writing in Jake’s drinking problem just to hurt him more. You can’t really put an overstep that assholish past Prince Dirk the way he’s gotten to be.

There was another ask in my inbox insisting that Dirk wasn’t going to stay the true villain here, if only as some sort of karmic revenge for declaring his self-importance... but I still don’t think that’s the case. For one, Dirk HASN’T declared himself the villain... he still can’t see how fucked-up and unjustified his trampling over of everyone’s wills IS. Shadows of recognition... but not really. He really honestly believes he has the fucking RIGHT to do what he’s doing.

(Which is, incidentally -- to answer another ask -- why there’s basically NO chance that Rose has some sort of control or recognition of her situation under the surface, and is playing Dirk, as another person hopefully surmised. No. She really IS being unknowingly steered away from personal growth and recognition of the thought-control she’s under... because nothing less could feel as horrible to us.)

Part of the entire POINT of Homestuck and its Riddle was to show that these crazy kids, if they put their wills to it, always had the potential to be the literal Gods of the world around them. That when ordinary people grasp the will and drive to shape the world around them, they can turn everything back from the brink of destruction... or vice versa. Thus, it’s only appropriate that a player from this game could become a villain more disgusting than any we’d imagined in the series so far. What he’s been doing -- writing twisted sorrow directly into the lives and experiences of those around him, nurturing their worst, most power-hungry tendencies (Rose) and deceiving them more directly than Doc Scratch (who was PART Dirk) ever did, making a JOKE of their free will in a more terribly direct way than ANY have been shown onscreen to do?? It IS, and is MEANT to be, the worst we have EVER seen in Homestuck. Not as clumsy and from-the-outside as Lord English, but just as blatantly direct. Not as easy to ignore or mistake as Doc Scratch’s horrible, intentional Prince-of-Hearty worsening of the players, instead just as impossible to gloss-over as it is to bear witness to. That very TITLE, “Prince of Heart”, can embody the very ANTITHESIS of the Ultimate Riddle itself, robbing EVERYONE of their ability to shape not just the world around them, but even so much as themselves or their very thoughts. When used the way Dirk is using it RIGHT NOW, anyway. And his ambition is to impose this on all of Paradox Space.

There COULD be another villain, later. But I can’t imagine a single one more appropriate. And Andrew’s just the type to use one of the Striders, both practically self-inserts of parts of his personality and presence, as that ultimate villain to be overcome in a story about escaping Canon, too.

Turning his ex into an alcoholic just for his own self-satisfaction? In a side timeline where Jake didn’t even try a relationship with him again and finally had a chance to grow up happy in SOME universe? I wouldn’t put it past him, and you shouldn’t either.

Moving on.

> (==>)

Eugh. I just... don’t want to think about him being an alcoholic on TOP of everything else. As if there wasn’t enough to deal with in Candy already.

> (==>)

Hm?

> (==>)

The jungle air is heavy, humid, and familiar. Twenty years on and the thick drag into his lungs settles on him in a blanket of nostalgia, reassuring in its discomfort.

Hm. Is this his fantasy, or a view of him in another timeline?

He is deeper in the jungle than he’d ever venture in his waking hours. There were places on his island that not even his Gran would tread, and she’d been the bravest person he’d ever known.

Hmm. So he even knows it’s a dream, but is still in control...

Jake doesn’t recognize anything. The jungle of his dreams is wild and unknown, and there are things moving in the dense undergrowth.

...Hhhuh. Still not sure what to think of this yet.

A sudden wind thrashes the canopy. There are pine needles in his mouth. There aren’t any pine needles in the jungle.

Very Dream, then.

> (==>)

--Yup.

> (==>)

Yoink--

> (==>)

JAKE: Yes you are i know that much. I saw your body! I carried your coffin chock full of all those stupid fucking swords! DIRK: Nope. JAKE: Dont nope me mister!

They would pile all those shitty swords into his coffin, yeah.

Anyway, now to see how much Prince Dirk is in this Dirk. And if he’s in one mind with himself or has the slightest chance of feeling rebellious.

JAKE: I know a dead dirk when i see one! DIRK: Sure you do. But that wasn’t me. Are you really surprised to find out I got a couple of spares? JAKE: So what youre saying is you arent my dirk. DIRK: ...That is a whole ‘nother conversation that we really don’t have time for, pertaining to exactly who or what ‘your dirk’ actually constitutes. DIRK: Do you mean the Dirk from your timeline? DIRK: Then yes, that Dirk is dead. DIRK: If you mean the Dirk that you fucked and then ghosted, no, I’m not your Dirk. DIRK: If you mean the Dirk that you felt closest to, that you really knew--

...well, this Dirk still knows how to be a presumptuous, pushy creep. :(

JAKE: Ahhh! Brain ghost dirk! DIRK: In the ghosty flesh. JAKE: Crumbs bro where have you been? JAKE: I could have used someone on my side! JAKE: You just disappeared one day without even the odd toodaloo to mark your passing! DIRK: That isn’t strictly true. I did disappear, but it was in a catastrophic blaze of hope-drenched pathos. I even threw out a couple one-liners. DIRK: But you wouldn’t remember that. JAKE: Because...it was a different dirk? DIRK: No, a different Jake.

Hhhuh. So in the claymation-reproduced Lord English stagefight -- or, maybe more likely, the pre-retcon Aranea-induced Game Over timeline -- he was too washed out by hopesplosions to manifest properly?

DIRK: Until recently there’s been a shortage of ambient narrative relevance for Dirks, since one particular motherfucker has been sucking it all up like a thirsty little twink at his first interspecies rave.

Hm! So Prince Dirk has been making it so other splinters of himself have really limited ability to influence, huh? Guess that’s a sort of price for the narrative-hijacking power he’s attained. Wonder how this Dirk really feels about that.

> (==>)

--Pff. He’s certainly not shy about letting Jake know he shouldn’t trust him, though! That’s a good sign.

I’ll split the post here for a bit. Seems we’re about halfway through this upd8 from the look of the log.

#Homestuck #hs2 #Homestuck Liveblog #upd8 #bladekindeyewear #blastyoboots

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cetaceanhandiwork · 5 years ago

Text

Disneyland Reloaded

So a week ago, give or take, I replied to a post on another website which basically asked “if you were given the job of rebuilding Disneyland, would you change anything?” The question got me thinking a fair bit about the Anaheim Disney resort’s overarching themes, and where they work or don’t work, resulting in a giant three-part comment to fully explain my redesign.

Today, I feel like sharing those ideas with y'all over here, too!

Let's begin with the assumptions that...

we can get permits in Anaheim but no new land...

we have a budget that could theoretically rebuild the whole park if it had to but not too much beyond that, and...

original Walt-era Disneyland stuff may be difficult to move without damaging or destroying, and deliberately destroying and rebuilding it, while allowed, may not be desirable for reasons of preserving park history.

Given that, my high-level approach would be a refocusing of each park's experience on its core concept. I envision three parks:

Disneyland - worlds of "yesterday, tomorrow, and fantasy" - embodied by the genres Walt himself grew up with.

A reimagining of California Adventure that synthesizes the original idea of "Califorina, the real place you are visiting right now, presented as a fictional place to explore" with the running Pixar theme of "secret peoples and communities that live alongside humanity, in the here and now, just outside our line of sight".

A new third gate that focuses on stories of larger-than-life heroism and villainy - the native park of Star Wars, MCU, Pirates-the-movie-series, and other similar properties.

This effort, as I see it, would have to start with some Tetris-ing, in an attempt to make the most of the limited Anaheim acreage:

Utilidors. This Disney World system - of putting backstage and CM areas underground - was invented precisely because WED wished they’d done it in Anaheim. If we’re starting from scratch, we can backport this design and immediately unlock a lot of space.

Drop Disneyland Drive north of Cerritos underground as well.

Consolidate remaining parking. At worst, this is a third Mickey & Friends that encompasses all other resort parking. At best, we get permits to put underground levels on parking structures and reduce the footprint further. Put this in the southeast corner of the resort; get rid of the Paradise Pier Hotel for now.

Strip Avengers Campus off of DCA, strip Galaxy's Edge and the Fantasyland Theatre off of Disneyland. This will free up enough space to put DCA and the GCH east of Disneyland, with its gate on the other end of a rerouted Downtown Disney.

That done, we can move on to the main event.

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Of these, Disneyland itself would see the fewest changes, both in the interests of preserving the history and because it's already fairly close to what we want. The paradigm is as it always was: each "land" represents a genre in microcosm, matched not against any particular IP, but presented as a... prototypical or archetypical space in which all those stories might occur.

This is a good framing device and a solid core concept, and I'm not gonna mess with it. However, there are still a few things I'd rearrange.

For instance: Critter Country would move to the eastern side of the Rivers of America, placed between the rural American Frontierland, the funny animals of Toontown, and the fable-laden Fantasyland. I imagine it taking up sort of the same space as the old Big Thunder Ranch and Fairgrounds, connected with Frontierland on one side (with Splash Mountain still bordering the Rivers of America) and Toontown (bordering Winnie the Pooh) and Fantasyland (bordering a new indoor/outdoor Robin Hood darkride) on the other.

Toontown would need few changes, other than a careful touching up of the effects to match modern standards. I would like to squeeze in one minor expansion, though, if possible, by moving the Monorail wheelhouse: a small Disney Villains themed area - perhaps a seedy watering hole? - nestled away in Downtown Toontown.

Fantasyland, meanwhile, would reclaim the Theater and some backlot space (thanks Utilidoors!) and use that room for a couple new rides - particularly, a Beauty and the Beast attraction and a Frozen attraction. I resist here the impulse to put Frozen next to the Matterhorn mainly because that Fantasyland real estate has another important purpose: the Fantasia and Tomorrowland lagoons get rejoined, and become the show area for a Little Mermaid ride, boarding near Small World, that actually takes place "unda da sea". (The technology for underwater, low-occupancy-vehicle ride systems does exist in the current state of the art, although it'd need some iteration to theme as properly Fantasyland.) As much as I would personally regret seeing the submarines go, I can't deny that their ride system is claustrophobic, stuffy, and poorly accessible, and that guests deserve something with lower "minimum requirements" to ride.

Compared to those, Tomorrowland would get a more comprehensive refocusing. I've posted before about my take on Tomorrowland's DNA: that isn't just "the future", but "the challenge and promise of the future". People talk a lot about how it's a Land that's perpetually out of date - that our vision of the future changes too fast for the Park to keep up. Aesthetically, that's a fair point. But on an attraction level... we don't have to aim a mere five minutes into the future to talk about its challenge and promise - to talk about the future optimistically, as as better world we can reach towards today and eventually grab onto.

Space is, of course, an easy example; space has been an "unreasonable but longed-for future" since Walt's days. Bring back the mission to Mars. Add a space elevator that you can ride as an observation tower, or take the "express" and make it a droptower that uses its drop to simulate zero gravity. On a more terrestrial side... put in a dinosaur or giant animal dark ride - fantastical experiments in biology, at once excited for the potential there, and cautious about how important it is to get right. Maybe do something with Inside Out as a "fantastic psychology" concept. Give the Land an AI caretaker character, puppeteered by several CMs behind the scenes to create the illusion that it's a single person multiplexing.

You can keep Star Tours - the galaxy of Star Wars may be a gritty and cynical world, but Star Tours is a lighthearted and hopeful take on it. You can keep the monorail, too - it's still futuristic to Americans - and route it through the Land's rides the same way the PeopleMover once did, and the same way the boats and trains do in other Lands. Maybe you can even fit in a Wall-E based attraction - now that's a story that's an emulsion of the future's "challenges" and its "promise" if ever there was one in Disney's catalogue.

As for Adventureland? It's got a different obsolescence problem than Tomorrowland: not that the world has left a particular vision behind, but that the world has left the whole genre it represents behind. Walt grew up with the "Adventure" genre, of pith helmet explorers in the Southeast Asian jungle or the African veldt, but we don't really have that genre anymore. And with Disneyland as a worldwide tourist destination, it becomes... strange to have people coming from the places that genre was based on, only to see this caricature of the places they know reflected back as it was seen by clueless Brits a century ago. I want to believe there's something sensible to do with this Land, something that can preserve its essence and history while still making it meaningful to the stories we tell today and the people who were on the other side of the old stories, but I honestly don't know how to do it, or what it would even look like when we were done. All I know is that if nothing else I need to stick a giant bookmark here, because I'd have to do something.

Main Street, finally, would remain mostly unchanged by the advancing years, except for one upgrade: its illusory second floor would at last become a real one - not as shops, but as Dream Suite-esque prestige accomodations. On any given night, roughly half of these would be booked like on-property hotel suites, at rates befitting the rare magic of spending the night inside the Magic Kingdom's pomerium. The other half would be handed out at random to guests who bought resort/GNH packages, or otherwise booked their trip such that Disney knows they're staying overnight, to put that magic, in theory, within every guest's reach.

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So for Disneyland, the changes have been less structural, and more focused on rearranging an existing structure to update and future-proof it.

California Adventure, on the other hand, needs something deeper, because at the moment, its theming is... confused. When it first opened, it was designed single-mindedly as a pastiche of California as a whole: Hollywood, San Francisco, Yosemite, Sonoma, Monterey, the Central Valley, and Santa Monica Pier. Over time, this theming - which proved less compelling than the Imagineers had hoped it would be - has eroded to make room for Intellectual Properties that could find no space on the other side of the Esplanade.

Today it's a hodgepodge of the old California theming, skin-deep Pixar references, and an increasing amount of Marvel stuff. There's no central idea like there is at Disneyland, or at Epcot and Animal Kingdom down in Florida.

Where I see the potential here is in Pixar's long-running theme: "what if [fill in the blank] were people", often imagined as those people secretly existing in our modern everyday world, which just so happens to be paired with a park that's themed to a real place, in the present day.

In other words, what if we made that pairing of themes explicit? What if we lean into the idea that you're "exploring" California, both to discover what's prosaically there, and what's fantastically there? What if we present that sort of Californian adventure?

I'm imagining a park pomerium based on the concept of the "road trip", inasmuch as it is the classical way to explore California. No miniature rail here; you'll pile into a trailer towed by Goofy and Max in their (now window-tinted) car, or by the Onward boys' van, or so forth. (I'd love to get the Cars cars in on towing duty but I don't know if the animatronics are good enough yet.)

You'll still pass through places like Grizzly Peak (where e.g. Bugs might also Live), a Pacific Wharf that's annexed some of Paradise Pier (where we can Find Nemo now that the submarines are closed), and the Hollywood Backlot (where city-dwelling nonhumans - like Monsters and Muppets - might lurk). Radiator Springs would be easily reconciled to this Park concept - melding it with the old Route 66 and I-5 travellers' towns, building it about half for humans and half for cars.

I would need external advice, at this point, to figure out how far this theme can go. I see... some potential in making explicit room to pay homage to Mexican heritage of California (with its hidden world being Coco's fantastical take on the Land of the Dead). But it'd have to be done respectfully, and would be easy to screw up without guidance on what exactly qualifies as respectful or not respectful.

From another angle, I'm also not sure yet quite where Toy Story fits into the picture, but every element of the park's Pixarish theming points to that headline IP needing to fit in somewhere.

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And with that taken care of, comes the question of the third gate. We position it across from Disneyland proper, in California Adventure's old real estate. Pragmatically, this mystery Park must support stories like MCU or Star Wars - the new additions to Disney's IP stable, set in soft sci-fi universes chock full of larger-than-life heroism and villainy. It would have more strict, single-setting-per-Land theming, to support Galaxy's Edge, the Avengers Campus, the new Artemis Fowl series, and so forth. Perhaps Tortuga as well - the cinema vision of Pirates is popular enough that it should be able to support a home, and building one for it here will ease pressure off of its Disneyland predecessor to be flagbearer for an IP it was never designed to host.

How does one support this with a gateway/hub Land? How does one define a pomerium around it? Strict set construction as a principle of the park implies that we have to invent a new IP for this purpose, something Kingdom-Hearts-like but less... cartoonish, to match the less cartoonish worlds it lets you visit. A futuristic mode of transportation seems called for to ferry guests from Land to Land. Perhaps this is where the iconic Disneyland Monorail design finally finds its place in Disney fiction and not just history: to be - within this new setting - a vehicle for interdimensional travel. The park's hub would then have platforms for two Monorail lines: one bound for "Earth 1313: Tomorrowland, Hollywood, and the Disneyland Hotel" (for we would expand the resort-wide monorail track to support park hopper travel), and the other bound for this new park's immersive Lands.

The third gate's position across from Disneyland proper, combined with the increased use of underground tunnels and infrastructure, adds another potentially useful gimmick: the ability to link it to Disneyland in a manner similar to Universal Orlando's Hogwarts Express. Imagine park-hopper-only lines where your Star Tour will land on Batuu, or your Pirate cruise will end in Tortuga.

There would, of course, be a new hotel attached to this park, just like the Grand Californian was attached to DCA on its opening. I'll leave the specifics of this up in the air; it could be another Galactic Starcruiser, but it could just as easily be based on some other property.

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And what of the rest of the resort?

As mentioned, Downtown Disney shifts north, encroaching slightly into what's currently the backstage area of New Orleans Square, to better link up with the new position of DCA. So as not to "isolate" DCA, the third gate's entrance would be halfway along this new route.

Trams would use underground infrastructure to cross from the southeast unified parking area into the DTD/Esplanade corridor at the appropriate places for different Parks.

The Disneyland Hotel would remain, as a nod to its historical status, but against two park-adjoining hotels, it's clearly the farthest from the action after all this rearranging - hence hooking it up to the Monorail as a way to give it connectivity.

#imagineer theory #disneyland #original content #california adventure

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