In the Mouth of Madness (Alternative POV)
2143 words
This is the second conversation between Armand and Daniel from In the Midst of Madness, but from Daniel's POV. You can read them in either order, although it is the same dialogue. It's also over on AO3.
I'd been thinking of writing some of this from Daniel's perspective but then today I was inspired by @apoptoses who did a similar thing with one of their recent fics. (Which you should go read!!! Highly recommend!)
I might write more in this series from Daniel's POV as he inches toward recovery in the future. Would love to get him to a better place because I'm sad now. But first I need to read/write a lot of fluff.
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Daniel painted the waves that rolled up to the shore of the beach in shades of blue with little white caps. Maybe he’d put a surfer or two out there to ride them. Tiny little human figures were bought in bulk, but it was a challenge to paint them and build their accessories on such a small scale.
The beach reminded him of Miami Beach and he planned to build white and blue stucco hotels to put behind it, similar to the Miami he remembered. He didn’t have kits for those exactly but he had ones for similar buildings he planned to modify and paint to get the look right. And he had little palm trees to scatter across the terrain.
He was dotting white caps on the ocean with a paint brush when the phone rang. He ignored it. Marius had made it clear it he wasn’t to answer the phone in his absence.
Marius had gone off on an urgent errand for the night. Daniel didn’t know what. He couldn’t remember if Marius had told him and he’d simply forgotten, or if Marius hadn’t explained. It could have happened either way. His memory was still disjointed. He remembered somethings easily, while others slipped through like his brain was a sieve that would only catch certain bits and pieces.
Marius had left a post-it with large writing on lamp above Daniel’s work table as an extra reminder: “Don’t answer the phone. Don’t go out. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
The phone rang for some time and every ring rattled his brain and his bones. He wanted it to stop. And finally, blessedly, it did. He sighed with relief and went back to his beach.
Daniel was assembling another hotel, using the kit for the exterior with some modifications, when the phone started ringing again. The phone rarely rang so why was it doing so now while Daniel was there alone and trying to focus on building the little beach-scape in front of him?
Brrrring.
Daniel winced.
Brrrring.
Brrrring.
He sighed and put down the little pieces of wood. How could he be expected to focus with that infernal noise? He willed it to stop. Counted the rings. Got to twelve. Waited in annoyed anticipation for ring number thirteen. It didn’t come.
He let out a breath, relieved. The assault was over. Hopefully whoever was calling had gotten the message and would wait to call again until tomorrow when Marius was back and could handle it.
Daniel glued together the small hotel walls. He added extra layers of wood so he could shave the corners, rounding them out like so many places in Miami.
Brrrring.
Like a stab into his brain.
He set down the building and tried to wait it out but after ring number four, his patience cracked. He opened the door to his work room and went out into the living area where the phone sat on a table near the wall. The ringing was louder out there.
Daniel stared at the phone. Remembered Marius’ stern warnings not to answer. And yet he had to make the ringing stop. Surely Marius would understand.
He hesitated but it rang again and his resolve completely crumbled. He grabbed the receiver, a modern cordless phone, clicked the answer button, and said, “Hello?”
At first, he thought perhaps the caller had given up. But then the voice said, “Daniel?”
His heart pounded to life, beating against his ribs. That voice, soft and sensual, with the faint lilt of an accent from long ago, mostly worn down to nothing over the years like water on sea glass. He’d have followed that voice anywhere once upon a time. Part of him still would.
“Armand,” he said.
“Yes,” Armand said. He didn’t need to confirm it but it sent a tingle down Daniel’s spine.
And then a sudden panic gripped him. Marius had told him not to answer the phone and Armand spoke to Marius regularly. Did Armand know he’d broken a rule? And here he was so desperately trying to prove to Marius that he could be left alone, that he could be trusted, that he was no longer such a mess.
“I wouldn’t have answered the phone but it wouldn’t stop ringing,” he explained. He looked down and noticed the answering machine was dark, its little light off. Daniel bent down and saw the cord dangling behind the table. He plugged it back in and it beeped, the little light illuminating. “Machine was unplugged. I’ll tell Marius you called.”
He started to hang up. Maybe Armand wouldn’t mention it to Marius and they could pretend this never happened.
“Wait,” Armand said. Daniel stopped automatically. Impossible not to obey that voice. “How are you?”
Leave it to Armand to ask the hard questions. How was he indeed? He felt good. Better. But he was still scattered. Marius didn’t trust him to be on his own and had clearly been torn on leaving him behind while he went on his errand. So how was he? Still mad enough to be treated like a mental patient. Sane enough to be annoyed by the process but to still understand its value. After all, he wanted to get well.
Daniel leaned against the back of the sofa. “You know, the thing no one tells you about going out of your mind is that people won’t stop asking how you are.”
Armand didn’t laugh. Shame. Maybe if he could make him laugh… He’d kill to hear his laughter again. There’d been a time not long ago when he thought Armand was gone from the world and he’d never hear his voice again, let alone his laughter. His throat felt dry and he swallowed.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Armand said gently.
“I’m fine. Well, not fine, you know, but I’m okay. How are you?”
He held his breath, almost afraid of what Armand would say. What if this call was all in his head and Armand wasn’t even really there? No. He’d never suffered delusions. He bit his tongue just to be sure and let the blood, thick and heady, fill his mouth.
“I’m well.” There was another pause, like he didn’t know what to say. “Louis is here with me. He was asking about you.”
Daniel laughed. Louis with Armand! He thought of how when Louis first told him his story, Daniel had been pained at how Armand had left him at the end, at how they couldn’t make it work. And now Louis was with him once more and here was Daniel, a world away and several bricks short of a Lego set. “Funny how things go, isn’t it? Like time is circle.”
Armand didn’t respond right away. Maybe that had been the wrong thing to say. Surely he didn’t think Daniel was petty enough to be jealous? He was a little envious, he had to admit, but only because he couldn’t be there, too.
“Are you still building your models?” Armand asked after a moment.
“Mm,” Daniel said. Odd change of topic but at least this was comfortable ground. “I’m working on one right now that has a beach and palm trees. It reminds me of Miami. It doesn’t compare to the real thing though.”
“Nothing ever does,” Armand agreed.
Daniel started to ask if Armand ever missed Miami, if he ever thought about The Night Island or the time they’d spent together there. If he ever missed Daniel.
But he stopped himself. He didn’t want to hear the answer. Armand hadn’t come to see Daniel, after all, not once this entire time. Maybe that was answer enough.
Marius had told him that Armand couldn’t come, of course. He was still recovering from his injuries and he had two new fledglings to look after. That second part had sent bolts of panic through Daniel until Marius explained that it had been him, not Armand, who’d turned them. Daniel was still the only person Armand had ever turned. Stupid thing to cling to, maybe, but Daniel often did anyway. They still had that between them if nothing else.
Daniel tried to think of a better way to word the question, something else he could ask that was less direct.
But then Armand spoke again and moment was lost.
“Where is Marius?”
Daniel ran his fingers through his ashen hair and tugged at the strands in frustration. “Gone on an errand. He’ll be back tomorrow.”
Another pause. Armand’s voice came back hard: “Gone where?”
“Don’t know.” That, at least, was true. If he had known, he couldn’t remember.
“And he left you alone?”
Armand sounded pissed, and that in turn, ticked Daniel off. “I’m not a child, Armand. I know I’m not allowed to leave by myself.”
“When did he leave?” Armand demanded.
Daniel sighed, annoyed. What did it matter? “Earlier this evening. The doors are locked. Don’t worry, I’m contained.”
“I’m not worried,” Armand said. Daniel suspected that wasn’t true. “Does he leave you alone often?”
Maybe he didn’t mean for it to come off as condescending as hell, but it did. “No, he doesn’t. And I know what you’re doing, you know. I’m a lunatic, not an idiot.”
“You’re not a lunatic, Daniel.” Armand sounded sad when he said it, like maybe he wasn’t sure. Well, he was wrong.
“Whatever you want to call it. Mad, crazy, a few cards short of a deck—“
“You sound fine to me,” Armand said.
Daniel laughed bitterly. That was the problem. He felt fine. But last time he felt fine, he’d gone out on his own, only to get confused and then distracted counting the bricks in a wall behind a pub. Marius had to come get him and drag him back home before sunrise. He couldn’t trust his own feelings anymore.
“That’s the trouble with crazy,” he said. “It seems normal until it doesn’t.”
Silence from Armand, then. It stretched out and Daniel could feel the miles between them, not just physically, but in every sense. Finally, Daniel asked, “Did you want me to pass along a message?”
More silence. Daniel squeezed the phone. He hated how familiar it was for Armand to meet him with silence. It had been like that in their last years together. Stoney, painful silence.
Then Armand spoke: “No need. It was you I wanted to speak to anyway.”
Daniel’s heart constricted. Armand called frequently and but he always spoke with Marius and only rarely talked to Daniel, at least as far as he could remember.
“It was?” he asked.
“Yes.” Armand’s response was quick, no hesitation.
“Oh.” Daniel didn’t know what to make of that. Was it a lie to help placate his insane fledgling or did he mean it? He hadn’t known Marius was gone, so he’d obviously called expecting to speak with him… but it didn’t sound like a lie. And Armand had kept him on the line after he knew Marius was out.
Daniel realized there’d been a long pause. He tried to think of something to say, something else to ask him, but all of the questions felt too raw, too personal, too big.
“I’ll let you get back to your models,” Armand said, breaking the silence.
Daniel wished he’d spoken first but clearly Armand was ready to get off the line and back to his life. “Yeah, okay,” he said. Then he remembered Louis was there with him. “Tell Louis I say hi.”
Daniel hung up.
He stared at the phone in his hand like it wasn’t real. Swallowed uneasily. Felt tears prick at his eyes for the first time in a long time. A sense of loss he couldn’t entirely explain washed over him and settled into his bones.
After a few minutes, he straightened. Blinked back the tears. Set the phone on the receiver.
He went back into his work room and stared at the little Miami-like beach in progress in front of him. How small and desperate it looked to him now, a pathetic attempt to recreate something long gone. No amount of crafting could replace the real thing.
He took the board he’d been working on and moved it aside. Maybe he’d use the beach-scape for something else. He tossed the half-finished little Miami-style hotels in the garbage bin. He pulled out a new board from under the work table and decided to start fresh. Something different, unfamiliar. A farm, maybe. Yes, a farm with fields and barns and stables and a little farmhouse on the edge of a small town. Maybe there would be a pond or a lake. He could get Marius to order him a whole set of tiny farm animals to populate it.
He got to work mentally sketching it out and tried to lose himself in the project until he could forget the dull ache that had settled into his midsection.
Persee had been working in the atrium cafe for several months now, it was their summer placement. Come the harvest season they’d be returning to studying astronavigation, and she dreamed of being picked for a placement with the politie’s brand new academic allies. But for now she was excited to see her favourite customers arrive.
Everyone had their favourites, and Persee loved these two. They were the best.
They sat in a companionable silence, as they so often did. The small and exquisitely beautiful one was watching everyone walk by, and waving at their many friends. He was wearing the most outrageous fashions, as he so often did. Persee and her friends joked that he must have gotten dressed in the dark, in someone else’s room: they suspected this was actually the very real excuse for some of the more extreme clothing combinations. It didn’t matter, he always looked wonderful.
The tall brooding one was, as usual, looking broody. Engrossed in his feed. You didn’t see that many augmented humans around on Preservation Station, so he stood out. But even without the augments he would have stood apart, he gave the impression he never fitted in wherever he was. Not that he wasn’t a nice person, he was.
In fact Persee had, not so long ago, been horribly stressed about a work assignment (which she shouldn’t have been working on in the atrium shared feed area during work hours, not really—though it wasn’t the sort of thing anyone would get you into trouble about, it wasn’t as if they were corporate wage slaves) and had initially been terrified to see a direct personal message from him. The heading made it clear he’d somehow been following her project woes in some detail.
It could have been creepy, but it wasn’t at all—even if their friends had teased Persee about their admirer for a while, until something else distracted them.
He wasn’t interested in her, not in that way. He’d never tried to even initiate a conversation, though he did now smile back when she served him. Sometimes.
Today Persee was delighted to watch from a distance for now; casually glancing over as whilst she apparently watched an educational animation on her bubble display. Actually gazing through the dancing graphs and equations, and the plant biome’s fronds.
The little humming-bird (Persee knew their names now but still thought of them as the bird nicknames the crew had given them) seemingly having tired of the silence, was interrogating his friend. Even from Persee’s not particularly brilliant vantage spot it was obvious! The Raven kept trying to deflect him, parrying his verbal onslaughts. Persee guessed from the body language and facial expression that her Raven was insisting they didn’t want to talk about something “emotional” or “about relationships”. Without being seen to stare or rub up too close against them in the feed (Persee knew she was quite the ingénue with feed protocol at times, something she’d try and rectify before heading into the Corporate Rim, she might be ignorant but she wasn’t stupid) Persee tried to pick up the emotional flavour of the conversation.
Her Raven turned and looked right at her, she blushed. He gave a small smile and indicated on the feed that they would like fresh drinks. He acted as if she hadn’t just been doing the feed equivalent of gazing at them open mouthed.
Persee took them over their drinks, as she approached the table she heard Ratthi say “But surely . . . It’s clear you have feelings—”
His companion flinched visibly. He plainly couldn’t help it.
She felt oddly defensive of him, and found herself glaring at his interrogator. He looked back at her, his face a picture of affectionate frustration.
“QED!”
She looked down at the tray and covered her embarrassment by handing them their drinks. New staff always got their orders mixed up, Persee knew exactly which syrup they each liked in their coffees and made sure the one with the whipped topping was dusted with bitter spices, not sweet. The beautiful one turned his charm on her like a heat lamp. He was flattering her hair and clothes, he had noticed she’d refreshed her hair dye; his friend looked at her as if baffled. She didn’t think he even noticed people’s hair colour at all.
He sat up, and cleared his throat quietly. “How is that idea you had about the use of advanced AI in extragalactic astronomic analysis working out, Persee?”
He used her name!
Hummingbird looked on in wide eyed theatrical surprise, “Oh! There is someone you have to meet!”
A brief cloud crossed Dr Gurathin’s face, “I’m sure that can be arranged in time, Dr Ratthi.”
authors in this century be writing spin off series of the same story but from the other person’s pov that are involved the centre couple of the story. imagine if nora decided to take that step but in andrew’s pov and with everything that happened in andrew’s past
yeah i’d be able to survive the soft andreil scenes and i would also enjoy the scenes of what renee and andrew talk about and also just having a whole two books of medicated andrew’s thoughts of neil oh my god i would love that!
but not for one bloody second would i be able to survive these three scenes from andrew’s pov:
Drake’s unwelcoming unholy visit at the Hemmick’s Thanksgiving
Proust’s torture
And finally the Baltimore scene just give the knife because i couldn’t be able to last a second with this scene
so in conclusion,
NO CONSIDERING THIS FORMAT OF WRITING THANKS NORA!!! I DO NOT NEED ANYMORE PAIN IN MY LIFE!!!
NEXT - “They’re all coming after you, Jules. It isn’t safe here anymore.”
POV -
Malicai sat atop the roof of the youth shelter, listening to the signalling of feet against cement. He knew it was Jula, probably coming home from the park where he studied after classes.
Malicai had smelt the Dracan before it had even entered the city, knew it was in the alley somewhere below, waiting for it’s victim. Waiting to change out of the form of a venomous snake and into an even more venomous monster.
Seconds passed, the footsteps stopped. When Jula talked to the snake, Malicai could only let out a quiet, fond, laugh. Of course Jula would try to talk their way out of a confrontation with a monster.
Malicai was prepared, had his sword at the ready and already knew where and how to drop. They had done this hundreds of times before, dropping into the middle of a heard of prey in the woods just in time to snag the perfect meal. But, when he heard what could have only been the sound of a shifting Dracan, he still paused. He listened, trying to gather what was going on below, how well Jula was doing in the fight. Jula had gained some pretty good defensive skill living in the streets, but this was still a monster, and Malicai wanted to know how much potential Jula really had. So many people had high expectations for them.
Malicai just about jumped at the sound of a human shout, knew that must have come from their friend. But for another moment, they waited, heard the sound of a loud explosion before a massive thud, the sound of bones breaking.
Her name sits on the tip of everyone’s tongue except mine and most of the other girls don’t say it either. But their mothers and aunts and who ever else they’ve packed into the preparation rooms certainly are using it in vain.
“Evangeline and her parents came two days early and ate lunch with the Queen,” one hushed gossip babbled to two others. They all feigned shock.
“That’s not fair! No one else got an audience with the Queen.”
“Oh, please, they picked her two years ago when we all came to Summerton for the August feast. Remember the tea set she pulled together for the Queen? Made it out of that old suite of armor and Elara was smitten. Well as smitten as a snake can be.” The triad laugh and suck in long breaths at the end, falling silent while they all thought of the next thing to say.
My mother rolls here eyes and continues to stitch blue ribbons into my braids. The woman may be stating the truth, but what bothers my mother is that they already know it. In fact, at least two of them had the same exact conversation just fifteen feet further down the hall an hour age. Why they bother pretending it’s something new to say is beyond me and well beyond my mother. She’s never been one for gossip to begin with and certainly not making it for gossip’s sake. And since we left Paracove, the ancestral home of the House of Iral, she’s been nothing but terse and to-the-point. We aren’t here because we want to be and if I were to bet, none of them are either. No one’s here because they think they actually have a chance at their daughter being picked for queen, well, except House Samos. We’re all here because a sentinel showed up carrying an official invitation to enter the contest and would only leave with our agreement.
I watched my father thumb the edges of the note card and scrape the corner through his beard for fifteen minutes, pacing in my Grand Mother’s parlor. The silent sentinel stood in the hallway just inside the door and waited. My father sighed, nodded his head at my grand mother, and then returned to mumble his regards to the King. Only then did the Sentinel carry our commitment back to the palace.
“Heaven help you, my girl,” he sighed, one hand on my cheek.
“Evangeline Samos will be picked.” My mother patted his arm, but her assurances fell short of bringing the doom off his face.
“I know that. I’m not worried about their pick for their first born. It’s that witch’s son I’m concerned about.”
That conjured shivers up my spine. Our house was barely cordial with the palace, but our armies and our intelligence capabilities are invaluable in a country deep in a perpetual war. My Aunt, everyone calls her the Panther, had been instrumental in gaining the only ground in the last fifty years. Her work as an agent, a spy, had given Norta the upper-hand and because of her, the boundary in the Choke advanced over a hundred yards. But something else had happened when King Tiberius took his new wife, Elara Merandus. Something about an uncle of mine disappearing off the battlefield and, according to the whispers I overheard when I was young, my grand mother believes he was interrogated and murdered by the kin of our Queen.
Around me, maids rush and mothers preen daughters with no possible claims. But at least they are a distraction from my mother’s fingers tugging on my tender roots. We’re all safe from actually competition with Evangeline Samos, but you wouldn’t know it from watching them scurry and burst into rages. Red maids and tailors dash out of the way, some not fast enough. I watch Wren Skonos heal one caught by a pair of scissors in her arm. At least one of these girls might be bearable for the festivities that follow selection. We’re all expected to remain at court for the entire month. I plan to find the library, or a cozy nook on the roof. Maybe an open window will serve me well in unlocking the fate of whoever will be stuck with the witch’s son, as my father put it. For myself, for my house, I’ll put on a show of our abilities, just enough to let them know we’re still skilled, still strong. But I don’t intend on doing anything spectacular or revealing. Someone else will have to light up the stage, I won’t be drawing the queen to our door. I have no intention on every becoming a princess.
For day 1 of Malec Week 2017, which really crept up on me out of nowhere – Future Scene!
(In which Malec inspire young love in London, and then cuddle and talk about it)
***
Julian hated Tube trains.
Alright, London was a busy city, with a population of ten million, but it felt like, at rush hour, all ten million people crammed themselves onto the London Underground. Commuting into the city was a horribly unpleasant affair, crammed into a corner with someone’s rucksack digging into his calf and someone else’s unpleasant body odour permeating the air and making him gag.
Forcing his way through the uptight businessmen and women with their smart briefcases and the significantly more rowdy and more cheerful people with toolboxes and sweatpants was almost a relief, if only because it meant he could final step onto the platform and get the hell off the train.
Both escalators up from the platform to the exit of the station had been set to move upwards, to quicker get the impatient commuters out of the station. Julian stood on one, tapping his fingers absent-mindedly against the rubber hand grip that moved faster than the escalator itself.
Something - or rather, someone - on the escalator to his right caught his eye. He glanced over, and saw two men standing together, one clearly on the step above the other, grinning at each other. Both looked tall, from what Julian could tell. The taller of the two had hair styled up high, shot through with magenta highlights. He was wearing navy skinny jeans and a stylish, fitted leather jacket that did everything for his shoulders and biceps, with a multitude of necklaces hanging around his neck, drawing Julian’s gaze unwillingly to where he had the top three buttons of his shirt undone.
The other man, in contrast, was more muted, his clothing somewhat unremarkable, although, Julian couldn’t help but notice, he was incredibly handsome.
But, irrespective of their attire (because frankly, it was London—everyone had seen far stranger things than a man with pink highlights and painted nails) Julian couldn’t help but notice the other glaringly obvious thing about them.
They were a couple.
One of those awful, gooey, sickeningly in love couples. The taller of the two had his arms around his boyfriend (boyfriend? partner? husband?), and they were both smiling at each other, laughing a little, watching each other with shining eyes, smiling so wide it made the skin around their eyes crinkle. The man with highlights leant forwards and pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s nose, before turning around to step of the escalator, and—
Oh. Okay. The man with highlights was actually slightly shorter than his partner, although he was still plenty tall enough to see over the gaggle of people in front of the couple to find whichever exist they were looking for.
Julian broke himself out of his staring just long enough to get off the escalator, feeling a little embarrassed. What was he doing, staring after random couples like that?
It was just… Well. They were so open, and so obvious, and they so very clearly didn’t care if anybody was going to give them a hard time, for being a same-sex couple or for being an interracial couple, and—
Well. It was sort of beautiful. And Julian wished he could be that fearless.
***
Working in a coffee shop, admittedly, hadn’t been his plan for when he’d left school. He’d been aiming for—
Well. He’d been aiming for having a blast at a university in London. Which he was. He just hadn’t factored in the need for a job, nor had he realised that for students, his options would be limited to three or four coffee shop chains, or McDonald’s.
But, still, he didn’t really mind. Especially not when his shift coincided with Alex’s.
It was almost two o'clock, just after the lunchtime rush of city workers coming in to grab their midday caffeine fix and a sandwich before they hurried off back to their next offices, when the door opened, and two people fell in, laughing.
Julian looked up from where he was standing washing up some of the blenders, because Alex was across the room, cleaning up the crap people had left on their tables, and did a double-take when he saw the pair.
It was the couple he’d seen this morning, at the station. They were hand-in-hand, the taller of the two carrying a silky scarf that Julian would have bet his entire day’s wages belonged to his boyfriend. It wasn’t that cold outside, considering it was only March, but there was a healthy glow to the both of them.
Julian wondered whether it was because they’d been walking around the city for a few hours, or because they’d been here together.
“Well, hello,” the man with highlights said, blinking at Julian. American, Julian thought, although there was a hint of something else. He tugged his boyfriend forwards, and leant an arm against the countertop, a smile on his face. Julian had to swallow down his nervous embarrassment.
“Magnus,” the other man chastised him, rolling his eyes. “You’re shameless.”
“I’m not being serious,” the man - Magnus - said, assuring Julian or his boyfriend, Julian didn’t know.
Then he caught sight of Magnus’ hand, and felt his chest tighten. Not boyfriend. Husband. That was unmistakably a wedding band on his finger.
“Although I might be,” he added, appraising Julian with slightly narrowed eyes, as though he could see right through to his soul. “If you weren’t sixteen, and I wasn’t married.”
“Oh my god,” his husband muttered, closing his eyes and letting out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m never going wine-tasting with you again. I’m so sorry,” he added, to Julian.
Julian was about to make a somewhat-bewildered dismissal, because the whole situation was a little odd, but not at all unpleasant, when Alex cut in from across the shop.
“He’s eighteen, and he really doesn’t mind!”
Magnus’ lips twitched upwards. “Could we get a vanilla latte and a black americano, please?”
Julian rang up their order for them, and Magnus swiped a sleek black credit card, and then he set about making their drinks. The other customers in the shop seemed utterly unfazed by Magnus’ unusual - although very tasteful - sense of style, nor by the fact that the two had their arms around each other.
Come to think of it, he hadn’t noticed anybody at the station paying them the time of day, either.
Julian tried not to listen to their conversation as he made their drinks, but it was a little hard not to be curious when Magnus sighed, loudly, and said, “Alec.”
“Don’t Alec me.”
“I’m just saying. I’m right.”
“How can you possibly know that?” Alec demanded.
Julian cut their conversation short, when he handed them their drinks, and tried not to catch their eyes for too long. He was simultaneously too awed and too embarrassed for any more eye contact than was necessary.
The couple spent the duration of the visit sitting drinking their coffee at one of the tables in the corner perfectly innocuously, chatting intermittently and scrolling through their phones, turning the screens to each other and reacting to whatever was on the screen.
They had their fingers intertwined across the table the entire time.
When they left, Magnus dropped him a smile that was oddly sympathetic, and Alec nodded to him, tossing out a “thanks” over his shoulder as they walked out.
***
It wasn’t until the end of their shift, when he and Alex were closing up the shop for the day and finishing up to make sure things were set for the following morning, when Alex brought the couple - and Julian’s affectedness - up.
“You could do that, you know,” Alex told him, leaning against the counter with his sleeves rolled up and his phone in hand. His eyes, though, were on Julian, who was in the process of putting away the last mugs.
“What are you talking about?” Julian asked, although he was perfectly aware.
“That couple, today. You could do that. Nobody would care.”
Julian paused, and straightened, glancing over to meet Alex’s gaze. “Yeah. I– I don’t think I realised how little people really do care. I’m just not that brave, I guess.”
“They looked pretty seasoned,” Alex said, flicking his bangs back with a nonchalant toss of his head. “You could be that brave. You just need some practise.”
Julian bit his lip. “With you?”
Alex, for once, looked momentarily surprised. He blinked. “Pardon?”
Julian’s heart was hammering in his chest, but something about seeing two men - two married men - holding hands and giggling together and flirting and being so blatantly out and proud in public made him want to do something reckless. Something… Well. Something brave.
“Practise. With you?”
One side of Alex’s mouth curled up. “Yeah, alright. Why not? Practise with me.”
Julian exhaled in relief, and Alex let out a little laugh.
“You done, there?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Well.” Alex smiled. “If you want practise, there’s no time like the present. I’ve always wanted to actually go in the Chinese place at the end of the street, rather than just walk past and salivate.”
Alex held out and hand, wiggling his fingers, and Julian stared at it for a moment, glancing between the proffered hand and Alex’s face a little doubtfully.
“Really?” he asked, because god, it seemed to good to be true.
“Really,” Alex said, and Julian took his hand.
***
Across the city, in a hotel room seven floors up, Alec lay sprawled across Magnus’ chest in bed, the sheets tangled around their legs, while fingers raked through his hair.
“I know I’m right, darling, there’s really no good in arguing,” Magnus said, and Alec could hear the smirk in his voice without turning his head to check.
“I’m not arguing,” Alec replied. He was tracing random patterns over the hard planes of Magnus’s stomach, basking in the pleasant afterglow of beautiful, phenomenal sex. “I just don’t get how you can possibly know that he was gay.”
“I don’t. I just know he was attracted to boys.”
“Magnus, you know what I mean,” Alec said, rolling his eyes. “Stop being so pernickety.”
“I know, Alexander, because he kept staring at us, and he was embarrassed, and he couldn’t stop looking at these.”
A finger ran over Alec’s wedding ring, and, unbidden, a smile passed over Alec’s face. Yeah. That had happened. He was officially married to Magnus, as of three days ago, and fuck, if that wasn’t beautiful. God, he was so in love with Magnus Bane that he didn’t know how he could contain it all.
“He was embarrassed because you’re hot,” Alec said, bluntly. “And— Shit, you’re right.”
Magnus laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. Alec could feel it rumbling through his torso, and he thought that the sound of Magnus Bane laughing was possibly the most beautiful sound in the universe.
“Of course I’m right. And my hotness–” Magnus was smirking again “–was, of course, a contributing factor, but so was the fact that we’re together. Think about how you’d have felt if you were eighteen and saw two married men wandering around the Institute holding hands.”
“I’d have had an aneurism,” Alec said, and, sad as it was, it was probably true.
“That’s a rather alarming admission,” Magnus said, and when Alec tilted his head up to look at him, he did look a little bothered.
“Magnus—”
“I think we should go back to that coffee shop,” Magnus announced.
Magnus scoffed. “Give me some credit. I’m subtle. I just mean we should…expose a young man who loves men to the world of loving men. And how beautiful it is.”
Alec rolled his eyes, but he felt a smile tugging at his lips, because really, he’d married the snappiest, most gorgeous man alive, and he couldn’t have been happier.
“I love you,” he said, because he did, and because Magnus deserved to hear it, and because if he didn’t say it, he felt like he might burst with how much he felt it in his every cell.
Magnus’ eyes softened, and his fingers curled into the hair at the nape of Alec’s neck.
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
Alec pushed himself up on his elbow as Magnus leant forwards, and their lips met, softly, the world around them fading away and disappearing until it was only them, skin pressed together and hair brushing forehead, hands mapping across bodies.
Because love was beautiful. Loving someone, and being loved, was beautiful.
And every young person in the world, self-hating and in denial and terrified of who they wanted to love, deserved to know that.
Shade Barrow.... graphic depictions of war and death.
Rigor has yet to settle in. The surface beneath his feet squishes soft and pliable. He can’t breath with his mouth covered, but he can’t without it either. His lungs suck the fabric of the flimsy filter onto his tongue with each heaving breath. He tastes ash and bile and smoke.
He cannot run. The bodies aren’t even and there is no soil between the limbs for him to find the footing needed to carry him. So he hops from one place to another scarcely scanning for movement before landing his boot onto a thigh or a chest or... something that used to move.
He falls...
... Face to face with the exposed jaw of a soldier still limp under his weight, he jolts back. Hands and feet scrapping and receding away from the death mar of brilliant, white teeth, he comes to a seated position on the lap of a woman with bright red hair and blue eyes still crystal clear and jarringly familial. He steals her last breath out of the air before launching himself in any direction that could mean being away from that place. Away from the death and the blood and the bombs and the strongarm hurtling debris in nonsensical patterns. He is flying until he is slammed back down, but the leg under his chin is stiff and cold and old.
Then he is flying again thinking only of the barracks, only of the safety of the underground depths where the only thing that lingers of the battlefield is the constant smell of putrid decay and the animated corpses that have yet to die.
Beds are tossed to the outer edges and soldiers are busy cleaning gear like a thousand of them didn’t just die outside on the soil. But he is not judging them, only himself. Safe and winded and a hundred yards from where he was just a moment before, heaving acid onto the cloth that covers his nose and watching it drip down to his boots. Nothing about the unreal field of death has followed him except the splatter of brown-red on his uniform. He is thankful to have left the memory of his dash between his last scramble and the relative safety of his surroundings far behind him.
If he didn’t know better, he would have thought he teleported.
Editing to tag @anyone-anything-canbetrayanyone, and @lilyharvord per your request a few weeks back. :)
New #novella dropped. Alice in Wonderland, WandaVision, Agatha All Along, Olivia Rodrigo, Taylor Swift - the inspo list is incredible so you know the story will be too
My new WIP for the Open Novella Contest on WattPad.
AKA – my current muse.
Faye Whitmore is putting the “rot” in “rotten.”
After losing everyone she loves in a sting by witch hunters, Faye sets out on a mission to get revenge. Operating under the “eye for an eye” motto, Faye goes after the hunters’ children. Maybe they’ll be a little more hesitant if the witch they want to kill is their own…
