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headoverhiddles · 3 years

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The Romance Of A Yellow Rose - Dr. King Schultz x Reader [Smut]

Words: 5.6k

Synopsis: You and King get married, and celebrate your first night together by consummating the marriage.

Commissioned by a friend! Enjoy.

Your eyes open on the rugged planes of the Southern state the three of you had found yourselves in. As you roll over to stretch the sleep out of your body, you find a single yellow rose, native to this area. A smile grows on your face. It’s King’s way of saying good morning to you, as it had been for many months.

For years now, you had been tagging along with Schultz and Django. Having attached yourself to their travels three hot summers ago, the two men had become quite fond of your travelling company; King in particular. Over time, your relationship had evolved from a companionship, through friendship, to having romantic feelings for one another. You were the first to admit to them; King hadn’t wanted to say anything, as he still held a fruitless hope that one day he could return you to the pleasantries of the normal life you once knew, before it had been uprooted. But as the months passed, you getting more and more comfortable and (dare he say) suited to the lifestyle of a bounty hunter, it was becoming apparent that you were going nowhere. Not without him, anyway.

Hildy had decided to stay with some friends in the North while the three of you travelled the country on business. Texas Jack, Turkey Creek and Jack’s wife Camarilla were more than happy to keep her with them. It had put Django at ease at least, knowing they had one less person they had to worry about with them catching a bullet. Hildy was even teaching Camarilla different things she had learned over the years at their home, and the four were getting on fine from what Django took from her letters to him. King wished you had enough sense to stay with them, but where the older bounty hunter went, you went. You had made that quite clear.

Today, a warm day in mid October, you, King and Django were headed to visit a plantation in Conroe, Texas. There an outlaw by the name of Amos “Sly Eye” Little had been posing as an overseer for 3 months, flying under the radar on the small eastern Texan plantation. He wasn’t a particularly dangerous outlaw, only wanted for his habit of skipping out on poker games before paying up. Three months ago, he ended up double crossing the wrong man which led to legal involvement, and now to deter trouble in peaceful towns he was wanted dead or alive by the state. King and Django had discovered upon visiting this plantation that the family who owned it had been dodging the law for a while as well.

After the slaves had been freed by King and Django, this outlaw family just so happened to get in the way of a few bullets. The last man left alive on the property is now Amos.

“Back here!” you call. King dashes toward you, swiping you out of the way as a bullet whizzes by your ear. You sit in shock for a moment, King’s arm still around you. For a man who isn’t very dangerous, this Amos sure is trigger happy.

“Django!” King shouts, but his partner is already far ahead in pursuit. “Never listens,” the doctor mutters, loading his shotgun and aiming. You watch as Django dodges a couple more of the outlaw’s bullets before grabbing Amos by his collar, lifting him up a few feet. The man tries to scramble for his gun, but Django of course is faster. Just as he’s about to fire at close range, King clucks his tongue, looking through his target. “Bullseye.” Your eyes shut briefly as the snap of the bullet leaving the gun jolts you closer to the older man. He pulls you out of sight once more as the bullet hits Amos through the side of his head, out the other side in a bloody deluge. Django jerks his head up your direction, dropping the corpse into the carnage at his feet.

“I was handling it!” he mutters.

King comes out from behind the tree, helping you up with one hand. You brush off your pants as you both approach the other man. “You were being hasty again,” King says.

“I was handling it,” Django insists with a look. You two nudge arms amiably, and King gives you a disapproving look.

“You are encouraging him.” He turns to Django. “And you’re encouraging her.”

“What’s wrong with a little congratulations?” you giggle. “You got your dead cowboy.”

“I would trade a thousand dead cowboys to keep both of you alive. You’re the best things that have ever happened to me, do you know that?” King gives you a meaningful look, before brushing off Django’s jacket and squeezing your hand. “Forget this place. We’d better get the horses and get out of here.”

Taking the initiative, you go off in search of Tony, Fritz and Ida, your mare. Django approaches King, taking off his bloodstained gloves. “You talked to her yet?”

“She doesn’t know, no.” King looks down, nervously stroking one side of his moustache. “I was waiting for the right time.”

“You wait any longer, she’s gonna be burying her husband to be.” King doesn’t bother taking offense—he knows Django is right. He’s much older than you—not one foot in the grave as Django likes to tease, but older. That had been another source of insecurity for him during the burgeoning relationship, but you had made it clear that you didn’t mind; in fact, you liked the difference in age. King’s fellow bounty hunter interrupts his thoughts. “Y’all should get married here. Nice place, no one left in it now.” Schultz looks around the grounds. It is pretty, and it would be nice to marry you in such agreeable weather... but King shakes his head.

“No Django. This place was built on treachery and suffering. It would be not only tasteless, but bad luck to get married here.”

When you three make it to the next town in the state over of Arkansas, something is waiting for King at the inn.

“You Doctor Schultz?” the innkeeper asks, spitting tobacco into a spittoon. King nods, taking out his billfold. The innkeeper sizes him up. “Yep, man who sent this said fella looking like you’d be coming through here. This’s for you.” He takes a letter out from behind the desk in one of the cubbies, and slides it across. King expects it would be from Texas Jack, but it instead it’s from a different friend in the North; a sheriff acquaintance he had written to before about his situation with you. Thanking the man, you all head upstairs, and when King gets to a desk, he slips on his reading glasses.

Thought you’d make your way through this here town, Schultz-

Sounds like a hell of a woman, the one you’ve told me about. You softie. Knew you wanted to settle down, and it’s about damn time, too. What the hell are you doing with her down in the South then? She oughtta be up here. Maybe I’m biased, but there’s a lot more law n order up here. Better people too. I am biased, spose.

You asked me what I thought about asking for her hand. Why wait to marry her? Hell, bring her up, we’ll have a ceremony here! I’m not only a sheriff, but an ordained minister too. Bet you didn’t know that. Wouldn’t kill you to ask. Anyway, no reason why I can’t make things look good, clean up the place nice and host your happy union. Got some more birthday cake here too, for someone to eat. Pretty good.

Come on up when you finally convince yourself she won’t say no.

- G. A.

“You got a letter back from Sheriff Snowy Snow?” Django smirks. King stares at the letter in his hands for a long while, before looking up at him with a smile.

He could do it. He could finally ask for your hand.

“Django, my boy. We’re going to Nebraska.” You overhear, and turn back with the bags.

“Up North? What for?”

“To see an old friend of mine, fraulein,” King says, taking the bags from you to carry inside. “Sheriff Gus Arnett.” You smile. It’ll be nice to get out of all this heat and around some likeminded people—people who King can relax and be himself around.

You had all stopped off to pick up Hildy in Boston after travelling by train through the Southern states and switching back to horsepower as you made your way up through the wintery landscape of barren northern land. It was worth it, of course; King and Django had insisted Hildy come too, and you had been happy for female company.

“Has my troublemaker been behaving himself?” is the first thing Hildy asks you, kissing your cheek in greeting.

“About as much as mine has,” you laugh.

“Coming from the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. It is you who has been the naughty one,” King chastises you right back.

“Maybe one day, you can teach me a lesson for it.” King blushes as Hildy lets out a loud laugh at the connotations of such a taunt. He knows you’re still virginal, waiting for marriage as you’ve told him before. Once united by matrimony, that’s another wall that could be knocked down between you, if you decided you still wished to give yourself to him.

It was no secret you wanted King, and he had made it plain he would wait for you—he’s a gentleman in every sense of the word. Still, men have needs, and some late nights it had been hard. Many evenings by the fire had ended with you in his lap, grinding down as you kissed him with feverish intensity. It had always ended the same way however, with you heading off to sleep alone and leaving him with nothing but his mind to picture what the next hour may have felt like. This time, King feared he wouldn’t last once he finally got to feel you as he’d wanted to for so long. Either way, he had a silver tongue, and experience in the art of pleasuring a woman. He wouldn’t leave you wanting; whatever you needed he would give you.

Arriving at the snowy lodge some days later, Sheriff Gus Arnett comes out the front door. A couple of minks and rabbits are hanging from the roof over the porch, and two pairs of boots caked with snow are drying outside by a wooden rocking chair that had been collecting frost no doubt since September.

“King Schultz and Django Freeman, in the flesh! Come on in with your little ladies!” he says, opening his arms. You approach first, and he shakes your hand with the assurance of a man who’s not used to gentle handshakes. “I don’t believe we’ve met, ma’am,” he says softly, “But any friend of King’s is a friend of mine. Especially a friend like you.” He winks at you and smirks over at King, who ushers you in out of the cold quickly. Gus tips his hat at Django and Hildy, closing the door after they come in.

“Like I said,” he sighs, “We got some cake. Y’all want some?”

“Perhaps we wait until after dinner?” Schultz proposes.

“I wouldn’t mind some,” Django speaks up, giving King a look. King just chuckles.

“Go ahead, my boy. I was a dentist, remember. Old habits remain, I suppose. Would you like some, (y/n)?”

“I’ll have the piece you didn’t want,” you tease. You lean closer to him to brush your lips against his ear. “When it comes to you, I want everything.” The former dentist swallows. This proposal couldn’t come at a better time, as things between you two are heating up.

That night after dinner of rabbit stew and some leftover cake for dessert for everyone but your beloved, everyone had retired to bed a few hours after the sun had gone down. In your own room, you set your satchel on the bed of clothing you had been travelling with in the South, and just as you’re about to unpack, a knock at the door distracts you from your task. King slowly pushes the door open—he’s dressed in his white shirt and grey vest, his hair freshly combed back. It seems counterproductive to groom that well before bed, but to be fair, you had never personally witnessed King’s nocturnal habits in a place that allows such a luxury. He offers his arm, and when you take it in curiosity, he leads you out the back porch of the lodge home. The wind isn’t too cold tonight, but he still wraps his arm around you. The mountains are beautiful out here, and the snow has stopped for the night to allow for a crystal clear view of the surrounding landscape, snow white on the bottom and starry black on top.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been able to sit together like this,” King says. “Just sit and enjoy one another’s company alone. It’s very rare we get time just the two of us without our faithful hero.” You lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Mm. We’re usually around a campfire, with Django snoring behind us.”

“At least we don’t have any of that to score our evening. I think Django’s gone to bed with Hildy in there.”

“You should be in bed too,” you fret. “I’ve noticed you haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I never have been very good at that. I’m a light sleeper, fraulein. Especially when I have lots on the mind.”

“You know what helps me when I can’t sleep?” You smile. “Something I learned from you.” King turns to look at you, a soft chilly breeze blowing the silver blonde hair from his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“A story.”

King ducks his head, and pulls you closer to him. “I think that would do the trick. Go on then, my love. Will you regale me?”

“I know a story of a deep running love, where a woman slowly developed feelings for one who she learned to depend on.”

“A common story, no?” King teases.

“Shhh. She loved very freely, but this was different. She not only loved this man, but worried about him when he wasn’t around, yearned for him, desired him in ways that drove her crazy sometimes.” King’s breath audibly quickens.

“And what did our heroine do about this tumultuous situation?”

“Oh, she took care of things. But not like she knew he could.” His breath hitches. You bite your lip as you go on. “The two had been together so long... learning one another’s quirks, laughing at little things and sharing moments others wouldn’t understand. They knew what scared them, what made them smile. At the end of the day, she told the man a million times how she adored him. But she was afraid he still didn’t know how much.”

King rubs down your finger, eyes trained on it before looking up at you. “I think I do.” You forget whatever you were going to say next as King rubs his rough fingers over your knuckles, bringing them up to his lips to kiss them. His beard grazes your skin pleasantly as he opens his mouth. “Will you be my wife?” Your heart skips a beat.

“Truly?”

“True as my love for you.”

“Tomorrow?”

“If you wish.” You lean in to kiss him.

The door bangs open, Gus tosses a pail of water out all over you two. He realizes where you two were sitting, and his eyes widen.

"Gott verdammt."

“Oh, hell. I’m— what are the two of you doing out—?” He can’t even finish his sentence—you’re laughing too hard. King tries to keep up a grumpy facade at the fact that you had both just been drenched in ice water in this weather, but he can’t help it. Your laughter is infectious.

“Please tell me there is enough boiled water for a bath,” he sighs, and you shiver. “For the fraulein, at least.”

Django and Hildy had been up to witness the commotion from the noise of it all, no doubt committing the sight to memory for future teasing. They returned comfortably to bed with one another, which was a comfort you and King couldn’t currently afford in your state.

You get to work drawing the bath as Gus passes you each pails of hot water. King comes in, shedding his dripping fur coat and tugging at his tie. Your eyes drift down to his chest, then back up to his face. King subsequently tries to distract himself so as not to focus too hard on you. You had stripped down to your slip, which was stuck to every curve of your body from the water. The temperature hadn’t done much to help any other evidence of the cold, around your breasts. He tries not to look too long.

“Would you take me out of this?” you ask. It’s a harmless question, but King’s thoughts run wild. He could simply refuse you, but what reason would he give then? That he couldn’t control himself around you, so close to your wedding night?

“Of course,” he sighs softly, and approaches. He takes the back of the slip and undoes the buttons, helping you pull it over your head. He inches it up, the wet material dragging along your skin. He turns to go as you’re revealed, and to his dismay, you don’t stop him. Only one more night, and he could have all of you.

As you step out of the lodge, it’s as if you’ve stepped out into a painting. A light dusting of snow is falling over you, snowflakes catching in your eyelashes and melting tracks down your cheeks like tears of happiness. King is standing there at the end of the pathway shovelled out, just by the small lake. It’s frozen over, reflecting the light of the moon through every little icicle hanging from the branches of trees hanging over top of it. Mountains soar around the group of you, boasting the most beautiful landscape you’d ever seen.

King takes your hand as you approach. Beside him, you see Django dressed in a handsome green winter’s jacket, black leather gloves pristine. On your side, Broomhilda is wearing a beautiful green dress under layers of a form fitting brown jacket. You’re in a beautiful snow white dress with furs covering your shoulders and a fur hat. King is also wearing his grey fur coat. The two of you join hands, and recite vows.

“I know I’m a considerable number of years older than you,” King tells you softly, “But I promise to make up for this. I promise to protect you with my life, cherish you, and support you in every endeavor you wish to pursue.”

“I will stay by your side no matter what,” you tell him, “I’ll be brave when you can’t be. I’ll be strong when you need me to be. I’ll love you as long as my heart beats, and oppose anyone who tries to take you away.” Kindness in his eyes, King smiles down at you, crow’s feet crinkling. He lifts your hand up to kiss.

“Do you take this man?” the sheriff asks.

“I do.”

“Do you take this little lady?” King sighs out through his nose, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles.

“I certainly do,” he breathes.

“Well hell, you may kiss the bride then!”

When King leans forward, you surprise him by taking a step forward and wrapping your arms around him, deepening the kiss. It lasts for an eternity between you, and when you part, King brushes the snow off your rosy cheeks and presses his lips to your forehead.

“Ich liebe dich,” he whispers into your hair, and you slide your arms around his middle in embrace.

Inside the bedroom upstairs, a fire crackles in the hearth. The curtains are open to the snowy view outside, and the frost on the glass only makes you savour the warmth inside. King pours you some bourbon, and comes to sit down beside you in front of the fire. As you cuddle into him, he puts a hand on your back and draws you in for a kiss, his beard pleasantly tickling your face. Bourbon forgotten, the kiss deepens, and you feel his tongue slip into your mouth as you part your lips for more. You pull away, smiling.

“Can I ask you something?”

He looks at you. “Of course. What are you thinking about?”

“How does it feel?”

King looks at you. “You will have to be a little more specific.”

“How does it feel to finally consummate a marriage?”

He stares into the flickering fire. “We don’t have to do it if you’re nervous.”

“I didn’t say that,” you say, crawling over to straddle him. King welcomes you into his lap. “I just wanted to know. You’ll show me?”

“I would love to.”

“You know I’m inexperienced.”

“I do,” King nods.

“Isn’t that undesirable?” King seems offended that you would even suggest such a thing, at the very least ruffled by the idea of it.

“My dear, of course not. Being inexperienced merely means I can show you how to do things.” He hums against your neck, grazing his lips down.

“I’m not completely clueless,” you breathe as you tilt your head back to give him better access. You stand in one smooth movement in front of the fire, leaving King sitting and gazing up at you. “I know what fucking is.” You hear his exhaled breath.

“Yes. I would assume you wouldn’t be entirely in the dark about that.”

“But I’ve never felt it,” you whisper. “I wanna feel it, King.” He doesn’t get a chance to respond. You undo your dress, lace by lace, letting your fingers twine slowly between the hooks. You sigh his name as the corset comes free, recalling how you’d longed for him to do this last night, and you hook the straps of your dress under your thumbs, sliding it down to reveal the slip beneath. You hear his breath hitch, but he doesn’t make a move.

You run your hands down over your ass, letting out a soft noise. You hear him readjust where he’s sitting, and you work now on the cream coloured pants beneath the white gown, sliding them down ever so carefully.

“(y/n),” King whispers.

You let out a moan. “I’ve been wanting to get out of this the entire ceremony just to see how you would look at me, seeing me like this for the first time.” You swing your hips a little, arching your back, and finally wiggle some more as you drop your pants to the floor. King’s breathing is heavier now, and you stretch your arms above your head, sighing again as you let your hair free. “Like I said. I may not have done this before, but I know a lot more than you think I do.”

“I’m not certain I believe that, my feisty little one,” King huffs, averting eye contact. Oh, no. Not tonight he doesn’t. You’re only in your chemise now, and you turn to reveal smooth skin he’s never seen before, bunching the fabric up just enough to give him a peek of the v of your hips.

You can see the visible outline of his hardened cock in his pants, straining against the tight confines and desperate for some kind of relief. You put one leg over his lap to straddle him.

“Touch me?” you whisper, and reach down. He doesn’t stop you, just watches closely as you bring your hands to his pants, untie them, and reach in to take his cock in your hand. He does as you say, returning the touch with his hands up your back, taking the straps of your chemise down. He takes a shallow breath as your fingers come in contact with his warm cock. You grin wickedly, swiping your thumb up to spread his precum around a little. He meets your eyes as you pull him fully out of his pants.

“Oh,” he huffs gently, head falling back a little as you stroke him once.

“Is that good?” you ask softly, pressing a kiss to his ear. “Am I doing it right?” King stutters a little, gasping for air when you swipe over his swollen cockhead again.

“You are doing just fine,” King whispers, lips parting.

“Mmm,” you mumble, pressing a trail of wet kisses down his face and lazily taking his lips between your teeth, leading into a dizzying kiss full of tongue and one another’s slow breath.

“Stop. Wait my love,” King mumbles, stalling your wrist with his hand. You pout.

“What’s wrong?”

He opens his eyes to look at you, pupils blown with lust. “After a show like that, I am at your complete and ready service, not the other way around. Tell me exactly what you want me to do,” he whispers gently, and you get off of him, lying back on the floor like a princess awaiting a treat.

“Could you pleasure me with your mouth?”

Your cheeks heat, but King nods with a smile, dispelling any nerves you might have for such an intimate display of sensuality. He lays you on the floor, pressing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone and across the top of the soft skin of your breasts. His hands come up to gently hold your hips down as they circle upward—he moves your legs so he can brace himself between them, pressing more kisses down over your stomach to the impressions on your hips he’s left with his fingers.

“I want you to have me,” you whisper. King strokes one hand along your thigh.

“It takes time to discover each and every spot that will make you weak for me, lieb,” he mumbles, mouthing at your panties with a practiced finesse. “Be a good girl now for me. Be patient. There is more to come.” The bounty hunter takes the panties down with deft fingers, sliding the fabric down your legs until you’re bare to him. Your cheeks heat, but he reassures you with a starstruck gaze, looking over your body like a lovesick man. He dips his head back down with a soft kiss to your thigh, reaching up to hold your hips as if he’s predicted your body’s reaction already. He presses a reverent kiss to your clit, and his tongue takes a sweep of your folds, making you quiver as his beard scratches the soft skin of your thighs. His prediction proves correct when your hips jerk up as he gives his first lick between your lips. You reach back to grab the carpet, before deciding instead to grip onto his blonde and silver locks where his mouth works between your legs. It’s a surreal pleasure—unlike anything you’ve felt before, and you want more.

“Does that feel good?” King asks. All you can do is nod, but he encourages you to tell him exactly how you feel. “Use your words, fraulein.”

“Yes. Don’t stop,” you sigh.

“My good girl.” King dips back down, swirling his tongue around your bud until you’re shaking. Taking care to hold you close to him, he moves himself up until he’s grinding himself against you. “I want nothing more than to be inside of you,” he whispers.

“Take me as you wish then,” you groan.

“Tonight is about you,” he murmurs against your skin.

“I want it.”

Unbuckling himself, he takes his time slowly working a finger inside of you. He adds another and gently curves them up, before gauging your reaction. Going by the desperation in your face, he slowly replaces his fingers with his cock, pausing every inch to check and see if you’re still alright. You can tell how he’s exercising his restraint—you’re so tight, and all he wants to do is take you until both of you are sweaty and screaming, but he must make this last. You can feel him sliding into you, and his hand comes up to hold yours. Your eyes screw shut as he finally bottoms out, and he presses a kiss to your chest. “Tell me when it is okay to move.” You nod.

“Please.” He starts up a slow pace, covering your body with his as he takes his time with you. Too desperate to take the time King might have in mind to teach you patience, you push your lips harder against him, and roll over on top of him. You kiss the bounty hunter, again and again until your lips are swollen and King is painfully hard inside of you.

“Lift up your shirt for me,” he whispers, his voice gentle. “That’s it.”

“Have me,” you mumble.

“What was that?” King asks, “You must use your words if you would like something, hm?”

You blink up at your older lover. “Please take me King,” you raise your voice, and he smiles.

“Hm.” He gives you an affectionate smile. “I have no choice but to oblige my lady love when she asks as nicely as that. Very well. As you wish.”

He pumps in harder, ripping a groan from you. You’d dreamed of what this would feel like, and it turned out better than you had imagined, King’s soft sighs and the rocking of his body against yours heightening every touch he grazes your sensitive skin with.

A moment later, he pulls out and flips you over gently. He then positions himself between your legs and brings his mouth back down between your legs, suckling around your clit again. “King,” you whisper, breath hitching.

“Louder,” he encourages, and goes back to masterfully taking you apart with his tongue. He soon encourages you to sit on his face, and you do, feeling him lick you perfectly as the pleasant feeling of his beard returns to tantalize your skin. He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue as you reach down to touch his cock. It’s a foreign feeling in your hand, but you soon get the hang of the motions, twisting your fist and using his precum to slick your strokes.

“King... don’t stop,” you groan, his tongue delving just barely inside of you. He moves off of your pussy as you moan, and licks his lips.

“I must admit, I wanted nothing more than to do this all day,” he groans as he moves back up your body, “But I am a gentleman.”

“Too much of one sometimes.”

As if in challenge, he picks up his pace and starts to grunt your name, leaning down every now and then between thrusts to press a kiss to your breastbone as his face scrunches up. You love how uncharacteristically possessive King is getting– it turns you on beyond belief. Your moans grow loud as the bounty hunter’s cock fills you over and over again, satisfying your need for him as your noises blend together into the creak, groan, gasp of making love for the first time.

“K… King…” you groan, breasts bouncing with every thrust. His breath is hot on your neck, and he presses an open mouthed kiss there.

“You are astonishing,” he whispers, “You’re perfect… oh, bitte, bitte Fraulein, you feel so nice… you are my everything.”

“King, just like that, oh god–” you groan, and he makes a noise at your slutty display, reaching up to massage your breasts. You feel your orgasm approach as he continues to touch you, and his hand quickly comes down to rub your clit.

“Ah,” you moan, and clutch his shoulders. King sighs, feeling your pussy squeeze him, and with a stuttered thrust he cums as well, spilling inside you. Soon, you’re crying out his name, and he squeezes your hand tighter as you both finish at the same time, the love you share burning at the height of its passion as your bodies become one. You both rock together to ride out your orgasms until you’re satisfied. Panting breaths mingle as you snuggle close to him.

“Is that what all the fuss was about?” you tease. King frowns at you, and you laugh into his chest.

“Into bed before I take full offense to your jokes, beloved,” he murmurs. You nod, smiling as he helps you up with one hand and carries you bridal style over to the bed covered in furs for a warm night’s sleep together—finally together.

"I am lucky I have such a pretty creature warming my bed tonight," he jokes, "A plucked chicken like me should be very grateful." You huff another laugh, rolling over beside him to finally tuck in with your love.

"I've only ever wanted you. That'll never change, no matter what." You grin. "Tonight only helped solidify that fact."

"So you are with me for my talents in the bedroom, ah!"

"NO--"

"I understand it now."

"King!"

"Shh. Let's sleep now. We will argue like an old married couple in the morning."

The next day, Hildy and Django are already in the living room of the lodge. Gus is in the kitchen making up some breakfast.

“You look radiant this morning,” Broomhilda says, smile wide.

“Yeah. You do look pretty good. Different,” Django nods, narrowing his eyes as if to try and decipher what could have changed about you. Hildy just rolls her eyes, turning back to you from her own husband.

“So. Where’s your significant other?” You grab yourself a cup for the coffee that’s brewing, settling in across from them at the table.

“He’s still sleeping. He worked hard last night.” Tucked in the pocket of your nightgown is a single perfect, yellow rose he had saved you from the South, one King had left his new wife to find upon waking.

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wolfcha1k · 4 years

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An analysis on Guy, Eep and Grug NOBODY asked for in Croods - A New Age but tough shit

help

So its theory time :U Since this trailer seems to finally go into Guy’s perspective over things happening in the story. It seems like though Guy has been accepted into the Croods family, its not peaches and cream as one would think. Guy is used to having personal space, basically being able to have peace and quiet. Now after a lifetime of solitude [srsly, how long has he been alone??], this is a big adjustment for him. I don’t doubt he doesn’t care and love the Croods like family because they are his family now, he gave up a lot for them and Eep. There’s something of a culture difference between the family and him, with the Croods being used to being jam packed together and Guy who is more used to personal space.

Look how excited he gets over having his own space once they get to the Betterman Farm!

This also translates into his relationship with Eep. If you notice in a lot of the teasers so far, they’re never alone together. Grug is usually looming in the background or the family is there, they’re even using Chunky of all things to try getting away from them.

[also judging by the weave work here on the wood she’s probably in one of the spare rooms at the farm and the fact the clip launched with ‘World’s First Crush’, it might be safe to say even Eep starts to enjoy having privacy since this means you know, more Guy time but I’ll get more into Eep and what I think their ‘conflict’ will be later!]

but ofc Grug is still there getting in their way, and if you’re a teenage boy in love with a girl, it bites hard that you can’t just enjoy one on one time alone with her. They keep getting interrupted whether it be by animals, the family, Grug or nature itself; that would cause tension for anyone’s relationship. Guy even needs to explain to Eep what privacy is and knowing how she lived, ofc this is a real weird and exciting concept for someone so used to having other people breathing down her neck.

This translates into his relationship with Grug because I personally feel this has nothing to do with Eep herself and Guy doesn’t hold that against her. Grug is mentioned in interviews that he’s “not ready to accept Eep is all grown up and has her relationship with Guy” and that “she’s ready to leave the pack”, as Grug calls it.

They survived the end of the world, but dynamics change, and I love continuing with where do Eep (Emma Stone’s character) and Guy (Ryan Reynolds) leave off (with their romantic relationship) and how does Grug (Nicolas Cage) accept the change that his daughter is now grown up? So we definitely further those themes of a father not wanting his daughter to leave “the pack” – as they call it – but she’s ready, and her relationship with Guy starts off where it ended in the first film.

Guy even causes what seems will be quite a fight when he tells Grug to chill out after Grug mentions “the pack is stronger together”.

Grug probably wouldn’t be having this kind of fear if there was nothing to fear. It might be safe to say Guy and Eep are planning to leave the nest to be on their own. They’re both young adults and in love, its a natural step in a relationship to want to fly the coop. This snippet here really gives me those “engagement/promise ring” vibes with how Guy is holding the rock drawing and Eep is reacting.

Just what did he say before this? They’re also huddling away and discussing privacy, perhaps it was the lead up into “Hey Eep, let’s move out”, or whatever the caveman version of it is.

and Grug is watching them very worriedly.

There is something up going on with them now, and though Grug has accepted Guy and Eep, this isn’t a step he’s ready for as a father [and honestly probably after surviving The End/repaired his relationship with Eep, didn’t think would be coming this soon]

This segment in the interview really heavily implies these sort of things too:

The world is always changing, and families also change. As a father, Grug’s maybe not ready for the next step of his daughter leaving home. And with Eep and Guy I thought, “This is a great opportunity to now hand it off to them.” In the first movie it’s like puppy love between Eep and Guy. They meet each other, and they’re in love. But they’re the only two teenagers in the world, so of course they love each other. This story answers the question of why they actually belong to each other. Through the course of this story, we challenge what their relationship means, and why they should spend their future together.

You don’t talk about challenging what a relationship means and what their future will be without planning something surrounding that. They are planning and its freaking Grug out.

I also think in Grug’s own way he doesn’t want to see Guy go either, since it must say a lot about how different the dynamic of Guy and Grug’s relationship as a son and father figue have shifted if Guy feels he can tell Grug to calm down and also flirt/court Eep with protective daddy vision on him all hours of the day. When the Betterman’s show up, I am convinced Grug is going to get defensive over Guy bc he’s now as good as his son.

There’s also these little moments which seem pretty small but:

[as sour as Guy looks here, it probably means a lot for Grug to actually let Guy be in their sleep pile]

[also look how pure and excited Guy is to share about the shower with Eep and Grug]

I feel Grug does care for Guy but being how Grug is has unintentionally made Guy feel like an outsider in the Croods clan.

Now, back to the Bettermans and Guy. The lifestyle they live is clean, modernized and has routine, things Guy is probably craving with an inventive mind such as his. He’s just in heaven rn. These people are more like him than the Croods are, and I don’t mean that in a bad way. The Croods are still important to him but it probably feels invigorating to meet likeminded people.

You can already tell in the trailers Guy is going to form a bond with them. Part of me doubts they’re actually related to Guy like as parents and a sister but I won’t rule out the possibility, considering how invested Phil seems to be with Guy in a lot of the teasers and trailers. Perhaps they’re extended family or old family friends who knew Guy’s, we won’t know yet.

This bond I feel will be the prime focus of the film and conflict as well. [and no, not in the love triangle way concerning Dawn, there’s already an interview disproving that!]

“It seems from the trailer that Kelly Marie Tran’s Dawn and Emma Stone’s Eep hit it off immediately…” There’s definitely a lane that is driven a lot in romantic comedy type things where the new girl is the cause of jealousy. With Eep and Guy, when this other girl comes into the picture it would have been easy to go, “Oh, she could be the romantic rival.” We made the purposeful decision to not go down that lane.

However I do think his friendship with Dawn will be something as a compare/contrast with how Eep treats her. Both are doing what they feel is better and right for the sheltered girl, with Eep wanting to take Dawn outside the wall and Guy getting upset when he finds out Eep took her out.

He’s obviously going to catch them and lecture Eep about this. Now, how does Eep feel about Guy’s shift?

At first, I really think she supports him on connecting with the Bettermans and all the stuff he wants to do. Guy is quirky, he’s inventive, and likes to push the mold in what he can change to make life easier on himself and the people he loves. This place is his Utopia and considering the exchange she has with Grug over “a little change isn’t the end of the world”, she probably is willing to give the farm a chance because she knows Guy has been feeling lost and probably the butt of the joke lately [least where Grug is involved]

We also know Eep loves to try new things, she just in general loves new. Its what attracted her to Guy and even after it all, still loves Guy.

However, this is what I believe is going to be the start of the conflict between Eep and Guy too. Guy starts to change too much and Guy being Guy probably doesn’t realize it. She starts seeing the farm as another cave, another place to hide and seeing Guy thriving here probably makes her feel worried about what this means for them as a couple. That wall like Eep said is Dawn’s cave, and Guy probably doesn’t think of it that way after a lifetime of danger and being on the run from The End. Also the private bedroom probably helps

Anyway, what was I saying?

also something I noticed was when they first arraive in the elevator you got Guy looking at Eep to see her reaction to this place. He’s obviously hoping she’s finding the Bettermans has amazing as he is.

and just look how happy he looks seeing Eep isn’t going to freak out at Dawn I guess??? lol

Just “these two worlds are melding nicely”

However something I think is going to happen as the premises of the movie is both families settling their différences aside/celebrating them, is that somewhere along the line as Eep and Guy get closer to Dawn, there’s going to be a shift. The Bettermans perhaps act uppity with the Croods since they are cavemen and deemed less intelligent, so you got Guy stuck in the middle with his two found families trying to co-exist [also Eep too, bc her friendship with Dawn is obviously a major plot thread of the film]

Eep takes Dawn out for a joyride and the two bring in danger that followed them there.

“What’s on the other side of the wall?”

also totally predicting some kind of reveal that makes Guy have a temporary fall out with Phil, I don’t know why but its just a vibe I’m getting. Phil looks scared and Guy looks pretty pissed off while asking about the wall. That or he says something about the Croods themselves he feels is too far, I mean, Guy looks rather uncomfortable here as Phil says “We’re an evolved people” pretty smugly.

“Phil those are my future in-laws, stop”

He’s also seated on their side of the table, keep note of that with the Croods on the other. There’s going to be a sense torn between both worlds going on for Guy in this film, at least I think so. And its going to challenge him and how he cares for Eep and the Croods.

Leading into Eep and the Croods.

The big bad shows up, wrecks some shit and abducts everyone, at least it seems like it here.

“The only way to survive is if the pack stays together”, this whole adventure reminds Guy of his place in the Croods family and gives Eep and Grug a better understanding of what Guy is feeling/going through.

People loved The Croods, and they’d been trying to make another one… but it’s a high bar. I can say this because I didn’t work on [the first film], it’s a beautiful movie. It’s funny, and it’s about family. I was like, “I want to see the continuation of where we left off with these characters.” Especially with the father/daughter aspect of the first one, and going, “Now that Grug has accepted Guy into his pack, and has this great relationship with his daughter, where do they go from there?”

Something tells me Guy and Eep have their big blow up somewhere around Rafikzilla shows up, and after getting separated, Guy has a heart to heart with Grug about Eep and just their strained relationship in general. They patch things up, and together with Phil go forth to kick some monkey ass. And they reunite and things are okay again. Blah, blah, blah. Wow this got weak near the end, um but this interview sums it up pretty good for me tho.

“Was it always the idea to introduce a second family?” Yeah, that was there in my first pitch. You have the Croods come across another family, the Bettermans, who are a more evolved family, and these two families couldn’t be more different. The Croods lead with their heart, and the Bettermans lead with their brain. Of course, there’s conflict, they face challenges, but they learn to appreciate each other’s differences – not just to live with each other’s differences but to almost celebrate them. There’s a lot going on. There’s a lot of characters in this one. There’s a lot of wonderful, powerful themes. But it’s a ridiculous comedy too.

Basically, Guy is having a midlife crisis at the age of 19 and gets his shit together, Eep gets a better understanding of her boyfriend, and Grug finally backs tf off so we can get Croods 3 where Eep and Guy have a kid :U also I’ve been calling A New Age the “Shrek 2″ of the Croods in terms of how the story seems to be shaping up with Guy, Eep and the two families, I’m hoping I’m right because that would be some delicious development to see.

#the croods #croods #thecroods #the croods a new age #thecroods2 #croods2 #the croods 2 a new age #look at mr sourpuss over there

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sapphos-darlings · 3 years

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Hi i'm a lesbian and i'm really worried that I'll never find someone who will love and appreciate me because I'm grey-ace. I was just wondering if you had any advice or idk words of wisdom. I just keep thinking I'll end up alone because I don't feel sexual attraction super often. I'm sorry if this is inappropriate or anything I just can't see myself having sex very often and I don't know if anyone will still like me and love me and find me attractive. sorry to bother you

Hello, Anon! Lavender here.

Your ask is perfectly fine, it’s alright to come to us for advice and to this blog for discussion. We talk about sex (as well as not having it) all the time, it’s a perfectly fine topic and there’s no shame in it.

What you’re feeling is very common. Many of us fear that we won’t be good enough or that no one could ever want us just as we are, that we should be somehow more. I think especially us lesbians, since our dating pool is so small, often fear that our chances at happiness are so tiny. But there are so many women in loving relationships, so many have found love and happiness, many even before modern times, and isn’t that amazing? When I feel like my chances for love are miniscule, I think about women who lived in times without much freedom to speak of, not to mention not learning anything about their own sexuality and having no words to speak of it, and still found each other and fell in love. Where we go, love follows.

Now, about asexuality, I’m not going to lie, sex is pretty important to many people. But I also know people who are asexual and been in stable, long-term relationships, I know people who’ve made long-distance work, I know people who have done completely sexless relationships, and I know that aces are great, lovable people.

Besides, it’s not like anyone’s libido is the perfect match for another, ace spectrum or not. No one’s libido stays the same throughout their lives, and there’s going to be many times when one partner wants sex and the other doesn’t. There’s also going to be times in life when you’re just busy, stressed, or apart for one reason or another.

Really, the “I want sex less than my partner” is a very common challenge a whole lot of people face, and we’re actually lucky to live during times when we know that sex is not a duty, it’s not supposed to hurt or feel bad and that there’s nothing wrong with not wanting sex.

I think what is important for you is to accept yourself first so that you can be fully yourself and that you know what you want in a relationship. It’s not up to you to make the decisions for your partner, but you can help her to understand you and give both of you a chance to make each other happy. This means not forcing yourself into things you’re not comfortable with or assuming she’s not satisfied or happy because of hyper-sexual expectations society piles on women.

I’d say that when dating you should lead with your best sides as a person. Focus on who you are as a person and let people know you fully. Don’t put your grey-ace identity forward as if it’s some sort of a terrible flaw you need to disclose, because that’s just not true. Let friendship and love come first, and worry about matching libidos with your lady when the time for that comes.

Personally as a very sexual person, I’d probably find it challenging if a woman I liked was ace, but then I think about the asexual people I know and they are truly amazing people that anyone would be lucky to call their partner. My point is, a person is so much more than their libido. There’s so much more to offer and so much more to love, and so many more ways to love.

Also there are many ways to be intimate without it being sexual. Kissing, hugging, touching, caressing, cuddling... the list is endless, and that’s only physical stuff. I bet there are couples who have sex every second day but still the relationship is lacking because the casual, non-sexual intimacy is missing. And there are couple who haven’t had sex in six months but who kiss every morning, casually hold hands and feel safe with each other and entrust their true feelings to each other and feel very fulfilled and happy.

And finally, there’s so much awareness about how our sexual desire functions nowadays. It’s easier to find each other and easier to match with likeminded people. There are other lesbians like you. You are not alone. There are many women out there who feel the same way and share your experiences and you don’t even know them yet.

Keep your head high and let your flag fly, Anon! Good luck~

#ask #anon #asexual #wlw #c: Lavender

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iwanthermidnightz · 4 years

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even after all those years there’s so much unnecessary hate and drama in the ts fandom (from hets) and I don’t feel like I belong here.I have been a Taylor Swift fan since I was in middle school but all these antis and their ridiculous posts make it really hard sometimes.And some fans are just plain homophobic.I can’t imagine how Taylor must feel when she reads their posts bashing gays and Karlie.

This is going to be a lot because I’ve been ignoring a lot of what you mentioned. You do belong! Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you don’t because of who you are and what you believe. My advice is to block all negative people period. It has made my life so much better when I don’t have to see it. These people have literally nothing better to do than to TERRORIZE a group of people who are literally causing no harm to anyone because they don’t want it to be true. They stalk our tags and our blogs and take screenshots and take out their issues on others who are different. They get off on making fun and belittling. It’s weak and shallow and transparent. Please worry about you! Work out your issues in your drafts, we aren’t your punching bags. I only follow likeminded blogs and allies. I don’t care if Taylor follows a certain blog or not or if they’re a popular blog that a bunch of other swifties follow. If you’re an asshole to the lgbtq community I’m not following period. If you don’t have an open mind and heart adios. I find it hard to imagine being such a dedicated fan for so long that they wouldn’t listen, truly listen to what Taylor has been preaching and saying. And they claim they respect her more because they don’t worry about her personal life but at the same time fawn over the smallest stunt she does with ***. I have seen and heard a lot but you can control a lot of what you see. Taylor has made clear that anyone who is homophobic or spreading hatred (especially her ‘fans’) is on the wrong side of history. Don’t think she doesn’t see it. So for all the people trashing Karlie when Taylor has never dropped one hint about a fallout, kindly exit the building. Think about what you’re saying. Don’t do to Karlie what thousands of people did to Taylor. They are both strong and talented women in their own right. And Karlie hasn’t done or said one bad thing about Taylor. I know some people don’t have the range to care or understand what closeted people go through (especially at that magnitude), but I’m going to always call out ignorance when I see it. I have a hard time believing they’d say half the things they do if they knew Taylor was watching. And what’s worse is a lot of these people and I mean popular people KNOW the truth and support it in private, yet in public they’ll deny it cause they’re mutuals with a lot of *oes. Fake af. So for you my friend, make sure you are surrounding yourself with the right people. I’ve found my tribe here because we all stick up for one another and do what’s right. If these people don’t agree with something the last thing they should do is come around here and tell us. Does it look like we care? We care about the hatred, not your ignorant opinions. Save it for the drafts. Taylor has gone out of her way for the past almost two years to speak up and let the public knows what she stands for. Listen. Open your eyes and stop the bullshit.

#im sorry but i had to say it with my whole chest #what a rant #im tired of the hatred #gay rights tho

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sidespromptblog · 5 years

Text

The Past: Part 2

One, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine

Summary: Logan doesn’t recall being Apathy, he can’t remember a single instance in his life where he was the dark side Apathy. As far as he’s aware he’s always just been… Logic, Thomas’ Logic to be more precise. He lives and he breathes as Logic and nothing more.

Except…He’s certain that he isn’t supposed to have emotions, that little things like being called stupid and having the word infinitesimal thrown at him aren’t supposed to hurt the way that they do. He’s certain that he was never supposed to feel, let alone everything that he does now. He just doesn’t understand these feelings, not to mention the dreams of a blank white tie that was folded to crisp perfection. He doesn’t understand the dreams in which he stands before Deceit and the others, with such a tiny smile, but a smile nonetheless.

He doesn’t understand, why when he looks at his friends… and he feels nothing but fear and anger.

Logan jolted awake from the dream that had seared the inside of his mind with a gasp that sounded all too similar to a strangled sob, his sweaty locks stuck to his forehead even as the chill raced down his spine like someone had dropped an ice cube down his shirt. Every breath was a struggle as he openly wheezed, curling up his legs up to his chest before resting his head against his knees. The attempt to stabilize his breathing was an arduous one as the seconds ticked by into minutes, his lungs felt like something.. or rather someone had an impossibly tight grip on them refusing to let up for even the smallest of a second.

What was that? Just what in the hell was that?!

He’d had dreams before, muddled and half-baked as they were, it was always impossible to make heads or tails from them no matter how they left him feeling in the morning. But this… he’d never had a dream that he had seen more clearly.. or felt for that matter. His heart still galloped in his chest, as the sight of Patton’s young face smiling so threateningly at him, as if.. as if he still had a reason to be afraid of Patton in the first place. As if.. as if he was still in danger.

“Preposterous,” He scolded himself, forcing his legs to lay back down on his bed, or as far as they could stretch given all the books and papers he had laying on his bed. “Patton would never harm me, dreams are just…” Statistically speaking, dreams were always refurbished memories, as old and distant as they were. So that meant…

No.

Logan roughly shook his head at the mere notion that flitted through his mind, Patton would never hurt him, they had been estranged friends ever since he had been formed by Thomas. The science of dreams was quite sketchy anyways, especially for a figment of Thomas himself. It was most likely that Thomas had merely revamped some memories from an old horror movie or game and added their faces to it, that was it. There was nothing wrong, he was fine and he would continue to be fine, dreams or not. He was safe and sound here, with his family, with the people that cared about h-

A boisterous knock dragged him from his own denial ridden reassuring thoughts, “Loooogan,” Patton’s voice unwarranted or not sent a jolt through the logical side’s stomach, like spaghetti being spun around on a fork. At least, that was until he forced himself to relax at the sound of Patton’s cheery voice. “Time to get up! Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes, I’m making cat-shaped pancakes!” And just like that, the sound of Patton’s feet scurried down the hallways in order to wake the others, and… undoubtedly the Deceit and Remus as well.

A knot of emotion swelled in his throat.

Remus…

A tearstreaked face that begged him to move faster, to try and move. A young voice that told him he’d carry him if he had to, that.. that he wouldn’t leave him to die. A voice that howled against a locked door, as the sounds of Apathy’s scr-

Logan fiercely shook his head as he slid his legs off of his bed, “No!” He scowled angrily, determined to shake the dream from him as he summoned his usual clothes, he was going to go down and eat, do his work for today, and put the contents of this foolish dream behind him. He and Remus weren’t friends, Remus had attempted to kill him several times so they couldn’t be further from friends. Unlike Deceit and the others, Remus was a being that thrived purely on chaos there was no way that even if he did consider it, that he’d be friends with the likes of him. He strived around likeminded people, like Virgil or.. or P-

Logan nearly gagged as he tightened his tie so tightly that it nearly cut off his airways for a solid second before he hastily loosened it.

Perhaps he should forget about work for today, maybe spending a day inside the imagination and giving himself a few hours of rest would clear his head. With the way that his head was situated and pondering right now… he wasn’t likely to get any work done at all if he was worrying so much over some stupid dream. Perhaps some relaxation really would be better for him today, he was ahead in his scheduling after all, and he had earned it after the whole Remus debacle. Maybe a trip to the pond, or even mirror lakes would do him some good.

“Looogan!” Snapping his head up at the sound of his own name, Logan heaved a sigh as he slipped his shoes on before finally leaving the safety of his room.

Patton cheery grin sent a spiral of sickness deep into Logan’s core as he stood before the entrance of the kitchen, “Good morning Patton,” He politely greeted the other, even as he felt like choking on his own tongue. How on earth was he supposed to eat when he could barely get a few words out to the moral side? The smile that greeted him, would have at one time made him feel giddy on the inside, or in the very least the slightest bit warm all the way from his stomach to his heart. Now though… with the image of Patton reaching for him, his burning fingertips razing his mind, he felt nothing but feverish and cold all at the same time as he stood before the moral side praying that he couldn’t read the conflicting emotions in his eyes.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Ordinarily, he would have helped Patton pass out the plates, staking the funny shaped pancakes just how each of them liked it, he would have stood next to Patton their elbows brushing. But instead… he felt rooted to the spot, feeling that if he moved… he’d either throw up or faint.

Patton stopped though, his brow worriedly crinkling as his eyes gleamed back at the sight of him just.. standing there and doing nothing. “You okay Logie bear?” The moral side stepped even closer standing so that the tips of his fuzzy bunny slippers were touching Logan’s shoes. It was too close. “You look awful pale today, you didn’t stay up too late last night, did you? Are you getting sick?” And just like that Patton reached forward, his fingers, burning hot with the heat of the sun creeping closer and closer with each second. They were reaching for his head, and.. And…

Run. Whispered the voice in his head. Run before he can catch you, run!

A rough shoulder collided with both him and Patton before the moral side’s hand could make contact with his face, as Remus’ sarcastically sneering face mockingly smiled back at him. “Whoops!” He cackled, his hand waving at the two of them disrupting the moment between him and Patton with an almost practiced ease that must have been just a little bit rehearsed, it was so on script with something that Deceit would say as well. “Was I interrupting something?” He giggled, as if it was the climax of some romantic movie, and he was the comic relief constantly stopping the two love interests from confessing shit to each other.

Even so, relief swept through Logan like a tidal wave slamming and destroying tons and tons of built up garbage. It must have shown on his face, or in the very least his eyes as Remus’ giggling stopped dead and his gaze turned almost serious before his eyes darted away from him and Patton. The duke’s lips pressed into a thin line before he pushed past Patton once again, this time seizing plate that only held one pancake and a truly pathetic amount of bacon and syrup on it. Grabbing a plastic fork, as Patton had forbidden him to even think about touching the metal cutlery, Remus paused once again his shoulder firmly but not harshly thumping against Logan’s, further detaching the logical side from Patton’s searching and blistering gaze.

“Watch it love birds,” He hissed, an unknown emotion coating his voice as he stomped over to the dining table, sitting in the exact spot that he always sat in next to Deceit and Roman. “Don’t you know royalty when you see it?”

Ah, but of course, obviously he needed to line the floors with his blood for Remus to stroll upon. Like true royalty.

Logan shook his head at the bizarre thought, truly unaware as to where it had even come from as he gathered his own plate before making his way to the table. Except, instead of sitting by Patton as he normally did. Logan firmly situated himself between Roman and Remus, he ignored the utterly thankful look that Roman shot him as they all ate together… or at least attempted to, with Remus’ loud smacking mouth and syrup getting all over the table despite just how little Patton have given him. Remus must have known about the disgusted looks and feeling from the others, because with little to no hesitation his actions only grew more exaggerated and his annoying grating smacking all the louder second by second until it became practically unbearable to listen to.

And then Remus accidentally elbowed Logan in the chest with a single movement.

He could tell that it was an accident by the way that Remus’ eyebrows for a brief second sloped downward into worry, and the frown that tugged at his lips. Within seconds, the tense atmosphere at the table shattered, as Roman reached for his sword, a darkened scowl on his lips as if Remus had just horrifically wounded Logan, and the logical side was bleeding out before him.

A chuckle passed Logan’s lips, and in a single instant, everything and everyone froze. “Careful Ram, next thing I know you’ll be aiming to knock off my head guillotine style. I won’t quite forgive you for that one.” He wasn’t entirely sure just where that one had come from, both the nickname that passed his lips as well as the horrific imagery that his words managed to conjure up. And looking at Remus’ face, his open slackjawed mouth that still held his food and the minuscule widening of his equally horrified and shock ridden stormy grey eyes, it was just that alone that told him that he had just said something that left the darker creative side completely and utterly spiraling. He didn't understand the look, or the silent shock written all over Deceit's half normal half-snake face either, as the dishonest side gripped Remus' shoulder so tightly that there wasn't a single chance for him to go and grab his morning star weapon. The both of them wore a look of equal shock, and Logan for the life of him couldn't understand just why that was.

It was a look that didn’t last long.

“What… did you call me?”

#logan sanders #logic sanders #remus sanders #ts remus #deceit sanders #ts deceit #patton sanders #questionable patton #roman sanders #logan is apathy #apathy au #memory alteration

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kendrixtermina · 5 years

Text

Ferdinand and Hubert - A case study in Comparisons and Contrasts

So they don’t get along at all before the time skip, but afterwards, their A support opens with them sharing hot beverages together with all the chill in the world - how did that happen?

In this Essay, I will -

So even at the most simple surface-level one sees why those two would clash at once. Right away, Ferdinand’s always trying to one-up Edelgard, and Hubert is her loyal underling.

But it goes much deeper than just their opinion of Edelgard - in many ways, they are very different men. Ferdinand starts out with an oblivious naivety that later morphs into more well-founded optimism, Hubert, meanwhile, is cynical and jaded and very serious despite his relative youth. Ferdie’s extravagant, attention grabbing and expressive (though as evidence in his support with caspar and his comments re: Dimitri, he values collectedness and restraint to an extent) and enjoys the finer things of life, whereas Hubert is dispassionate, spartan, humble and not much for material comforts. Ferdinand’s worrying about wether he’ll be able to make a name for himself; Hubert’s quite content to work from behind the scenes.

Because of those differences, they completely misunderstand each other upon first contact, but that disdain is also linked to their values and virtues, and this is where they can learn from each other.

As at this point it’s still open wether Ferdinand will side with Edelgard & Hubert or turn against them, the B support end on a semi hostile note, but by the end of it they’ve learned that the other is nothing like their initial misconception.

In his C support with Edelgard Hubert mentions that he views a lot of his fellow nobles as spoiled, corrupt and inconsequential. The empire is full of corrupt, arrogant greedy bastards who think of nothing but themselves and live in excess and Hubert finds those pretty disgusting, which is why he’s on board with Edelgard’s plan to get rid of corruption and establish a meritocracy. He calls people he doesn’t like “degenerates” or “inconsequential” which gives us an indication of what he finds contemptible.

Since he talks a lot about his noble obligations and seems to vye for attention, Hubert’s first impression of Ferdinand is that he’s one of those - greedy arrogant and obsessed with the superficial/ his own ego, just like his father.

But Ferdinand isn’t actually like that. He may have naively repeated some of the arrogant things his father taught him, but he’s well aware that his old man is greedy and corrupt, and as per his goddess tower event, was thinking to depose him himself if Edelgard hadn’t beaten him to it. He’s not just talking the talk - he’s determined to also walk the walk and live up to the hype, to actually be elite and live up to the obligations of his title. He’s not trying to backstab Edelgard or put her down, rather he thinks he’ll make a pretty useless prime minister if he can’t keep up with her or offer useful feedback, which includes constructive criticism and balancing her out

And they do indeed end up having plenty of constructive debate if he sticks with her, resulting for example in Ferdinand’s education plan. As far as Edelgard is concerned, Hubert’s useful to her because he’s likeminded, and Ferdinand’s useful because he thinks differently - being a traditionalist and, as we learn in his Marianne support, a believer, and also an optimist and good communicator. to the Black Eagle Strike force what Togusa is to Section Nine. But this could only happen after the holy tomb scene, when Edelgard and Hubert know that they can trust him - had they involved him earlier he might’ve warned them against, well, making themselves look guilty. But they have good reasons for not being trusting given their formative experiences...

Likewise, Ferdinand, who constantly tries to better himself and prides himself of being independent-minded doesn’t like Hubert at first because he believes him to be a lackey without a mind of his own. But that’s not the case either. He follows Edelgard out of conviction, (a shared dream, as dorothea puts it) not blind obedience. They are very like-minded, seeing as they are both unsentimental, nontraditional, reason-driven and none too fond of organized religion, he’s on board with her cause and in awe of her as a leader - but since it’s both their cause that he also wants, he sometimes has different ideas on what’s the best way to accomplish it. Their views subtly differ on a couple of fronts - She prefers more direct tactics and would probably find more appeal in ordinary things if she felt she had the liberty; Both are curious but it’s a stronger force for her. He’s markedly more cautious and less merciful than Edelgard, and harsher in his condemnation of the faith. They both expect Byleth to betray them but where Edelgard is wistful about it Hubert’s suspicious af. They probably give each other plenty of cause for worry.

(Unlike Dedue, who says to Felix that he’ll do whatever if Dimitri commands it, even if he is at times clearly uncomfortable - though of course to be fair to him, this is basically his coping mechanism after his family was killed, and it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t admire Dimitri as a person or believe he’ll be a good leader who will bring equality for his people; They’d very much like to just be nornal friends, but feel they can’t with the world as it is. )

So Ferdinand certainly sees that once he notices that Hubert interprets his orders rather liberally at times; It’s not that Hubert never disagrees with Edelgard, it’s that he just acts at his own discretion rather than debate because he thinks she’s got enough responsibilities to worry about, and that it’s insignificant details after all (he also discusses this is further detail with Shamir) - He doesn’t mind being the fall guy, because she’s the one who’s the princess and thus has a reputation to maintain. Ppl think he’s scary anyway, and while he has a tad of a complex about it he’s mostly accepted it and made it work for him - after all, Edelgard knows he’s trustworthy. And wouldn’t leave things to his discretion of their visions diverged that much.

But Ferdinand can’t quite approve of that either, because disagreeing and essentially going behind someone’s back are two pairs of shoes - As far as he’s concerned the point of debate is not simply to disagree but to refine ideas by working on them together. He admits that sometimes he talks with Edelgard and finds out that he was wrong.

But they find a commonality here which is that though they may not look it both are actually appreciative of other people’s viewpoints and virtues. Hubert actually brings up the other Black Eagles’ good qualities quite a bit in his supports, for all that he also plays the taskmaster, and Ferdinand generally takes constructive criticism like a pro. Whenever someone reacts negatively to him, he doesn’t get butthurt but generally goes extraordinary lenghts to prove himself (Marianne, Mercedes, Dorothea and Bernadetta being good examples)

On a related note they also both value objectivity and composure, something that comes up in their A support.

So once the Holy tomb scene happens and they decide to start trusting each other, the foundation is laid for them to learn from each other.

But let’s take a step back at look at how the two came to be how and where they are, at the core of what motivates them.

Because while they reacted somewhat differently to it, when you get down to it, they come from the same situation and want the same things.

What they want is to do something significant and meaningful with their lives. And their situation is - they learned early that the world in which they’re looking to find meaning and significance is full of fakery and rottenness, chiefly because their fathers are crooks.

With Ferdinand it’s pretty apparent that he wants to amount to something with how he always pushed himself to be extraordinary and virtuous. Here and there he gets some lines about going down in legend but it’s more than just wanting fame - on memorable occasion is the Marianne support where he says that he believes that all people are here for a purpose and people should look for something only they can do. And if you marry him (to Byleth)? Well first it’s the cutest thing ever, he gets the gaudiest wedding ring and flat out faints from happiness. So cute. But most tellingly, later on in his support chain with Byleth we find out that he seriously worries about wether anything will remain of him and his efforts will amount to anything in the grand sheme of things.

Hubert is subtler, but when Edelgard has this little moment of feeling sorry that she dragged him into this/ worrying that she may have kept him from the normal life he might otherwise have had, he tells her that he’s in fact grateful that she gave him the chance to actually do something meaningful with his life instead of being yet another spoiled brat - he also says something similar to Dorothea. He’s simply the sort of person who likes to be part of something greater than himself - As he tells Byleth in their A support, humans have short lives, and that's part of what makes them aspire to greatness and try to effect meaningful changes in their lifetimes, though by that point he’s less pessimistic than during his academy days and says that if he hadn’t run into Edelgard he might’ve found some other meaningful thing to do with himself, like for example work with Byleth, whose heroic charisma he wasn’t entirely immune to in the end.

Though not at all a merciful man, he’s not without standards - He disdains corruption, is the sort of non-believer who just couldn’t get past the problem of evil and at one point tells Linhard that they couldn’t be friends if he [Linny] truly were as apathetic as he claimed to be.

From how he brings up his family’s tradition in a semi-proud way sometimes, one upon a time, that might’ve been where he found that sense of purpose. Being part of a 1000 year legacy sounds cool. But then his father would one day backstab the same people that he once told Hubert to protect with his life - and though I can#t imagine that his natural disposition was ever too enthusiastic or cheery, this is probably the moment where he realized that a lot of this talk about “the empire’s illustrious history” was just that, talk. That it’s all fake. Self-serving lip-service. When he goes chasing after Arundel and Edelgard in accordance to what he’s been told, his dad unceremoniously collects him. This was probably a formative experience that contributed to his irreverent, cynical and unsentimental outlook - a catalyst in his coming to the conclusion that it’s all fake, and that most of his peers are spoiled, rotten, decadent and pointless.

Then one day, Edelgard appears before him again and tells him she wants to tear down that rotten world they live in, that he, perhaps, resigned himself to living in, and from that moment he was all in and never looked back

Ferdinand meanwhile had a different response to all the fakery and corruption in the world (and in Adrestia in particular) - If others were fake then he was going to be the real thing. Instead of declaring the whole thing bullshit because he eventually noticed that his father wasn’t all that great, he decided that he was actually going to live up to the ideal to live up to and be worthy of the hype.

His dad clearly tried to raise him with an elbow mentality and probably even told him that he must beat the princess and make her his bitch, but it all bounced his inherent goodness like teflon. He wasn’t satisfied just going around claiming that he’s great, but wanted to actually be great and maybe he felt some pressure to archieve there but he never was the slightest bit mean or petty or even truly arrogant toward anyone. naive or insensitive perhaps but he never put anyone down, he’s earnest and pure to a fault. I must stress that he faints from happiness if you propose to him and buys you the gaudiest ring ever. Also seems to have been a total romantic in his other paired endings, what. a. cute. He must take after his mother, clearly.

Somewhere the other end of the “My father is a crook” reaction spectrum you find Lorenz. Unlike Ferdinand who’s just a bit naive but deeply and fundamentally good, Lorenz had a bit more genuine arrogance, immaturity and callousness going on, at least early on, and he’s a lot more self-interested though he was always ultimately virtuous, political-minded and motivated by caution. Lorenz too knows his father’s a crook, or at least ‘respectfully disagrees with him’, but at the same time you can tell that as far as he’s concerned that’s still his father. He’s clearly happy to get his approval when he’s trusted with the family relic, and tries to protect him, be it by fighting in his stead, propositioning Edelgard for mercy if he’s recruited to the empire... though in the GD route he will conveniently “forget” to tell the old man about Claude’s plan once he starts believing that Claude will win, he’s got no illusions about his competence.

Hubert of course is on the other extreme, the man was pretty much dead to him the moment he turned traitor and it’s heavily implied that he ordered that he ordered the hit on his father at his own discretion (everyone else, including the Prime minister who was the main culprit, is just jailed. Actually very civilized of Edelgard, didn’t expect that in a medieval setting. Yet Hubert’s father is the one who gets the axe, which i take to mean that he did this on his own account. - because if Edelgard was gonna kill just one it woul’ve been the one she hated the most. That seems like she left it up to Hubert and he was like “LESS mercy please!”, or like he made sure the guy was dead before she could argue) When Hanneman presents him with the idea that ‘ol Vertra senior might’ve had redeeming qualities or mitigating circumstances, Hubert would hear nothing of it. The hate’s transparently personal and his disgust at the sheer treason outweighs everything else. He sure does loathe a traitor.

Ferdinand’s somewhere in between - he was meaning to actively remove his dad and sorta steeling himself for it and once he’d deposed he acknowledges that he has it coming, but he can’t help but find the punishment a bit harsh after ‘all his father’s hard work for the empire’ (that’s also because he doesn’t know just HOW evil his dad was) - if you have both Lysithea and Ferdinand in your party you get this paralogue in which the PM tries to escape but gets killed by revolting peasants, and though he acknowledges that the bastard deserved it, Ferdinand still cries when he hears the news, and with him in that state, Lysithea can’t bring herself to tell him about the human experimentation either (in part because she knows Arundel to have been the real mastermind) It seems that no matter what faction he winds up in, it’s a constant of the universe that no one can quite bring themselves to break Ferdie’s heart.

Many of the other Black Eagles might’ve been a bit annoyed at him early on but after the timeskip? No one wants to burst his bubble. See also that sad, sad line you get from Dorothea if you recruit her but not him and end up offing him. To think that they started out so antagonistic. Actually, it says a whole lot about Edelgard that she always treated him normally. Like that’s how you know that she really believes in judging people by their own merits.

Ironically Edelgard actually has an evil parent of her own, and Dimitri also decides not to tell her, though this isn’t quite the same because Edelgard never knew Patricia, wasn’t raised by her and never looked up to her, and everything regarding her is super ambiguous anyways On the one hand Dimitri might’ve considered it a low blow to tell her upsetting news right when they were about to fight - on the other hand maybe bringing it up would’ve diverted the conversation in a more fruitful direction...

A+

So given that they’re both actually receptive to constructive input and ultimately out to archieve meaningful things, it’s not so strange that they’d end up amicably sharing hot beverages once the initial misunderstandings were out of the way and they’d somewhat come to value each other’s viewpoints, even if some token hilarious banter remained to the end, because of course it did. The right and left hands of the emperor, since Byleth is, of course, her wings.

As a sidenote,

Though I like most of them, I feel like a bunch of the A supports were a bit of a wasted opportunity/ too concerned with either concluding the previous gimmick/ subplot or pairing the characters up when they could’ve shed a light on the character’s evolution during the timeskip- They’re good scenes, but maybe it would’ve been better to keep the old system where you have an extra rank (S) for the pairup esp. since they knew the timeskip would be happening so we could have a solid scene of them interacting post timeskip that isn’t immediately pairing them up - But the Ferdiand/ Hubert one is a good example of this being done right with how abruptly the support chains it goes from antagonistic to chill - it actually feels like five years have passed.

Many of the Dimitri ones also avert this since his character is so changed, and the Claude/Lorenz one another good example that has a lot going on in it, not only has their previous antagonism largely evaporated but Lorenz has matured, Claude realized that he’s not so bad, and Claude himself is no longer trying to establish himself to seize the Alliance, but in fact getting ready to pack his bags and leave once his work is done.

#three houses #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem: three houses #ferdinand von aegir #hubert von vestra

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readyforit · 4 years

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Idk why but I have been here since late 2018 and dont seem to have any friends! Like how did you get to know people and you know.....

ahhhh hi anon! I don’t feel like I’ve got that many friends but here are some tips that have definitely helped me personally (because I know this would’ve been so useful to me when I first joined), and maybe they’ll help you too? sorry for writing so much but I hope this helped! you’re welcome to message me anytime, let’s be friends! 💕

1. be more open (or as open as you’re comfortable being!)

when I first joined tumblr, I was super intimidated by everything and everyone; to the point where I didn’t want people to know what my name (and anything else about me) was, I was just kind of lurking in the background; kind of too scared to make my own text post or send an ask that wasn’t anonymous and so on. but I think one of the best things you can do on here is be open (but only if you’re comfortable)! that can be little things, like putting things in your bio about yourself (like your name, age, pronouns, personality type etc), as well as making text posts about your life (like your current random thoughts, feelings, how your day went, highlights of the day, any issues you’d been going through, people you’d met, just anything - treat your text posts like your journal [just don’t be too personal in like revealing your school or workplace kldfjakjflkj] and just feel comfortable opening up about yourself and who you are, and I guess that way, people will be drawn to you and your personality! it might take a while, but tumblr is honestly the place to just go all out and there’s nothing to be worried about! just be yourself (and you’ll find ~your people~ lsdkfjldfjk)!!

2. interact!

if you want to get to know people or become friends with them, do it!! back when I actually had the time to do so, I used to send asks to blogs I loved all the time (like I’d wish them a lovely day or send them my wishes if they’d specifically made a post about something in particular, or like I’d send them asks from an ask game post that they’d reblogged)

you can also join networks, that’s one of the best ways to get to know people, in my opinion! I’m part of @tssnut, @networkthirteen and @theswiftweb, and you should usually be able to join these networks and servers (there should usually be a ‘join us!’ link on their page) and that way, you’ll be opened up to a whole lot of likeminded people! networks and servers are one of the best ways to actually talk and get to know one another, so I’d definitely think about joining them!

likewise, you could also invite people to interact with you (sounds weird lkdjldj). like you could reblog ask games (while also sending an ask to the blog you reblogged the post from), and just ask open ended questions in your own text posts? you could also just talk to the blogs around you in general (especially if you’re mutuals with them). interact with your mutuals! I find it sooo hard to go from being mutuals to friends, but I guess it’s just through interaction with one another!

3. don’t overestimate/underestimate yourself

don’t know how else to word this ldkj, but when I first joined tumblr (I actually just recently learnt to grow out of this), I used to be intimidated by like, every single blog on here. I just felt so isolated and like I hardly had any followers (confession; it took me like a year to reach 100 followers), and also like everyone had already formed their own social groups, and like!! I just felt like everyone was soooo cool and interesting and smart (with yes, lots of followers) and that I could never “get on their level” enough for them to want to be friends with me. but I guess I’ve recently realised that we’re all the same, if we’re on tumblr, we’re most likely just a dorkish clown ranting about the world around us. and I’ve learned that most everyone on here is sooo insanely kind and nice and sweet and lovely, so don’t be scared to interact (as in, sending asks, leaving comments, etc) likewise, I don’t know if this would apply to anyone dlkjdl, but it doesn’t help to think of yourself as superior or better than anyone else (like if someone reaches out to you, reply!!), we’re all on the same level and this is literally just tumblr, a welcoming and fun place for everyone!

4. have a specific… niche

I don’t know if that’s the right word, and I know a handful of multifandom blogs who do their multifandom things amazingly, but I think it’s a good idea to have a central niche/aesthetic/thing that you post about! (like I mean, you could join tumblr and be a taylor swift blog then slowly become a lana del rey blog, I don’t know) but I think it’s good to have like a central theme that you post about; this way you’ll draw likeminded people who you can talk to, and I guess it’ll just be easier to control…? like I have a lorde blog specifically for lorde, but this blog I have here is primarily taylor swift; and like all of my mutuals are swifties and blog about her, and so I guess I’m a part of the taylor swift fandom…? so I don’t know if this works for everyone, but it definitely helped me to mainly post taylor swift content (well of course, I only stan taylor dslkjdlj) likewise, you could maybe have sideblogs for other fandoms that you’d love to be a part of! I don’t know, I just guess it’s harder to be part of a fandom if you’re multifandom?

in addition, you totally don’t have to; but you could also have your own content! as in, like I make and post my own edits (I think that really helped me feel more included into the community; I posted my first edit in june last year and that’s when I slowly begun to feel more welcome?!). but you could also offer and host specific things on your blog that other blogs don’t have, like I know some people host discourse nights, positivity nights, and so on! if you’re comfortable, it just really helps I think, to bring something into the community and just create and manage and design something! :)

5. have a nice theme!

okay, this isn’t essential, but it definitely really helps to have a really nice theme! this includes a nice header (or lack of one; the simplicity can be really cool too), colour palette (FLKDJ WHEN I SEE BLOGS THAT HAVE VERY CONTRASTING COLOURS like green and purpleee), a nice url (at least one that reflects what your blog is about), a nice bio (like it doesn’t have to be long, like most people who take the time to look at your blog won’t read through a whole paragraph in your bio I don’t think?) and nice posts (like some people post like according to a specific theme/colour scheme and I think that’s really pretty but hard to stick to) you could also have a nice desktop theme, like there are soooo many theme blogs on here with beautiful themes that you can download to really spark up your page! again, this isn’t all that necessary, but it really does help to have a visually pleasing blog!

6. be nice!!!

this probably goes without saying, but just be nice and kind and positive; you don’t know how much it could mean to someone!! just be nice in whatever you do and post and say, that’s the most important thing you could do!! I can’t emphasise on this enough, but please just be niceeeeee.

andddd that’s all I could think of for now! but yes, I totally understand and relate to that feeling of being isolated or separate from the rest of the community (I felt so lost and distant from everyone in the first year that I was on here), but through taking the time to being nice, open and interacting with others (like seriously, you can message me right now!), you’ll hopefully feel more welcome into the community! love you!! 💖

#letter left on my doorstep #<3333 #anon

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written-in-sunshine · 5 years

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Predating Predators 001 - Clint Barton/Pietro Maximoff - SFW

Title: Predating Predators Author: Donnie Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Setting: Various; Somewhere between Kosno, Poland and Novi Grad, Sokovia Pairing: Clint Barton/Pietro Maximoff Characters: Clint Barton, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, OC: Christabella, OC: Shasta, OC: Muni, OC: Papillon Genre: Fantasy/Romance Rating: M Chapters: 1/? Word Count: 1956 Type of Work: Chapter Fic Status: Incomplete Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, AU - Canon Divergent, AU - Myths and Fantasy, Clint is a Harpy, Pietro and Wanda are still mutants, Teratophilia, Kidnapping, Sacrifice, Witchcraft, Implied animal abuse, Implied Predation, Pietro and Wanda are 17 so I guess underage?, Underage, More To Come Disclaimer: I do not own anything, except for Christabella, Shasta, Muni and Papillon. I am also not native to Eastern Europe and do not have a very good grasp of the geography or culture beyond what I have in the source material. I have placed Sokovia roughly at the convergence of Ukraine, Poland, Hungary, Slovakia and Romania, as I couldn’t find much more about where it should be placed. If anyone wants to try and help me determine a better spot for it (if this is just way off base), please let me know! Summary: When Wanda’s life is put at risk, Pietro must do the literal impossible in order to save her. He didn’t realize that seducing the apparent last male Harpy in existence was going to be a very real part of the plan. AN: Welp, I dedicate this entirely to my BFF, Ed. ; u; I love her so much, and we were discussing this last night a little bit. I got a little out of control with it, so it’ll be at least a few chapters long. My brain keeps saying THREE but something tells me that is not exactly true. At any rate, this is a pretty big shift in AU. I’m sure Avengers stuff is happening but it’s not near Sokovia, at this point. Anyway, have fun with this, kids, I know I will!

MCU Fic Masterlist Chapter One: What They Say Is True ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Life in Sokovia had never been what Pietro Maximoff would call easy. Between himself and his twin sister, things had gotten harder with the world around them. They held a bond so tight nothing could break them but each other; and it showed.

Pietro had been described as ‘wickedly fast’. He could rob an entire city blind in a blink of an eye and nobody would know it was him. Of course, he’d never bothered to do something quite that extravagant, stealing what they needed to survive and little more. After all, the twins had been on their own for a long time, now. He could think back and remember a small hand on his arm, the only thing keeping him from rocketing off, the night it had happened. They had been inseparable ever since. Wanda was what people considered a witch. Maybe she really, truly was, but Pietro had never seen anything that would make him think of those old, bawdry tales. He had yet to see her eat a baby, like many people asserted she must, or pull the tail from a rat for a potion. In fact, she never seemed to imbibe anything aside from the occasional juices and milk he was able to steal for them, and water. No potions in sight, no cats, no bats, rats or other such creatures. The only thing people shrieked about when they saw her was her ability to graze their minds. Okay, she could do a bit more than that, but most people didn’t give her the chance, if they knew about it at all. The thing that seemed to have brought their existence crashing to a pitiful end was not so much Wanda being a witch, however, so much as her affinity for likeminded women. Pietro wouldn’t say anything about her friends, but should she catch him thinking something untoward, he usually got a pointed glare. He had never quite lifted his mental guards after the last time, because he could feel her presence in his brain. If she wanted this friendship with these psychopaths so badly, then he would let her have it. But that didn’t mean that he wanted them to have her. When Wanda didn’t come home when she was supposed to, when his days’ worth of hard work paid off and she wasn’t there to celebrate with him, to break bread with him… He began to worry. She had insisted that they needed some time without a boy present, and that had caused him to balk for a moment, point to himself and mouth ‘me?’ at her. Her light laughter and nodding only made him pout, there was no other word for it, but he nodded and let her go. Responsibility was not exactly his forte, but he could handle things while she spent time with her friends. Now, he was starting to wish he’d followed them. At least he knew where they usually congregated, not that that made much of a difference in the time it took to find them. Even moving faster than the eye could comprehend, it was an awful lot of forest to cover, and the four girls Wanda had fallen in with were good at nothing more than hiding their tracks. For a coven of witches in a place like this, it was an important part of their everyday life. If he was going to have to go on a damn witch hunt, though, he wished he had made the decision not to do so on an empty stomach. Speeding to a stop outside of the fifth camp he’d come across, he didn’t even have the decency to act tired as he pressed up against a tree and listened, straining his ears and trying to keep himself absolutely still. With what they were saying, cackling to each other, it was nearly impossible. “We should hurry, before her meddling brother shows up.” One of them was saying, slurping down something that looked less like soup and more like a thick, gloppy run-off of some kind. “No, no, we want him, too.” The eldest girl, just a few years older than him and Wanda, spoke with a little chortle, pointing her spoon at the other girl. Pietro could feel bile rising in his throat but he didn’t know if it had to do with what they were saying or what they appeared to be eating. “He could be a good…” She paused, sniffing the air, and he had to wonder if he’d falling on the wrong side of the wind. “Speak of the devil.” She spoke, finally, rising from her seat and greeting him with wide open arms. Even Pietro had no idea when he’d walked from the tree he’d been clutching and practically vibrating against to the clearing they had chosen, and he narrowed his icy eyes at them. “I want my sister.” “Well, good evening to you, too.” The eldest responded, rolling her eyes, “You never were exactly good with your manners, were you? It does show that you raised yourselves in a barn.” The venom in the cut of his eyes caused her to chuckle, waving him off as she turned around. “At any rate, she is ours, now. You cannot--” “I will take her, and she will not be yours.” The growl in his voice only caused her to turn slightly, glancing at him over her shoulder. He didn’t like how she looked down her nose at him, and he barely managed to still himself from searching the camp for his sister. “You will not have her!” The youngest, a girl just short of Wanda and Pietro’s seventeen, shouted as she rose to her feet, only to be silenced by the eldest. “Christabella--” “Calm now, Shasta.” Christabella responded, her lips pulling into a sneer, “Pietro can have her, if he does us a few… Favors.” She clucked her tongue, shaking her head as she turned, brushing back crimson locks and turning golden eyes on the speedster. He looked pensive, but stepped up to the plate, shoulders back and head held high. Backing down was not an option, not when Wanda’s life was at stake. “You must do three simple tasks for us.” Simple, he could handle. Difficult, that would take him five minutes. Impossible would take twenty if he really put his mind to it. “And what are these tasks?” His skepticism was rewarded with a cold chuckle and a mirthless smile that didn’t quite meet Christabella’s golden eyes. “You will bring us the first drops of dew, before they have fallen. It is very important that they are retrieved before falling, and they will not be accepted should we find you cheated.” The blond to her left, Shasta, practically cackled. It was an impossible thing to ask of someone, nobody could move quickly enough to do such a thing. It had never been done. Pietro grit his teeth. They must not have heard much about him, or paid him much mind. Either way, he waited in a silence swarming with the friction of the air on his skin as he forced himself to remain still. Now would be no time to show off his grand speed, or they just might scrap his one easy task entirely. “The second is to collect the feather of a male Harpy.” The fourth woman, stocky and dark haired with skin the color of unprocessed cotton, smirked. A Harpy on her own was a beast to be reckoned with, but a male of the species had never so much as been spotted.They were fierce, however, enough that if he so much as tried, he would die, leaving them to their work. A Harpy could turn its own feathers to stone, should it want or need to, which only made the idea of his failure that much greater. When Christabella went quiet and her gaggle of gossiping geese followed suit, Pietro crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes until he nearly couldn’t see despite the roaring fire. “And the third task…?” He finally tried, obviously perturbed by the quiver in his voice. “Should you survive the first two, the third will be waiting for you here.” Christabella told him matter-of-factly, turning on her heel and settling back in front of the fire. Suddenly, it was as if their conversation had not happened at all, and he found himself shut out completely no matter how many times he tried to speak to them. While he hated being ignored, he hated knowing that Wanda could be hurt or worse with every second that he put this off. First dew, and a Harpy. Male Harpy. This was going to be great, just great. The first one sounded easy enough for someone with his abilities, but the Harpy thing was… Honestly driving him to tap his hand against his hip so quickly he was sure he’d knock himself over. “I need a drink.” He murmured, knowing he wasn’t quite old enough to have one, before he went stock still. A drink. That was it! If there was a place in every village and town from here to Russia and back, it was a bar. And where there were bars, there were superstitious old men ready to spill their ideas about every mythical being and creature under the sun. Between Novi Grad, Sokovia and Kosno, Poland, he managed to find a rumor that lead him to a specific bar, in a specific, small but scenic village just short of being a clump of houses in the middle of nowhere. There were whispers of a Harpy that lived high on the mountain, perched in a way that nobody could actually travel beyond the treeline on any side. They said he (and definitely ‘he’ every time) was strong and impossibly voracious, but that wasn’t exactly turning him away. With a new outfit under his belt, a thick coat with layers and lined in wool, thick pants and boots he could still run in, and a thickly woolen balaclava to keep himself from freezing to death, Pietro Maximoff was ready to scale a mountain and take care of this once and for all. While the trees and animals alike could have taken his breath away with their beauty, the sunsets and rises being something he could have actually stood and waited for, something else was cutting off his oxygen the higher up he went. Height, he remembered, had never been his friend, and he’d just about sped off past the treeline before he started to feel light headed, out of breath, and sluggish. Maybe ‘sluggish’ for PIetro Maximoff was more of a regular pace, but when he finally staggered from the treeline and gazed up at the cold, unforgiving grey sky above him, he had to harden his resolve. This was for Wanda. She would die if he didn’t succeed. A small thought pressed at the back of his mind, flavored in her voice. But if you die, we will both perish. Shaking the thought out of his head, snowflakes persistent in their agenda to cling to his hood, he scanned the mountainside as far as he could see. Where was this nest he was looking for? It would have been more helpful to come up here with someone who knew the area, or at least a hand-drawn map on a napkin, anything would be better than coming up blind. A whistle behind him sounded less like wind and more like an animal, and when he turned, muscles tense, he barely had a second before something heavy, hard and sharp collided with his head and he went down like a sack of bricks. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: Welp, there we are, the first chapter. I’m excited to get into the next one, even if this isn’t going to go very long. I really have no plan, just kind of… Flying by the seat of my pants. At any rate, I got this out in record time. I hadn’t quite expected it to go as well as it did. I hope you guys enjoyed! If you want more, keep in mind that nothing motivates me to finish something like feedback!

#MCU Fanfic #MCU Fanfiction #Hawksilver #Hawkeye #Quicksilver #Clint Barton #Pietro Maximoff #Wanda Maximoff #AU Fic #AU Fanfiction

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write-havoc · 6 years

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This Is How I Disappear Ch. 44

Summary: A girl named Chuck finds herself in the exact place she doesn't want to be, living with violent men in a desolate nursing home. After her former gym teacher finds her, will he be the savior she was looking for?

Fandom: The Walking Dead AU

Pairing: Negan/Original Female Character

Status: Completed (story continues in The Flame Is Gone, The Fire Remains)

Contains: swearing, violence, sexual assault, blood, smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlists in my bio

——— Negan’s POV ———

Fuck, it’s kinda cold out here. I’m standing at my gate like a fuckin’ idiot waiting for Rick to get here. My guys outside the gate radioed in and said he’d be pulling up any damn minute now. It’s his first time here, and I wanna make the right impression. Namely, I want him to see that I am on top of my shit. And I want him to think of The Sanctuary as the fuckin’ powerhouse it is. A well oiled machine. A fortress. Not a place to fuck with.

Not that I think Rick’s a threat. Even if we hated each other’s guts, I think I could fuckin’ take him. But we’re not enemies. Surprisingly. We’ve actually been working together fuckin’ well, his men and mine. Me and him might be different, but I can respect what he’s doing with his people. When he gets his head out of his fuckin’ ass, that is.

He’s told me all about the shit he’s done. How he’s saved people. How he’s lost people. His fuckups and triumphs. He’s made mistakes that cost lives. But he also ripped some motherfucker’s throat out with his teeth to save his kid. Which is equally fucked up and badass.

But he’s on the right path now working with me. He sees that. He’s on board with the whole working together shit. And honestly, I think I’m on the right fuckin’ path working with him.

When I started this shit, it was all about amassing resources. Going out and scavenging everything important before anyone else did, so I could feed my people and keep them safe. It was all about my fuckin’ people. The first group that attacked my men, I was honestly two seconds from fuckin’ killing them all outright. Then I thought, “Why not use them? Use the shit outta them for thinking they could fuck with me. Take what shit they got and get them to find me more.” So that’s what I did.

Then I did it again when another group thought they were tough shit and stepped to me. And again after that cuz people are fuckin’ dumb as shit and fuckin’ shitty at risk assessment, apparently.

Even with Hilltop, the plan was always for me to control them. Not in the same fuckin’ way as the others, but I would use their resources all the same. And I really thought I’d have to be more hands-on there like I am at The Sanctuary, but I’m not. Jesus is a perfect fuckin’ governor for me. Loyal enough to me that he runs that shit the way I would. Loyal enough to his people that he’ll keep them living well. It’s really all a win/win.

This shit with Alexandria is different. I don’t have a hand in shit there at all, which normally would bother the fuck outta me. I know I’m a fuckin’ control freak. But I guess I’ve fuckin’ changed. Cuz I realize now that my influence doesn’t have to be by the fuckin’ sword, as it were. I can find likeminded fuckin’ groups, like Alexandria, and work with them to make this shitty world a little better. Which, in the end, is good for every-fuckin’-one.

Alexandria has been working their asses off for me, doing shit that would be fuckin’ difficult for me to do on my own. And I’ve been giving them fuckin’ food so they don’t starve to fuckin’ death. But me giving them shit is temporary. It always was. After they start getting enough of their own food, we’ll renegotiate. But we’re still in this shit together. Again, win/win.

Fuckin’ finally , the Alexandrians pull in with a car and a pickup truck with a cab on the bed. Rick, Daryl, Aaron, Glenn and some fucker I remember seeing before but haven’t been properly introduced to yet get out. Aaron comes right up to me and gives me a hug like I’m family. I guess I am.

“How’s it fuckin’ been?” I ask Aaron and pull away to talk to him.

“Pretty good,” Aaron answers. “Chuck alright?”

“She’s fuckin’ fine.”

“I brought her a little birthday present since I missed her actual birthday.”

“She’ll fuckin’ love that.” I smile at the man. “But let’s get to business first.”

I go over to Rick and shake his hand.

Rick gestures to the guy I don’t know yet. “That’s Eugene.”

“Hello,” Eugene says in a weird ass monotone voice. This dude is one strange looking motherfucker. He’s got a pair of those long baggy shorts paired with a wrinkly button up. And an honest to god mullet on his head.

“Holy shit!” I call out with a fuckin’ laugh as I face mullet man. “You must’ve just fuckin’ time travelled from 1993 sporting hair like that!”

“Though traveling through the space-time continuum would be fairly awesome and, were it possible, could more than solve our current problems re. the dead reanimating through manipulating the past to change the present, I assure you that I have not come here from the aforementioned year as traveling to the future is, in fact, nigh on impossible. Especially with the technology available in 1993, which would have been the ‘present’ to our ‘future’ in this context, if you will,” he runs all together in that same monotone voice.

I fuckin’ stare at the fucker for a minute before I burst out laughing. “Ho-ly shit !” I throw out my thumb at Eugene. “I fuckin’ like this dude. You are weird as fuck, you know that?” I say to him.

“I am fully aware of the unique idiosyncrasies that set me apart from the population at large, yes,” he answers my rhetorical question. For some reason.

I look over to Rick and he looks back at me almost embarrassed. “Eugene is, uh... Anyway, I brought him here because he’s been working on some things for us. And you.”

Glenn jumps in. “Eugene is our resident nerd. When we need something engineered, he does it for us.”

I raise my eyebrows. “So what is it, exactly, that you have for me?”

They lead me to the truck and open up the back. It’s full of equipment. Like, radio equipment, I guess.

“We found a hobby shop,” Aaron starts to explain, “It was filled with all this stuff. Eugene’s been working on it.”

“What the fuck is it? Ham radios?” I guess. I seem to remember a neighbor when I was a kid being into this shit. He would sit for hours in his garage talking to people all around the fuckin’ country.

“That is correct.” Eugene picks up something from the truck and holds it up to show me. “Receivers, transmitters, antennae. We have the equipment here to set up our own long distance communication centers. This will allow us to give and receive orders. Send out positions. Establish ETAs PDQ.”

“We can all keep in touch instantly,” Rick fuckin’ translates. “Instead of having to send someone out to get within walkie range. We have enough here for you, your outposts, and Hilltop. And we already set up a radio room back at Alexandria.”

“Shit!” I call out. “That seems fuckin’ useful.”

Rick nods. “It’ll be safer for all of us if we can contact each other.” His tone is weird. Like he’s worried about an attack or something. And I haven’t even told him yet that one of my communities was wiped out, so...

“Did something happen?” I ask.

“Shit’s kinda picked over around here, so we went out on the other side of the river scavenging,” Daryl explains. “We ran into a group of walkers. We let ‘em pass, but they got turned around and followed us. It wasn’t natural. Someone turned ‘em back to us.”

“You guys all make it out?” I ask.

“We lost a couple,” Daryl answers. “We had ta’ kill the whole herd, since we couldn’t get ‘em back across the river and to the quarry easy. We didn’t want ‘em to follow us back home so we had ta’ take ‘em all out. Took a while. Two of ours got bit. Went out fightin’”

“Shit.” I rub my hand down my face. “You still good on ammo?” I assume in a herd situation, they had to use their guns. And if shit like this keeps happening, all of us, Sanctuary, Alexandria, and Hilltop, are gonna have to work together to get through it. And everyone is gonna need fuckin’ weapons and the ammo that goes with them.

Not that I would give them my ammo. I’d just... I don’t know... station some guys around their fuckin’ gates so no one picks them off, or something.

They all look around to each other subtly. But I see it. They’re definitely keeping something from me. And that pisses me off.

“We have enough,” Rick answers vaguely.

“‘Enough’?” I spit back then suck on my teeth. “You know... I didn’t fight you when you took weapons off the fuckin’ table when we were negotiating trade. Even though weapons were really all you fuckin’ had to trade for the food I’ve provided. But we got past that shit and now we’re both doing pretty fuckin’ well.” I let out a fuckin’ breath and run my hand down my face. “But you acting all fuckin’ weird about the subject of weapons now is not bolstering a sense of camaraderie in me. Especially since I was only fuckin’ asking about your ammo situation to make sure you guys were o-fuckin’-kay. Like the fuckin’ generous gentleman I am.” I walk closer to Rick to stand directly in front of him. “But are you being fuckin’ selfish , Ricky boy? Am I being taken advantage of? Because that would seriously,” I push in closer, “piss. me. off.”

“Rick,” Aaron jumps in, “we should tell him. He’s gotten us back on our feet with pretty much nothing in return.”

Daryl lets out a huff. “Shut up, Aaron. Just because he sticks it in your niece, don’t mean we can trust him. It don’t make him family.”

Before I can turn to swing Lucille at that redneck fuck’s skull, Aaron gets in his face. And he’s pissed. “It’s not about that! Are you forgetting the fact that Negan turned the other cheek when we almost killed him and his people? If I were him, I wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with us after that! Hell, if roles were reversed, what do you think you would have done?” He turns his head to Rick, “Or you? But, he,” he gestures back to me, “gave us food. He’s working with us to make the place where we all live safer. And he saved your life, Daryl ! So stop being such a fucking dick!” He lets out a heavy breath. “And don’t ever talk about Chucky that way again.”

Everyone is silent for a minute, including me. Sometimes Aaron fuckin’ surprises me. He’s all cool and calm, but when he gets riled up, he can get shit done.

I turn back to Rick and I see him wrestling with whatever it is he’s not telling me.

Rick finally lets out a breath. Apparently making his choice. “We have the means to make more bullets.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Make more bullets?”

Rick nods.

I look over to Eugene, who looks like he’s about ready to shit his pants. I point to him. “Courtesy of Professor Hockey Hair, the resident nerd, I’m assuming.”

“Th-That is correct,” Eugene confirms. “I know the proper recipe and techniques for casting and reloading bullets. A-And if the time comes when stockpiles of gunpowder become scarce...” He looks to Rick for a little reassurance in what he’s saying, “I-I am confident that I could devise a way to make more.”

“That’s fuckin’ interesting.” I scratch at my beard. “You’re a sneaky fuck, Rick. And I don’t exactly like you hiding shit from me. Considering how fuckin’ generous I’ve been to you.” I swing Lucille up onto my shoulder. “But I fuckin’ understand why you kept that shit to yourself.” I lean into him. “I also have the means to make more bullets,” I whisper.

It’s true. I do. That shooting range we took over had all the shit we needed. And we have more than one of those prepper people that know how to do all that shit. Plus , we’ve already scavenged a shit ton of bullets and guns. Ammo supply is not a problem for me. It just fuckin’ bothers me more than a little bit that Rick fuckin’ thought he had one over on me.

Rick looks at me like he’s fuckin’ shocked at what I said.

“Look Rick, I’m gonna lay it all out there. Something’s fuckin’ coming. I know it. You know it. Or else you wouldn’t’ve brought that radio shit here for me. Now, I am fuckin’ confident that me and my men can fight off whatever comes at us. I got the numbers. I got the fuckin’ weapons. And I’m fuckin’ smart as shit. But this world has to be more than just fighting. I want to build something more. That’s why I’m working with you. That’s why I didn’t fuckin’ kill you and march to your goddamn home and kill the rest of you.”

“Negan,” RIck starts, “I don’t want to fight you. We ,’’ he gestures to his guys, “don’t want to fight you.” He lets out a heavy breath. “You’re right. The shit I’ve seen... The people we’ve come across... Sometimes we just barely made it out alive. So you are right. We shouldn’t keep these things from each other. We need to work together . As allies. True allies.”

I nod. This’ll be good, being allies. It feels weird to admit that I’m gonna actually work with another group, but it’s the best for fuckin’ everyone. My people, Rick’s people, my family.

My family .

My lips curl up in a smile. “Sounds fuckin’ good, Rick.” I turn back to the others. “Dr. Smarty Pants, get the shit you need out of the truck. There’s a room on the second floor that will be a fuckin’ perfect radio room.” I turn to face the door and gesture for everyone to follow me. Which they do.

When we get to the room, which is a small empty office that we never used for anything, Eugene and Glenn dump the equipment in their hands onto the desk.

“Chucky always liked stuff like this,” Aaron starts. “She could help Eugene out.”

I shrug my shoulders a little and get my radio out to call her. I know she gets fuckin’ bored sometimes. Not to mention that she’s complained about not fuckin’ earning her keep here, no matter how much I tell her that she doesn’t need to work. Helping with this shit might make her feel more fuckin’ useful.

“I do not require help,” Eugene drones. “To be honest, anyone else will most likely be in the way. Unless your wife has a degree in engineering and a doctorate, she won’t provide any more knowledge than what I already possess. I sincerely doubt that she would be of any assistance to me.”

I glare at that chubby fucker. “You saying my girl is fuckin’ stupid?”

“No,” he answers hesitantly. “But I am aware that I possess an above average intellect, so statistically speaking, odds are in my favor that I am much more intelligent than your... girl.”

I scrunch up my face and turn to Aaron. “Is he fuckin’ serious?”

Aaron nods and he doesn’t look fuckin’ impressed. “Probably.”

I shake my head and hold my radio to my face. “Chuck. Pick up,” I say into it.

“Everything okay?” her sweet voice comes through a second later.

“Yeah, baby girl. Everything’s good. Just come down to the second floor. To the room at the very end of the hall. And, uh, dress fuckin’ casual.”

“Okay. Give me a minute.”

I put my radio away and turn back to Eugene. “If you fuckin’ upset my girl when she gets here, I will get upset. And if you’re as fuckin’ smart as you say you are, you’ll realize just how much of a bad fuckin’ idea it would be to upset me. Got it?”

Eugene fuckin’ swallows hard. “Consider that message stamped received. Loud and clear.”

“Good. Now get shit started.”

Eugene gets to work setting shit up on the desk as the rest of us shoot the shit. Glenn immediately starts to talk about his wife, Maggie, who I’ve met. She’s fuckin’ pregnant, too, though she’s not quite as far along as Chuck from what Glenn’s saying. But he couldn’t look any fuckin’ happier if he tried.

“Maggie hasn’t really had morning sickness too much, thankfully,” Glenn comments. “But she keeps saying she wants pickles.” He laughs.

“I got a guy that makes them. I’ll send a jar home with you.” I chuckle. “Earn you some fuckin’ brownie points.”

Chuck walks through the door and we all turn to her. She has those black leggings on that makes her ass look so fuckin’ good. And a T-shirt I brought up for her that has the Joker on it. It’s kinda loose on her belly, but you can still tell she’s fuckin’ pregnant.

“There’s my girl,” I call out and walk to her.

“Oh, uh...” She looks around at the other guys in the room then back to me. She looks nervous at first, but once she sees my fuckin’ expression, she calms down. “Hello.”

“Everyone. This is Chuck.” I put my arm around Chuck and turn her to face Rick and the others before I point them out. “Chuck, that’s Rick, Daryl, Glenn, and the guy with the haircut over there is Eugene.”

They all greet her.

“Hey there, Chucky,” Aaron says with a smile and comes over to hug her.

“Hi, Uncle Aaron.” She hugs him back.

Aaron puts his hand on her belly. “How are you feeling?”

“Really good,” she answers. “Still waiting to feel the baby move. But it might take a few more weeks.”

Glenn comes closer to her. “Oh wow. You’re so big.”

Chuck gives him a look and I know what she’s thinking. Cuz she’s not fuckin’ big. Depending on what she wears, you can barely see her belly.

“I mean, your belly’s big,” Glenn tries to backstep. But he’s definitely not saying the right thing cuz Chuck is still giving him the stinkeye. “Not, like, big like,” he holds his hands out on his own stomach, “ fat . I just mean...” He laughs nervously. “My wife’s pregnant, too, but she’s not even showing yet. Not as much as...” He chuckles again as he rubs his hand on the back of his neck.

Chuck’s expression gets softer. “How far along is she?”

“Eleven weeks.”

“She’s not too far behind me. I’m seventeen weeks.”

“Well, you look great!” Glenn looks her up and down.

I know he’s not fuckin’ checking her out, but I glare at him all the same.

He notices me burning a hole in his fuckin’ face with my eyes. “Uh... Great meaning healthy,” he clarifies. “I just think it’s so awesome that we all are in a place where we can raise kids. Have families. I never thought that would be possible again.”

“A-fuckin’-men!” I clap Glenn on the shoulder a little too fuckin’ hard, making him rub the area right after. “Anyway, Eugene is setting up some radio shit,” I direct to Chuck. “I thought he could use some help.”

“Oh, yeah. I can help.” She goes over to Eugene and he starts fuckin’ blabbering on about what he’s doing. And Chuck jumps right in. No matter what that brainy fuck says, my girl’s no goddamn dummy.

I stand back and watch them work as Daryl, Aaron, and Glenn start to fuckin’ talk about shit. Rick comes up to me and stands silent for a minute.

“She doesn’t look like your type,” Rick comments discreetly. He’s a dour motherfucker usually, but I can tell he’s fuckin’ joking with me now. Otherwise, I probably would’ve introduced his teeth to my fuckin’ fist.

“And what exactly do you think my type is?” I answer quietly.

He shrugs. “I guess I should’ve said that you don’t look like her type.”

I laugh. “You’re probably fuckin’ right, there, but for some reason, she’s still with my sorry ass.”

Chuck looks back at me and gives me one of those sweet fuckin’ smiles that makes my damn heart fuckin’ melt.

“I’m an incredibly lucky fuckin’ man.”

It doesn’t take Chuck and Eugene long to get shit done in there, even with them fuckin’ talking about comic books the whole goddamn time. That mulleted fucker is weird as shit, but fuck if he doesn’t seem actually normal talking about nerdy shit with Chuck. And she seems fuckin’ happy, too.

Eugene calls out to Alexandria and they answer back. It sounds like Carl, actually. So everything is up and fuckin’ running.

After that, Aaron and Eugene go off with Chuck to go hang out and probably do some nerdy shit. I trust Aaron to be alone with Chuck. And I’m fuckin’ sure he won’t let anything happen to her, so if he’s okay with Eugene being around her, I’m okay with it, too.

Besides, my saviors have been told that they are to keep an eye out on Chuck whenever they see her. So I got nothing to worry about.

Me, Rick, Daryl, and Glenn head over to my meeting room to discuss shit. I tell them all about my community that got wiped out and they agree that it sounds fuckin’ fishy. Especially with the similar shit that happened to them, too.

Rick tells me that Eugene came up with some sorta contraption that spins in the wind and makes a loud whistling noise that the biters will fuckin’ hear out in the wild. They’re planning to put it in the quarry to lead the dead fucks to it. Which is a good fuckin’ idea. Get the wanderers to drop right in to where we want them all on their own.

I’ve been looking over the maps and came up with some other places to corral the dead before winter hits, so I bring that shit up with Rick. He agrees to help set up the other... what the fuck should I call them? Dead zones . Yeah. Me and Rick are gonna set up a few more dead zones, complete with Professor Smarty Pants’s whistling machines, around my area. We get all the logistics of that fuckin’ stuff outta the way before I give Rick and his guys the ten cent tour my Sanctuary.

——— ———

A few days later, Chuck stands at the gate to see Aaron off. The other Alexandrians only stayed for a few hours the day they arrived, but Aaron stayed longer to visit with Chuck and celebrate her belated birthday.

Once the car leaves, Chuck goes back inside, headed upstairs to meet with Negan for dinner. On her way to the stairwell, though, she gets stopped by Julie, whom she met for the first time at the pregnancy announcement party.

“Oh, hello, Julie. How are you and...” it takes a moment for Chuck to remember the woman’s daughter’s name, “Nicole?”

“We’re great! How are you and your little one?” she asks cheerily as she motions to Chuck’s belly.

“We’re great, too! Thanks for asking.” Chuck still finds it surprising that people care about her and the baby, but she’s getting used to it.

“I wanted to tell you that me and Nicole loved your music at the parties. Some of it was a little too rock and roll for me, but it was still good. You’re very talented.”

Chuck’s cheeks redden at the compliment. “Oh, thank you! That’s so nice of you to say.”

“I think that the younger children would love to hear some live music, too. And maybe even be taught how to play. The classroom here is basic at best. We only have three teachers, one math, one English, and one elementary teacher. My husband is the math teacher and he’s kind of in charge of the kids’ education. The teachers do their best, but the kids could use something more... fun to learn. Maybe even the older teenagers could join in with the music, instead of only having their jobs to worry about. Give them something to... work towards, I guess.”

“That’s a good idea!” Chuck concurs. “I wonder if there are any music teachers here that could teach them.”

Julie laughs. “I mean you . You could teach them.”

“Me?” Chuck giggles nervously. “I’m not very good with kids.”

“Well... It’ll give you some practice before your little one comes.” Julie smiles hopefully.

Chuck thinks it over for a moment. “You know what? That sounds awesome! I would love to do it! I can start tomorrow.”

The next day before the classes start, Chuck heads off to the classroom on the first floor. Chuck’s never been there and has to be shown the way by the saviors she’s employed to carry a couple of guitars and a few keyboards to the room. The room is down a back hallway and in a completely remote part of The Sanctuary.

I’m guessing when they first set this place up, they weren’t thinking about children being around. If they had thought about it, they wouldn’t have put the classroom in such a dreary place.

Once she gets to the room though, she sees that it looks pretty much like any school room. Well actually, like three schoolrooms in one.

The walls are painted a cream color and the floor is covered in industrial tile in a grayish blue. One wall is obviously for little kids; a rug in primary colors sits in front of a chalkboard with a big colorful alphabet along the top of it. The other two walls look more like high school rooms with a few desks set up before the chalkboards, one for math and one for English. All of the different areas are separated by movable partitions.

The saviors start to set the instruments down in the unoccupied corner as the teachers, Chuck presumes, make their way to her.

Everyone introduces themselves. Graham Harrison, Julie’s husband, is the head teacher and teaches math. Leon Smith is the English and literature teacher. And Laurie Kennedy teaches the young kids.

After the introductions, they have some time to talk before the children come in.

“When my wife said she asked you to come here and you agreed, well, I was shocked to be quite honest,” Graham comments with a nervous laugh. He looks like the quintessential math teacher. Lanky, balding, wire rimmed glasses, outfit all in beige.

“Oh?” Chuck says with raised eyebrows.

“You wives... Well, I mean, the wives before you, I suppose, never really came down below too much.”

Chuck is a little offended at his insinuation, but shrugs it off. He’s not exactly wrong. “I like coming down here and earning my keep.” Chuck suddenly realizes how her statement sounds, so she tries to clarify. “Not that the wives don’t want to earn their keep,” she spits out quickly. “But... They just- It’s hard to understand if you aren’t in their position. It’s kinda complicated, I guess.” She lets out a huff. “Anyway, I just hope that I can teach the kids well. I’m not exactly trained in education,” she tries to change the subject.

“I’m sure the kids will be happy to have something new and exciting going on down here,” Laurie cuts in.

Before too long, the kids, three toddlers, five between the ages of five and ten, and seven ages ten to fourteen, come in. Chuck knew that at age fifteen, people could start earning points, so most teenagers take that route instead of wanting to continue school. Though the teachers say that some teens in the workforce still come in after their shifts to learn more advanced math from Graham or to discuss more in depth literature with Leon. Chuck hopes that she’ll get to meet those kids, because if she were their age now, she would probably be trying to get extra lessons, too. She always enjoyed learning.

Graham introduces the children to Chuck and she starts to play some kid-friendly songs for them on the guitar and keyboard. The kids all respond well to the light musical fare. After that, Chuck asks who would like to learn how to play music on their own. They all enthusiastically raise their hands. Even the older kids who are just starting to get into the “too cool for school” age.

Chuck spends an hour or so going over the very basics of music before it is time for the kids to get along with their regular studies. All in all, everyone seems to have enjoyed the music lesson. Chuck included. And she’s looking forward to more days teaching the children.

Chuck looks at the time and realizes that it’s almost time for her gardener friends to have their lunch break. Feeling a bit peckish herself, she decides to go out to the gardens to wait for the ladies to go on break so they all can have lunch.

Chuck leaves the building and walks out into the crisp fall air. She’s still wearing a light sundress, but added a cardigan because of the recent cooler temperatures. Chuck turns the corner of the building to head to the gardens, but stops short at what she sees. Ducking back behind the corner so she’s not too obvious, she watches with a huge smile on her face as Simon and Patty chat near the greenhouse all alone. And they’re not just chatting . They step in closer to each other so they’re almost chest to chest. Simon lightly brushes Patty’s hair off her shoulder. Patty laughs and touches Simon’s chest.

Oh my god! They’re flirting! That’s so adorable! I love it!

Chuck is started away from her thoughts by a sharp pinch on her butt cheek. She instantly flips around to see Negan’s smirking face.

“Negan!” Chuck slaps him on the chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, baby girl. But I couldn’t resist.” He takes her hand in his ungloved one. “Jesus, Chuck. You’re fuckin’ cold.” He passes Lucille off to her to hold and shrugs off his jacket, holding it out to her after. “Put this on.”

“I’m not that cold.”

One look from him tells her that it’s useless to argue with him.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” She trades Lucille for the jacket and throws it on. As soon as her hands pass through the warm sleeves, she realizes just how cold she actually is.

“Since it’s getting cold, maybe I should get a leather jacket like this of my own,” she teases. “We can match.”

“I’ll keep my eyes out for one,” he throws right back with a smirk. “But I think you’re gonna need a different style to fit that fuckin’ belly later on.”

“Shoot. You’re right. I really need to get on finding some warmer maternity clothes. It’s gonna be winter.”

“Like I’m gonna let you out-fuckin’-side when shit freezes over,” he says partially sarcastically and pulls Chuck into him to kiss her. Chuck isn’t really sure just how much truth is in the statement.

She pushes away from him and throws him an angry look. “ Let me? So I’m just gonna be locked up for a whole season?”

“Fuck no!” he calls out. “It doesn’t freeze over right away. You’ll just be locked up for a fuckin’ month or so,” he jokes back with a satisfied look on his face.

“Pssh,” Chuck dismisses. “But since we’re talking about seasons... You know what the best holiday of Fall is...?” she says with a lilt to get Negan to say what she wants.

“Thanksgiving?” he responds instantly.

“What?! No! Thanksgiving? No!”

He laughs, knowing full well that that’s not what she meant.

“ Halloween is the best holiday! And it’s next week. We should do something for it.”

“How many fuckin’ parties do you want, baby girl?!” he calls out pretending to be shocked. “It seems like all I’m doing is organizing fuckin’ parties for you!”

Chuck laughs. “I didn’t ask for those parties, if you remember correctly. And this doesn’t have to be the whole Sanctuary. Just something set up in one of the rec rooms or something.” She looks up at him with a sly smile. “You know, this place does have kids and they should get to have some fun.” Chuck adjusts the oversized jacket on her shoulders. “Besides, Halloween’s awesome.”

Negan pulls her back into him and kisses her sweetly. “If you wanna organize that shit, I’m fuckin’ okay with it.”

Chuck smiles wide in excitement. “Yay!”

Negan kisses her again and pulls back. “So why the fuck were you just standing here when I came up?”

“Oh.” Chuck turns around and points to Simon and Patty, who are still chatting. “I was spying on them.”

“Oh, shit,” Negan says with a smirk. “Simon finally found someone to put his dick in.”

Chuck slaps him on the chest. “Don’t be vulgar! I think they’re cute together.” Chuck giggles as she thinks about the things Patty has said to her about Simon. And how hot she thinks he is. “But Patty is definitely DTF with Simon.”

Negan laughs. “Jesus Christ! ‘DTF’? Where’d you get that fuckin’ potty mouth from!”

“Ha ha.” She nudges him with her elbow. “Very funny.”

“Well, unfortunately I’m gonna have to interrupt their foreplay. I was actually looking for Simon when I found you gawking.”

“Oh. Okay.” Chuck takes Negan’s jacket off and hands it back to him. “Here. I’m going in to eat lunch anyway.” She gets up on her tiptoes and kisses Negan. “See ya later.”

——— Negan’s POV ———

I get my jacket back on and watch as Chuck heads for the door. It is getting fuckin’ cold now. And I can just guess that Chuck’s gonna want to play around in the damn snow when we get some. So, I gotta make sure to get her some cute ass winter clothes that’ll fit her baby bump as she gets bigger.

I walk up to Simon and his apparent conquest, but they’re too busy to notice.

“Ahem!” I over exaggerate.

Simon turns around to me and clears his throat nervously. “Oh, hey, Negan!”

I raise my eyebrows at him and chuckle. “Am I fuckin’ interrupting?” I tease. Knowing full well that I am.

He shoots me a look. “You need me for something, boss?”

I point away telling him to take a walk with me.

He nods and looks back to Patty. “I’ll see you tonight,” he says quietly. Like he doesn’t want me to hear.

“Yeah. See you later,” she responds in such an overtly fuckin’ sexual way. Chuck was right. That girl is definitely DTF.

I start to walk away and give Simon a fuckin’ moment to catch up to me as I lead him to a quiet fuckin’ corner of The Sanctuary.

“What’s up, brother?” he asks when I turn back to him.

“We just got word back from some of our fuckin’ guys looking for our mysterious dead herder group outside. Andy and his brother didn’t find shit out their way. But TJ found some tire tracks. And Regina found evidence of the fuckin’ dead in a random storage container hidden out in the fuckin’ woods.”

“Shit.” Simon scratches at his cheek. “Did they find the group?”

I shake my head. “Whoever these fuckers are, they can cover their tracks.”

“So we still got nothing?”

“For now. But we both know they’re out there. And they’re biding their fuckin’ time for some reason.”

“We should watch that storage container to see if they come back to it.”

“I already got guys on it,” I respond. “I want you to go out on the next scheduled pickups and offer them the same deal I wanted you to offer the library people. There’s only, what, thirty some people in the two groups?”

Simon nods. “About.”

“I know some of them hate my guts, but I think once they see that they can be fuckin’ safe and protected, and fed, they’ll change their goddamn tune. Tell them they can come here or go to the outposts or Hilltop, if they want. Their choice. And fuckin’ stress that they are on probation. If they fuck up, the punishment is a date with Lucille. No exceptions.”

“Sure thing, boss. I don’t think we’ll really have a problem with them.”

I nod and scratch at my face. “So you and the gardener, huh?” I change the subject.

He gets a goofy fuckin’ smile and shrugs. “We’ve been talking.”

I laugh. I’m pretty fuckin’ good at reading body language, and the shit their bodies were saying heavily fuckin’ implied that they do more than ‘talking’. “You hitting it when you see her tonight?” I ask. He had to’ve known I’d fuckin’ hear him when he said he’d see her.

He chuckles and shrugs again. “Probably. She comes on pretty strong and knows what she wants.”

“Is this just a ‘fucking’ thing or you actually like her?”

He smiles again. “I like her. I really like her. Actually.”

I smile back at him. I’m happy for the fucker. “Good for you, brother!” I clap him on the back. “I’m fuckin’ happy as shit for you!”

He laughs and nods. “I’m actually happy, too. For once.”

Shit. I don’t think he fuckin’ meant to, but that shit actually made me feel guilty. For Chuck. And Lucille.

“You deserve to be fuckin’ happy, Simon. You’re one of the best fuckin’ men I’ve ever known, even if I don’t say it enough. I love you, brother.”

He looks at me a little shocked. “Shit, Negan.” He rubs the back of his neck and chuckles nervously. “Are you getting some of Chuck’s pregnancy hormones, because that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Pfft,” I dismiss him. “Fine, I take it all back. Fuck! You try to say something nice...” I joke.

As we walk back into the building, I think about what he’s said. Am I getting fuckin’ soft? If I am, is that a fuckin’ bad thing?

Hmm. What-the-fuck-ever. I’m happy. My girl’s happy. My friend’s happy. That’s all that counts right now.

#negan #negan fanfiction #negans thirst squad #negan x oc #negan x original female character #negan x ofc #negan / ofc #negan / oc #negan / original female character #jdm #jeffrey dean morgan #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead au #the walking dead #this is how i disappear #tihid #writehavoc writes #writehavoc this is how i disappear

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delabaisse · 5 years

Text

Vertigo

This has been a project FOREVER, and honestly, I have given it up a number of times, but I’ve always come back to it because it’s also exactly what I need in a story I’m writing: an additional challenge to keep my perfectionism in check. I hope you like it!

Bossuet didn't know much about Courfeyrac, except that he was ridiculously funny and insanely easy to talk to, and that he sat next to Bossuet in the second to last row in Domestic Relations, managing to turn every single one of the dry lessons into a firework of whispered puns and innuendo.

Courfeyrac had tried to invite Bossuet along to whatever he got up to on the weekend – Bossuet thought it had something to do with activism, though it might just be an endless stream of parties, you could never be sure with Courfeyrac – several times. Bossuet had to turn him down for increasingly unlikely sounding reasons, because that was how Bossuet's life tended to work.

He'd stopped inviting Bossuet for a while, after that, but last week, he must have wanted to try one last time, and Bossuet had to turn him down because that had been the Day of the Eviction Notice. Courfeyrac had looked a little disbelieving and a little sad, but Bossuet refused to lose a potential friend to what a professor had once described as a Case of Bad Luck so Severe as to Appear Unbelievable, I'm Sorry Lèsgle But I Will Have to Give You that F.

That was why Bossuet brought the eviction notice to uni the next week and slid it over to Courfeyrac's desk before he came in.

Courfeyrac, when he sat down, eyed the letter warily, but upon realising what it was, he cast a quick glance in Bossuet's direction and picked it up to read.

“Shit,” he said emphatically, his eyes flitting over the text, “and here I thought you were turning me down for the fun of it. Truth be told, man, I thought maybe you were homophobic for a bit there.”

Bossuet almost fell out of the rickety chair. “No! No, good lord. That would be hypocritical of me. I am the opposite of homophobic. I am homophilic. Is that a word?”

“It is a word, but I am not sure if it is the one you meant to use”, Courfeyrac replied with half an indulging smile.

“I'm bi, is what I meant”, Bossuet clarified, and got treated to a front row view of a slow smile spreading on Courfeyrac's face until he was grinning so broadly Bossuet almost assumed he was taking the piss. He clapped a hand on Bossuet's shoulder and said,

“Buddy, I am so glad you brought your eviction notice. You are going to love my friends, I promise. You are going to find a new flat – check this out, I set up an LGBT roommate finder, Musichetta and Joly are looking for a roommate, you're going to love them to pieces -” he scribbled a URL on the backside of the eviction notice and handed it back to Bossuet. “- and you are going to finally make it to a meeting, because now I know about your bad luck and we can trick it. I can't wait for you to meet them! I keep telling them about the funny dude from Dom Rel, you already have, like, instant friends. Just pour some real life interaction on top. Second hand friends. They'll love you.”

Bossuet was not so sure. Courfeyrac was a very loveable person, so surely he would have all kinds of friends, each with their own assets – but in Bossuet's experience, the friends of people who were universally adored tended to not get along with each other too well.

Courfeyrac must have sensed some of those feelings, because he sobered slightly. “I mean, just come to a meeting first, then we'll see what happens.”

“I will”, Bossuet promised, but of course, it did not work out that weekend.

The flatmatefinder, however, worked like a charm. Musichetta and Joly's little blurb sounded endearing, and the flat was close enough to uni that Bossuet was slightly afraid of jinxing it.

Contrary to expectation, they replied immediately when Bossuet finally came around to sending a tentative message, and with such cheer that Bossuet wondered if they were some of those that Courfeyrac called “instant friends”, biased by the tales of That Funny Kid in Dom Rel.

Eh, whatever. If anyone could counteract Bossuet's bad luck, it was Courfeyrac. Bossuet would take it, and gladly.

Bossuet was about to give the doorbell a second ring when the buzzer sounded. The heavy door opened, revealing a staircase just old enough to look antique rather than rundown. The stairs were wooden, rounded with wear at the edges, and they creaked when Bossuet set foot on them. After a long, winding journey all the way up to the fourth story, a young man with eyebrows so high on his forehead as to look permanently perplexed came into sight. He was leaning in the apartment doorway, somehow managing to make the pose look nervous.

“Bossuet, for the flat share, right?” he said, his fingers clenching and unclenching rapidly. “Hi, I'm Joly. Um, I'm very sorry, Musichetta isn't home yet, but she's going to be any minute -”

Bossuet stepped forward and held out a hand, mustering a hopefully calming smile. “Joly, it's very nice to meet you in person.”

Joly considered this for a few seconds before taking Bossuet's hand. His grip was firm, but his smile was not. “It's nice to meet you, too”, he said, “I'm sorry, I should have led with that. Musichetta will be here soon, she's better at this, I promise, she'll show you around like a professional, she's got this down to a t, she's wonderful -” Bossuet took a careful step back to give the man some space, and Joly immediately seemed to deflate in what looked like an even mixture of relief and disappointment. “I jinxed it, didn't I? I'm sorry.”

“Nothing has been jinxed”, Bossuet told him firmly. “What's wrong, Joly? This is the third time you've apologised to me now, and I only just met you. Nothing has happened. Usually, I'm the one who meets new people by apologising a ridiculous number of times, but that's because I got swept into a parking car by a squall or I entered the wrong house by accident and this nice couple thinks I'm a burglar and they're standing there holding matching baseball bats, or-”

Joly laughed, in that split second, his face transformed entirely. His eyebrows, impossibly, rose even higher on his forehead. His eyelids crinkled. Bossuet would be willing to admit, to anyone who'd ask, that it was a little charming. “Thank you for that mental image, Bossuet”, Joly said, his fingers stilling briefly.

Bossuet nodded graciously. “You're very welcome. I think there were little bats on them, too.”

Joly gasped. “A pun! I hope you congratulated them.”

„I tried“, said Bossuet, „I'm not sure if that was before or after they slammed the door in my face though, so I don't know if they heard it. But people who appreciate great puns usually find a likeminded friend group once they've scared off everyone else – I would know – so I assumed they already knew the mastery of their pun.“

Joly stepped aside a little. “Would you like to come in?” he said. Then he eyed Bossuet as Bossuet stepped past him, and added slowly, “you don't look like you'd be swept off by a squall.”

“I was on a bicycle at the time, and holding an umbrella”, Bossuet explained. “Bigger windage.”

The hallway was badly lit and cramped in a way that made Bossuet feel immediately at home. There was a shoerack by one wall, shoes dangling off both sides for lack of space. “Should I take off my shoes, too?” Bossuet asked, pointing to it, and Joly nodded. “Oh yes, please do. Musichetta is the one who buys all the shoes, but I'm the one who insists they have to come off in the hallway. We only bust half of all the gender norms. I'm a bit of a nag when it comes to cleanliness, I'm afraid.” Joly took a deep breath. His forehead creased sorrowfully. “We think it might be OCD. But I'm not sure, I just – with the jinxing and the cleaning and the making sure exactly 50% of all gender norms are busted and, doesn't matter, the point is, I might freak out a little like I did just now, it happens, I think you should know if you moved in with us. Through here – this is the kitchen.”

The doorbell rang twice just as Joly sat them down at a very clean, though somewhat battered kitchen table. Joly released what sounded like a pent-up breath, but didn't move to buzz the visitor in.

Bossuet turned towards the door with what must have been a very confused expression, because Joly laughed again and explained: “Oh, that was just Musichetta, she likes to announce herself. She's got a key. You'll love her, she's wonderful.”

Bossuet wondered if the continuous declarations of love came from a place of worry or a place of genuine worship as the sound of very determined steps in what sounded like very high heels approached, then came to an abrupt halt and turned into slipper-padded shuffling in the hallway. Then Musichetta entered and solved the mystery once and for all.

She was petite and beautiful, with big brown eyes and a determined twist to the mouth as she stepped forward to shake hands with Bossuet. Her hands were tiny. So were her feet, Bossuet noticed, looking down as though blinded. “You must be Bossuet”, she said pleasantly. Her voice was a marvel, deep and smooth and round. Bossuet would kill for a voice like that. “It's wonderful to meet you,” she said, and Bossuet replied, “likewise,” because more than one-word-answers would be ill-advised right now, probably, lest Bossuet blurted out something like I don’t know if I want to be you or date you. “Joly has already shown you all the rooms?” She asked, making Joly look so worried again that Bossuet found some more words for his benefit immediately: “I've seen the hallway and the kitchen. Joly praised your tour-giving skills, so I assumed he was leaving the rest to you?”

Musichetta gave Joly a fond look, and Joly smiled widely in response. Snapping him out of his nervousness was about the easiest and most rewarding thing Bossuet had ever done.

Musichetta reached over to ruffle Joly's hair, then made a beckoning gesture towards Bossuet, palm facing down. “Come with me then, young man, I'll show you to your chambers”, she said, and Bossuet obediently got up out of the squeaky plastic chair to follow her past the shoerack with the multitude of tiny shoes again. The pair Musichetta must have just added was a glossy dark blue with heels that gave Bossuet vertigo just looking at them. Vertigo, or something else like amazement paired with a shaky twinge.

“Or, really, chamber”, Musichetta corrected herself, opening a door with a flourish. “Joly and I have gotten into the habit of calling it the Office, with a capital O, because it makes us sound more grown-up and less like we can't be bothered to find ourselves a roommate. It might take a while to shake that habit. Anyway - it's not a big room, but it's got the best view. Plus, skylights are great for when it rains. A hassle to clean, but the sound and view totally make up for it.”

Bossuet regarded the ceiling's slope towards the floor and thought, I'm going to hit my head on this every day. There was a fondness in the thought that Bossuet could not quite place. Something like the opposite of nostalgia: The certainty of having found a new place where memories would soon be made.

Musichetta eyed Bossuet quizzically for a second, then went on to talk about how parquet really had the best of all worlds, easy to clean, warm to the touch, and not sticky like linoleum. Bossuet spared the spotless if lightly scuffed floor hardly a glance before earnestly telling Musichetta, “I'm as in as I'm going to be.”

Musichetta visibly deflated. “We had a platter of cookies ready to woo you”, she said, managing to sound pleased and disappointed at the same time. “I had this whole speech about how our rooms were perfectly situated to ensure maximal school trip feeling while maintaining the most possible privacy. I was going to show you our room. I made decorations out of old books specifically for this occasion!”

“On second thought, I might have been wrong when I said I'm as in as I'm going to be”, Bossuet amended quickly, “Because I am in fact more in now. By all means, keep going!”

Musichetta squinted. “You know what?” she said after a while. “I like your way of thinking, Mister. Allow me to show you Joly's and my room. It's across the hall to ensure maximal school trip feeling while maintaining as much privacy as possible.”

Bossuet laughed and followed her out of the room again, across the hallway, where Joly was peeking out of the kitchen in what was already beginning to feel like a familiar way, and into the second room.

Moving house went about as well as Bossuet expected it to.

There were several Incidents, including a neighbour mistaking Bossuet for a robber and very nearly causing an ambulance-worthy scene, the cat from the lovely lady on the first floor running into Joly's legs, causing him to save the cat and himself from bodily harm in a maneuver that unfortunately put all of his weight onto Bossuet's Breakables carton (which Bossuet had refused to touch, hoping to bypass its very obvious fate) and several friends canceling at the last minute, leaving Bossuet with Joly and Musichetta to do all the actual moving.

What Bossuet hadn't expected was for the mood to never drop. There was the occasional swear word, especially from Musichetta, especially while lugging Bossuet's closet up into the fourth floor, but it always sounded like breathless laughter towards the end, and Bossuet caught several more glances of Joly's life-changing smile from behind pieces of furniture or above cartons he was holding the opposite end of.

At eight in the evening, Musichetta sat down on a carton, put her feet up on another, and refused to get up again until they ordered pizza.

“Do I tell her she's sitting on my Breakables carton,” Bossuet whispered to Joly as they went to the kitchen to fetch the takeout flyers, and Joly burst out laughing.

“I mean, if we just order pizza, we solve the problem too”, he pointed out. “Plus, at this point... does it matter?”

“Probably not,” Bossuet agreed. “I might never look into it again, fearing that my sheer presence might cause more stuff to have broken in the first place. I might as well relabel it Schroedinger's Breakables Carton.”

Joly sobered. “Is it always like this, for you?” he asked. “Your life, I mean.”

“Always.” Bossuet shrugged a shoulder. “I get tired of it sometimes, but usually, it just gives me too many great stories to be seriously upset.”

“Are we talking about Bossuet's freakishly bad luck?” Musichetta asked from where she'd made herself comfortable on the floor. “How'd that happen, anyway? Did you fall into a cauldron when you were a kid or something?”

“A witch cursed me,” Bossuet replied, one of the glib answers out of the Pile of Answers to Give When Someone Inquired after the Bad Luck, “It's a whole tragic thing. Who's for cheesy crust? I think we've earned ourselves some cheesy crust.”

They ended up sharing an extra large pizza with cheesy crust and extra cheese, and then Musichetta's tiny feet ended up in Bossuet's lap, “because you owe me a massage, for all the stairs I ascended today!” and Joly, impossibly, didn't seem to mind. Bossuet threw him a wary look every now and then in between kneading Musichetta's feet and trying not to admire them too openly, but all he did was point out that every stair Musichetta had ascended she had also descended, and hand Bossuet a bottle of disinfectant when Musichetta pulled back her feet with a contented sigh.

When they had both left Bossuet alone in the Office, it was long after midnight, the Breakables Box had been relabeled “Brokenables” by Musichetta in aggressively red sharpie, and the stars were shining through the headlights like they were trying to make a lasting impression. Like someone might in a job interview.

Bossuet lay down on the mattress, looked up into the night sky, and felt luckier than ever before.

“You're hired”, Bossuet told the night sky.

Bossuet was incorporated into Joly and Musichetta's household in a heartbeat, and after only a few days, they had already established routines that neither of them would miss for the world.

From there, it took only a couple of weeks for the place to feel, deeply and profoundly, like home.

Bossuet got used to new ambient noises like the staccato of a wooden spoon on the rim of a pot as Joly got rid of surplus sauce, or the shuffling of Musichetta's slippers on the tiled hallway floor, or their unmistakeable shower duets (mostly disney, and mostly in tune, but there had been bits and pieces from musicals here and there, and sometimes a tune would hit Bossuet like a knife in the middle of a massage.) Bossuet loved every aspect of it.

A lot of the time, when Bossuet passed Musichetta and Joly’s bedroom, their door was half open, and about 80% of the time, when it was, they were up for a cuddle pile.

Bossuet usually snuck a glance inside to catch a glimpse of them cuddling or sprawled on the floor studying, or in the middle of an animated discussion. Seconds of borrowed intimacy. Sometimes, they would beckon Bossuet over to join them, and sometimes they didn’t.

Bossuet tried not to think too much about what it meant to develop a crush on both of your flatmates who were also dating each other.

It was still dark outside when Bossuet ventured into the hallway one especially cold December morning with the intention of filling a hot water bottle that would make the broken heating (which, suspiciously, only affected the Office) slightly more bearable.

Warm, dim light was seeping out from the half-open door to Musichetta and Joly’s room, and Bossuet glanced inside habitually. Joly seemed to have left for work already, and Musichetta was perched on her dresser, half-facing the mirror on the wall behind it. Only the light bulbs surrounding the mirror were burning, throwing Musichetta’s face into relief and casting long shadows across the rest of the room. Musichetta seemed momentarily absorbed in applying mascara, but made eye-contact with Bossuet through the mirror in a way that felt significant, so Bossuet stayed and watched for a moment, icy feet be damned.

When Musichetta was done with the mascara, she beckoned Bossuet over with a now-familiar gesture, her palm facing downwards, tiny fingers wiggling. Bossuet went without a second thought.

Musichetta pointed to the armchair, and Bossuet took a seat, receiving a satisfied nod from Musichetta in return.

The room was almost warm enough for Bossuet to fall asleep then and there, the atmosphere somewhere between eerie and sleepy in the way only early mornings before the first word of the day ever were. But something about the way Musichetta applied her make-up was capturing enough to keep Bossuet’s eyes from falling shut.

She was meticulous, but routinely so, and Bossuet watched in silence as Musichetta’s lovely face turned into something no less lovely, but sharper. Bossuet felt a stab of something, perhaps guilt at watching her so intently, perhaps envy at the steadiness of her fingers. It was too early to parse it beyond its heavy significance. Musichetta must have caught an edge of it on Bossuet’s face through the mirror, because she said, abruptly: “Want me to do you, too?”

There was a split second of Bossuet’s heart working double time, leaving no room to form words even if the only word that might have needed forming was yes. But then the moment was over, and Musichetta turned around to face Bossuet, frowned slightly to herself and said, “I’m not sure why I said that.”

Because you always know what to say, Bossuet didn’t reply. Even if you don’t know what it means.

Bossuet didn’t know what it meant, either.

“Me neither”, Bossuet finally decided to say, lightly, “but I seem very suddenly and very badly to want you to do my make-up, so it must have worked.” Musichetta didn’t wait for Bossuet to confirm it a second time, just patted the free space opposite her on the dresser, and Bossuet went and sat down at her gesture again.

She picked up a pair of tweezers from one of the boxes strewn between them, and raised her eyebrows at Bossuet in silent question.

“I don’t think my workplace ever specified I needed manly unplucked eyebrows, so go to town”, Bossuet said, and to town Musichetta went.

It hurt worse than Bossuet had imagined, a kind of rapid twinge that Bossuet was unused to, and there were a couple of tears that Musichetta gracefully ignored.

“There you go”, She said kindly after a minute. Bossuet turned towards the mirror. Musichetta’s skill was undeniable: there was a certain sharpness to Bossuet’s features that hadn’t been there before, a cleanness that Bossuet appreciated, experimentally raising both eyebrows.

“I love it”, Bossuet said, with feeling.

“Want me to go on, do a full face?”

“Please do.”

This time, Bossuet’s eyes did fall shut as Musichetta’s fingers touched the skin of Bossuet’s face, gently but routinely.

Later that day, when Joly peered into the Office on his way to the kitchen, he stopped abruptly, retraced his last steps, and did a double take so obvious Bossuet had to assume it was for comic effect.

Bossuet, tired of the questions the day had already brought and never ceased to bring, only raised one skillfully plucked eyebrow in silence, daring him to say something.

Joly, instead of sputtering or fleeing, came closer and inspected Bossuet's face with an intensity that left Bossuet almost dizzy with conflicting feelings. There was a tiny smile joining Joly's wide-eyed look, Bossuet noticed and took care not to sigh in relief.

“That suits you really well,” Joly said finally. “Well done.”

“Thanks!” Musichetta yelled from where she was wreaking havoc in the kitchen, “I'll take that credit!”

“Fair enough,” Bossuet agreed easily, glad that their streak of theoretically difficult conversations turning out to take only a minimum of maneuvering was left unbroken.

“So, Musichetta convinced you to let her try her make-up skills on you, huh?” Joly asked lightly.

Bossuet shrugged. “To be entirely honest, she didn't have to do much convincing. I mean, look at her. Clearly she knows what she's doing.”

“She really does,” Joly agreed wholeheartedly, worming his way into Bossuet's lap for a welcome-home-hug that had already become commonplace between them.

And that was that.

It was well into their fifth month as flatmates and finally starting to get warmer again even in Bossuet's room, when a light tap-tap-tap-tap-tap at the Office's door announced Musichetta's presence: she tended to knock much softer and faster than Joly.

"Come in, step into my office," Bossuet called, as was custom by now.

Musichetta shuffled in, carrying a fluffy blanket and a laptop.

"I have been kicked out of our room for," her fingers formed sarcastic quotation marks in the air, "'shopping too loudly', so I have come to search refuge-"

"Refuge granted," Bossuet said, immediately getting up from the swivelly chair in front of the desk and instead sitting down on the tiny sofa, patting the space on the other end of it invitingly. "Shopping sounds exciting and Joly is a buffoon for not seeing this. Please tell me all about what you're buying."

Musichetta immediately dropped down on the sofa, bringing her feet up and resting her laptop on them, and if her knee came to rest on Bossuet's thigh in the process, then neither of them felt the need to comment on it. She did give Bossuet a sidelong glance, though, and said, eyes narrowed suspiciously: "You're procrastinating, aren't you. I'm keeping you from your studies."

"Yes, you are, and I could not be more grateful for it. It looks like I will be failing this term anyway for reasons I'm not sure even the secretary fully understands but has assured me cannot be rectified even though they are at the most forty percent my fault."

Musichetta gave Bossuet a wide-eyed look, still not entirely accustomed to the infamous Bad Luck. "Oh, shit," she said softly, squeezing Bossuet's shoulder. "What the fuck happened? Do you want me to call them and tear them a new one? That sounds pretty major."

Joly and she had been around for several cases of Bad Luck that were minor enough that Bossuet could turn them to laughter with no effort at all. It had been a while since something this major had gone to shit, and Bossuet was still struggling to make it sound funny.

"Apparently, the credit points for all of my exams were nullified because I let a fellow student use my account once to last-minute apply to a couple of courses because his own account kept throwing him out. All the professors assured him they knew it was him applying and taking the tests, but the system apparently did not. So now since I technically failed the courses he applied for - it's a whole thing. But I would like it to be known that even if I was bested by the system, I did manage to save Marius Pontmercy from it, who is a fucking genius and couldn't hurt a fly, so it's worth something."

"Marius Pontmercy!" Musichetta exclaimed, and okay, this was not what Bossuet had thought she would take away from this, but alright - "He's part of that group we're trying to get you to join, Les Amis!"

Bossuet laughed. "See, I saved one of our own. I really fucking hated college anyway."

Musichetta patted Bossuet's shoulder again, sympathetic. "Still," she said, with some weight, "it fucking sucks. I'm sorry it happened this way. My offer to call the secretary still stands, I do calls for Joly all the time."

"I'll figure out if I even really want to go to college first, because at the moment I'm tending towards no," Bossuet said, "but I really appreciate the offer a lot anyway, so thank you. But let's do some shopping first, why don't we? What were you looking for?"

"Shoes!" Musichetta said, now leaning into Bossuet with most of her weight and tilting her laptop screen down slightly. "I have to order them from this special website that does unusual shoe sizes because my feet are that small. But they're pretty good, and the shipping isn't terribly expensive, so it's okay."

The screen showed a pair of burgundy boots with impressive heels, and when Musichetta clicked the drop-down menu to show her size (four, which was already enough to startle Bossuet into almost letting out a sound), it dropped down all the way to 16.

"Thirteen," Bossuet said, softly, almost awed.

Musichetta, who had been hovering the cursor in the vicinity of the little blue 4, immediately moved it to the little number 13, clicked and held, highlighting it in blue.

"That your size?" she asked.

Bossuet nodded, holding a breath, without really knowing to what end.

"Do you want to buy a pair as well?" Musichetta asked, not unkindly, but not so kindly as to seem patronising. Bossuet nodded again, mutely.

"That's great, we can split the shipping!" Musichetta released the click, and Bossuet the breath, as she added one pair in size 13, and one pair in size four to her virtual shopping basket. She clapped her hands cheerfully.

"This is great, I have never had a partner in unusual shoe sizes before," she said, finishing up the order with a couple of quick clicks. Bossuet felt the sudden urge to hide behind her back and curl up like an armadillo, and did not try to withstand it.

Musichetta's arm came around Bossuet's shoulder immediately and she gave it a couple of absent pats. "Is this about ordering women's shoes? Don't worry about it, Bossuet, darling, nobody in this household will even bat an eyelash. Nobody at Les Amis would, either", she added, with that wheedling tone she got whenever she talked about the group now. "Well, Marius might, but making Marius blush is half the fun of being there, so it doesn't count."

"I really do need to meet them all", Bossuet said. "Do you think if I let the bad luck have my college career, it'll let me go to a meeting?"

"Bargaining, I like it!", Musichetta replied instantly, planting an excited kiss on Bossuet's cheek. Bossuet froze for a second, causing Musichetta to squeeze the shoulder closest to her reassuringly.

"Joly doesn't mind. I know you've been worried. We're not that exclusive, and he's not the jealous type, anyway."

"Oh", Bossuet said. A few seconds passed, enough for Bossuet to calm down and Musichetta to tilt her cheek in invitation. "In that case", Bossuet finally said and leaned in to kiss her as well, a split second touch that traveled like lightning all the way to the fingertips, which kept tingling until well into the evening.

And if Joly gave Bossuet a particularly knowing and fond smile during dinner, in the middle of trying to come up with a way to trick the fates into allowing that first meeting with Les Amis that Bossuet had been anticipating for so long, now, then none of them mentioned it.

Well, Bossuet was tempted to, because Bossuet felt the way being struck by lightning a second time in the same day must feel. Not that exclusive, Bossuet thought. That might be one way to put it.

It took another two weeks for it to work out; two weeks, in which Bossuet gently failed out of College and not so gently fell in love with both roommates, who were also dating each other. Bossuet could not stress enough how bad of an idea it sounded like, but that did nothing to slow down the process.

The thing was, it felt like a good thing more often than it didn't, and that was what alarmed Bossuet the most. Whenever a moment traversed friendly territory to emerge on the flirty side, Joly and Musichetta made sure to give Bossuet kind smiles and reassuring touches, as if they wanted to make sure that Bossuet did not freak out and run away. Which, most of the time, was a very real threat.

Bossuet, in turn, did not freak out and run away, and even smiled and touched them back some of the time.

Their shoes arrived in the second week. Just seeing the package sitting next to the shoerack was enough to make Bossuet's heart race, and Musichetta's excited shriek when she came home that day didn't exactly help that condition.

She kicked off her shoes and ran for the kitchen, the gentle padded tap-tap-tap of her stockinged feet on the floor merging into a slide as she swang around a corner. Bossuet bent down to pick up her shoes and balance them on the top of the shoerack, precariously, and waited for her to return with a pair of scissors.

She did, after a few seconds, the scissors extended handle-first to Bossuet like a good kindergartner. Bossuet carefully took them from her. "Are you sure you want me to do this?"

"They're your first high-heels! You gotta celebrate the process!"

Bossuet didn't find anything to argue with that, instead gingerly setting to opening the package. The carton parted easily enough, revealing brown packaging paper and a glimmer of red. Musichetta gave a tiny, muted sound that made Bossuet pause and look up at the expression of joyful anticipation on her face. She reached out into the carton impatiently to remove the paper, and then Bossuet stared down at their shoes: hers were small enough to fit inside the other pair, both of them beautifully made, dark velvet shimmering slightly in the low light of the hallway.

Bossuet was the one to take them out, holding out Musichetta's shoes to her and setting the other pair down on the floor to step into.

"You put yours on first," Musichetta commanded. "I'll help you."

And she did, zipping them up and fastening the little clasps on the sides just tight enough not to hurt after Bossuet stepped into them. Bossuet slowly got up from the floor, wobbling a little. There was that feeling again, from the first day Bossuet had seen their flat, and Musichetta's shoes in particular. Bossuet had called it vertigo, then. Bossuet was willing to admit, by now, that it might be something else.

"Um. This might be a stupid question, but when I walk in these... do I set down the heel or the toes first?"

Musichetta frowned, then mimed walking in high heels for a second, the crease between her eyebrows deepening adorably. "I don't actually. Hang on." She put on her own pair while standing up like a professional, and took a couple of steps with a look of concentration on her face.

"No, I think you set down both pretty much at once," she concluded.

Bossuet took an experimental step forward, careful to let the heel and the toes connect with the floor simultaneously. The audible clicking sound the heel made on the tiled floor was enough to make Bossuet's heart skip, and then do a double-beat.

"This might not be good for my health, but it's definitely good for my soul," Bossuet stated, taking another step.

Joly chose that moment to peek out of his and Musichetta's room. "What is bad for your health?" he asked, and then his eyes zeroed in on Bossuet's feet, going round.

He swallowed audibly, not saying anything for a couple of seconds. It was almost enough to make Bossuet beat a hasty retreat to the Office, but then Joly cleared his throat and said, "I should tell you to always put your health first but these look amazing on you, so I will not do that and instead urge you to listen to your soul sometimes."

Bossuet felt a blush coming up, and took a few more wobbly steps to hopefully distract from it. It seemed to work, with both Musichetta and Joly's eyes glued to the size 13 burgundy high heels clicking against the floor in increasingly elegant steps. When Bossuet chanced a shoulder check, they were sharing what seemed to be a significant look, Musichetta's face glowing, Joly slightly wild-eyed.

Again, it didn't feel like a bad thing. For the first time, Bossuet allowed a thought that had been trying to worm its way to the forefront for a while: This might just work out.

Bossuet, still looking back, took another step, dangerously swayed to one side, and reached out to the wall to keep from falling.

"Wait, I'll help you," Musichetta called, rushing to Bossuet's side, heels click-click-clicking. She offered her hand, and Bossuet only hesitated a split-second before taking it.

They walked up and down the hall hand-in-hand, Musichetta offering helpful tips from time to time. Joly looked on from the doorway the whole time, his wide-eyed look slowly giving way to one of fondness. "Do you want to wear them to the meeting on Friday?" he asked eventually.

Bossuet faltered and came to a halt. "Do... you think they'll be okay with that?"

"Jehan wears high heels all the time, they won't even look twice," Musichetta said reassuringly.

"Well, they might look twice because these are some awesome shoes," Joly amended, and Bossuet grinned.

"That they are. Sure, you know what? Why not. Let's do that."

Musichetta and Joly gave a cheer, ran to Bossuet's sides, and both took a hand, as if on cue.

Bossuet took a breath, looked up as if to make sure this was actually all happening, and thought again: this might just work out.

When they arrived at the Musain that Friday, they were way beyond fashionably late for reasons that included a strike, the Parisian public transport being what it was, and a stray kitten that insisted on being petted for at least twenty minutes before vanishing below a hedge.

The Musain was bustling with people, and for the first time that evening, Bossuet felt slightly weird wearing the red boots.

Then Musichetta, two steps ahead, turned around and winked, and Bossuet forgot about it entirely.

Courfeyrac was standing near the entrance and spotted them the second they entered, breaking into a full sprint and throwing himself into Bossuet's arms. Bossuet stumbled back a few steps, but managed to keep both of them upright while returning the tight embrace, because you didn't waste a Courfeyhug on something as simple as physical safety. The man was born to hug people.

Courfeyrac looked down as if to check for injuries, and then his eyes lingered on Bossuet's shoes a second longer than necessary. Bossuet felt a hint of anxiety creep up, but Courfeyrac quenched it immediately by shouting, "Bossuet!! You came!! Enjolras! Combeferre! Come say hi to your new instant friend! Grantaire! Get over here, you will love each other! Wait a second, I'll be right back." And he left them standing there.

A good ten people started making their way over, and Bossuet would be worried if they didn't all look so damn delighted.

One guy with a wild halo of dark curls in particular was grinning with way too much gusto for someone who was only just being introduced to someone. And indeed, when he came up to shake Bossuet's hand, he said, "I'm Grantaire, hi, and I have to say, the story about the hedgehog, the bike, and the ambulance was the funniest I've ever had the pleasure of hearing, and Joly promised it was even funnier when you told it, so I can't wait to get wasted with you on a regular."

Bossuet grinned back, instantly intrigued. "Oh boy, if you loved that story, you will not be disappointed. Things just sort of start happening when I'm around, it's very entertaining for almost everyone involved. I can't promise that that will always include you, though."

"That's okay," Grantaire replied easily. "I can deal with failure, it's my default state."

"Don't scare off our newest member before the meeting has even started, Grantaire," said a tall, lanky black man with glasses mildly, and reached out to shake Bossuet's hand next. "I'm Combeferre, Courfeyrac has told me so much about you already. I'm glad you could finally make it."

"Oh, likewise," Bossuet replied. "I am loving it so far, and as much bad luck as I have in everything else, I have never been wrong about my friends. And I can't wait to be friends with all of you, you seem incredible."

"Thank you," said not Combeferre, but the blond man next to him, skipping the handshake and instead going for bisous immediately. "I'm Enjolras. It's good to have you."

There was a palpable honesty and a warmth behind the words that left no doubt as to who was the speaker of the group, and for a second, Bossuet felt almost bashful at the full force of it, heat high in the just-kissed cheeks.

Then, Courfeyrac returned, slinging a companionable arm around Bossuet's shoulders, and everything went back to normal. Bossuet gave Enjolras an apologetic smile for turning away so soon after such a heartfelt welcome, and focused on Courfeyrac, who held up a small box.

"We've got pronoun tags for new people, so nobody needs to point theirs out awkwardly all the time. If none of these work for you, we can make a new one, I have a sharpie," he said. He was already fumbling with a tag, trying to fasten it to his own shirt.

"Pronouns?" Bossuet replied.

Courfeyrac tilted the box so Bossuet could look inside, and there were name tags lying in it, except they didn't have names on them, but instead all said, elle, or il, or ille, or iel. He lifted his other hand to reveal a green tag that said, il.

It wasn't exactly the first time Bossuet had heard of people using different pronouns, but it was the first time anyone had waited for Bossuet to have a reaction to them, and now that the moment was there, Bossuet felt something so profound that it was hard to find a word for it.

Vertigo, Bossuet decided after a moment, sounded pretty accurate.

Like when you stood at the edge of a cliff not knowing if you'll fly or fall.

"Elle," Bossuet said, and felt her heart skip once, twice, and then dip into double speed, like a bird's. Soaring. Her fingers curled around the laminated edges of a bright red tag, and she looked up at her roommates ever-so-slowly.

"Oh fuck," Joly said, at the same time as Musichetta said, "there it is."

She smiled at Bossuet, and the pride in her expression eclipsed everything else for a couple of minutes.

Later, Bossuet would hardly remember anything of the meeting save for the faces: Joly's apologetic one eventually melting into a soft fondness Bossuet had only ever seen angled towards Musichetta, Enjolras's warm, welcoming smile, Courfeyrac's exuberance, Grantaire's unquestioning acceptance. Jehan's tears of joy.

There were so many things going on in her life at once, with the move still feeling so fresh, the maybe something with her roommates, the college situation, and all the new people she had just met and continued to meet throughout the evening. It felt mad and unpredictable, but her life had always been that, and for the first time, it felt like it might be mad and unpredictable and new in a good way.

She sat back and enjoyed the evening and fastened the tag to her shirt, and let everything happen as it did, and for a third time in a short while, she thought: this might just work out.

#bossuet #les mis #les miserables #joly #musichetta

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least-among-hamiltons · 6 years

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His heart is a suspended lute; As soon as you touch it, it resonates. [ GIVE ME FREEFORM SHIT ]

the first time you see a boy and think want somewhere in the vicinity of your throat you are only four and he’s the son of a friend of a friend of your father’s, and you kiss him behind the curve of the stairs. it’s what you’ve seen parents do, a sign you want to align yourself with someone forever, and after a bright moment when it feels like the world is set arights, you tell him it’s part of the game of romans that you’ve been playing, a show of partnership, of brotherhood. you’re very clever when afraid, and he accepts it when you say it was to show venus was acting through you. you stare into the mirror with hatred at the excuse after he leaves, and wish acutely you’d been brave enough to say nothing. he never comes back to the house, but it must be for some other reason because your father would lash out if he knew. (you are four and you know this).

ii.

the second time you feel the fire in your throat and in your lungs you are nine and you have accepted that this is a part of you, and you have started to hide because of how people treat you for it. your father pays attention to your younger brother over you now, and the new lady hamilton pays you little mind. a few of the teachers worry, but you think it’s just that they know, so you avoid them. one of your teachers speaks and gesticulates with fire and surety, and somewhere in your mind it registers that you want to be like him someday. you think back on the time you kissed the boy behind the stairs and flush with shame and self-assuredness. there is nothing where other emotions will arrive later, but there is a fire of surety that this is what you want to be.

iii.

you are eleven and children are cruel. it’s easier if you call your peers children, it makes the hot tears you cry over their words seem less permanent. there is no respite, only pockets of quiet, and you find yourself seeking out an absence of human contact. your only respite is in fencing, and you can hide behind the netting of the masks, in rigid practice of form and self-discipline create something for your mind to lash out against. your instructor notices your skinned palms and, in your frustrated anger, you tell him the truth, that a classmate pushed you. he asks gently if you want to know what to do if they try that again, and you fall in love on the spot. you know the emotion now, and it shivers strangely through you.

iv.

you are thirteen and you’ve just been told miranda barlowe is to be your betrothed. you try and breathe around the chalky panic in your lungs, but you cannot. you’ve never met her, but your father assures you that she will be a good match, in spite of your… shortcomings. for a blinding second, you think that your father knows, but there is none of the familiar loathing in his eyes as when he talks about the… the people like you… the people like you he’s put up on the scaffold. you breathe around the panic, and think of how there must be a way out of this.

miranda is a genius. staging a fight to get him sent to an all-boys’ school takes the brilliant anger and sharp wit you’ve never dared have, but living outside of london and in the countryside suits you like nothing else. you’re fifteen and the boys here are gorgeous, and you think there might be unwritten rules that you don’t know yet but you will. you’ve always been a quick study.

vi.

boys here are cruel, and sometimes even the boys like you are cruel too. you have just turned sixteen and you are learning that you and all the other boys like you here are so angry. you know exactly how inhospitable the world outside of the school is, and even inside the school, it pays to be brilliant, charming, and as sharp-tongued as a snake. you try and keep your softness, it’s the best part of you, miranda said, but between that and the cruelties of those boys who are unlike you, it’s getting hard to stay.

vii.

you are eighteen and london would be better than this. anything would be better than this. anything would be better than this. miranda says she’ll throw a fit to get her father to move the marriage to christmas to get him out of the school, and he cries over the letter until the ink runs before burning it. the other boys think the letters are from a lover, and he doesn’t tell them otherwise. when one of his horrendous schoolmates steals a letter and finds that it’s a fiance, all of a sudden he is even more alone. he spends his last few months buried in books and study.

vii.

you’ve just turned nineteen and miranda has known since the beginning. she has supported him, and he has come to love her as his dearest friend. nothing he says during the wedding rings false, but he shares secret smiles with her, ignores the sad twist of her mouth. they both know he cannot and will not love her how she would hope, but he’s devising a scheme to make it possible not to trap her in the gilded cage that is his security.

viii.

he’s twenty-two parliament is easy, god it’s nothing compared to the games of boarding school, except that each adversary is more wrong than the other. he raises his voice too much, he knows, and the first time he’s branded a radical it feels like a death knell, but he and miranda are brilliant and tenacious and determined to be happy, so he continues on through it, and turns the gauntlet of fire into a reputation. the salons fan the flames of it, and he finds likeminded others. when he sees boys from boarding school, they never speak unless it’s pleasantries, but sometimes they’ll come sit in the back of the salons. thomas tries to quell the sick-sweet taste of regret and horrendous memory when he sees them. he is still kind, in spite of everything, and a bit of a fool, but he’d rather be a fool than dead. and it really was that choice, in the end.

ix.

he’s twenty-seven, and he makes a friend of peter ashe. he’s not surprised, at this point, that staying the course has proven to be a workable strategy, but he’s gotten good at making it confusing to track his successes back to him. some of the foolish men who were cruel boys at school stand across the room from him now, and he’s making a name for himself for making unworkable strategies workable. and he’s caught the eye of a star. peter debates with him openly in the salons about things that are obvious enough not to draw attention, but his attendance doesn’t waver. he tells thomas to stand behind a project (peter’s project) and to trust the weight of his name to carry him. thomas doesn’t believe him, but he tries it. and instead of the ridicule he expects, he is faced with respect and a degree of applause. it shocks him to his core. has he at some point become a politician? (it makes sense, since that is what he’s devoted himself to) his father sends him a letter of congratulation, and thomas burns it. the letter that follows, offering thomas the house (his brother had gotten a governorship across the sea, and his father had purchased a richer one) he is more hesitant to burn. he shows it to miranda, miranda who’s had next to no space to conduct her life in the small house they’ve been sharing, and in the end, he responds.

he is thirty-four, and he manages to put his foot in his mouth the second he meets the man he’s destined to fall in love with. he’s abrasive where he should be quiet, he doubts where he shouldn’t question, and he misses every step on the pleasantries ladder, but lt mcgraw answers him honestly. castises him easily and doesn’t deny his compliment, but he answers honestly. thomas hasn’t looked in a very long time, at least not in any substantial way, but when lt. mcgraw dismantles his nassau plan and thomas has to struggle to dismiss his dismissals (none of which are anything other than pointing out the resistance of third parties, no resistances of mcgraw’s own, at least yet) thomas thinks he might be a little bit taken. if he permits himself. miranda is taken with him too, and he thinks james mcgraw might be someone special.

xi.

he learns that it’s not that easy, and that even after all this time he falls hard and falls easy and falls fast. he has miranda and peter, though, to keep him from doing anything stupid. also james is special. more special than he can know. more special than he can ever dream. quicksilver and virtuosity hover in the air around him like light, and, even after all this time, thomas’s heart is a suspended lute; as soon as you touch it, it resonates

#long post #freeform #headcanons #backstory #asks #answered #intolerablexsacrifice #//dissociation #//school

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hencethebravery · 6 years

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TITLE: Hated Day, 1/1 (Ao3)

SUMMARY: Sometimes, there’s nothing left to do but give up and call it what it is: a tragedy. He was left living one half of this tragic, mutually agreed upon life while the other half, presumably, felt nothing at all. How dare you, he thought, bitterly, how dare you feel nothing at all. [A Captain Charming “Modern Tragedy” AU]

AUTHOR’S NOTES: @eurydicewouldfollow is absolutely to blame for this. Also, his Kindle is $15, so if it breaks, I’ll pay for it. WARNING for major character death and kind of heavy-handed allusions to the current US political calamity. I’m serious folks, this is not a happy story. It’s dotted with hope, but ultimately I’m calling this a tragedy and leaving it at that. A note on the setting: I’ve imagined this to be something like the precursor to Gilead in Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale, so a kind of pre-dystopia. The title is taken from a quote by Virginia Woolf in The Waves, “So each night I tear off the old day from the calendar, and screw it tight into a ball. I do this vindictively. […] I do not pray. I revenge myself upon the day. I wreak my spite upon its image. You are dead now, I say, […] hated day.” The bulk of this was written while listening to Max Richter’s album, Sleep, which is available in its entirety on YouTube.

If I could go back and rewrite our stories I think I would rip out all the pages where you become the h e r o. I know that you might hate me for robbing you of what could have been: the glories the adventures the challenges the legends— But at least you might still be here. At least we might still be happy. -- j.p., “but I guess I was never much of a writer”

It happens the way that so many had warned it would—like a frog that’s been left in a pot of water on the stove. Initially, it might feel like nothing more than a light simmer, so you’d probably fail to notice much of a difference. Hell, you might even find the sudden warmth pleasant at first. The temperature rises so slowly you don’t even realize what’s happening, not until the flesh has already begun to blister, until you’re in too much pain to do anything other than close your eyes in exhausted, agonizing defeat.

From the very beginning, David Nolan had been suspicious of a political party predicated on the belief that sewing division was the path to control. That free will was an illusory privilege people had been brainwashed to want. “Not so,” the party chanted from their podiums, “there is far too much to fear.” One too many pipe bombs in coffee shops; too many dead, middle class high school kids with the “wrong kind” of drug in their system. The world was going to hell, they often reminded their fearful, desperate audience. The world is going to hell, and only we can fix it.

He signed petitions and shared articles on Facebook; canvassed for politicians and marched at rallies. Despite the fact that he was only a pre-veterinary student with little means, he knew that he was living in a moment that demanded his resistance, so he resisted. He couldn’t bear the sight of his friends looking so downtrodden, so obviously frightened by what they saw on the news everyday. And he knew that while he was probably the least likely to suffer beneath the yolk of this new regime, that didn’t mean he would allow others to do so. “Fight for what’s right,” and all that. And even then, it only ever seemed like a temporary thing. They couldn’t possibly have to do this forever, right? This was how the system worked—sometimes you got dealt a dirty hand, but it could always be fixed.

“You would think so,” says the frog, boiling in his pot, “but you’d be wrong.”

Killian Jones, on the other hand, never paid much attention to politics. He had spent too much of his childhood just trying to survive , let alone allow himself to be worried by things he could do nothing to change. He understood the system well, but it was an understanding built upon an assurance of personal reward. If others couldn’t figure out how to work the system to their advantage, well, that was their own fault.

Every once in a while there’d be that niggling feeling at the heart of him, like maybe he could be better, do better. But he would often shake his head, tossing the thought aside. Or he would simply take another pull from his flask, allowing the burn of it to bring his nagging conscious to heel. Killian was one of those people who had known that the frog was bound to die before it had even gotten itself into the pot in the first place. Not the smartest of creatures, frogs. Hopping along, minding their own business, not realizing that they’ve only ever been prey.

Eventually, David would come to learn the root of this cynicism, and it would break his too-big-for-his-body heart into a dozen or so large, unruly pieces. Such a small boy Killian had been, when his father left him in the dark. Left for the larger monsters with only his brother for company, still too just a boy—old enough to understand a sense of personal responsibility, but still too young to care for anyone other than himself. To be fair, he had “given it a fair shake,” in Killian’s words, but in the end it had been too hard, and he too would eventually vanish, fading into the world as if he’d never been.

Curiously, Killian still had a single photograph of Liam pressed in between the pages of his notebooks (of which there were many). Every time he would begin a new one the photo would once again make the journey from the old book to the new, more wrinkled and faded than it had been before.

“I could never bring myself to get rid of it,” he confessed one evening, his eyes glazed over and words mildly slurred. “I tossed it onto the street once, but I couldn’t leave him.”

Killian had never looked so human in the ensuing silence, and David could picture it in his own head so vividly. A sad, lonely boy staring down at his brother’s face, so angry yet still compelled to keep him close, even though it was only a photograph. “And you think that’s somehow a bad thing?” Dave had finally asked, “to want to remember him?”

Looking back, he knows it was a stupid question. It should have been obvious, but he hadn’t quite arrived yet—at his understanding of who Killian was, of why he was. Of what he might become.

They meet at a fundraiser that David had helped organize at a local college bar. The night begins on a fairly positive note. In tough times such as these, surrounding oneself with likeminded people, it feels like a saving grace. It feels like confirmation that you are not the “crazy one,” that you are not alone, and maybe, just maybe, if you fight hard enough—you can win.

Killian had spilled a beer all over their sign-in sheet, and David would forever wonder whether or not it had been on purpose. Killian would insist it was an accident, but David would never fully believe him. Especially given what he now knows, that Killian Jones was far too much of an insecure wreck to ever just walk up and introduce himself to someone he might fancy. Instead it was a “clumsy fall,” and a boisterous laugh, and a poking fun at their “useless efforts.”

“Don’t you see we’re all fucked, mate?” he asked gleefully, standing aside and watching David rush to mop up the spilled liquid. “I know you’re trying to save the world and everything, but surely there are better things to do with one’s time.”

“You mean like get trashed and harass well meaning people in a bar?”

In David’s admittedly fuzzy memory, it seemed as if Killian’s eyes had grown a shade or two darker at that comment, so brief it would have been easy enough to miss. But David, well meaning, defensive boy that he was, had shoved it aside, deciding instead to trade barbs with this sloppy, grinning, maniac with far too much hair and dangerously high levels of charisma. At first glance, Killian seemed like he could’ve been one of them—one of the party supporters with their deeply cynical pretension; their outdated and dehumanizing ideologies currently infecting the human race on a global scale. That was, of course, until an actual group of supporters had stumbled in, drunk and loud and looking for a fight.

David had even momentarily forgotten all about him in his haste to crowd his friends out of the bar. At least until he felt a hard shove at his back, and suddenly found himself lying facedown on the sticky wooden floor. Stunned, he turned to face his attacker, only to watch, mouth agape, at the sight of that small, scrappy boy with far too much hair, deck his bald, tattooed assailant directly in the face. In hindsight, he wonders if he could’ve saved himself a lot of heartbreak by flagging the recklessness right there and then. It was so fucking obvious, wasn’t it?

Sometimes, when he imagines this moment in his head, over and over again, a torturous loop, he won’t take Killian’s hand when it’s offered. He’ll pick himself up instead, wipe the blood off his lip, give a grunt of “Thanks,” maybe a manly nod, and walk the hell out of there. It’s what he should’ve done. But the reality was, he did take his hand, and he did hold it for a little too long, and he did offer to buy him another drink.

“Since you spilled yours,” he said laughing, trying to ignore the adrenaline rushing through his veins—the jagged edges of fear winking at the corners of his vision.

David’s apartment is too empty, and his memory is too sharp.

Killian winds up living there completely by accident, and really, if anything is to blame, it is David’s heart (that he has made plans to remove as soon as possible). After that night at the bar, he starts seeing him everywhere—on campus, at the coffee shop, in the library. It’s likely that David had seen Killian everyday before that night, only he had never known it. It is hard to temper the fury that he feels at the possibility. That perhaps there were days, weeks, or even months of time in the precursor to this… whatever the hell this is. This feeling that exists between life and death that no one had thought to give a proper name to. Grief, is what they might say, but it is certainly not that. It is, undoubtedly, too small a word for what this is.

“Oh, I know who you’re talking about,” Ruby interrupted in the midst of his recollection of the night before, “he’s slept on Belle’s couch a few times.”

It’s how he discovers that Killian isn’t really living anywhere, and how he finds himself staring at the empty room in his apartment full of boxes he still hasn’t unpacked. Ultimately, he considers the fact that he isn’t making an awful lot of money anyway, and having a roommate might be helpful. It’s a practical decision, really.

“I’m not interested in your pity,” Killian hisses back at him, his eyes suddenly cold and cruel, when only moments ago they had been warm and inviting. It would have been easy to strike back in the moment, to say something like, “To hell with it,” and leave him behind, but there had been his heart again—beating painfully in his chest, making it hard to do little else but consider the vicious, lonely thing in front of him, and want to find out why it is so tender.

“You can think whatever you want, Killian,” he replies calmly, his hands curled tightly in his pockets, “but I just thought I’d ask. Honestly, I could use some help with the expenses.”

He leaves him then, quiet and seething, his face still red from his earlier outburst. In hindsight, everything seems far more dramatic than it probably was. In reality, Killian had probably stared at his back for a few moments and turned the other way, off to brood or drink or whatever he did on weekday afternoons. In his imagination, in the relentless replaying of his memories, Killian glares so hard at his back that a target appears, and it remains there; day after day, month after month, until finally, the bullet hits.

David wishes that Killian had been a messier roommate. Maybe then there would be something left, instead of it feeling like he had never been there at all. Is that all you were? A phantom from the very start? To be fair, he had left some things behind; clothes folded neatly in drawers, a pair of shoes tucked under his bed. But all those things feel a little bit too much like performative gestures, as if they’ve been curated to create an impression of Killian Jones: The Living Man. He becomes somewhat enamored with the sight of his sweater thrown over the back of a chair. It was a rare sight—Killian had almost never left a piece of clothing draped haphazardly anywhere, let alone in a shared living space where anyone could be inconvenienced by it.

It’s quite possible that he’ll never move it.

A surprisingly clean roommate with an unsurprisingly heavy weight resting on his shoulders. Making him sluggish and irritable; his brow furrowed, his eyes dark, and his flask full. David Nolan is not a man without flaws, he has made mistakes (regardless of what Killian might think), and while he can sympathize, he’s not certain he has the emotional fortitude to carry it in the same way that Killian does. It’s not something that David can force him to change. The only person that can alleviate that sense of guilt and regret is Killian himself, but he does despise it. The knowledge of this vibrant, brilliant person hidden away beneath all that blackened rot.

“Your guilt accomplishes nothing,” he tries to remind him, knowing full well he may as well be talking to a brick wall, “it’s time to stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

Oh, how he longs for that guilt now—craves it. Inhales and exhales, searching desperately for a whiff of it. Perhaps he’s left it behind for David to find, a fine accompaniment to the note that he’s left pinned to the front of David’s bedroom door. Nailed to the wood like a butterfly mounted on a cushion.

In the interim between David’s meddling and Killian’s cursed fucking note, the world changes a little bit more. It gets a little bit darker, a little less easy to ignore. The frog’s been long dead and at this point you’d barely even know that it had been a frog at all. The time for fundraisers and peaceful marches has passed, and that bullet that had been headed for David’s back? It leaves the barrel of the gun.

David is awoken late one night by the sound of police sirens and the apartment door slamming shut. He leaps out of bed, sliding into the hallway on sock-covered feet to find Killian, dressed head-to-toe in black, a bloody bandage wrapped around his hand.

“Killian?” he mutters, still half-asleep. “What the hell is going on?”

“Nothing to concern yourself with,” moving past him towards the bathroom, pulling out the cork of his flask with his teeth, “back to bed with you.”

He sees it on the news the next day, something about a government building being vandalized, a molotov cocktail thrown through the window. Killian is all smiles, however, he even has the gall to whistle as he walks by him and into the kitchen, presumably intent on making a cup of tea. As if someone just “makes a cup of tea,” after something like that.

“This gonna become a habit?” David shouts at him from the couch, his eyes glued to the screen.

“Haven’t the faintest idea what you mean, love,” he answers over the shrieking sound of the kettle. Dave has to admit, he does smile.

Those few months before things had started to get a little too scary for David’s liking, they were admittedly, quite lively. They had been some of the country’s darker days, but Killian had managed to make them brighter. To infuse humor and strength when everyone else had felt weak and hopeless. His antics seemed to range from fairly harmless, like drawing male genitalia all over the president’s face on public murals; to dangerous but effective, such as breaking into party headquarters and stealing classified documents. He had even managed to leak most of them to the few honorable media outlets left, and he had invited a few of their friends over to watch the truth unfold before their very eyes.

Sometimes he would arrive home looking particularly vibrant, his cheeks pink and his smile wide. He would force David to share a drink with him, no matter how late, and he would tell him of all his adventures. And then there were other nights—maybe it hadn’t gone so well, maybe he was just tired from having to keep doing this; perhaps feeling overwhelmed with the weight of what had to be done to fix the mess these human beings had made. On those nights, David might not hear him come in at all. Shutting the door as quietly as possible behind him, treading lightly towards his bedroom. And in the morning, David wouldn’t ask about his night. He would just smile, make him some tea, and ask about what he had planned next.

Like so much else these days, hindsight would like to remind him that he was falling in love. But unfortunately for him, it often arrives far too late.

How do you describe the morning after in a world where he no longer exists? Answer: you don’t. It is a bleak, indescribable space where time ceases to function, where all that makes the world alive is sucked into a vacuum somewhere, and you—this thing that was left behind to ponder this great lack, you sit in silence and wonder at the absolute nothingness that sits before you.

The television is no longer on but he can still see it; the sight of Killian’s hand, his wrist his—he feels himself choking on his own throat at the thought of it, the sight of all that blood, out in the open where anyone could see it. Forces himself to stand, to take a step, to walk towards his bedroom door and maybe sleep, he cannot remember the last time he slept… and that’s when he sees it. The butterfly on his door, a wrinkled piece of paper torn from one of Killian’s notebooks, and on it a carefully written message:

Dave,

I know I made a lot of mistakes.

But loving you wasn’t one of them.

-- K.

His first instinct is to crumple it up in his fist, toss it into the trash. But he leaves it there, hanging on his door. Forces himself to read it every time he goes to bed, anytime he needs to change his clothes. He knows it’s probably not healthy, but it’s not as if he’s had any company over lately to berate him for it, so he leaves it where it is. To mock him, to comfort him, he is not sure which.

The night before he had lost him, presumably the night he had written the note hanging on David’s door, they had gotten into a fight. David remembers it feeling unusual, as they hadn’t gotten into a fight in quite a while, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what it was they were actually fighting about. Was it Killian’s recklessness? His desire to be a hero, to atone for the mistakes he had made in his past? Or was it something else? Perhaps this unspoken, unrealized thing that had been sitting between the two of them for weeks—months, if he was being honest with himself.

“I thought that this was what you wanted,” Killian had shouted tiredly, his voice gruff with overuse, “for me to be the bloody hero.”

“I never asked you to do that,” standing from the kitchen chair, pacing back and forth across the living room floor. “All I wanted was for you to forgive yourself. Don’t put this on me.”

“Oh, can’t I?” The bitter edge to his voice catching David by surprise, “I can’t fathom how you would expect otherwise, given how infallible you seem to be.”

It’s obvious that he regrets the words almost as soon as they fall from his lips, but thick headed man that he is, a retraction doesn’t seem likely. It is a moment not unlike that afternoon on campus, when David had offered him a place to say. A moment in which David had two possible decisions, one of which would push him away, the other of which would pull him in. He paused, thoughtfully, tried to ignore the sight of Killian’s tongue sneaking out to wet his lips.

“I’m just worried,” he finally says, quietly, dropping heavily to the couch, “all those other times, you got lucky. Someday soon, you might not be.”

Thankfully, Killian is quiet, and the tension he had been carrying in his shoulders seems to deflate as he takes a seat at his side. He is warm, smelling of cigarettes and burnt rubber. His hand hovers over David’s knee, and in a moment that seems to stretch on forever, finally ends with the weight of it on his bones, the heat of it burning through his jeans.

“It’s not your fault,” Killian whispers, his thumb moving methodically back and forth. In David’s recollection of this moment, Killian’s words sound like an omen—they echo within the walls of their apartment, they fall out the window and into the street, traveling into a future where the two of them can no longer exist together. “I want you to know it’s not your fault,” he says again, “but you have— somehow, you have made me want to be a better man.”

It is such an idea, isn’t it? A hell of a thing, to hear that you have altered another man’s life so drastically by just being you. And a part of him wants to run away, to brush aside this moment like all the others, but something inside of him had urged him to stay, and he will be glad of it.

“You can be a better man and stay alive, Killian. I mean, look at me, I’m incredibly alive.”

“Aye,” he answers after a thoughtful pause, his eyes straying towards David’s lips. “That you are.”

In the movies, they might have shared a kiss in this moment. Perhaps the screen would fade to black, the music would swell. But it wasn’t to be, like so many other moments, lost to yet another great “Perhaps.” Instead he had only sighed, patted David on the knee, and looked resignedly back towards the floor. “I appreciate your concern, Dave, but I have to do this, you know that I do.”

“Yeah,” trying to figure out why his throat suddenly felt so tight, his face so hot. “I know you do.”

One morning, and he is unsure as to how long it has been since, he wakes up and finds himself entirely too conscious of the sun on his face. To his great surprise, he had forgotten what it felt like—the warmth of it, the nurturing, wrapped-in-a-blanket feel of it on your skin. He taps the note on the way out the door. Makes a cup of coffee in the kitchen; watches Killian’s sweater as if it will suddenly start folding itself. He watches the news, like so many other mornings before, and he finds something else—anger, hope, a feeling that he can recall from inside the walls of a hot, crowded bar.

On the news, the world seems to be full of people. The last few days, he had been starting to wonder if he were the last. But no, it is still a crowded, wonderful, horrible place, and on this particular morning, when he could feel the sun on his face, he decided that it was still worth fighting for.

#ouat ff #cc ff #cc fanfic #captain charming #cc: saved my life #cc: [bold] a ghost called depression #@hencethewriter #i swear #on my very life #that i will never write anything this sad #ever again #this was so incredibly painful to write #i cannot even describe to you #i apologize in advance #if u wanna send me some #cheerful prompts #so that i can cleanse myself of this #by all fucking means

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