#i saw eighteen turtles yesterday

[mumblelard]

thunderstorms this morning, so i won't get to walk by the river today. during a particularly heavy burst of rain, boba and i watched the three fawns that sleep in the courtyard do rain zoomies while their moms monitored them from under a tree. my mom has some tomatoes for me and there is an estate sale on the way over to her place, but for now, i am just going to sit with boba and finish my coffee

[savannahsdrabbles]

Ocean Song - Part Two

rating: PG summary: Marine biology student April O’Neil makes a startling discovery.

notes: An AU originally based off of the 2012 TMNT universe, but can be compatible with most versions of the characters. <3 2.8k words. A03 link can be found here. Also special thanks to @cloakedrabbit and @starfiretheninja for beta-reading!

While he considered himself fairly levelheaded, there were a lot of things that ticked Casey Jones off: The referee calling foul play when an opponent obviously deserved to be body slammed, the cafeteria workers skimping on tater tots (in no universe was four enough), and people being jerks to those who couldn’t defend themselves.

The worst feeling of all, however, was when people intentionally kept secrets from him.

From the moment April O’Neil had walked into homeroom that Monday, he could tell that she had something heavy weighing on her mind. The redhead had avoided his attention-seeking gestures and whispers throughout class, seemingly intent on doodling in her notebook and not paying the slightest amount of attention to the lecture. She rested her chin in her palm, arm forming a barrier that blocked her page from anyone who walked past. Even when Casey flicked a pencil onto her desk, her only response was to absentmindedly return the utensil and continue scribbling.

By the time lunch rolled around, Casey was nearly shaking with curiosity and frustration over the unknown. With one hand firmly gripping his sack lunch, the eighteen-year-old searched the sea of dark hair on the patio and in the cafeteria, and then finally stuck his head into the library – a first for him. Sure enough, April was tucked away at a table in the far corner of the reference section with her nose to a computer monitor and the same expression of deep thought on her face. 

“Alright, Red. Spill.” April jolted when he dragged over a chair with a deafening screech and then flopped into it. Turning his lunch bag over on the table and scattering its contents, Casey shoved an apple towards the hand she was clutching the mouse with and then picked out a peanut butter granola bar to munch on. “I can tell you’re freaking out about something. Is it homework related, or what?”

“It’s nothing,” she muttered, quickly attempting to minimize the tabs she had open on the screen – though not before Casey caught a glance of the website.

“Mysteries of the Deep: Unexplained Open Ocean Phenomena,” Casey snorted, sending a spray of granola crumbs flying, and leaned over to elbow the girl playfully. “What, are you trying to find the loch ness monster or something? Cause I’m pretty sure that’s in Canada.”

To his surprise, April let out a hiss of pain and grabbed her ribs right where Casey had poked her. The smirk on his face instantly vanished, and Casey raised his hands in surrender. “Whoa – I didn’t mean to hit so hard – my bad! Are you okay?”

April’s face tightened for a moment as if she were going to argue, her brows arching into the sassy look that Casey was used to seeing whenever he whined about how useless math was, but then she heaved a sigh and dropped her hand from her side. The girl motioned for Casey to quiet down, and then stood up quickly to peer over the row of computers around them. Once she seemed satisfied that no one was nearby, the redhead relented. “I got attacked when I was diving last night.”

“Wait – what?!” Casey nearly inhaled his granola bar and had to pause for a moment to cough violently. “By what? A fish? Or one of the other divers?”

“Shhh!” the librarian hissed from across the room.

“Don’t freak out – I’m fine.” April waved a hand dismissively, and then launched into a whispered explanation of what had happened. Casey listened with a furrowed brow, constantly interjecting with questions and April constantly hissing at him to quiet down and listen so that they would not be overheard. “He’s at Hamato Labs right now – probably still on constant sedation watch until they decide what to do with him. Dad wanted me to just go back to school today like nothing had happened, but –”

“You keep calling it a ‘him’. Did you get a look at –”

“Ew – no, Casey! Gross!” April let out a muffled shriek of indignation and punched the boy in the shoulder, though her quivering lips betrayed the hint of a smirk that Casey instantly decided was worth the shoulder pain. “I could just TELL that it was a ‘he’. He gave off a ‘guy’ vibe, I don’t know. And maybe the other one, too – though I didn’t get as good of a look at him.”

Casey seemed to calm down at this, as he leaned back in his chair with a grin and kicked his legs up onto the table – which April quickly shoved off with a jerk of her head towards the librarian’s desk. “Alright, so what’s going to happen to ‘him’ now? Or wait – do you get to name him as a new species or something? Like the ‘genus turtle-us, April-us’, or whatever?”

April shrugged, her fingers tapping unconsciously on the notebook that Casey finally realized was in her lap. The spiral bound pages bore dozens of doodles from throughout the day, all bearing features of turtles with cartoonish expressions. Several words had been written and crossed out in the margins, which Casey read aloud.

“Raph-ale? Donatello?”

The girl snapped her notebook shut with a ‘PAP!’ seeming to just notice that he had been looking at it. “Art history homework – another college course. Anyway, I should probably get back to class now. Thanks for letting me ramble – it’s just a really weird situation and I’m actually kind of glad to talk about it with someone that isn’t another scientist.”

“Well, I am definitely not a scientist, so no problem,” Casey flashed a thumbs up as April began to gather her belongings. “So, when do I get to see him?”

April froze, her hands hovering over her backpack. “Excuse me?”

The boy lifted his head to double check that they were alone, and then leaned closer to April. “You tell me all about some bizarre-o turtle man that might end up being on National Geographic or something, and then you won’t let me see it? That’s pretty low, dude.”

“It’s not that I’m against you seeing him – it’s just that I’m more than likely not even supposed to be mentioning the fact of his existence to anyone outside of the research team. Any number of hippie organizations or other laboratories would spring at the chance to claim him. Besides – if we determine that whatever made him like this is the source of an imminent biological or ecological threat, the lab is going to want to keep it out of the public eye until they’ve discovered a solution.”

“C’mon!” Casey slung an arm over April’s shoulder to keep her from standing up and leaving the table. “I won’t tell anyone! I promise – I just want to get a quick peek! It’s not every day that a kaiju saves your girlfriend – ”

“I am in no way, shape or form your girlfriend, and if you ever say that again I will punch you in the throat.”

“- from a squid! Come on – please?” Casey clasped his hands in a praying position and stuck out his bottom lip. “Please please please please please – I won’t stop until you say yes – please?”

April observed him for a moment with an expression of disgust, and then let out a deep sigh, earning a whoop of approval and a loud ‘Shhhhh!’ from the direction of the librarian’s desk. “Fine. I’m heading back to the lab after school anyway. You drive, and I’ll get my dad to sign off on letting you in with me.”

“Alright, all aboard the Jonesmobile, woo woo – ow! Why did you hit me?!”

***

The rest of the day went off without a hitch – though April would be the first to admit that she was less than focused during class. All she could think about was her interaction with the turtle, and the bubbling feeling in her stomach that occurred when she considered the fact that she would get to see him again that afternoon. Casey showed signs of distraction as well – though that was fairly normal for him. April made a mental note to ensure that he was getting his homework done and turned in.

When the last bell finally rang, the two teenagers hurried out to Casey’s old Jeep and gunned it to Hamato Laboratories. A quick knock on Dr. O’Neil’s door with no response told them that he was tied up on the phone, so the two decided to head towards the labs anyway.

“I don’t think they’ll let you into the actual exam room without my dad present, but you’ll probably be able to at least look through the glass,” April explained as the two rode the elevator down to the lower floors. Several marine biologists and lab technicians passed them on their way down, each stopping to ensure that April was doing well after the incident the day before.

“Didn’t you say he’d probably be unconscious or sedated or whatever?” Casey asked. He looked thoroughly out of place in the sleek laboratory building, all skinny jeans and beat up hoodie in contrast to the white lab coats and slacks worn by almost everyone they passed. Even April had grabbed her monogramed coat from the locker area before boarding the elevator and had thrown her hair up into a bun. Despite this, the eighteen-year-old still carried himself with an air of utter ease and confidence that April couldn’t help but respect. “Is that because he hurt you?”

April hesitated before answering. “Not specifically? It’s typically a standard procedure to sedate larger animals – particularly if they’re not reacting well to the lab environment. That way if they lash out, they’re less likely to hurt themselves or anyone else. But I could tell that he wasn’t trying to hurt me yesterday – it was just an accident.” She rubbed a hand on her side and grimaced slightly as her fingertips traced the tender bruises. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t easy explaining that to my dad. He still thinks that I was freaking out and imagined a lot of what I saw and felt.”

“How can you be sure that you didn’t?”

April’s eyes snapped to Casey’s as the elevator let out a ‘ping’ to alert them that they were nearing the correct floor. “Excuse me?”

Casey shrugged. “Nothing against you, but while this thing is cool and big and stuff, isn’t it possible that you kind of hallucinated him being… human-ish? I mean – maybe it didn’t really know that it was helping you?”

“No. He knew that he was helping me.” The words she spoke swelled with utter confidence that dimmed Casey’s doubts. “I just know it. You’ll see.”

Right as the words left her mouth, the elevator doors opened into a stark white hallway offset by the dark cement floor beneath it. Pipes and power lines ran the length of the ceiling in either direction, the whirring that they produced being the only sound in the otherwise quiet hallway. As the duo stepped out of the elevator, the motion activated lights immediately kicked on and flooded the halls with a dim light. A dozen heavy doors lined the walls, each accompanied by a keycard lock and a glass window to allow observation from outside. At the very end of the hallway, a large set of double doors beneath a glowing ‘Exit’ sign signaled the entrance to the garage through which creatures were delivered.

“Welp. I’m pretty sure we are going to get murdered in this hallway.”

April snorted and grabbed for Casey’s wrist, dragging him down the hallway towards Exam Room D. “C’mon, don’t be a baby.”

“I’m not. This… just looks like a hallway that someone in Saw would get murdered in.”

“Wuss.”

***

Despite her words of reassurance, April couldn’t help but feel on edge as well. She had grown up visiting labs with her dad and following him around as he worked. The smells of antiseptic and metallic surfaces were woven through her earliest memories, combined with days spent happily watching fish moving about in their tanks as her father helped to rehabilitate everything from enormous seals to tiny starfish. Such laboratories were what inspired her love of science and biology, and had always served as a safe place in her memories.

But even as she swiped her keycard and pushed open the door to the correct exam room, her recently donned lab coat rustling quietly around her, she could tell that something was very… off.

Casey stuck close behind, the warning of staying by the observation window clearly forgotten – or ignored - as the two walked hesitantly into the dimly lit room. April noticed that the main lights had been turned off – not unusual for when researchers dealt with deep sea or photosensitive creatures – and the only light being offered was from the panels that hung around the examination tables and over the door that led out to the loading dock. Filtered water gurgled in several tanks around the room, adding to the illusion that the room might have been located underwater or someplace hidden away from the rest of the world.

“Dude,” Casey murmured quietly. “I didn’t expect this place to be so creepy.”

“It’s not, usually,” April felt a palm along the white walls until she found the light dimmer and adjusted it just enough that they had a bit more light.

“Holy crap. You weren’t joking about how big he is.”

A large glass cage, usually reserved for seals, stood in one corner of the room. The bottom of the cage had been lined with a layer of sand, which had apparently been kicked up by the creature quietly whining and shifting inside of it.

The turtle within was currently laying on its side with his armored back to the two teenagers and one leg stretched at an uncomfortable angle as it seemed to be attempting to pull itself completely into the far corner of the container. A closer look told them that the turtle had been shackled, a large iron chain around its left leg prohibiting him from crawling into his shell.

“Yeah – he actually seems smaller than I remembered…” The red head hesitantly took a step forward, eyes watching as the turtle took a shuddering breath and twitched. He didn’t seem to have noticed their arrival yet – proving the recent sedative to be quite effective. “When he was moving around in the water I could have sworn he was taller than I was, but now he doesn’t even look five feet tall!”

“Tall or not, he looks kinda dead,” Casey suddenly strode forward to stand beside April and pressed one hand to the glass, tapping lightly with his knuckle. “Wake up, dude!”

“I doubt that will do anything, Casey – he’s really drugged up at the mo-”

As if on cue, the turtle jerked in its sleep and flailed momentarily in the sand, eliciting quiet shrieks of surprise from the two observers. They both leapt backwards as the turtle rolled itself onto all fours, limbs still trembling from sleep and head shaking this way and that as the creature attempted to orient itself. There was a moment of silence as he seemed to suddenly remember his predicament, and then the turtle caught sight of April and Casey.

Eyes shrinking to pinpricks, the turtle let out a squawk of terror and scrabbled backwards on his hands and rear end until the chain grew taut and he couldn’t retreat any further, chest heaving and eyes flicking in every direction as he searched for a way out. With a jolt, April watched as the turtle threw his body sideways against the glass and clawed at the walls. The laboratory room echoed with sounds of distress as the creature began to click and squawk frantically.

“Uh – do we need to go get somebody?” the dark-haired boy pressed both hands to his ears and furrowed his brow. “’Cause he doesn’t seem to be very happy about being in there!”

“We should probably get one of the lab technicians to administer another dose of sedative,” April nodded her head back towards the door, though her eyes remained on the turtle. The creature was still clicking loudly as it balled its hands into fists and beat them against the glass. “The walls should be strong enough to hold him, but he might hurt himself if he keeps freaking out!”

“Sounds good to me!”

The girl motioned for Casey to follow her, backing slowly away from the turtle and reaching out for the door handle. As they backed away, the noise seemed to falter and then suddenly -

“Help!”

April froze, her hand inches from the doorknob, and then turned to meet Casey’s round brown orbs. “Did you-?”

“Help!”

The two stared at each other silently for a heartbeat, and then slowly turned to face the panting terrapin. The creature’s amber eyes had tracked them across the room, and now locked onto April’s own eyes with an intensity she had never seen before.

“Crap,” Casey murmured under his breath. “What did you - ?”

“Tasukete kudasai!” The turtle pressed his trembling palms against the glass, eyes round and searching as they moved to meet Casey’s. “Help! Out!”

Next Chapter

[carmenlire]

Don’t Let Me Be Gone

read on ao3

How things change, Maryse thinks.

It seems like only yesterday that she felt the quickening under her patrol uniform. Eighteen and terrified, she’d stay up long after Robert had fallen asleep each night. Lingering in the living room of their tiny apartment in Idris, Maryse had talked in soft, soothing tones to her baby bump-- to Alec-- long after midnight had come and gone.

Singing a French lullaby that had been her own favorite as a child, Maryse had spent those dark, silent hours wondering how the hell she was going to survive. The noose around Valentine’s neck was tightening with every day that passed and she knew-- deep down she knew-- that it was only a matter of time until the Clave found her family.

She prayed that she’d be spared-- that her child would be spared, at the very least.

Maryse had always wanted to be a mother. While her own parents had been stoic shadowhunters to their core, she’d dreamed of how she’d do things differently. She’d be a softer mother than her own.

So young, she thinks now, to feel like the weight of the world was crushing her shoulders. Still, Alec’s always been her saving grace. From the very first moment Maryse had realized why she’d been sick every morning for two weeks, Alec’s been a dream she’d held onto with everything she had.

Somehow--and for a very long time-- Maryse had forgotten that.

During the trial and the worry that she’d be executed in front of the cold, unforgiving eyes of the Clave, Maryse had clung onto the hope her child gave her. She’d almost passed out when she’d learned her sentence had been commuted. Serving a life sentence at the New York Institute had been a blessing from Raziel himself.

Settling into the Institute had taken ages. Maryse never felt at home in the cold, unforgiving building. Still, she’d thrown herself into becoming the best damned Head of the Institute anyone had ever seen.

Maryse can still feel the ghost of the backaches she’d suffered as she’d kept long hours even as her delivery date loomed closer. Most of her time was spent in her office, pouring over paperwork and setting things to right. Everyone had been so distrustful, so contemptuous, and while Maryse would never admit aloud that she’d sought respite behind the closed doors of her office, she knows that’s what it was.

Walking along the corridors, standing in the mission center giving orders, Maryse had often kept upright through sheer force of will. Her swollen feet had ached, headaches had plagued her, and not even resting a hand under her bump had been enough to offer any sort of comfort.

Still, she was a Lightwood by marriage and a Trueblood by heart. She was made of sterner stuff and Maryse had damned well refused to give her subordinates the satisfaction of seeing her weak.

Robert had been less than useless, even all those years ago, and so Maryse had largely been left to take care of things on her own while her husband was distracted with other pursuits.

She was heavily pregnant, after all, and far more focused on work and Alec than her husband. That’s what Robert had thrown out when confronted, at least. It had been one more weight that had threatened to break her back but Maryse had been young and still so naively in love.

Alec had been born two weeks early and had filled Maryse with so much terror and fear when she’d first heard his wailing cries. Robert was nowhere to be found and so Maryse had went through labor and delivery by herself, with no one but the infirmary medics to guide her.

Oh, but how the world had fallen away when they’d placed her darling boy in her arms, Maryse remembers.

Nothing had mattered but the small, achingly fragile life in her hands. Alec had quieted down almost immediately upon being placed in her arms, turning boneless in a move that had made Maryse’s heart stop for a second before she’d fallen in love.

He’s perfect, she’d thought, and had let out a tiny, sobbing laugh. She was eighteen and the mother to the most perfect child in the universe, she’d marveled.

When her son, her perfectly perfect child, had gripped her finger with his tiny little fist, Maryse had been delighted and so proud. She’d vowed to protect the bundle in her arms with everything she had.

As she thinks back to that afternoon for the millionth time, something in Maryse grieves for how things had turned so terribly, devastatingly wrong.

While she’d wanted nothing more than to stay in solitude with Alec, Maryse had taken a scant three days to recover before dragging herself-- and Alec-- to her office. Exhaustion had ridden her hard for weeks-- months-- as she’d tirelessly worked her ass off, balancing being a new mother and the Head of the Institute. It was overwhelmingly and oftentimes Maryse got through days going minute by minute with white-knuckled determination.

Alec had stayed in a little bassinet she’d put together right next to her desk and it seemed like a never ending cycle of feeding and changing and signing off on reports and reading missives.

Alec had been her only spot of brightness for ages. Sometimes her eyes were so blurry she couldn’t see straight but she’d take an hour in the evening and carry Alec up to her bedroom. Rocking him to sleep, Maryse had felt something clutch at her heart whenever big hazel eyes looked up at her, happy and open and full of love.

Something had shifted, though. Slowly but surely Maryse had lost sight of what made her heart sing. She’d thrown herself full tilt at work, trying desperately to outrun her mistakes and polish her name back from its tarnished ruin. She’d wanted Alec to be proud to be a Lightwood-- and a Trueblood-- and that had been her guiding hand for years.

For far longer than it should’ve ever been.

Lost in thought, Maryse remembers Alec’s third birthday. She was pregnant with Isabelle, though she hadn't known it at the time, and had decided in a rare indulgence-- her last for decades-- to spend the day with Alec.

Going to the nursery wing, Maryse had watched as Alec had picked his outfit for the day. He was a happy boy, always smiling, always so full of wonder. Biting her tongue to keep silent, Maryse had sighed a little to herself as her toddler picked green shorts with turtles along the edge and a light blue t-shirt. It didn’t match but it was colorful, that much was a given.

Alec had always favored bright colors-- until he didn’t.

Pushing away from the doorway, Maryse had grinned as Alec’s eyes lit up when he saw her. Gesturing for him to lift his arms, Maryse had dressed her son, kissing his cheek when she was finished.

“Mama,” Alec had asked, staying admirably still while Maryse tried to comb his hair into some semblance of order.

“What is it, baby?” Her voice had been distracted with her task when he’d replied.

“Why don’t you ever wear your hair down anymore?”

Stilling, Maryse had looked down at him at a loss for words. She’d grown so used to throwing it in a ponytail or bun to keep it out of her way. It’s been ages since she wore it down. She’s a little surprised Alec remembers at all.

“I don’t know, Alec. Why?”

“You look pretty with your hair down, is all.”

Something tightens around Maryse’s throat at the innocent words. She won’t notice for years but it’s a crossroads of sorts. Maryse supposes that she could’ve laughed and taken her hair down for the day. She could’ve changed out of the dress that was firmly part of her Head of the Institute wardrobe and tried to look softer, more like a mother than a leader.

Instead, she laughs it off and tickles Alec. His laughing gasps are music to her ears and as they walk around New York, Maryse can’t quite remember a better day.

The sun is shining in the late fall and they feed the ducks in Central Park, Alec delighted as the animals eat the bread crumbs dutifully after each toss.

Things change so quickly after that, though. Maryse realizes she’s pregnant and all of a sudden she has to lead her people-- she has to prove herself-- when all she wants is to crawl into bed and sleep for a year.

Alec’s an energetic boy who’s always reaching for her and as her pregnancy continues, it gets harder and harder to keep up with him. Add that to her job and Maryse feels like she’s drowning, like she just can’t quite manage to keep her head above water.

It’s exhausting.

But Maryse always feels eyes on her-- the Consul, who could rescind the offer at any moment, the Clave who wants to see her fail with a desperate glee she can’t make sense of, and her subordinates who have railed against her command for the past three years.

They’re coming around-- she’s making them come around-- but it’s a painstakingly slow process.

Then Isabelle is born, healthy and glowing. Maryse feels her world fall away for a second time and can’t contain her excitement when she introduces her daughter to her brother.

Alec, always curious, stares at Isabelle with wide eyes. He’s happy, though, and so damned patient. Maryse is ashamed of it now, but she’d taken advantage of Alec. Alec had listened so earnestly as Maryse had explained just how important Isabelle was to the family and that if Alec wanted to be a good big brother, he’d need to protect her and look after her.

Alec had nodded so sternly-- she’d laughed a little at his expression, really, before wincing in pain-- and had promised to be the best big brother ever.

There have been more times than she’d like to admit that Maryse has regretted her words but from that moment on, Alec had taken Isabelle under his wing.

He’d called her Izzy and had been a constant companion to the newest edition to the Lightwood family. Maryse had caught Alec in Izzy’s crib, both of them sleeping with their thumbs in the mouth. Isabelle had been inseparable from Alec. She’d cry for him-- more often than she ever cried for her mother, Maryse knows without a doubt.

And Alec had always been there.

Two peas in a pod, Maryse had figured and she’d left them to their own devices while she lost herself in work.

It seemed like all she ever did was work. She worried about budgets and reprimanded her shadowhunters and turned the New York Institute into one of the best offices in North America. It had taken so much hard work-- more than she’d ever thought herself capable of-- but she’d risen to become a trusted, valued shadowhunter.

She always heard the wolves in the distance, though.

The invitations to attend meetings in Alicante had been slow to extend. She’d held her breath the first time she’d stepped on Idris soil for the first time in five years, tears stinging her eyes as she’d walked past places she’d thought she’d never see again.

Things hit a stride and life settled into a routine. And then Jace came along.

Maryse had welcomed the boy with open arms, feeling for him and wanting to show respect to a once dear friend. It hadn’t taken long, however, for unease to grow in the pit of Maryse’s stomach.

For a very long time, Maryse prided herself on knowing her son better than she knew herself. She’d watched Alec spar with Jace with sharp eyes and tension bloomed in her spine.

Oh, Alec, she’d thought.

She knew what those looks meant. She could see the way her son’s eyes followed Jace around the room when he thought no one was looking.

Maryse still loved Alec with every piece of her heart but a piece of her-- a stupid, hateful piece-- had mourned. She’d grieved the life her son could have had.

The life she’d wanted him to have.

She’d never said anything but Maryse sees now how she’d changed yet again. She lived in fear that her carefully built house of cards would come crumbling down at any minute. Robert could hardly be dragged from Idris, no matter that they'd just had a third child in a stupid, desperate attempt to salvage their marriage and every time Maryse looked at Alec, all she saw was another inevitable stain on the Lightwood name. She’d grown colder, harder. She’d demanded perfection and been unforgiving when it wasn’t delivered.

She’d kept a careful eye on the pair and had breathed a quiet but fervent sigh of relief when Jace had asked her son to be parabatai. She doesn’t know if Jace ever realized Alec’s feelings but if so, he never let on.

As far as she’s concerned, it's a blessing that Alec had found someone who promised to always be in his corner. Angel knew that Maryse hadn’t done that. She suspects that Jace might have even protected Alec from her on occasion.

Sighing shakily at the thought, Maryse carefully dabs at her eyes, loathe to ruin her makeup.

She’s no longer young. She’s not ancient, is far from being relegated to an old, musty office in the bowels of the Clave’s building in Idris but, still.

Maryse is no longer that frightened eighteen year old or determined twenty five year old.

She’s a grown woman who’s lived enough to have a mountain of regrets and some more besides. There are things she’d do anything to change and so much of that revolves around the man currently dancing in the middle of the crowded ballroom.

If it had been her who’d been subjected to such abuse, Maryse doesn’t think she could forgive her mother. Alec’s always been a surprise, though, and his greatest weakness has always been his family.

How things change, Maryse thinks again. Sometimes when she was being particularly cruel to Alec, there had been a voice in her head, railing at her to stop. Take a deep breath, apologize, try to salvage the relationship that she was ruining with every cutting word and dismissive glance.

She was a terrible mother and her list of faults are never ending. Maryse knows that without a doubt. When Alec had told her about his betrothal to Lydia, Maryse had been over the moon. She’d become someone that she didn’t recognize and all she could see was the Clave’s approval and another line of the family dynasty secured.

It hadn’t mattered to her that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Alec smile. It was of no consequence that she’d known damned well that Alec didn’t love Lydia-- that he couldn’t. She’d seen his sacrifice as the gesture it was and it had warmed her goddamned heart to see Alec rising to the occasion and putting the family’s needs above his own.

The thought sickens her, now. As she watches the scene in front of her, Maryse mourns another incarnation of Alec-- the one who didn’t defy her and choose himself.

Distantly, she hopes that Alec finds Magnus in every universe because it seems such a tragedy to deprive the world of so much happiness-- and her son of so much joy and love and peace.

Alec keeps perfect time to the orchestra’s waltz and he looks so happy that Maryse almost wants to look away. That depth of feeling seems so private and as Maryse studies Magnus, she wonders how she can ever repay the man who stole her son’s heart-- and, quite possibly, saved his life more times than Maryse can ever count.

Her son’s a married man. Maryse feels the past twenty five years dripping through her fingers like golden grains of sand, each one precious even if she was far from the mother her children needed.

She replays a million memories from a kicking stomach in the middle of the night to a laughing baby in the bathtub to a solemn little boy with wide, serious eyes.

Alec grew up and became the man he needed to be, despite Maryse’s best attempts at sabotage.

She can’t ever forgive herself for abandoning Alec-- and Izzy and Max-- when they most needed her. There won’t ever be a time that regret doesn’t strangle her when she thinks of all the ways she messed up and ruined things that she worries can’t ever be repaired.

Working every day to be the mother her children need is the only job Maryse is interested in these days. Taking a sip from her champagne flute, Maryse leans against Luke’s side and relives dozens of memories, mourning the dozens she didn’t care enough to make at the time.

Still, when the waltz ends-- with Alec kissing Magnus to within an inch of his life, much to the wedding guests’ amusement-- Maryse smiles brightly as her son makes his way towards her.

He holds out a hand and Maryse laughs a little as she sets her glass down and takes Alec’s outstretched hand.

Leading her to the middle of the dance floor, Maryse’s ears strain to hear the starting piece of the music. When she does, her eyes fly to Alec, who’s watching her with intent eyes.

An orchestral version of the French lullaby plays for their mother-son dance and Maryse’s eyes tear up as Alec leads them.

“Congratulations, Alec,” Maryse says softly as they take a turn around the room.

She watches as Alec’s face lights up more, if that’s even possible. She sees the way his eyes seek out something across the room and Maryse doesn’t have to follow to know who’s found his attention.

Still, Alec’s gaze snaps back to her a few moments later and he studies her for a moment in a move that makes Maryse the tiniest bit uncomfortable-- Alec’s always had such a serious, prodding stare-- before he smiles.

It’s not a grin. It’s something softer, a faint upturn of his mouth. She’s just getting ready to ask if there’s cake on her face when Alec says softly, “I like your hair down, mom. It makes you look happy.”

The back of Maryse’s throat aches at the words, at the careful delivery as though Alec’s afraid that he’s offended her.

“I am happy,” she replies just a quietly. Alec probably has to strain to hear her over the music and the crowd but Maryse can’t speak louder, doesn’t want to ruin this fragile, lovely moment between them.

“That’s good,” Alec says somberly. “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t happy today.”

Taking a bracing breath, Maryse smiles at Alec. It’s bright and real and just a touch nervous. The song ends and the two of them glide to a stop back in the middle of the dance floor. There’s chatter all around them and it feels like they’re the only two people in the world for a minute.

Pulling Alec close, Maryse wraps her arms around her son, holding on with everything she has.

“Of course I’m happy, Alec,” she whispers. “I am so proud of you for fighting for love and today’s one of the best days of my life, seeing my son get his happily ever after.” Pulling back, Maryse swallows her own tears even as she sees one in the corner of Alec’s eye. She wipes it away with a careful thumb, still smiling. “It’s all a mother should want for her son and I feel blessed by the Angel that I was able to see today. I love you, Alec.”

“I love you too, mom,” Alec chokes out and then he’s pulling her close and they’re hugging again.

Maryse doesn’t know how long the two of them stay like that, letting the rest of the world fall away. Alec shifts after a moment, though, and as Maryse looks up, her breath catches.

Her eyes lock with Magnus’s against the room and she watches as he studies the two of them, smiling as he absently sweeps his thumb over the ring that now adorns his finger-- the only ring he’s wearing today.

With a shaky breath, Maryse nods at Magnus. It feels like the passing of a baton, no matter that Alec hasn’t been hers in far longer than she cares to think about.

Still, Magnus nods back, expression serious, and Maryse knows that her son has found a love she can only hope to have one day.

Maryse has a lot of regrets and she knows that she’ll take them to her grave. By the grace of the angel, though, she’s found her way back to where she belongs.

With her family.

For the thousandth time, Maryse promises herself that she won’t ever forsake them again, that she’ll work every day to be the mother her children needed so long ago.

It’s a long way back, she thinks.

But how lucky for her that she has the rest of her life to fix her mistakes and prove to her children just how much she loves them.

And really, Maryse can’t think of any other way that she’d want to spend her life than doing just that.

[officialleehadan]

Isle of Monsters

Day one:

Technically this is more like day four since I crashed on this god  forsaken island. I was flying a survey plane and a freak storm blew up  and forced me into an emergency landing. See, this place was discovered,  and exploring it has been a nightmare. The deeper in you go, the worse  the monsters get.

People have been dying a lot. The few survivors tell stories that I didn't believe until my first night here.

I have to get out, but out means getting to the beach, and I'm gonna have to hike there on foot.

Day two:

I found shelter last night. It wasn't much, but it saved my life.  There's something big that hunts in my area after sundown and if I  hadn't been under cover it would have found me.

Day four:

I spent all of yesterday hiding because the 'something big' caught my  scent. It's not like anything I've ever seen. It's huge- King Kong huge-  and it has scales. It found my camp and ripped my cover apart like a  candy wrapper.

I lost most of my survival gear, but I'm not dead, so there's that.

Day five:

Something ate Scaly King Kong.

Day six:

 Whatever ate King Kong isn't as big, but travels in packs. They sound  like hyenas, you know, that nasty screaming laughter? But big. Hyenas  are the chihuahuas to these things' Great Dane. I think there's five of  them, but I'm not sure. They howl at night.

I climbed a tree  to sleep. Just as well, because I can hear them below me as I write  this. I don't think I'm gonna sleep on the ground again.

Day nine:

 I got away from the pack hunters, because a bird monster carried me  almost all the way back the way I came to feed me to its chicks.

It's  taken me three days to get clear of Birdie territory, and I dunno  what's worse. Sleeping in trees with the birds, or risking the ground  and the pack hunters.

Day ten:

The trees are better.

Day eleven:

 Found out why the pack hunters have all those spines. There's a real  big snake that hunts them. Looks like a dragon without the legs or  wings. Big scales. Lots of teeth. Horns.

Don't know if it breaths fire, but I wouldn't be surprised if it does.

Day twelve:

I hate this island.

The  pack hunters found my scent again. I'm glad they don't see great during  the day because I only got away from them by hiding in the shed skin of  that giant snake I saw yesterday.

I took some of the skin with me. The scent of it scares off the little beasties.

Day fourteen:

Not all the monsters are afraid of the snake.

I met a bunch of little guys (comparatively, since they're still bigger than me) who apparently like to eat the giant snake.

They  sort of act like mongooses. They were real curious about me- tore the  skin to shreds- but they're the first thing I've met here that seemed  uninterested in eating me.

Day sixteen:

I am SO sick of this goddamned island.

But  I have a decent idea of where things are now, which is helping. I'm  learning where different monsters live, and what of those want to eat  me.

Side note- giant crocodiles are just as scary as they sound.

Day seventeen:

Well,  I saw the beach today. Problem is, it's across a ravine, and I can hear  a bunch of stuff down there that I do not want to see for myself. I'm  gonna have to go around.

Four more days minimum, assuming I don't hit any snags.

Who am I kidding? I'll be lucky to get there in a week. Maybe more like ten days.

Day eighteen:

 I got treed by something like a gorilla. I'm calling them Doun-Douns,  because the big males (four meters or more) make a noise that sounds  like really big drums when they spot an intruder.

Guess how I found that out? Go ahead and guess. I'll wait.

They're too big to climb, which is pretty much why I'm alive right now.

Day nineteen:

Holy shit, giant dragonflies are really cool. UNTIL THEY TRY TO EAT YOU.

Day twenty:

I take it back. I love the dragonflies.

They eat the giant mosquitoes.

Day twenty-two:

I'm  convinced this whole place is one big ant farm for some god that got  voted off the pantheon. Evolution can't possibly explain the shit here.

I  was wrong about making the beach in a week. It's going to be more like  two. The ravine circles most of the island and I've seen two families of  Doun-Douns and heard at least one solitary male. Crossing the ravine is  death.

Day twenty-three:

I saw a plane today. Wish I  could say it looked like rescue, but I doubt it. Pretty sure I hold the  record for longest survival in Hell Island.

Day twenty-four:

WHY DO THE GIANT TOADS BREATHE FIRE?!?!?

Day twenty-five:

 I think I found a place to cross the ravine. I haven't heard any  doun-douns in two days, and they always call in the evenings. I made  camp in a tree for the night and I'm taking all of tomorrow to watch and  see WHY the doun-douns don't come here.

There's always a  bigger fish on this damned island. If the big monkeys don't go there,  it's probably because something toothy lives there.

Day twenty-six:

Toothy. Called it.

They  sort of look like spiders. Eight legged web spinners. They sort of have  turtle heads and shells. I watched three of them tear a fourth apart.  Ever seen a snapping turtle eat a fish?

Yeah. I'm not getting across here.

Day twenty-seven:

It's  been about a month since I crashed here. It rains every day, and I fill  my water bottle that way. I'm a decent camper, and there are plenty of  little animals here too. Snakes, that kind of thing. I'm not starving,  but I'm not okay either.

If I don't make it to the beach soon, I'm not gonna make it there at all.

I'm starting to lose hope.

Day twenty-eight:

I saw the beach again. There's a boat, but I don't know how long it will be there.

I have to get across the ravine.

Day twenty-nine:

I crossed the ravine today.

By crossed I mean I ran from a pair of male doun-douns as they tried to kill me.

But I made it across. I'm less than two days from the beach, and hopefully the greater predators are behind me.

Day thirty-four:

I was wrong.

Day thirty-five:

I made it to the beach. The boat saw me, but I think they thought I was a ghost.

They signaled that they would pick me up in the morning.

Day thirty-six:

Safe.

 +++

Awaken History

One Punch Man

Command.Awaken

+++

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[gettinafterit]

“Nothing”

It was, is, or wasn’t The Fly, depending: the freedom of flight without the horrifying heights, the promise of functionality without the sharp teeth, and the annoyance of a gnat with all the perpetuity. The Fly had a smell. It smelled of weed, beer, unwashed bodies, and Mississippi spray, with enough green, clipped grass, and brown, rickety picnic benches for extended family outings, syrupy-daqs under the sun, or a tripped-out game of pickup. A blanket or twenty lay, and men and women and boys and children and someone’s grandmother lay listening, watching, preoccupied. The environment melted and morphed like a million Dali paintings before. The sun slowly dipped. The nothing-filled expanse would have shivered under the scrutinizing glare of the seersucker striped pants and whale-patterned tops, if nothing could woodchuck chuck.

The Beamer did not fit in, never would, a screaming murder. The Benz shone brighter, than “fitting in” allowed. The Cadillac frowned at the 2001 gray sedan: its dents were unbecoming and its boot unwieldy. Out stepped a trio of forward humans, driven, driving, drivers. The Developer and Investors cast a prospecting gaze, deciding.

 When the lamp switches off and the ceiling lights dim, the cozy library is oppressive. Large books line; leather chairs recline; two glasses hold; one bottle pours; one boy listens; one man asks, “What have you done?”

“Done?” the boy replied.

The man asks again, “What have you done?”

“Ever?”

“It hasn’t been that long. Take a drink.”

The boy took a small drink. His father’s liquor was harder than the swill he mixed with Coke in basements while parents pretended not to know their kids were getting plastered and blasting shitty music and finger-blasting each other in cramped closets while their closest friends pretended not to listen to premature moans.

“I got into college?”

“Did you?”

“I got into college. I’m going to college. I, I did that.”

“We paid for that – what have you done?”

“Uhhh.”

“Do you need some help?”

“Yes, please.”

“Nothing.”

“I’ve done nothing?”

“Not yet, but you will.”

“What am I going to do?”

“That’s up to you.”

“So, I can do anything?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Oh no, boy, I took care of you for eighteen years, so whatever you do, wherever you do it, make sure it’s done by the time you need to take care of me.” Dad laughed, serious, “Drink.”

Boy drank again, the wheels turning.

Head pounding, boy flew away the next day, returning for Thanksgiving, Christmas, summer break, and for the next four years, the night before he left, inevitably, two glasses held, one bottle poured, one boy listened, and one man asked, “What have you done?”

Shit can kindle a fire.

             Squinting, The Developer frowned and continued, “… changing this grassy plot into a soccer pitch, snack stand, and doubling the parking space. We’re taking this land into the twenty first century, form and functionality over the general malaise, infecting the neighborhood.” The Investors nodded and shared meaningful glances, strode forward, and sniffed loudly. Massive steamboats appeared out of thin air and passed through the bend, a passing reminder of economic costs, of waste, of forward.

 A labradoodle, bathed in millennial affection, and a homeless man, grazed before sunset. The labradoodle lolled in the soft sun and ambled between groups of needy students begging for puppy-love, of all kinds. Neither the labradoodle nor the thick-dreaded homeless man held purpose in his stride.

Tim the homeless man had a meal yesterday. Jade the homeless woman slept under the park bench where Tim nibbled his lunch, a greasy Burger King burger. Jordan fucked Jade and she was still sore as she slept underneath the bench where Tim would eat his lunch. Mark sold them all heroin shipped from far, far away. Sometimes Tim blew Mark when he did not have enough money for a hit. Little labradoodle did not know about Tim, Jade, Jordan, Mark, or the men far, far away who shipped the heroin, packaged by women in underwear, under a hot tin roof.

 Feed me; Love me; Feed me; Love me; Feed me; Love me; Feed me; Love me; Touch me; please, please, please, Feed me; Love me; Feed me; Love me; Touch me, please, please, please, anything?

             A thick-stick of a boy, roped neck, small forehead, swollen belly, burnt smell and crossed-eyes, laughed. The homeless man finally settled onto the bank. He smiled. Behind him the noises of life droned on, but before him lay a quiet sunset, and drugs were in a baggie in his pocket. People do drugs.

“Bro, bro, bro, bro, listen. I can get these tabs for fifteen a piece. We can trip fuckin’ balls for, like, thirty each.”

           “Dude, fuck that. What, is it fuckin’ Ed sellin’ that shit? I’m boys with Ed, tell Ed we aren’t buying a tab for fifteen. Tell Ed we’ll take four for forty-five. Tell Ed it’s me.”

           “Ed’s not gonna do four for forty-five.”

           “Tell him it’s me. Tell him I’m not doin four for sixty.”

           “Ed’s not doin’ it. He told me the price. Come on, time is limited, bro. Let’s just pick it up, I’ll throw in ten for you – greedy bitch.”

           “Nah, fuck you, now I feel bad. Fine, yeah, let’s grab those tabs. Hit the fly?”

           “While we still can. You hear about those assholes tryna tear it down?”

           “Tear down what? there’s nothing there.” It’s a bunch’a grass, ash, and roaches.”

           “Fine, build it up, not tear it down, whatever. They wanna build, like, baseball fields and concession stands and shit.”

           “Word, well fuck that. If they build it up, I’m shittin’ on home plate, like every night.”

           “You’re a dick.”

           “You gettin’ the tabs though?”

           “Yeah I gotchu. Told Ed we’d be over in a minute.”

           “Word, let’s go.”

There is a recipe for disaster.

             The river looked like limitless ocean of purple and pink dancing daisies and fractals splitting off unimaginably. Thick-stick wanted to save the ocean. He wanted to nurture the ocean, to plant his own seed and grow a watery tree to heaven where all animals, of land, sea, and air, could climb together up ropey vines and long, hanging limbs, to join in heaven, at peace.

           A Frisbee was love and Thick-stick sent love to the ocean, saving the Great Barrier Reef, freeing turtles choking, empathizing with the bottom feeders and lifting their spirits to the great heavens, accomplishing his goal. The Frisbee errantly flew towards the homeless man’s head, connected, and sent him tumbling onto the slick rocks banking the river. He split his skull, and as he slid into the river a dark red smear followed his body into a wet nothingness. He was a blind painter now, beautifying.

           Thick-stick’s eyes grew wild with terror. He could not comprehend the contradiction: love could murder. It was too much. Thick-stick left, abandoned the labradoodle, the dead artisan, left the Frisbee in the labradoodle’s mouth, tail wagging, by the bank on the bend of the Mississippi river, under a just-set-sun.

             The Developer and Investors saw the scene unfold; they were miles away within minutes, doing. Paperwork to be done, plans pushed through, bureaucracy circumvented, and no homeless man’s selfish death, nor a stupid kid’s trippy mistake, would stop progress. Far away in a dirty library an old man teetered into dementia. He needed his son to do.

 The universe would do too. The universe would collapse inward, and like a sponge, the void would swallow and swell. Darkness swallowed and swelled as the swirling masses of remnants left by the titans long ago – burnt or burning stars, unimaginably far, dark matter invisible to the eye, the milky swirl which compromised humanity’s lost reality, The Developer licking his Investors and chewing the land, a mangy labradoodle sleeping in the Crescent City’s streets with a grizzled and chewed Frisbee, a homeless heroin addict decomposing in the depths, picked clean by bottom feeders, shellfish, and bacterium – was lost.

When the whole was swallowed, there was no one to determine if the sound was of vast unaccountable decibels or an accumulation of deafening silence. When the last star blinked and rested, why choose night/day?

When everything is gone and nothing is left, there is a paradoxical question of whether to call that nothing, something.

 What have you done?