favorite thing about them: love his wee arc!!! love it when he's scared and cowering the whole time & then the designated hand thrower is dead in a ditch and now his hands need throwing. i love it when it looks like pure rage and i also love it when it looks like pure desperation. i love the crying screaming throwing up but still punching alonzo. my sweetheart
least favorite thing about them: can i use this as a costuming hate button. GIVE HIM HIS PATCH BACK. i hate the grey ass smudges so much. he's black and white. you want a grey cat go ham on munkustrap. i don't love the introduction of color into his leotard either... the like two times it actually looked good was when it matched the actor's makeup, but when his wig and makeup are both solid b&w but it's just the leotard is yellow/brown in places i just dunno why we're doing this.
favorite line: everything he says (in 98) is so just. so. guy puts on a pretty seductive front! even if he's looking out to seduce some kittens, his boss & his boss' elderly father. and the viewer, i spose. it's a toss up between "are you cock of the walk"/"jellicle cats are black and white". just listennnn to that.
brOTP: i really do think they do all manner of depravity together, but for all that it's worth i think he and cassandra are g&t gossip girls more than they are In A Relationship. sure, they fuck, it's fun. but judging others together is i think what really keeps them together... as well as. ah. i think cassandra also has quite a bit of that haughty vibe that alonzo is imo trying to replicate.... though, i do think it comes to him a tad less naturally than to her.
OTP: there's this really underrated niche ship i haven't seen much about.... maybe you've heard of it. it's called alonzostrap... or something. i don't really know much about it. :p LOL you know i looooove their relationship however it may be. i'm one of those codywan alumni, i never coulda held my own against a guy in charge x his right hand man. was over for me before it began!
random headcanon: he hates a collar. does not like a collar. there are exceptions but very specific ones. he's a stray through and through. feels caged with something on. if u put him in a little coat hed be one of those cats to just flop on its side and play dead. LOL
unpopular opinion: not an opinion, but i'm one of the folks that don't really have a macavity-related headcanon for him! i like the idea that he's a stray & didn't grow up with the jellicles, but in most of my fics and stuff he was just a stray. didn't really have entanglements. though course strayhood is challenging on its own... that said i have seen a lot of work with that headcanon i enjoyed, and alonzo shadowing the girls during macavity complements it nicely i think! maybe it's because juggling both demeter & alonzo as macscapees would be too chalenging for me ahahah.
song i associate with them: mi capitán by kiltro. sorry alonzo youre stuck with that strap. :p i do think he struggles to reconcile a lot of his attachments to the junkyard cats (and his devotion to munkustrap) with an inner desire to be independent. especially if he feels indebted.... and it's a difficult binding thing.
favorite picture of them: look at him go !!! always loved this one. and you know that Sparkle On, It's Caturday one? that one too. ahaha
the white one (victoria?) for the character ask thing
favorite thing about them: i looove that her storyline happens quietly through dance & yet it's fully a storyline!! she gets to wholly grow up through the ball and you only get to see it if you watch her !!
favorite line: it's not her line per se (i like it when vickies don't have solo lines at all), but i really like the "a long while before queen victoria's accession" line from old deut's song because it usually has victoria react like she's the one being sung about and munk & co usually ackowledge her like yesss of course you're the only victoria that's ever lived girl. yesss. naturally. i love it when cats lift each other up in silly ways.
brOTP: i like it when her & misto chill. yea. we sittin.
OTP: platoria...... it's just so beautifully done... first love.... puppy (kitty) love.... check out my phone's background
random headcanon: she's deaf!
unpopular opinion: def not an unpopular opinion in my circles, but i love that the original choreo was designed with sensuality & sexuality in mind. adds a lot to it in my opinion. also ballet is hot.
song i associate with them: weirdly enough, first association is hitoshizuku x yama's night ∞ series, especially the instrumental by tokyo philharmonic orchestra... i love the idea of them partaking in a frightening play like that and i actually quite like the idea of her as a main character. i like to try and fit other cats in by the voices when i think through it.... they're very engaging songs.
favorite picture of them: i like the first one because she looks spooked! and second one because it's so full of character.... plato so drawn to her and her so focused.
favorite thing about them: all of her just kind of as a concept. that she's the smallest and the sweetest and everyone loves her but she also loves everyone so much and she's so happy to be there and be alive and she's so bugeyed and odd and also red and black and spikyyyyy. one of my favourites ever.
favorite line: "sunlight through the trees in summer/endless masquerading" is not only my favourite line of jemima but also my favourite MOMENT IN THE MUSICAL HHHHGHH i still can't watch it without getting chills. oh it's wonderful.
brOTP: jemima & coritanto my beloved. i should draw them again. i sort of envision coritanto to be her guides/caretakers when she needs help but also her dearest friends. i think they understand her in a way she struggles to be understood by anyone else.
OTP: honestly i think she deeply needs to be everyone's friend & that's about it. i haven't thought too much about her & others romantically.... i think her & victoria would be very fun....
random headcanon: i think she's demeter's daughter (and mac's; hence magical) but demeter has Nary A Maternal Bone in her body, so jemima sort of gets brought up by The Junkyard Conglomerate™. it's Good.
unpopular opinion: i still prefer to call her jemima to sillabub... i think because that's how i knew her first. i know why they changed it & i think sillabub fits her fine, but especially once i conceptualized them as two different characters jemi was sort of set in stone for me. that being said, i guess i was wrong about myself preferring tumblebrutus to bill bailey because of the name itself, it might've just been me doing some good ol source supremacy when it comes to adaptations. i can never escape...
song i associate with them: everything matters by aurora, following the sun by superhi & neeka, the call by regina spektor and Multiple Others. i have a playlist. i listen to it when i'm down...
favorite picture of them: take literally any screenshot of her solo lines in 98, but especially those from the coming of the day & sunlight ... she's such an ethereal jemmy.
also very fond of this picture. gives me a giggle... she knows her worth !!
please write more alonzostrap.. please god.. please .... pelasee youre so good
waaa thank you so much anon that means lots and lots.... post macavity oneshot for u........ under cut :) also on ao3 for convenience! check reblogs :3
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He is drawn to return to Munkustrap from the moment he sees him shift and lift himself upright off the ground. It’s a terrible feeling; not the same as what guides his closeness usually, not the expected, almost self-serving pull that drives him to linger by Munkustrap’s side, to lie in wait of the inevitable moment he’ll be noticed, acknowledged, touched. However busy Munkustrap is – ever-busy and too-busy, Alonzo knows – he’ll always acknowledge Alonzo eventually. He’s grown very used to that.
Now it frightens him horribly. From the moment Munkustrap opens his eyes again, Alonzo fears they’ll eventually move to meet his, and he doesn’t know what he’ll see in them. He’s terribly afraid of what he’ll see in them.
Anger is unlikely – but Alonzo is very good at dealing with anger, because Alonzo knows himself to be an angry cat. He hisses easily. He postures all but more than Munkustrap himself. The fur on his back rises too quick and falls too slow. He knows what to expect; he knows just how to react to his own reflection on any other cat. Stakes are easy when a cat knows exactly how big he is. How sharp his claws and teeth are. How willing he is to use them.
Munkustrap, on the other hand, is difficult to predict, because in spite of his claws and his teeth, Munkustrap is decisively not an angry cat. Not outwardly, at least – Alonzo’s seen him handle an outburst or two, which are usually marked by the very deep set of wrinkles in his brow and the rigid movements of his limbs in grabbing whoever’s done what to arouse his displeasure and lecturing them long and flatly about this and that. But that’s barely anger. His ears barely come down. That’s not what Alonzo expects. That’s not it.
What Munkustrap is very good at – or, rather, what he is most often – is disappointed. If nothing else, he’s mastered the picture of being let down. He’s very good at it in the sense that it is hard to watch. It turns Alonzo’s stomach to so much as bear witness to Munkustrap’s disappointment in someone – not because of any of its particular poignancy, but because of how simple and sincere it is. Munkustrap hopes quite highly – refuses to expect anything less than full adequacy of everyone or otherwise clings to optimism by the skin of his teeth – and each time his trust is broken or his efforts thrown back at him, you’d think it’s about as unexpected to him as it would’ve been the very first time it happened.
Those times, Alonzo feels like he needs to run and return only once Munkustrap’s forgotten all about it. He gives in to the impulse, sometimes, and feels all the worse for it – but at least he can’t see Munkustrap closing his eyes, slowly raising a hand to press the palm over them in exasperation. It’s a perfect display to tear second-hand embarrassment from Alonzo like he’s the one at fault, no matter how far removed he is from the actual cause of Munkustrap’s disappointment.
The same can’t exactly be said now. Munkustrap knows – has known for a long, longtime, for as long as they’ve known each other – that Alonzo is a cat easily angered and even more easily afraid. And he’s said very little of it, and even less in reprimand. Each time Alonzo’s skittered away, hid himself, cowered– and he’d really not admit it, were his thoughts not already tearing at it now – Munkustrap had not even gone so far as to close his eyes in exasperation. He’d not been upset, he’d not berated him, he’d not even so much as lectured.
I can’t do it, Alonzo told him, once, from behind the hiding place of his own hands pressed tightly against his face. I’m too afraid.
Because there hadn’t been any real threat, then, Munkustrap sat by him for a long stretch of time, waiting for him to let his hands drop back down to his lap. He looked at Alonzo very sweetly, after, and said, You can’t force yourself out of fear. You can only force yourself into bravery in spite of the fear. I know it’s cruel, he hurried to add, before Alonzo could say it first – although he wouldn’t have – but that’s how it is.
You think that’ll work? Alonzo asked him then, more out of spite than genuine curiosity; he stopped himself just short of mockery, because it wasn’t Munkustrap’s fault he was afraid, after all. And he was just trying to help.
But then – It’ll work, Munkustrap said, very calmly, and when Alonzo looked at him, he understood that he was telling the truth. It worked for me. Seeing his disbelief, Munkustrap laughed. You’ve not the foggiest of how afraid I am, Alonzo.
And since then – since how afraid I am, Alonzo – he’s held the thought close to himself. He’s hoped, since then, little by little, that he could – as Munkustrap had said it – force himself into bravery, one of these days. And he thought he was getting better at it; and he thought, he was sure of it, that when push came to shove, he’d overcome. Because he’d have no other choice than to be brave.
And then push came to shove, and he had no other choice; watching Munkustrap and Macavity, watching Munkustrap bleed, watching Munkustrap fall, he had no other choice in the world except to overcome.
And still he fell through. And still he hesitated. And still he was afraid, and cowered and looked away, even when he knew – he knew Munkustrap was afraid, then, he knew that Munkustrap was just as afraid as he was, and he let him face that beast alone anyway. And he let Munkustrap go, and he let Munkustrap fight – let Munkustrap force himself into bravery in spite of his fear instead – and only found the strength within himself when Munkustrap lay unmoving on the ground. When Alonzo was no longer sure if he was alive or dead, torn up and bleeding. When the only thing stronger than fear in him was his anger, because Alonzo is just that sort of cat.
And he knows – he knows that it ended well, better than it could’ve, for all intents and purposes, better than it should have. Because Munkustrap is fine; bitten and bleeding and bruised, but fine. Tired and guided by the others to rest somewhat after and breathing a little shallowly through the rest of the evening, but breathing fine. The deep-set grief in his face eased upon seeing Old Deuteronomy again, and it was like a boulder off all of their chests; but it was, too, the final straw that got Alonzo to finally trudge, like a kicked dog, back to Munkustrap again.
And as he goes, he is, frankly, afraid again – afraid, this time, to so much as show himself to Munkustrap in the face of his grief. In the face of Munkustrap’s fear, too, clearer than anything else, now, for their Old Deuteronomy; his fear and his disappointment, held wholly within himself, and so sharp Alonzo can feel it just by looking at him – looking at him for just a moment before he turns away for fear of being acknowledged. Because Munkustrap always acknowledges him, sooner or later. And Alonzo can’t bear the prospect of disappointment any better now than he could bear his own fear.
Nevertheless, that feeling of being drawn to Munkustrap – albeit turned heavy and shameful in the twist of his hollow chest – inevitably wins him over. It takes its sweet time nagging at him first, to be sure, throughout the rest of the Ball, throughout the Choice, throughout the Journey and throughout the last song and dance to greet the morning – but only the dawn-brought exhaustion finally makes him throw aside any consideration he’s left for himself. Let Munkustrap be angry, be bitter, be disappointed – but Alonzo wants to linger and be acknowledged and be touched, whatever the intent.
And so he goes. With heavy steps and a heavier head. But he goes, regardless, to close out his night, and to bleed his heart just a little bit. He figures he owes it to Munkustrap, at least, for all the blood he bled for all of them, and all because Alonzo couldn’t face his fear in time.
It's all so ridiculous, comes the thought as he nuzzles goodbye to friends and sweethearts alike; cats who don’t blame him, who aren’t disappointed in him, cats who scarcely know why Alonzo looks so small and who care even less. It’s all so ridiculous; all he needed was to be just a few moments faster. Just a few moments braver; was that so much to ask of him? Was that truly what would lead his moments of decision – fear, fear and disappointment?
He knows he looks miserable and cares very little. If anything, perhaps Munkustrap will tell from sight alone that Alonzo already knows all there is to know about his own failures. But that’s if he deserves to be spared Munkustrap’s disappointment – which he’s very much on the fence about, anyway.
Munkustrap is not alone – he’d not be sitting still if he was alone, Alonzo knows – but he is, it seems, in the process. His arms are holding Demeter’s, at a distance, and their heads are leaned together where they speak quickly between themselves – and though Alonzo can’t hear it, he recognizes that Munkustrap is asking her something; asking quite adamantly, it seems, and Demeter looks apologetic to deny him. But he doesn’t cling to her any longer than she lets him, and when Demeter slides her arms away and turns to go from him, she sees Alonzo, and Alonzo stands still.
She smiles to him as he stands quietly; purrs to him, short and sweet, and as she skitters by she stops to press herself tightly against him for just one moment in farewell. He wraps an arm around her waist – feeling the same muscles and bones what dug into his hands when he carried her away from Macavity – and lets her go all the same, and she is gone with the nightfall.
Alonzo looks at Munkustrap and finds himself watched all the same.
Sometimes Munkustrap’s eyes can burn, and Alonzo has no idea whether he’s imagining it or not. When he’s dancing. When he’s lingering. At the very least, it is very rarely unpleasant. It’s dreadful now.
Alonzo stands still, frozen again by leftovers of fear and shame and the weight of his own head, and watches Munkustrap watch him. There is matted blood on the fur of his shoulders. Alonzo doubts Munkustrap can see it. There is a long cut along his inner thigh, running up before branching out onto the rest of his leg in the shape of tree roots or else lightning. He holds that leg bent softly to the side and doesn’t move it much. Alonzo wonders how bad it hurts. His own leg and arm – the points where Macavity caught him – tingle in tandem with his breath.
He understands why Munkustrap doesn’t wave him over. Doesn’t nod, doesn’t communicate in any way that he’d so much as wouldn’t mind if Alonzo came closer. He understands that usually Alonzo doesn’t wait for him to ask him, or to let him; Munkustrap is who Alonzo runs to when he’s wishful or indignant or, indeed, afraid, even when he knows he ought to overcome it.
But after failing to – after failing so spectacularly – yes, Alonzo understands. He wouldn’t want himself near, either.
His sharp-edged thoughts are cut short by the blunt end of Munkustrap’s patience, it seems, or else simply by necessity – Munkustrap pushes up on his arms and shifts onto his front on the tire’s edge, peering down at Alonzo with his hands placed politely as ever one over the other. Lying down with his head bowed to look; it’s so Alonzo knows Munkustrap feels unthreatened. Tired as well, if he had to guess.
And before Alonzo can make any sort of decision in the face of this extreme placidity, Munkustrap says, and he doesn’t sound angry or upset or content or happy, he just says it, even and all in one breath –
“Be quick with it, Alonzo, or else come along – I’m going with Old Deuteronomy.”
Instead of anything that might be halfway to passable and still quite stupid to say – like, How do you feel? (which would earn him ‘Fine.’) or Don’t you think it would be better to rest? (a guaranteed ‘No.’) or, Are you mad at me? (Alonzo doesn’t really want to ask), he instead opens his mouth and goes with what is possibly the worst option –
“Why?”
Perhaps as a testament to the patience Alonzo assumed he’d depleted, Munkustrap only cocks his head to the side and does not say anything untoward. If anything, he seems to think about the answer for a moment himself.
“I worry,” he says, finally, and looks somewhere over Alonzo’s shoulder. His eyes are largely pupil; he looks a little lifeless in the morning light. His body lies as though it’s almost slotted into the tire; as though he was always just one of the pieces of the sights surrounding – like a doll, moving its head stiffly with the pull of a string. “I suppose that’s all.”
“He’s already left,” Alonzo says, somewhat pointlessly, and Munkustrap’s eyes dart to the side of himself, where Old Deuteronomy sits through the Ball. He glances there often, whether Old Deuteronomy is there or not – as though the spot itself remaining comforts him. Alonzo knows the feeling; the same drives him to look to Munkustrap.
“I’ll catch up.”
“You don’t usually walk him back,” Alonzo points out, and wonders why he’s being such a nuisance. Munkustrap meets his eyes a moment, and Alonzo gets the idea he’s wondering it too.
“He doesn’t usually get whisked away from under my nose during the Ball,” he says, and there is a crack in his expression for less time than Alonzo can blink in but it’s more than enough for him to see just about everything, paired with his words.
There’s a suspicion, sudden as the wind; it’s not him that Munkustrap is trying to shut out. It’s a very familiar façade, one that he feels woefully out of his depth watching be built expertly back up in front of him – Munkustrap wrinkles his nose, looks away for a moment. Guilt and frustration go hand-in-hand through the shadow over his face, but he shakes it quick and well. Presses his lips together, smiles sourly.
“Under our noses,” Alonzo says, feeling breathless all of a sudden – and it comes spilling out without thought, without pause, because for a moment he realizes that he feels exactly the way Munkustrap looks, and – “I’m sorry, Munkustrap. I wish I – ”
He doesn’t know how to finish with that, he realizes. I wish I were better. I wish I could force myself out of my fear and into bravery. I wish I was someone you could rely on. A lump in his throat renders him mute, and he finds himself so ashamed under Munkustrap’s wandering gaze that he can’t bear it straight on for a moment longer.
He carries himself just high enough on the boxes to fall right under where Munkustrap rests, and he bows over so deeply in his efforts to avoid looking at Munkustrap that he presses himself wholly to the surface and closes his eyes for good measure. Munkustrap doesn’t move a muscle in response until Alonzo flattens himself against the ground. There’s a sharp intake of his breath, as though Munkustrap wants to say something but can’t find the words.
“My body wouldn’t move,” Alonzo says into his hands. After that, there is a long while where he can’t say anything at all, and Munkustrap stays quiet and still and patient as ever.
Alonzo finds himself afraid again. That he’ll be misunderstood. That he’ll say too little, or else too much; but he can’t stop it, then, the only way to get through to him, tell him, tell him everything so he knows exactly every fault Alonzo can’t hide –
“None of me could move,” he says again, and he sounds kittenish to himself, timid, guilty. It feels less like justification – he’s terribly afraid Munkustrap will think it’s justification – and more like a confession, one after another, each one more damning than the last. “Even my thoughts. I felt frozen. I thought now that – that I might not have dared move at all if he hadn’t hurt you like he did. To where we didn’t – we didn’t know if you were... And that’s –“
That’s awful, he thinks, and feels sick to his stomach with it. It took Munkustrap’s blood spilling to have his thaw in his veins. If not for it – if not for Munkustrap’s blood on his fur and the cold ground of the Junkyard, if not for his crumpled body there in the mess, just another thing cast down and away –
And they call Alonzo his shadow.
“I thought I would overcome,” he says into Munkustrap’s silence. “I thought I – I thought when I had to, I’d overcome. That when I had no other choice…” He trails off. He thought, he thought, he thought and he was wrong, and shame bites and claws at his chest and his throat like some vengeful critter. And he forces the rest out through gritted teeth and quivering lips – “But I left you alone with him. I couldn’t – “
And he can say nothing more. He lies there like a felled bird with its wing broken. And he shakes with the fear of something ruined, and he dreads looking up.
Munkustrap moves; Alonzo hears his breathing shift with his body. He startles at first when he feels a touch over his head, and then Munkustrap’s fingertips – with the claws drawn in – run down his head and his neck and his nape and are pulled to rest lightly over his shoulder. They stop there; Munkustrap stops. All of time stops. All of it bowed over him.
And then Munkustrap says, not angry or upset or content or happy, but whispery, and rather – quite soft – “Come up here, would you.”
Alonzo – woefully unused to hesitating on Munkustrap’s word – hesitates anyway. His head feels heavy still as he lifts it, and he’s afraid his eyes are too wide, his face undignified – but as soon as he gets off the ground Munkustrap catches him by the chin and lifts him mercilessly the rest of the way up.
But it is not unkind, the way he moves, nor the expression he wears. It isn’t frustrated, it isn’t pitying, and it isn’t – this is the shock – disappointed. The brow pulled a claw-width up, frowning but not forceful – and either way Alonzo doesn’t get a very good look at it before he’s caught by his arms not unlike Demeter was. Unlike Demeter, though, Munkustrap doesn’t quite let him go when saddled by Alonzo’s weight; Alonzo imagines it’s hardly enough to deter him, and so he’s not entirely surprised, past that initial jolt, that Munkustrap’s grip on him is uncompromising and firm until he pulls Alonzo up onto the tire next to him.
And he doesn’t stop there. When Alonzo settles, still so surprised by it he’s halfway expecting claws or some other reproach, Munkustrap instead shifts closer to him and takes him by the arm again. He runs his fingers down it – all the way down to Macavity’s wound, closed up now but with blood crusting over it – and spends long moments cleaning it off. He’s diligent. And careful. Alonzo hisses through his teeth, and Munkustrap looks up at him for a moment. His whiskers tickle a little.
“You’re a bad liar.” Munkustrap is no louder than him, and perhaps only a little more truthful.
“Can’t hurt worse than yours,” Alonzo tries again, guilt rearing its ugly head, but Munkustrap shuts it down with half a hiss, as clear a demand to keep it to himself as ever. Alonzo keeps it to himself. It doesn’t make him feel much better.
When Munkustrap lets go of Alonzo’s arm, he turns and takes Alonzo’s face in his hands instead. Holds him in place, looking at him longer still; Alonzo blinks, finding it hard to look back at him. And still, Munkustrap does not look upset. Not angered, not frustrated. Not disappointed. Looking for something in Alonzo’s expression; Alonzo doesn’t have the slightest idea what it might be.
Finally, Munkustrap says – his thumbs brushing softly over Alonzo’s cheeks – “Demeter said you pounced on him, wholly.” The corner of his lips twitches ever so slightly upward. “Twice.”
Alonzo grimaces, pawing regrettably at the scratch on his arm. Munkustrap doesn’t look away from his face, but at a point Alonzo’s sure his eyelid twitches in disapproval.
He lifts his head from Munkustrap’s hands, looks away in turn. The acknowledgment of it – of what he did manage, of what he did overcome, all too late – stings instead of relieving him. He thinks the moment before he collided with that crazed fiery figure might’ve been the scariest one of his life – or the second, at least, right after he watched Munkustrap be thrown carelessly to the ground and lying lifelessly still, stomach and throat bared to the bloodied seeking claws.
“After you were – “
“Yes, that’s why Demeter had to fill me in,” Munkustrap cuts him off with something that imitates impatience; when Alonzo looks at him, his expression has only softened. He’s only lowered his hands a little; they hover, claws unevenly scratched down in the day, over his own chest. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about it, Alonzo figures; it’s just that what Alonzo is saying displeases him, somehow.
Ultimately, the last thing Alonzo wanted was to displease Munkustrap. So he says nothing, again, and leans down to catch Munkustrap’s hands in his own, and presses his head to them, and burrows into his palms, trying – he isn’t sure, in the end, what he’s really trying to do. Apologize without apologizing – it’s clear Munkustrap doesn’t want an apology. But shame nips at Alonzo’s heels like a hungry dog. He tries to hide from it in Munkustrap’s hands and hopes it’ll forget to sharpen its teeth.
They’re sitting close enough together; Munkustrap sighs softly to his side and barely shifts, and rests his head lightly over Alonzo’s. Alonzo freezes in place; feels the warmth pouring from Munkustrap’s temple through his fur. He’s kept warm like this – and – without apology, without a word – he feels as though the stinging is receding. Just a little bit, as he listens to Munkustrap’s breathing, returned to normal, as he buries himself in Munkustrap’s fur, smelling of grass and rubber, the shame fades and laps desperately at his heels as it’s washed away.
He feels forgiven. If only for his own sake.
Munkustrap speaks, after some time. His voice feels like it’s reverberating through Alonzo’s head; but it is quiet and round-edged, and doesn’t pierce him as much as it sinks right through – “Do you know how many times I’ve fought him?”
Alonzo doesn’t. Munkustrap’s stood between Macavity and the rest of them for as long as he can remember. He can barely remember what it was like before Alonzo willed himself to stand beside him; or try, at the very least. But Munkustrap doesn’t wait for him to guess.
“Many times.” And perhaps that’s not the point. “What about you?”
Alonzo raises his head, and Munkustrap moves with him. He looks at Alonzo, sees his confusion. Smiles narrowly.
“Once,” he says, meaningfully, like that explains everything. There is a gentleness to his tone; he knows, of course, that Alonzo’s mind clings to this like claws caught in wool. That he came to him feeling like a wretch of a thing. “That’s not half bad, for a first,” Munkustrap tells him quietly, a smile in his voice – his lip is split – and now Alonzo understands. He meant to calm Alonzo down from the start. And he knew Alonzo is fond of circling – and now here they are, in the centre together, and Munkustrap’s shoulder brushes his and he’s smiling and he’s saying to him – “Good work.”
Alonzo’s ears twitch to his head. He understands, but that’s –
“Good work?”
“Yes, good work.” Munkustrap chuckles, just a little bit, and glances at Alonzo like he’s a kitten being difficult. It looks easy on him, all of a sudden; like all of this is self-evident, and Alonzo ought to have known in the first place. “I’m sorry to disrupt your lament.”
Alonzo wants to say something more clever than he does, but all that comes out is painfully honest – “I thought you’d be upset.”
“Not with you,” Munkustrap says firmly, and leans on him again. Alonzo can’t help but follow him; their heads fall together, and Munkustrap tilts him up with two fingers under his chin again to look at him, turning him to the side. They’re close, like this. Alonzo is sure he looks a little dumbfounded just from the way Munkustrap twists his mouth to the side and says, just loud enough for him to hear – “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It wasn’t your fault.”
Alonzo thinks, there is a fault, then – and it doesn’t take him long to figure out who, if not him, Munkustrap is attributing it to. He turns his head just a little more. He can see about every fleck of light in Munkustrap’s eyes.
“You’re not – being a hypocrite,” he says, “by chance?”
“No.”
He says it so easily, so simply, that Alonzo almost believes it to be genuine. And – perhaps knowing he’s given himself away – Munkustrap rubs his head against Alonzo’s one last time and pulls away. Alonzo tries, out of habit, not to let him leave far – leans after him, catches his shoulder so that Munkustrap runs his fingers down Alonzo’s palm before slipping away at his fingertips. Alonzo keeps his reaching hand in the air, and Munkustrap lingers a moment. As if reluctant to leave, echoes Alonzo’s wishful thoughts.
“You should get some rest,” Munkustrap says, with a certain air of finality. “Those scratches will heal faster.”
“You’re definitely being a hypocrite,” Alonzo whispers.
“I’m allowed,” Munkustrap tells him, chuckles – at least he has the sense to look a little embarrassed. And – it is so kind, when he does it, as though he knows, as though he reads Alonzo’s mind – he reaches back, and he touches Alonzo’s cheek with just the tips of his fingers, and he smiles. “Don’t tell anyone, will you?”
He is afraid, it occurs to Alonzo; he is afraid just the same. In spite of Munkustrap telling him this, telling him once and then keeping on telling him, realizing he’s afraid sticks differently to Alonzo. That he feels at fault just the same; that he’s better, perhaps, at quieting down, at bearing it alone and with no attachment of his responsibility to anyone but himself, but he’s afraid of failing the same as Alonzo, and he fails the same as Alonzo, and when he does he is guilty. And like Alonzo, there is nowhere else to go with that.
Alonzo catches his hand. Presses it hard to his cheek – as hard as he can bear it – and Munkustrap doesn’t so much as blink.
“If you tell me nothing is changed,” Alonzo says. “If I can – sit with you, and you’ll sit with me.”
Munkustrap tilts his head, and seems to think on it for a moment. Alonzo doesn’t expect rebuttal; Munkustrap is hardly a cat to reject this way. But he doesn’t expect what happens either – that Munkustrap would return for a moment, crouch back down to him, and – very unceremoniously – press his forehead to Alonzo’s. His hand stays in place.
“Things change with the days and the moons, Alonzo, and you can’t stop it if you try,” he says, so quietly a fly above his shoulder wouldn’t hear it. But Alonzo does. “But there is very little that’ll shake what trust I have in you.”
Alonzo watches the quirk of his lips, and insists, however faintly – “That’s not an answer.”
“Isn’t it?” Munkustrap cocks his head a little. Their noses brush together. Munkustrap parts his lips, and – “Goodnight, Alonzo.”
As suddenly as he returned, then, he withdraws again; rises smoothly to his feet, and Alonzo all but loses his balance and tumbles into the sudden empty space in front of him. He braces himself on his arms, lifts himself upright as well – but Munkustrap’s already two leaps away, and Alonzo is alone on the tire. Watching him go, hand too late to rise after him again.
And then – on the very edge of the boot of the old car they clamber up to leave – Munkustrap stops in his tracks and looks back at Alonzo. Alonzo, who’d not taken his eyes off him. It feels significant.
Munkustrap smiles to him, again.
“If you’re not too exhausted,” he says, at a reasonable volume – though Alonzo strains to catch every word – “You should keep watch. And wait for me.”
It strikes Alonzo like lightning, and before he knows it he’s on the side edge of the tire, leaning out so far he’s all but losing his balance all over again. Reaching for Munkustrap again, reaching down for him, and it occurs to him how they’ve each traded their spots. He can only hope Munkustrap doesn’t feel like Alonzo did, coming to him, dread heavy in his stomach and heavier still in his head.
When he asks, then, it’s softer than anything he’s said throughout the morning, perhaps the softest he can say by virtue of how nervous – quivering – his hope is.
“You’ll come back to me?”
To me, he says, just in case it wasn’t clear, but Munkustrap’s expression doesn’t change just because it isn’t the Junkyard he’s asking after. There’s a crinkling under his eyes.
“I should like to,” a pause – his eyes dart – return again to Alonzo – “settle some more worries.” He reaches out, mimes the touch their bodies are too far apart to share. But Alonzo watches his face, and he can see Munkustrap look him up and down, ruffled fur and torn skin and all, and there is a light in his eyes Alonzo is vain enough to think wasn’t there before. His smile widens, just a smidge. “And I so rarely get to see you in the sun.”
With that, he is gone – really gone, this time, darted over the roof of the steel frame behemoth, gone in the tall grass and the winding road of the people and the cats alike, following, Alonzo knows, the well-trodden path to the old town vicarage. His is a steady character; what he said he would do, he will.
This means, too, that he will return. He said so – and his is a steady character.
Alonzo’s hand drops – he’d hardly even realized he’d kept it there, reaching still for Munkustrap. He endeavors not to think too long about it; instead, he drapes himself along the edge of the tire, as Munkustrap had, and sets his eyes on the Junkyard. It’s almost empty; going emptier still. The longest night has everyone retreating into their corners and dens, some returning elsewhere altogether.
And it leaves Alonzo alone on the tire, lingering, as he always does, by Munkustrap’s spot. He repeats to himself, mutedly, the same three names he always has. It’s only when he shifts his leg that he does it a little more carefully; and when he raises his arm impulsively to clean it, he reconsiders, and noses at it for long moments instead for the smell of something familiar.
As the morning sun washes over the Junkyard, Alonzo is quiet, and tired, and a thousand times lighter for it. And – if someone were to ask – caught in a wave of reddened light tinting his fur, his lounging silhouette, he is beautiful enough to watch from the shadowed skeleton of the car frame for a long stretch of the morning.
Can we know some fun facts about your modern au? More specifically about the relationships but feel free to talk about whatever im very intrigued!
aaah thanks so much for writing in!! :))) i'm so glad you're interested in it... it's sort of creeping over my entire wip folder. i have moved them to a folder of their own. haha. if you'd like to hear about any specifics, let me know!! i will put some fun facts (tm) off the top of my head under here !!!!
so i currently have two fics out (that's gonna change), one with mainly munkustrap & tugger & macavity and the other with munkustrap & alonzo... i am writing loads and loads of munkustrap to no one's surprise, so i figure i'll keep him to a minimum here... but the other two are Getting it
in the time around grizabella leaving and especially macavity running away, tugger essentially... eeh got his wee little heart absolutely shattered by macavity, whom he loved & sought validation from essentially his whole life before.
it was also when he very rapidly had to make peace with munkustrap. they didn't have a great relationship before! probably the most tumultuous period in their lives but the flip stuck Real Hard.
tugger is very categorical & as far as he's concerned munkustrap is a shithead on account of being his brother and otherwise a saint, and macavity is The Fucking Devil. genuinely would've been happy never to see him again. he is going to try and sabotage any attempt at connection macavity might make (however doubtful whether he'd try) For Everyone's Greater Good. he's convinced!
i have a few works (1 done, 1 wip so far) about that. sort of? also a ton of blurbs about their earlier days. we'll see how it goes !
& i figure i also wanna talk about alonzo... he isn't there Much in the text yet but he's very important to munkustrap... im back to talking about him again. agh.
alonzo is a very. um. stubborn person. and something of a bullheaded person!! he met munk after finishing academy when he moved to their town to work in the theatre & it took him approximately a month to decide he's marrying this guy.
by god i am not here to say that is a wise or correct decision to make on a month's run in a new town new apartment & new acquaintances. don't do like alonzo does no matter how well it works out for him.
speaking of it doesn't. like at all. munkustrap is painfully reluctant to get into jack-shit-anything with alonzo. straight up turned him down when alonzo finally got direct about it. it's not even because he didn't like him! but there's a lot of expectations & connotations to dating to him & he didn't think he was ready to take on any of them.
that said, the following friends with benefits situation lasts a little under a decade. so. kudos to alonzo for keeping it up (Relax, Dude) and kudos to munkustrap for sunk cost fallacying that man into the sun.
i also wanna say i'm writing lots of demeter (again, mostly with munkustrap.......) and she's really exciting. or, you know, her horrible horrible state of mind and inner workings are fun to try and tango with. she and munkustrap have to my mind a very close but complicated relationship. another fun tangent is her relationship with jemima and her role as a mother (and many many instances of rejecting that role)... i don't want to say too much !!
i'm very excited to write & post more! especially now that i realized i don't have to do it in order ahaha. if anything in particular interests you!! or if you have any questions!! or thoughts!! let me know!!!! <3333
Hello I just want to tell u that Thicker Than Blood is my absolute favourite Cats fic and I adore your characterisations and relationship dynamics. Also it gave me the headcanon that Munkustrap stress grooms Tugger, very much as a 'tuggers okay everything's going to be okay' instinct which I adore.
ough that's so kind of you to say !! thicker than blood is probably the fic i'm proudest of from cats right now, or at least the one that took the most out of me and spawned a ridiculously expansive au in my head (and in my drafts)... :)) thank you so much, i really appreciate it!! <3<3
& i really like your headcanon! to my mind munkustrap is a compulsively clean person (cat...) who tidies himself and others a lot reflexively & as a way to soothe himself. so i think doing it with tugger would be double-sided, because it's both someone he cares about a lot and wants to take care of, AND tugger always has 59843 different strands of fur sticking up, mostly As A Statement. so he gets all tousled and munkustrap can never pass up the chance to be like oh my GOD look at how UNCARED FOR you look let me COMB DOWN YOUR HEAD you absolute HOOLIGAN. i think tugger will naturally smell this from a mile away and book it, but i don't believe he'd fight it too hard if he knew munkustrap was in real distress and it was helping him calm down. he can do one (1) self sacrifice (of his Style) that he'll hold over munk's head forever. it's real valuable stuff when you're the family baby.
Hello I am being absolutely HAUNTED by the production I saw a few weeks ago and specifically Munk and Tugger at the end. When Grizz got to Munkustrap he hesitated for so long, and when he did finally take her hand he was shaky and uncertain. He didn't even smile, and tugger looked surprised. AND THEN when they were sending her off Tugger ran up to Munkustrap and put his hand on his shoulder, then pulled him into a hug. I was in tears, something about not being able to grant their mother forgiveness or repair what's broken but instead allowing her another chance. Anyway seeing this live was like cocaine directly to the brain
HELLO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG my inbox had just like. disappeared for a bit apparently. anyhow !!!! woahhhh no yeah i would be so incredibly abnormal about that for weeks holy shitttt. brothers of all time. i would notttt be able to handle that, those two own my entire heart. what prod was this if you'd like to share??? i'm writing something that's. like... not Not that. it speaks to me so much thank you for sharing !!!! <3<3<3
can i just say i frickin love your art the way you draw hair and fur is so soft and scruffy at the same time and it all looks like colored pencils that bled into each other just a little it makes me nostalgic i love your stuff so much ok bye
this is such a kind ask to receive, thank you so much!! i appreciate it more than i can say :33 always has been a distant dream of mine to have an artstyle enjoyed by other folks ahahah.
i think a lot of it is just my habit carried over from traditional art, where i colored very little and often not at all, so scribbles/texturing was all there was for different fillings lol. i think that's what the scruff/blend comes from! :>>> thanks so much again for writing in!
