#the fact it came from another butch really hurt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

daresplaining · 1 year

Text

Butch: "Wait...you're telling me it was actually Matt?" Matt: "Yeah...it was Matt. He came back from rehab, went to his apartment... I don't know what the #$@% Fisk was thinking, but I know they've got history and... Ah, Butch. He killed my brother." Butch: "I'm sorry, Mike. I really am. But I'm so #$@% glad it wasn't you. I thought...I thought I sent you away, right into my Dad's hands." Matt (caption): "[...]I've done this before. Back in the day." Butch: "[...]I'm sorry, Mike. I really am. All I can do now is be better than I have been. I know you weren't...happy about some of my decisions lately, but I want you to know..." Matt (caption): "The trick was always in the eyes. Not just making sure they faced the right direction...but that no matter what, he had kindness in them..." Butch: "...I'm going to be better. No more killing. I don't want to be him. I want to run this city with fairness, with compassion." Matt (caption): "...and I don't." Matt: "You better." Butch: "I...what? Look, you're my partner here, and I know you're grieving, but maybe take it down a--" Matt: "Let me make it clear for you. If you hurt people, if you commit violence and terrorize others...I'll come stop you." Daredevil vol. 7 #1 by Chip Zdarsky, Marco Checchetto, Matthew Wilson, and Clayton Cowles

This post has been in my drafts folder for almost a full year, for no reason other than the fact that I kept feeling like I had more to say about it. But I always have more to say about Mike scenes. Return with me to this bombshell of a conversation from Daredevil volume 7 #1 (twinkly flashback SFX)...

Kind eyes? I always thought the trick to an effective Mike Murdock disguise was in the feathered cap and the goofy sunglasses, but what do I know?

Anyway, jokes aside, let's talk about this doozy of a scene from the new #1, which kicked off the second volume of Zdarsky and Checchetto's Daredevil run. To start, I am delighted by the return of colorist Matthew Wilson, whose stunning work previously graced the back half of Daredevil volume 4.

Daredevil vol. 4 #14 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, Matthew Wilson, and Joe Caramagna

I've really missed that bright red hair.

This scene directly follows up on the events of Devil's Reign, and the brutal (but maybe not permanent!) death of Matt's dear Real Boy twin brother at the hands of the Kingpin. Specifically, it follows up on what we have seen as the progression of Matt's response to Mike's death: attempting to take advantage of the situation for his own gain in ghoulish and disturbing ways. We have seen Matt bury his brother under his own name-- in a way, capping the Soule/Noto "Double Vision" arc by erasing Mike in the only way still possible (possibly not Matt or Zdarsky's intention, but the parallel is undeniable). And now we see Matt using Mike's identity as a tool and a weapon, trying to gather information on Fisk's whereabouts, and toying with Butch's grief for the sake of adding weight to his crimefighting. We are getting a close look at what it actually means to give Matt Murdock an identical twin, and wow, it is not pretty.

That said, I do not believe that this new horrible co-opting of Mike's identity undermines any of the previous indications that Matt is, in fact, grieving-- despite how callous this seems on the surface. We will always have Devil's Reign #6's brutal display of Matt's pain before he started putting his emotional shields up, and in this issue he has a wonderful scene with his superhero BFF Peter Parker in which, among other things, he opens up a teeny-tiny crack in those shields regarding Mike.

Peter: "Oh god...Mike. Your brother." Matt: "Yeah. I'm okay-- it's just been...it's been hard."

(I love that Peter knows about Mike, since he was largely responsible for Matt creating him in the first place. And of course, I also love that Matt has finally restored his friend's memories-- though that's a topic for another post.) But let's take a look at what we have here, which is, plainly and simply, the weaponizing of the Mike Murdock identity. Which is amazing. Matt mentions here that he has impersonated Mike before, "back in the day". We learned in the 2020 Annual that in the new MCU (Mike Continuity Universe), Matt pretended to be his brother as a kid, back before his accident, to get Mike out of summer school. However, that is almost certainly not what he's referring to here. I'm pretty sure he's referring to this:

Daredevil vol. 1 #25 by Stan Lee, Gene Colan, Frank Giacoia, and Artie Simek

We're coming full-circle! Zdarsky has said before that in this version of reality, Matt did still pretend to be Mike in the original Mike Murdock Saga, rather than it being Mike himself, but this is the first actual on-panel reference to that being the case. We don't get context, we don't get the full story, but even just that little reference to the events of "back in the day" warmed my little Mike nerd heart. And having seen Mike pretend to be Matt in this run, we are now finally, finally! getting to see Matt pretend to be Mike, bringing this whole grand Real Boy Mike experiment-- again-- full circle.

I joked about the "kind eyes" comment at the beginning of the post, but I do want to talk about it because it's a striking thing for Matt to say. I had a great conversation with @thosemintcookies about this a while back, regarding how that comment might be interpreted. After all, while there are many colorful adjectives that can be used to describe Mike Murdock, "kind" is not one that jumps immediately to mind. Not that Mike isn't a decent person, but he has never been shown to be any kind of bastion of goodness, even in the 60s. He's a rascal. And kindness in his eyes? What does that look like? How long has it been since Matt has even seen his brother's eyes? It's an odd thought for him to have, and it reeks of projection. On the surface, he is saying "To pretend to be Mike, I need to seem like a nice person", but what it really may mean is "To pretend to not be me, I have to pretend to be a nice person". Again, we return to that hidden grief, and attached feelings of (normal, secular!) guilt. Matt feels like a scumbag, and in this instance, he's got a pretty good reason. He did not directly get his brother killed, but his brother is still dead because of him, killed by proximity just like so many other people in his life, and now he is doing horrible things to Mike's memory. If he's feeling like a sucky human being at the moment...then yeah, he's not entirely wrong there.

But! Note the past tense: "The trick was always in the eyes". This feeling that his brother is a better person than him is not new. We have painfully few details about Matt and Mike's new past together, so this is worth examining. Is Matt, in his grief, now projecting a morality onto Mike that wasn't actually there? Or has Matt always looked up to his brother in this way? Does he see himself as capable of dark things that Mike, for all of his rascallitude, would never do? It's a fascinating shift in a dynamic that we have previously seen only from Mike's perspective, which showed us the smart, obedient, selfless brother and the disappointment of a twin who could never measure up. Here, we may have Matt's side of things: the flawed but ultimately decent brother and his violent, deceptive, disobedient, callous, chaos gremlin twin. The idea that they both may have seen each other as the better person is absolutely fascinating, and is, of course, informed by the layers of secrets they were keeping from each other.

And of course, there is another facet to this-- Mike's origins. As Mike was once a wish fulfillment source for Matt at a time when he felt he had to hold his personality in check, now we are seeing him as a different flavor of wish fulfillment-- a vision of a better, kinder version of Matt when he is feeling at his most scummy and unkind. The body is barely cold and Matt is already martyring his brother.

Moving on to the rest of the scene, Matt is being horrendously cruel to Butch here in using his dead best friend to get close enough to threaten him...though he doesn't have any reason not to be. It's very likely that he blames Butch for Mike's death-- if not in the immediate sense, then in the fact that Butch's friendship led Mike into a life of crime. Plus, Butch is the new Kingpin and has been going around killing people, so there's also that. When Matt is in pain, he doesn't need much of an excuse to do nasty things to people he dislikes. He could have just shown up here as Daredevil with Spider-Man in tow and delivered his threat, but instead, he adds some psychological warfare-- dangling the hope of Mike still being alive in front of Butch and then ripping that hope away.

Not only that, but it is, for lack of a better term, ballsy as hell. He just strolls in here without a mask on, confident in his ability to fake being Mike well enough to convince Butch, and then he goes "Psych! I'm not Mike after all. I'm just Daredevil in a...really, really good wig and make-up?" Has Matt just revealed his secret identity here? Is Butch going to connect the dots: Matt Murdock vanishing into thin air despite supposedly being "in rehab", Daredevil not only managing to look exactly like Mike but also to play him with a degree of accuracy that suggests he knew him well...? Sure, this might spook him into being a well-behaved little Kingpin, but isn't it also going to make him extra angry and determined to avenge his best friend's death? (I hope so.) Maybe Matt no longer cares. He is leaving the city, and he mentions in this issue that he feels like he isn't going to return this time. (Obviously he will, but that's not the point.) Maybe it doesn't matter anymore if one NYC bad guy knows his secret identity. Maybe he is taking advantage of that, even, to go in here and have the unique pleasure of doing this face-to-face-- in a way, using Mike once more as Daredevil unmasked.

#Long post #Daredevil vol. 7 #Daredevil #Matt Murdock #Butch Pharris #Mike Murdock #Mike Murdockalypse #Commentary #ID in alt text

63 notes · View notes

letstalkwhump · 1 year

Text

Let's Talk Whump No. 10

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community. I’m Malice and I’ll be your host.

Today we have @suspicious-pools-of-blood joining us to share his whump story!

Tell us a fact or two about yourself!

I'm a butch (he/him) and I enjoy rock climbing, leatherworking, and losing my entire goddamn mind over Xena: Warrior Princess.

What does whump mean to you?

To me it can range anywhere from a trope to a vibe involving some kind of hurt. I definitely consider angst to be whump.

How did you find the whump community?

It was actually very straightforward; I was up one night and the word "whump" kept rattling around my brain, I'd probably seen it tagging a fanfic at some point, but I didn't know what it meant, so I looked it up and found a definition followed by the Tumblr community. Specifically, it was albino-whumpee's writing that came up, so I was introduced to whump and box boys and WRU all at once. I stayed up all night reading their stuff and then made a sideblog and dove in, dragging my OCs down with me.

Do you think your views on whump has changed? Maybe the way you consume whump media?

This community was basically my first foray into reading original fiction online instead of just fanfic, and now that's definitely what I read most.

Favourite whump trope?

One of my favorite tropes is carewhumpers--not of the bad caretaker variety, but more whumpers who don't let whumpee have any caretaker but whumper themself. Relatedly, I like captor bonding (not sure if that's an actual term, but that's what I call it because the term Stockholm syndrome has a super gross history), as well as intimate whumpers, nsfwhump/noncon/dubcon, slavery, power imbalances, etc. Also a big fan of a whumpee who internalizes their hurt hard enough to become a whumper against a new whumpee, continuing the cycle of violence and abuse rather than the typical whumped-turned-whumper trope where the two characters just switch roles. I really like the mental/emotional side of whump, seeing how both whumper and whumpee feel about what's happening, why whumper does what they do, and how the whump changes both of them as people.

And your favourite piece you've written?

Really hard to pick, but currently I'll have to go with Not You Too and its companion piece Wish . It's more angst than any physical whump, but it's an important piece for developing and understanding the psyche of my main character.

What's your writing style like?

Oh man, calling myself out here on this one. Don't be like me, kids. Often times I find that not being sober helps me get over mental blocks that prevent me from getting the words onto the page. It depends on what I'm writing, but usually a couple bourbon old fashioneds or an edible get me into the mood to write, night time, lights off, candle lit on my desk, relevant OC or WIP playlist playing. I'm trying to get better about that though because needing to be intoxicated to write is not good. I try to write regularly but usually I just end up sitting in front of my Notion board for hours on end while procrastinating on work I should be doing.

Is there anything you struggle with writing?

Cisheterosexuality is fuckin impossible for me to write. I have no experience with it so I'm profoundly confused when I have to write about it for plot reasons

Is there anything you're working on at the moment?

The current piece I'm working on is my main character's first time sleeping with another woman. I am, if nothing else, committed to realism in writing, so I did spend more time than I wanted to today remembering my own first time and cringing but hey, at least I got the vibe!

Do you have any writing advice?

Make some lil guys and rotate them in your mind; literally no one can stop you

Shout out time!

@winedark-whumpk-whump has some truly fantastic stories and was really encouraging when I was struggling with engagement and feeling self-conscious about my original content.

Anything you'd like to add?

Thank you so much for this interview, this was lots of fun!

Thank you for joining us, @suspicious-pools-of-bloodod ! It was great to have you here!

And to all you folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

#whump community #whump interviews

17 notes · View notes

victor-epix · 11 months

Note

🌸🖍♟ for victor?

🧩🚤 for donna?

~ @normal-about-jade

victor:

🌸(fav thing/scene) — easily my favorite thing about victor is this almost childlike compassion he possesses. given what was revealed about his past, it speaks volumes that (despite the overwhelming damage that trauma has clearly caused) the kindness is almost intrinsic to him (and while he does have a handful of somewhat abrasive moments, they're few and far in between—and i don't think he realizes that's how he comes across). the two scenes which came to mind related to this are the one where he waits for tabby to come down to the tunnels: even though he was so scared, he understood that tabitha needed him, and he instinctively prioritized that, taking turns in being brave w her even though it was clearly taking a toll on him. another scene which showcases this is the one in his room with ethan, where iirc ethan attempts to apologize for going through his stuff w somebody else (i think jade??). in general he's also super good about volunteering info that could help others, even if the info may be painful. + he gives ethan his old coat. fucking melted tbh 🖍 (further exploration of character) — i think i would really like to see victor build mutual trust with more people. i think he's on a good path to achieve this with tabby (and i suppose ethan, though ethan is a young kid so im not sure if it's quite the same) and probably, to a degree, with donna. i think putting trust in other people not to hurt him is a huge obstacle for victor, and it makes him come off... the way he does. which, in turn, repels others. tldr: i just want him to have friends so badly LMFAO ♟ (hangout w character) — i think victor would benefit from vibing somewhere cozy, populated with people (who aren't from fromville) but not too crowded at the same time. and quiet. a library comes to mind, or a bookstore. now that i think on it, i think he'd have a blast going through books and gathering information on the world & everything that had happened since the 70s. i can picture him cozied up in an armchair w a blanket and tea and just going absolutely hog wild reading a computer manual or smn

donna:

🧩 (something about character that's misunderstood/overlooked) — not to be that guy but i've said it once and i'll say it again. donna is hot as fuck. donna is gilf extraordinaire. bursting at the seams with raw sexual energy. literally the model oldschool butch. although on a more serious note, i think a lot of people in our very small fandom don't really understand her 'role'. or undermine it, at the very least. i think she's cast aside as not very interesting due to the fact that she doesn't really get a turn on the mystery wagon. but like... they'd all fall apart without her. she's a social leader. sure, boyd is presented as her counterpart in this, but as the show goes on, he gets so much more on his plate that he can't keep this up. so she picks up boyd's slack too. in a community ruled by fear and uncertainty, she is THE person to look to in the terms of leadership and holding it together, the sort of lighthouse standing out in this murky fog they're all lost in. i feel like this isn't appreciated enough. 🚤 (romantic ships) — honestly?? not really. it's actually quite interesting regardless. i don't think donna ever Could have a romantic relationship, not after fromville (if she gets out). i think she would have gotten so used to managing and micromanaging everything, to being the loadbearing beam, that she simply... couldn't lean on somebody else for support (i.e. a romantic partner.) she would never be able to drop this constant feeling of responsibility for the other person, and i think that not only would this be a Lot for her, but also, her partner would probably not like the discrepancy either. i think they'd possibly interpret it as a lack of trust. but really i think our poor girl has been through too much.

#THANK YOU SM FOR THE ASK i had an absolute blast dissecting these babes #ask game #from epix #epix from #victor from epix

7 notes · View notes

cowboyjen68 · 2 years

Note

Hello Cowboy!

You have a really great blog, seeing your little updates and pictures always brighten my day. Like many, you are the only older lesbian I know, and it is always lovely to see you thriving and just living your life. I never felt like I could have a happy future being a lesbian, which is why it took me so long to accept this part of myself. Growing up, I never had any kind of lesbian role models in my life (I was way too old when I found out lesbians even existed lol), my mom’s childhood friend is a lesbian and she only came out a couple years ago (most people suspected she was one because she’s been unmarried and living with another woman for years, who is quite butch btw). And that woman is indeed her life partner. Anyway my mom’s friend is an older lesbian and she really really despises the younger generation of lgbt people. She makes fun and calls it the lgbtlmnopxyz community, stuff like that. And I was so disappointed when my mom told me, I kinda looked up to her since she’s the only older lesbian I know of. And now I’m scared that when she finds out I’m a lesbian, she’ll think bad things of me too.

Anyway I’ve just been feeling so lonely for a while now. I don’t know any real life lesbians (aside from my mom’s friend) and I don’t know where to find them. I’m closeted to a lot of people (which probably doesn’t help my case lol) because I’m just so terrified of what is out there at the other side of the closet door. I have no guide or role model to show me that it’s okay to be me where I live or to show me where there are people like me. I know you talk about women’s festivals and stuff, but as far as I know, they don’t do that where I’m from (I’m from a little island in the Caribbean). And I’m just so jealous of all the lesbians out there who have friends and community. Sorry for the the little rant, I just don’t have many people to talk about this. But I’m gonna keep pushing through, I’m always searching. I know my people are out here somewhere. In the mean time, your blog and all the other lesbians on here have eased some of that loneliness, so thank you💙

Hello . It saddens me, but also gives me hope, when I hear younger people say that the only older lesbian they see or know who is visibly out and uses the word lesbian.

It makes my heart hurt because I know exactly that feeling of isolation, of not see a future being me because there was no one modelling it for me when I was growing up. At the same time, I have hope because over and over younger lesbians are letting it be known they are seeking lesbian community. Older lesbians are not insignificant, you want to hear our stories. Many older lesbians don't believe they are relevent so they just live a quiet life and figure they youngers are fine without them.

The fact is we can share stories and values of our experience and the younger lesbians can bring enthusiasm and excitment with their ideas and stories.

My suggestion is to talk with your mom's best friend. You don't both have to 100 percent agree on everything to gain some knowledge and information from each other. Many older lesbians get flustered because they fear being a lesbian is not enough anymore, that they will be expected to take on a new identity or use words that they are not connected to to talk about themselves. You can assure her this simply is not true. You can let her know you are just fine, even happy to meet a lesbian who is and uses lesbian. No other disclainers necessary. Fear of being irelevant or sadness at thinking "lesbian" is a thing of the past can cause women to become defensive.

Talk with her openly. Listen to what she has to say. Ask that she just avoid talking about the community and focus on her stories and in turn share with her your feelings. Keeping talking to intimate, individual tales of life and love and experience can benefit the both of you. No need for "others" whether that be the greater community or whats happening in today's world to be involved.

Definitley subscribe to Lesbian Connection. www.LConline.org. They have a PDF version and if you can't pay it is free. There are lots of great shared stories in there and ads for everything from lesbians books and movies to on line and in person gatherings.

Ask your mom's friend is she ever has her lesbian friends over for dinner, could you join. The thing to remember is if you wish her to listen to you, you must listen to her. Her life (off the internet most likey) is dractically different but by the simple fact that you are both lesbians living in this world, you share many things.

Keep looking, even on your small island there are bound to be lesbian meetups and gathering. Try the meet up app or even old fashioned FB. Check with your library about starting a Lesbian book club (unless they are so conservative it might be dangerous). Public libraries in America are almost always open to facilitate small gatherings

#intergenerational lesbians #older lesbians #younger lesbians #sharing stories

16 notes · View notes

ghostchasersmagazine · 2 years

Text

Some complete thoughts about Ace Decade from “The Diabolical Disc Demon” being Butch and Alex’s dad, as part of the “Butch Cassidy and Alex Super are half brothers” headcanon.

- Visually speaking, Ace Decade fits the bill. He has that dark brown, almost black hair like Butch has, and he wears glasses like Alex does. I would say that he also looks old enough to have teenage children.

- The different last names between the three characters isn’t an issue for this headcanon. Alex Super is most likely a stage name anyway (considering that the term “super” became popular slang in the 1970s), so what his canonical real last name is isn’t known - it could very well be Decade. As for Butch Cassidy, Cassidy could be his mother’s last name that he took on/was legally given after his parents’s divorce. Taking another bit of inspiration from David and Shaun Cassidy, I’m imaging it as Butch’s mom and Ace Decade divorcing, and then Ace Decade marrying Alex’s mom and the two of them having Alex. (Or, if you all like a bit more drama, considering that Ace Decade is shown to be willing to do ethically/morally questionable things and that Butch and Alex don’t seem to be that far apart in age, it could be a case of adultery followed up by a subsequent divorce and remarrying.)

- Ace Decade being a record/music producer would fit in well with the “Alex Super is trying to distance himself from his famous family” part of the headcanon as well - he would want to avoid accusations that he only got famous because he was able to record under his daddy’s label by starting an independent band instead. (His episode did show that his band had a manager and stuff, so perhaps he was on an independent record label and just never told them he was Ace Decade’s son.) That may also be why the music his band plays is less mainstream pop music like we heard the acts under the Decade Records label play and more psychedelic rock (or however you would describe his song).

- Ace Decade being a record/music producer would work with Butch’s story too. Since The Sundance Kids band is supposed to be a cover for spy activities, him being the son of a famous record producer probably helps with that. How does The Sundance Kids, a band with no consistent touring schedule, that is always showing up in seemingly random countries, and is always playing free shows, have enough money to stay afloat? Why, clearly it’s nepotism! Obviously Butch must be using his daddy’s money to play rockstar. (Of course, Butch really can sing and play guitar, so perhaps the Talent Agency was scouting out record labels and came across him at Decade Records.)

- I think Ace Decade being Alex Super’s dad would add a level of tragedy to his story. Alex was already betrayed by his bandmate and manager when they committed crimes while dressed as supernatural creatures to further their own financial gain, so him finding out that his dad was arrested for committing crimes while dressed as a supernatural creature to further his own financial gain would hurt just that much more.

- I feel like Butch would likely find out about Ace Decade’s crimes and arrest a little bit after it happened, as there’s a good chance he was on a mission at the time. I assume Mr. Socrates would want to tell him personally to try and lessen the blow, but his direct, matter-of-fact manner of speaking (“Butch, your father was arrested while you were on your latest mission. He is being prosecuted for the following crimes-”) may not be as comforting as he intended.

#textpost #Headcanon

4 notes · View notes

plus-size-reader · 3 years

Text

Creep pt.2

Victor Criss x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2424 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Victor finally gets the date he was so desperate for

Part 1

—————————————————————————————————

He’d figured it out.

It took him all week, and he’d nearly burst a blood vessel while trying to figure out what it was he wanted to do, but Victor knew now.

You specified that you wanted him to take you to dinner. That was what you wanted if you were going to believe that he had feelings for you, and he definitely did.

So, all he had to do was figure out was where to take a girl like you, a girl he really liked, without his friends ever finding out that the dinner date happened.

It was a tall order, but after all this time, he had an idea.

All he had to do was make sure that the guys were busy, and he would be free to take you anywhere he wanted. Then, as far as wooing you went, he already had a whole dinner date set up in the form of a picnic in the quarry.

There weren’t a lot of first date level restaurants around here that were any good, and the ones that were around, he certainly couldn’t afford or wasn’t allowed back into.

Most of the business owners in Derry were wary of the Bower’s gang, and they had been banned from most of the fancier establishments.

Hell, even the milkshake bar on the other side of town had threatened to have them arrested if they ever went back. Though, he sort of understood where they were coming from, after Henry spray painted some really obscene things on the side of their building.

Victor just hoped the saying was right, and the thought behind his evening with you would be enough to show you just how much you meant to him because the picnic he’d planned was pretty extensive.

He had gone out and picked up everything you could have wanted, aside from the burgers he was going to pick up right before picking you up at your house, so they wouldn’t get cold.

He had a blanket that he could spread out over the edge of the rock quarry, looking down over the water, and he even got these tiny little cakes from the bakery down the street that he figured you’d like.

Girls liked those kinds of things, he’d asked Belch.

All in all, it was shaping up to be a pretty good date. The only thing Vic still had to do was figure out how to get the guys out of his hair for the night.

The worst thing he could possibly imagine happening would be Henry, Patrick, and to a lesser extent Belch, crashing your picnic and ruining his chances with you completely.

The blonde was already well aware that he was on thin ice with you, which was why this probationary date had to go well. He wanted to show you that he was capable of this.

That he was more than just some thug who made fun of pretty girls for their extra weight and relationship status, two things Henry went pretty hard at you for.

Henry and Patrick both liked to comment on how you would never have a boyfriend because of your size, and how you would probably die a virgin cause nobody would hit that.

In fact, there were very few things about you that the more alpha of his friends wouldn’t torment you for, something that, the more he thought about it, made Victor upset.

You had a point that day in the hall.

He had never really said anything nasty about you to your face, but he hadn’t stopped them from doing it either. He just stood back and let his friends treat you like the dirt beneath their boots.

It was hardly the foundation for a functional relationship, but he wanted to try. For now, all he could do was hope that he’d planned such an amazing date that it would make up for all those terrible things.

Thankfully, before Victor could further drive himself crazy, his three best, and only, friends came around the corner and made a B-line for him. This was it, if this went well, he would be home free for his date tonight.

...But if it didn’t, he had no idea how he was going to explain it to you.

There was no way you would give him a second chance if he cancelled your date to spend the night riding around in Belch’s Trans Am, listening to hair metal.

It had to happen tonight.

“Where have you been?” Belch asked, the only one of the three to even address him once they’d made it to his side.

Henry and Patrick continued to talk about whatever it was that had them so enthralled.

It wasn’t new, and didn’t even really bother Vic, but it was something he had never realized before. They didn’t even really seem to care if he was there or not, which he never would have noticed before talking to you.

Somehow you had managed to turn everything Victor knew upside down and he wasn't sure that he liked it. He wasn’t blind to the fact that his friends weren’t the best people before, but it had never hurt him to be around them.

They were the only friends he had, even if they weren’t the greatest guys of all time.

They were what he had.

“I had to run a few errands, no big deal” the blonde shrugged, hoping he’d done a good enough job at hiding his true intentions so that Belch wouldn’t ask any questions.

He wouldn’t have any answers for him if he did.

This whole thing was new to Vic, who had never really liked a girl this much in the first place, but he was doing what he thought would work. Lying, thankfully, wasn’t new to him.

At the very least, he could rely on his quick wit and the fact that two of the three of his friends couldn’t have been more oblivious to what he was doing and the third wasn’t the brightest to begin with.

It was starting to look like his little scheme would actually work.

Belch didn’t pry any further, something that Victor was glad for, and before it could get any more awkward or he gave himself a stroke, he asked what he’d been trying to ask for days, but didn’t have the nerve to.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?”

He tried to make it as nonchalant and casual as he could, as if he was just inquiring about the plans he knew they had indefinitely.

Even if the four of them were just going to walk around Henry’s property, or terrorize kids in the park, they always did something together. It wasn’t the sort of question that should have roused any suspicion.

Still, Vic couldn’t help but feel like his entire plot was unraveling at the seams and it was only a matter of time before the gang found out what he was doing and slaughtered him.

It wouldn't go over well. “Nothing, I gotta take care of some things for my pop, so you three girls are on your own” Henry shrugged, not offering any more explanation than that. Whatever it was, if Butch was involved, they knew not to press it.

Though, Victor already felt a little better knowing that Henry wouldn’t be skulking around, potentially finding the two of you in the woods.

Henry already had it out for you more than anyone else because of that time he asked you to see a movie with him and you said no. That rejection had really stuck a bur in his side, and it surely had something to do with his cruelty toward you now.

He wasn’t used to hearing no, after all.

Patrick and Belch had other plans too, it seemed, not really interested in hanging out with any of the others of them without Henry. If it wasn’t the whole gang, it was weird for them.

So, it seemed like Victor was in the clear.

All he had to do now was show you the time of your life and hope that you actually gave him a chance. A girl like you should have never even agreed to go out with him in the first place, so he wasn’t going to ruin it.

You deserved the best, and he was doing all he could to provide it.

Vic was sure he’d never been this nervous in his entire life.

Before now, he’d been so preoccupied worrying about the threat of the gang finding out what he was doing, or you changing your mind and rejecting him that he hadn’t given any thought at all to how this would feel.

Waiting for you to get here was going to kill him.

All Victor could think about was whether or not you were coming, or if something had happened to you on the way here. Maybe you decided that this wasn’t a good idea and were staying home, or worse, maybe you had another date.

Whatever it was, it was taking you way too long to get here and every second that passed by, he was sure you weren’t going to show.

You had stopped him in the hallway after the last bell rang, signalling the end of the day, and told him that you would meet him in the Quarry, because he didn’t drive, which didn’t seem like that big of a deal at first.

No good first date had even begun by walking awkwardly in silence through the woods, and it was smart to meet up for the more romantic parts of the evening. However, now that it was here, Vic had to wonder if it was all some clever ploy to leave him in the quarry alone.

It seemed cruel, but after everything he and the guys had done to you, it would be a lie to say that he didn’t deserve it.

He couldn’t have blamed you if you hated him.

Thankfully though, as the sun began creeping down and the air cooled that much more under the waterfront’s influence, you came walking up the path.

You had to admit that when he first suggested coming to the Quarry this late in the evening, you weren’t sure. It still seemed like this whole thing could be some joke, or something put on by Henry to humiliate you.

After all, Victor was the most unassuming of the four of them and if you were going to agree to go out with any of the Bower’s gang, it would have been him.

You just weren’t sure how to feel.

...but you were relieved to see Victor, right where he said he’d been, sitting on a beach towel or something.

It didn’t seem like a set up for a prank, but you weren’t fully convinced until you reached his side and saw the huge set up he’d spread out for you, right on the edge of the cliff.

You were far enough back to avoid falling off or dropping anything into the water below but close enough to see how pretty it was up here. You had never been here before, which had only solidified Victor’s plans to bring you.

The quarry was one of the only things in Derry that was worth seeing, and the fact that you’d lived here this long and still hadn’t come up here was blasphemous to him.

“Hey, I was getting worried you wouldn’t come” Vic called, the first to speak between the two of you. He did his best to play it off like a joke but it seemed like you knew how nervous he was.

Of course you did.

You were nervous to do this too.

Putting yourself out there wasn’t really something you did often or were good at, and you felt like you had taken a huge risk in agreeing to do this with him. However, as far as dates went, this really was worth the risk.

No one had ever gone through so much trouble just to impress you.

“You get stood up often?” you teased, sitting down on the spot across from him which you assumed was meant for you. It would have been sort of strange if he was waiting on someone else too.

It was a joke of course, but what you didn’t know was that he had. In general, Vic didn’t date too often just because he didn’t have a great history with this sort of thing.

He wasn’t exactly a ladies man after all.

“Sometimes” he shrugged, hoping that wouldn’t scare you off. It was much more honest than he was used to being, with anyone, but for some reason, you brought it out of him.

The two of you seemed to bring something different out of each other and as strange as it was for both of you, it was nice.

Victor, for one, felt like he could be who he was around you. It didn’t matter how vulnerable or goofy he wanted to be, there wasn’t going to be any awful consequences like there would be with the gang.

You didn’t seem to care if he wanted to be a geek.

“That’s okay. Me too” you shrugged, grabbing one of the cans of soda he offered you.

Your admission made him laugh, of course, because he assumed that you were joking, but after a few seconds of silence, he realized just how wrong he’d been.

You were completely serious, but that didn’t make any sense to him. You were beautiful and the fact that you had been stood up on a date didn’t compute for him.

Who in their right mind would have skipped out on a date with you? Victor certainly wouldn’t have, even considering how difficult you had made getting here for him.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad they were so stupid because now you’re here with me” he sighed, doing his best to keep from looking you in the face after saying something like that but you were happy he had.

That was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to you and as shocked as you were that he was the one saying it, you weren’t going to argue.

“I’m glad too. You’re surprisingly sweet, Vic” you allowed, taking a sip of your drink without much more between the two of you. This was hardly where you saw the evening going, but it was for the better.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all.

209 notes · View notes

thesleepy1 · 4 years

Text

Written Before I Knew

A/N: I got a request for a Jack Kline x Winchester sister fic. This is one of my first requests besides the ones from friends or mutual so I hope I do it justice. Also sorry that this was so late. I had a lot going on and I wanted to actually try and not rush this. Unbeta’d as always. I’m so, so, so sorry. This was written before I learned of what happened between Destiel. I wish you all the best of luck. I’m sorry. @head-over-heart

“Could do something with the reader being Sam and Dean's little sister, and Jack is always trying to do things to please her, and make her proud of him, so Dean is jealous of his big brother.”

Pairings: Jack Kline x Reader, Jack Kline x Winchester reader

Summary: Jack tries his best to please you, Dean takes notice.

Word count: 790

Warnings: None that I know of besides the fact that we are all aware of.

When you go hunting with the boys no one believes that you’re their sister. They always think you’re Sam and Dean’s daughter, or wife, or girlfriend, or something completely wrong. The wife thing was far too common an occurrence for your liking.

So after a certain point you couldn’t help but get used to it. At times you even played into it, posing as Sam and Dean’s little girl who they just couldn’t leave at home. It was fun even, teasingly calling your older brothers Dad and Papa. And everyone you’ve ever worked with bought it from the beginning. And you were okay with that until Jack entered your life.

The two of you just clinked from the start. Dean would jokingly call you childish all the time and though it hurts being around Jack made you feel normal. He is so new to the world and is still learning. You just can’t help it but want to join him along the way.

“Like this?” Jack held up his work of crochet, a half finished jellyfish head.

“Yeah, you’re a natural at this,” you praised, looking over his handiwork. He really was talented. “Do you want to use another color?” you added, grinning as his cheerful nod.

“What are you two doing?” Dean poked his head into your corner of the library that you and Jack turned into a pillow fort. There were string lights hung up and cushions thrown all around the place. Blankets and sheets were taken from your respective bedrooms and were used as well.

“Nothing.”

“Making friends.”

“Making friends?” You silently curse out the golden retriever that is your friend, hoping to convey all of that through a single glare.

“Well, not really but-”

“Look what I made!” Jack held up his jellyfish head for Dean to see. The older man raised his eyebrows, pursing his lips, and looking like the confused older brother that he was.

“That just looked like a butch of yarn.”

There was also that time in the kitchen. The Bunker had just been attacked and everyone was just trying to calm down. Live in the few moments of peace that you were allowed and everything. So you decided to make everyone pancakes. Jack for whatever reason was also up at the ungodly hour and wanted to help.

Making pancakes is not as easy as it sounds.

“What’s going on?!” Dean coughed, waving away the smoke as he stumbled into the kitchen.

“We’re making pancakes,” Jack replied, waving his spatchal over the only salvageable pancake. It was a little too dark and burnt at the edges. But some people linked crispy pancakes, at least that's what you were telling yourself.

“No, you’re starting a fire.” Dean pointed to the flame that had caught your apron.

“Argh!” you begin screaming, throwing the arpon off of yourself and onto the ground. Before the whole Bunker could be set on fire Dean puts out the flame with the fire extinguisher.

“You okay?” Dean asked, waving through the smoke.

“Y-yeah,” you stumbled, suddenly realizing where you were. Jack’s arms were around you putting his body in front of yours. You were the same height but it didn’t matter as you stared at his beautiful eyes. They were slightly teary from the smoke but they just looked stunning.

“Are you going to make out or clean up?”

“What’s make out?”

“C-clean up, of course,” you rushed, running to the storage closet to get the broom.

And that wasn’t even taking into account of the rain day.

“I think that piece goes there,” you motion towards the section of the puzzle with the same color and texture.

“Oh you’re right,” Jack smirks, putting the piece into place. You were staring at his charming smile and he just so happened to look up at the same time. Getting caught off guard was one thing but getting caught off guard by that face was game over. You were swooning before you even realized it.

“Alright alright, six feet apart. I don’t want to deal with any grandkids,” came Dean’s gravelly voice.

“Dean!” you shouted, embarrassed out of your mind and trying to hide your face within your arms.

“What does he mean-”

“I mean unless you plan on marrying my sister, stay away from her,” Dean explained threateningly.

“Why?” Jack tilted his head like a puppy.

“Because I want her attention too, and with you around I barely get the time of day from her. Can you imagine how much she would talk to me with a little kid running around? Actually don’t.”

“Little kid?”

“Argh! Dean, go flirt with Cas or something,” you begin the dull process of shoving your brother out the door. “Leave us alone.”

“Cas doesn-”

#jack kline x winchester!reader #jack kline x reader #jack kline x you #jack kline x y/n #jack kline #supernatural #request #fluff #dean winchester

227 notes · View notes

kjack89 · 3 years

Note

TimeTravel! Au where established-relationship modern Enjoltaire accidentally go back in time to barricade day and meet canon-era-reluctant-frenemies Enjoltaire with a series of awkward misunderstandings. Or include all of the Amis, or a fluffy kidfic(or not, since they're in a middle of a warzone), idk you decide.

So I really let the ‘idk you decide’ do a lot of heavy lifting here in terms of what this prompt became. Sorry Nonny!

Time Travel AU (kinda/sorta), E/R, established and also not, Modern AU and also Canon. Referenced/implied canonical major character death.

The crowd was suffocating, a mass of bodies that jostled Grantaire from every side as he tried his best to push through, but he didn’t care. He had one singular goal: he had to get to Enjolras.

He caught flashes through the crowd of Enjolras, using the hood of a car as a makeshift stage, shouting something into a megaphone that was drowned out by the roar of people, and though Grantaire’s temper was soured by having to shoulder his way through the masses just to get to his boyfriend, as always, even the briefest sight of Enjolras in his element was enough to make him smile.

A smile that quickly faded as Grantaire finally made it to the front of the crowd, only to see a platoon of police officers in full riot gear approaching.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire shouted, but his voice was lost over the noise of the crowd, especially as others had caught sight of the approaching cops.

Enjolras glanced over his shoulder, his expression hardening as the police drew closer. “Citizens, stay calm,” he shouted through the megaphone, but the crowd was already beginning a panicked scattering.

Grantaire was knocked almost to the ground by folks trying to flee, and by the time he struggled to his feet, it was to see a police officer drawing up behind Enjolras, baton at the ready. “Enjolras!” Grantaire called, but it was too late: the police officer clubbed Enjolras in the legs, and Enjolras pitched forward, off of the hood of the car and out of Grantaire’s line of sight.

Grantaire’s blood ran cold, and he immediately started pushing back through the crowd, but he couldn’t seem to make any headway against the masses of people. His heart raced with pure terror as the cops all but surrounded the car that Enjolras had been standing on.

“No!” Grantaire screamed, clawing at the people dragging him in the opposite direction, away from where Enjolras had fallen. “No, Enjolras! Enjolras!”

He struggled in vain, wordless sobs punching from his chest as he watched a cop yank Enjolras upright by his hair, a trickle of blood running down Enjolras’s pale forehead. Somehow, Enjolras’s eyes found Grantaire in the crowd, and he mouthed something that Grantaire couldn’t quite make out. “No,” Grantaire gasped, as the cop raised his gun to Enjolras’s head.

And pulled the trigger.

“NO!”

Grantaire sat bolt upright in bed, his chest heaving, drenched in sweat. “Grantaire?” Enjolras asked sleepily. “Grantaire, what—”

He broke off when he saw the state Grantaire was in, sitting up immediately and gently touching Grantaire’s arm. “It’s ok,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, just loud enough to be heard over Grantaire’s harsh breathing. “You’re ok. It was just a nightmare.”

Grantaire swallowed, hard, and shook his head, but no words came. Instead he turned and buried his face against Enjolras’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of the man who was very clearly still alive, still here, still next to him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice muffled against Enjolras’s shirt.

“For what?” Enjolras asked, stroking Grantaire’s hair. “For having a nightmare? I’m not entirely sure that’s something you can really control…”

Grantaire shook his head again and pulled away from Enjolras. “No, for not getting to you in time,” he said hoarsely.

Enjolras frowned. “In your dream?” he asked, and Grantaire nodded. “What happened?” Grantaire made a face and Enjolras’s frown deepened. “You dreamed I died again.”

It wasn’t a question, and for good reason. This was the fifth or sixth time in the past few weeks that Grantaire had been besieged by nightmares of Enjolras being killed, frequently enough that it was becoming a habit. And not one of Grantaire’s fun habits.

Not that Enjolras would consider most of Grantaire’s habits fun, but that was an argument Grantaire supposed could wait for another day.

He realized a moment too late that Enjolras had asked him something, and blinked at him. “Sorry?” he said, his voice still hoarse.

“I said, who was it this time?”

Enjolras’s voice was light, almost joking, and Grantaire knew that he was trying to make him feel better, even if it didn’t actually do anything to slow his still-racing heart or calm his still-shaking hands. “Cops,” he said.

Enjolras didn’t look surprised, just nodding slowly. “EDCAB,” he said, pronouncing each letter with no small amount of venom, and Grantaire gave him a startled look. “Even Dream Cops Are Bastards.”

Grantaire half-smiled. “Pretty sure dream cops are included in the ‘all cops’ part of ACAB,” he said.

“Sure, but it doesn’t hurt to specify.” Grantaire didn’t laugh and Enjolras’s forehead puckered with concern. “This is becoming a pattern,” he said. “Maybe you should talk to someone about it.”

Grantaire made a noise in the back of his throat, imagining the field day his therapist would have with this revelation. “I am talking to someone,” he said dismissively.

But Enjolras didn’t so much as a crack a smile. “You know what I mean.” He ran a hand up and down Grantaire’s arm. “There’s only so many times that I can tell you that you’re worrying for nothing, that I’m perfectly safe, that nothing’s going to happen to me. Especially since your subconscious doesn’t appear to be getting the hint.”

“In fairness, my subconscious is probably a better judge of the relative danger you put yourself in than you are,” Grantaire muttered, sliding away from Enjolras and standing up, grabbing his t-shirt from where he had shed it the night before and shrugging it on. “Between the cops, the far-right groups—”

“Which are really one and the same,” Enjolras said sourly.

“—and the regular fringe groups with an axe to grind, and just the fact that you make a pretty easy target—”

Enjolras scowled. “Are you victim-blaming?” he asked.

Grantaire rolled his eyes, heading into the kitchen to start the coffee. “No,” he said. “But that doesn’t also mean that you can’t take some reasonable precautions for your own safety.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Mom,” Enjolras called, and Grantaire rolled his eyes again, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard as he waited for the coffeemaker. Enjolras padded into the kitchen a minute or two later, leaning against the fridge as he watched Grantaire. “You said that you couldn’t get to me in time.”

“Huh?” Grantaire said distractedly.

“In your dream. You apologized for not being able to get to me in time.”

Grantaire braced himself against the counter and shook his head. “Not just this dream,” he said quietly. “Every dream.”

Enjolras frowned. “So is that what this is really about?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Grantaire said tiredly. “Look, just...just drop it, ok?”

“Fine,” Enjolras said, though his tone indicated that it wasn’t. Grantaire could feel his eyes on him as he poured them both cups of coffee, and when he passed him the mug, Enjolras asked, “Are you ok?”

Grantaire shrugged, resting his hip against the counter as he took a swig of too-hot coffee. “I’m fine.”

Enjolras didn’t look convinced. “Well, look at this way,” he said bracingly, the teasing tone back in his voice, “even if you had gotten to me, what would you have been able to do to stop it? Going down in a hail of bullets together is only romantic when Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid do it.”

Grantaire stared at him, his heart in his throat. He knew that Enjolras was only joking, but somehow, that made it worse, that he would dismiss this as nothing more than a joke. “Maybe there’s nothing that I can do,” he said, his voice low, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”

Without another word, he went out onto the balcony, closing the sliding door after him with more force than was necessary.

This time, Enjolras didn’t follow him right away, which was probably for the best. Grantaire knew he was being ridiculous, just as he knew that Enjolras had only been trying to make him laugh. It was an effort he would normally appreciate, if the image of Enjolras with a gun to his head wasn’t seared on the inside of his eyelids.

A few minutes later, Enjolras poked his head out from the sliding door. “Can I come out?” he asked.

“Pretty sure you didn’t ask permission to do so back in junior high, so Lord knows I’m not going to stop you now.”

Enjolras laughed lightly, stepping out onto the balcony. “Cute,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Grantaire said with a sigh, turning to rest his elbows on the balcony railing.

Enjolras leaned on the railing next to him. “I didn’t mean—” he started, but despite his reaction earlier, Grantaire didn’t really need to hear it.

“I know,” he repeated instead, a little gentler this time, and Enjolras nodded.

“We’re ok, right?” he asked, studying Grantaire carefully.

Grantaire turned to raise an eyebrow at him. “You already asked me that.”

“No, I asked if you were ok,” Enjolras said. “Now I’m asking about us.”

Instead of answering, Grantaire snaked an arm around Enjolras’s waist, pulling him close and kissing him lightly.. “We’re—” he started, breaking off when there was a horrible sound of groaning metal. “Was that—?”

Before he could even finish the question, the railing they were both leaning against gave out with a horrible shriek, sending both men tumbling to the ground twenty feet below.

----------

Grantaire groaned, feeling like he had been hit by a semi-truck. “Enjolras?” he muttered, feeling with his hand since he wasn’t quite ready to open his eyes. “Enj—”

His hand landed on something soft and he did finally open his eyes when he heard Enjolras groan, “You can stop molesting me at any time.”

“Oh thank God,” Grantaire said, realizing for the first time that despite the ache that seemed to permeate his body, nothing seemed broken or even bleeding. He carefully pushed against the ground to sit up, realizing for the first time that they weren’t lying on the sidewalk outside their apartment building. Instead, they were in some dark alley, lying on… “Cobblestones?” Grantaire asked, rubbing the back of his head as he looked around. “Where the hell are we?”

Enjolras sat up slowly, looking just as confused, though after a moment he froze, staring at Grantaire’s chest. “I think the better question is when are we,” he said, nodding towards Grantaire’s shirt.

Grantaire glanced down and let out a yelp. He was not dressed in the t-shirt and boxers he had previously had on. Instead, he was wearing a loose linen shirt with a green vest and matching cravat. He looked quickly at Enjolras, who was similarly dressed, though his vest was red. “What the fuck is going on?”

Enjolras braced himself against the wall as he stood, wincing the entire time. “If I had to guess,” he said, glancing around them, “we’re both hallucinating from our fall.”

Grantaire scowled and leaned forward, pinching Enjolras’s thigh. Enjolras let out a high-pitched noise and glared down at him. “What was that for?!”

“Proof we’re not dreaming,” Grantaire said. “Help me up, would you?”

Enjolras glowered at him but nonetheless helped him to his feet. “I didn’t say we were dreaming, I said we were hallucinating. There’s a difference.”

“Potato, po-tah-to.”

Grantaire winced as he brushed his pants off and Enjolras frowned. “Are you ok?”

“I’ve had hangovers worse than this, don’t worry,” Grantaire assured him, glancing around them as well. “So when do you think we are?”

“Judging by the clothes, sometime in the first half of the 19th century,” Enjolras said with a shrug.

“Care to narrow it down any?” Grantaire asked dryly. “Other than night time in what I’m guessing is Paris?” Enjolras ignored him, instead snagging a discarded pamphlet from where someone had tossed it. “What’s that?”

Enjolras shrugged, not looking up from the pamphlet. “Some kind of pamphlet,” he said vaguely.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Well no shit, I can see that. But a pamphlet for what?”

“For General Lamarque’s funeral.” Realization flashed across Enjolras’s face. “I know what date it is,” he said, his eyes wide. “It’s June 5th. Or early in the morning June 6th.”

Grantaire stared at him. “You got that from some random dude’s funeral?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Sure, when the ‘random dude’s funeral was the major catalyst of the June Rebellion?”

“The June Rebellion?” Grantaire asked tiredly, certain he was in for a lecture on how those who don’t remember history were doomed to repeat it.

But Enjolras seemed willing to save the lecture for a different time. “Short rebellion that took place in Paris at the beginning of June, 1832. An unsuccessful uprising, obviously.” He squinted at the street name written on the edge of the building at the end of the alley. “And if I’m right, we should head in this direction so that we don’t get stuck in the crossfire.”

They set off slowly down the alley and turned right onto a deserted street. Grantaire glanced over at him before remarking, half-fond and half-exasperated, “You and your knowledge of every obscure uprising in western civilization’s long and sordid history…”

Enjolras laughed lightly. “Hey, I’m not the only one who remembers it,” he said. “I heard a rumor that someone was going to make a musical out of it.”

“Out of the June Rebellion?” Grantaire asked, incredulous. “Bit dark for a musical, don’t you think?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Well, after the success of Hamilton, I think we’re going to see a lot more musicals based on historical events,” he reasoned.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure, but the June Rebellion? What are they gonna sing about, cholera? Deplorable working conditions? The prison-industrial complex in early 19th century France?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Enjolras said good-naturedly. “There’s a reason I’m a political organizer and not a musical writer—”

He broke off and Grantaire snorted. “Sure, including the fact that you can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but—”

Enjolras caught his arm. “Grantaire, shut up,” he ordered quietly. “Someone’s coming.”

Sure enough, out of nowhere, a figure popped up, holding a rifle aimed at them. “Identify yourselves as friend or foe of the Revolution,” the person called, and Enjolras and Grantaire exchanged startled glances.

Because it sounded like…

But it couldn’t be…

“Courfeyrac?” Enjolras managed as the figure approached.

Sure enough, as the figure approached, they were able to make out his features, which matched Courfeyrac’s almost identically. Even stranger than that, when he saw them, the man who looked like Courfeyrac immediately relaxed. “Ah, Enjolras, Grantaire,” he said, lowering his rifle. “What are you doing this far from the barricade? When last I saw you, Enjolras, you were planning for tomorrow with Combeferre, and of course, Grantaire, you’ve been sleeping off the drink for hours now in the Corinthe.”

“And it was time that I got back to it,” Grantaire said quickly, glancing up at Enjolras. “Come find me when you can get away,” he said, his voice low, and for a moment, it looked like Enjolras would argue, probably to tell him that it was better that they stuck together.

But Grantaire suspected that it would be easier to figure what the hell was going on if they split up, or at least less obvious that both of them had no clue what was happening.

Enjolras hesitated but then nodded. “Be safe,” he said, leaning in automatically to kiss Grantaire’s forehead like he had hundreds of times before.

“I doubt that even in 1832 I’m the one who needs that reminder,” Grantaire said with a small smile, and he squeezed Enjolras’s hand before heading off to the building that Courfeyrac – or the man who looked exactly like him – had indicated.

Enjolras fell in step next to Courfeyrac, following him in what he could only assume was the direction of the barricade. But if this was Courfeyrac, he was unusually quiet for the man that Enjolras knew. Then, abruptly, Courfeyrac said, “I did not realize that you and Grantaire…”

He trailed off, but his meaning – and the reason for his unusual quiet – was clear. Enjolras realized that in this time, he and Grantaire must not be together. “It is...not something we’ve been, uh, public about,” Enjolras said carefully, watching Courfeyrac closely.

To his surprise, Courfeyrac laughed lightly. “Well, perhaps you’ve not been,” he said with a grin that was eerily familiar, “but there is none who could doubt the depth of Grantaire’s feelings for you.”

Enjolras was uncomfortably reminded of those first few years of barely managed friendship between him and Grantaire, when Grantaire had gone out of his way to get under Enjolras’s skin and how it had taken him forever to realize that it was because Grantaire liked him. “Apparently I’m not a quick study,” he muttered, and Courfeyrac laughed again, though he broke off quickly, growing more somber as they approached the barricade.

“Combeferre was just up there when last I saw him,” he said, pointing toward the barricade. “I must return to the watch lest we lose any others.”

The heaviness of his words hit Enjolras hard, and he wordlessly gripped his shoulder before letting him go. He wondered who they had lost, if it had been any of their friends who also existed in his own time.

It was a chilling thought.

He clambered up the back of the barricade to the small enclave Courfeyrac had pointed out and peered down, less surprised to see a tall man who looked just like the Combeferre from his own time.

But what he didn’t expect to see was that Combeferre was not alone.

And as both men turned to frown at him, he definitely did not expect to see that the man crouched next to Combeferre was...himself.

----------

“Uncanny,” Grantaire breathed, watching his own shoulders rise and fall lightly as he – the other he, the one clearly from this time, this universe, whatever it was – snored softly from where he was slumped over the table in the Corinthe.

The man had the same messy dark curls, the same bump in his nose from when he had broken it – though Grantaire doubted very strongly that this version had broken it falling off his skateboard in elementary school – even the same crooked fingers wrapped loosely around a green glass bottle.

It was like looking at a mirror image, and was one of the strangest things Grantaire had ever seen.

And he had once taken LSD with Bahorel.

The man shifted slightly in his sleep and Grantaire hesitated. He knew that he himself would hate being waken, but at the same time, there really wasn’t any other option.

So after another long moment, he leaned in and poked himself – the other himself – in the side. “Grantaire?” he half-whispered. “Grantaire, wake up.”

The man opened one eye. “Go ‘way,” he mumbled.

“Grantaire, wake up,” Grantaire said, louder this time, and it was enough to make the man open both his eyes.

“Enjolras?” the other Grantaire slurred before blinking and focusing on Grantaire. “Oh,” he said stupidly. “It’s you.”

----------

Enjolras stared dumbly down at the copy of himself, who frowned slightly. “Citizen,” the other Enjolras said. “Have you come to join our Cause?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Enjolras managed, wondering how in the hell he was going to possibly explain this.

Not that it mattered – at his words, the other Enjolras jumped down from the barricade, gun at the ready. “Then speak plainly,” he growled, grabbing Enjolras by the lapels with his free hand. “We have had our fill our spies and—”

He broke off when he finally saw Enjolras’s face, surprise followed by confusion crossing his own. Combeferre followed him down, his weapon also in hand, though he stopped in his tracks, his own eyes widening when he saw Enjolras. “What is this?” he asked, looked at the other Enjolras for explanation.

An explanation that either Enjolras was very clearly lacking.

To Enjolras’s surprise, the other Enjolras recovered first. “My cousin,” he said, a smoother lie than Enjolras would have managed. “From the country.”

“Right,” Enjolras said, nodding quickly. “His cousin, uh, Maximilien.” It was the first name that popped into his head and both Combeferre and the other Enjolras arched identical eyebrows. “I, uh, I was afeared that too late I might have been to attend to the barricade.”

He flushed when he realized he was talking like Yoda mixed with some kind of medieval knight, but thankfully, neither Combeferre nor the other Enjolras appeared to have noticed, or else were too caught up with confusion over what exactly was happening to care.

“Give us a moment,” the other Enjolras ordered quietly, and Combeferre hesitated.

“Are you certain?” he asked, eyeing Enjolras warily.

The other Enjolras nodded. “This man is no traitor or spy,” he said. “On that, I would stake my life.”

Combeferre hesitated for a moment longer before bowing his head and nodding. “Be quick,” he told the other Enjolras. “We have much to discuss before dawn.”

The other Enjolras nodded again and Combeferre left, though not until after one last furtive glance at Enjolras. The other Enjolras finally released Enjolras and set his gun down, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Who are you and why do you bear my face?” he asked bluntly.

Enjolras licked his lips before asking, a little desperately, “Would you believe me if I told you that I was you from the future?”

The other Enjolras considered him for a long moment, his brow drawn and his expression impassive. Then he shook his head. “No,” he said. “I would not.”

----------

“So I am you,” the other Grantaire said slowly. “Or, more accurately perhaps, you are me.”

Grantaire nodded. “Right.”

The other Grantaire shook his head slowly. “I would believe that I had drunk too much absinthe,” he said, squinting at Grantaire, “save that I know not why my drink-addled brain would supply this particular vision.”

He raised the bottle in his hand to his lips, letting out a small noise of disappointment when he realized it was empty. “Just like that?” Grantaire asked skeptically. “You believe me without any explanation?”

“What other explanation is there?” the other Grantaire grumbled, tossing the empty bottle aside. “When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

Grantaire gaped at him. “And now you’re somehow quoting Star Trek?” he spluttered.

The other Grantaire leaned back in his chair. “I do not know what trek through the stars you reference,” he said, scratching his chest and yawning, “but do you suppose the stars you see in your time are the same as in mine?”

Grantaire resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and made a mental note to rein in the philosophizing the next time he, Joly and Bossuet got drunk. How neither of them had hauled off and decked him yet… “I guess so,” he said with a sigh.

“In your time, is there also…” Grantaire braced himself for what many questions the other Grantaire inevitably had for him, but to his surprise, all the other Grantaire asked was, “Is there an Enjolras?”

“Oh, yes.”

Grantaire didn’t hesitate in his answer, but something in the two words had the other Grantaire leaning forward again, his expression unreadable. “And you and he are friends?”

The other Grantaire sounded slightly surprised, but Grantaire just shrugged, a little helplessly. “Friends, lovers, partners...Enjolras is my everything.”

He knew he sounded like a lovesick idiot, but he learned long ago not to bother trying to hide it. The other Grantaire looked even more surprised by this. “Lovers,” he repeated, shaking his head slowly, before peering at Grantaire closely. “But you are not his everything.”

Grantaire blinked, surprised (though he supposed he probably shouldn’t be) by how perspective the other Grantaire was, even three sheets to the wind. “No,” he said. “But he and I understand that. He has the Cause, and everything that comes with it, and he would not be the Enjolras that I fell in love with without it.”

The other Grantaire shook his head again, something like awe creeping into his tone and across his expression. “So you have found a way to be together in spite of – or perhaps because of – who he is.”

The other Grantaire didn’t word it as a question, but Grantaire nodded nonetheless. “Yes,” he said. “It took a lot of work – I mean, it still does – but we have found a way to work it out and be together.” He paused, his heart sinking just slightly at the look on the other Grantaire’s face. “I’ll take it you and your Enjolras…”

“He despises me.”

The other Grantaire said it so plainly that Grantaire flinched at the starkness of the words. “I’m sure he doesn’t.”

But the other Grantaire didn’t appear to have heard him. “Maybe it’s enough,” he murmured. “Enough to know that in another lifetime, we found a way…”

He trailed off again and looked up at Grantaire. “Do we die here?”

The abruptness of the question took Grantaire aback. He didn’t know if he was referring to we as in him and the other Grantaire, or the other Grantaire and his Enjolras, but it didn’t really matter since he didn’t know the answer either way. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

The other Grantaire nodded heavily. Then, abruptly, he muttered, “If Enjolras’s time is come, let us hope mine is as well. There is no life worth living without him in it.”

Grantaire worried his lower lip between his teeth. As much as he wanted to tell the other Grantaire that he was wrong, hadn’t he had a similar thought just that morning? “I don’t think your Enjolras would be pleased to hear you say that,” he said instead.

To his surprise, the other Grantaire managed a ghost of a smile. “Nor yours, I’d imagine,” he agreed before looking at Grantaire plainly. “But you understand, do you not?”

The breath seemed to catch in Grantaire’s throat, and he nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Yes, I understand.”

For one long moment, the other Grantaire studied him closely before his shoulders slumped and he sighed heavily. “Well, it has been strange and yet surprisingly pleasant to meet such an apparition as yourself,” he said, already leaning forward to again rest his head against the wood of the table. “Now you should leave me to my slumber.”

Grantaire stood, before hesitating. “Will you promise me something before I go?”

The other Grantaire cracked one eye open. “What would you ask of me?”

“If the worst that both you and I fear comes to pass, if you are to lose Enjolras on this barricade, will you go to him in the end, and die with him?”

He honestly didn’t know what made him ask it, other than the lingering memory of his dream from what seemed like so long ago and yet like no time had passed either. That and what the other Grantaire had said, lingering just the same: Maybe it’s enough to know that in another lifetime...

“I do not think he would want me there,” the other Grantaire said, lifting his head off the table.

Grantaire shook his head. “I think you might be surprised.”

A small, sad smile lifted the corners of the other Grantaire’s mouth. “Forgive me, but your Enjolras seems much gentler than mine. And while he might want you by his side when the end comes, I do not know if I can believe the same for my own.”

“Then don’t do it for him,” Grantaire said bluntly. :Go to him for yourself. Because you deserve to know that he dies knowing that you loved him enough to die by his side”.

“Perhaps I will,” the other Grantaire murmured, closing his eyes again. “But only with his permission. I owe him that much, after all the ways I have failed him.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to argue more, but closed it again when he heard a soft snore coming from the other Grantaire, and he shook his head again. “Good luck,” he whispered before turning to leave the other Grantaire to sleep off the alcohol.

He had no idea if the other Grantaire would even remember the conversation when he woke up.

But he hoped he would.

And regardless, he knew he would never forget it.

----------

He had barely taken two steps from the Corinthe when he almost ran smack into Enjolras. “Enjolras,” he gasped, before hesitating. “It is you, isn’t it? Not, uh, some other Enjolras?”

“Considering it’ll be well over a century before cloning is invented…” Enjolras said with a tired smile, and Grantaire sighed in relief. “I’ll take it you also met your doppelgänger?”

“If that’s what you want to call him,” Grantaire muttered.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “What would you call him?”

Grantaire considered the question for a minute. “Weird as fuck,” he said finally.

Enjolras laughed before glancing over his shoulder, his smile fading. “C’mon,” he said, taking Grantaire’s hand. “We need to get out of here. The National Guard will be attacking soon.”

They walked together in silence for a good distance until Enjolras judged them relatively safe. “Here,” he said, shouldering a door open. “We should be safe in here.”

“You can’t just break into someone’s house!” Grantaire hissed, even as he followed Enjolras inside.

“I’m not,” Enjolras told him. “Didn’t you see the sign outside? This building is abandoned. Now c’mon, if we can get up to the roof, we should have a pretty good view.”

Together, they headed up the stairs; from there it was a quick scramble up to the roof, Enjolras pulling Grantaire up after him, and they sat down together. “So, what, we’re just going to watch ourselves get killed?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras sighed. “Believe me, if I could think of an alternative…”

He trailed off and Grantaire sighed, resting his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “It was weird, wasn’t it?” he asked softly. “Meeting different versions of ourselves. Seeing what we could have been like.”

Enjolras nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “My other self didn’t believe me, at least not at first.”

Grantaire laughed lightly. “Strangely enough, the other Grantaire believed it immediately.” He nudged Enjolras gently. “Who’d’ve thought that I’d be the believer and you’d be the cynic.”

Enjolras half- smiled. “Certainly not me,” he agreed. “Speaking of, what did you and the other Grantaire talk about?”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “Not much,” he said. “A little bit about what’s going to happen. A little bit about what he should do if it does happen.”

He didn’t specify what the ‘it’ was that he was referring to, but Enjolras seemed to understand, since he nodded slowly. “And what did you tell him?”

“That even if there is nothing that he can do to stop it, being with you in the end is enough.”

“Grantaire…”

Enjolras’s voice was pained, but Grantaire just shook his head. “Don’t,” he said.

“But there is so much in your life worth living for—” Enjolras started, his voice heated.

“Of course there is,” Grantaire said easily. “A million things to live for. But the only thing in my life worth dying for is you.”

Enjolras ducked his head but didn’t try to argue further. After a long moment, he turned to kiss the top of Grantaire’s head. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Grantaire tilted his head back to kiss Enjolras properly before asking, “What about the other Enjolras? Did you tell him that he would, y’know, fail?”

Enjolras squinted toward the horizon and the sun that was slowly starting to break over the buildings. “No.”

Grantaire lifted his head off of Enjolras’s shoulder so that he could look at him. “So you lied to him?”

“No,” Enjolras repeated. “I told him the truth. Just...not all of it.” He sighed, glancing back over at Grantaire. “I told him that no matter what happens on the barricade, he will have done his part in changing the world.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “I’m not sure I would call that the truth.”

Enjolras gave him a ghost of his usual smile. “Yeah, well, as already discussed, you always were a cynic.”

“In all other lives besides this one, anyway,” Grantaire said, setting his head back on Enjolras’s shoulder. “So now what?”

Enjolras sighed, wrapping an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders. “Now we wait, I guess.”

It was over almost as quickly as it began, and even though they were shielded from witnessing the worst of it, Grantaire still shuddered at every cannon blast or gunshot they could hear. When it finally died down, Grantaire glanced up at Enjolras. “Is it finished?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Enjolras just shook his head, his brow furrowed. “I’m not sure.”

Suddenly, there was one final barrage of gunshots that sounded through the stillness of the early morning, and then…

They woke up.

----------

It somehow hurt even worse than before, though Grantaire wasn’t sure that was physically possible. “Ow,” he croaked as a bunch of EMTs loaded him onto a stretcher.

“He’s awake!” one of them called before leaning down to tell him, “Sir, there’s been an accident. Your balcony collapsed. We’re taking you and your friend to the hospital.”

“Don’t—” Grantaire started, though his voice was muffled by some kind of mask over his mouth.

The EMT shook her head. “Don’t try to talk,” she told him.

But Grantaire reached up with a shaking hand to pull the mask off just enough to tell her, “Just...keep us together.”

She replaced the mask and squeezed his hand. “I promise,” she told him.

Grantaire nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as he passed out again.

----------

When he woke up the next time, Grantaire was in a hospital room, feeling a lot less like he’d been hit by a semi-truck. A quick glance at his hand told him it was likely whatever was in his IV that was doing the heavy lifting. “Oh good,” a familiar voice said, and Grantaire turned his head to see Enjolras in the hospital bed next to him. “You’re finally awake.”

Grantaire smiled slightly at him. “Mmm,” he agreed. “And they gave us the good stuff.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Enjolras warned, wincing slightly as he readjusted to lie on his side so that he could see him. “You broke your arm and fractured your ankle, in case you were wondering.”

“Oh, is that what those casts are for?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “How can you possibly manage to be sarcastic while on morphine?”

Grantaire shrugged, wincing as he did. “Experience,” he said dryly. “What about you?”

His eyes flickered over Enjolras’s body, but he didn’t see any obvious injuries besides some bruises and scrapes. “Cracked a few ribs,” Enjolras said. “You apparently broke my fall.”

“Figures,” Grantaire muttered. “Well, at least you’ve had broken ribs before.”

Enjolras snorted. “Yeah, I think there’s a punch card I can get. Ten broken ribs and the eleventh one they’ll set for free.”

Grantaire laughed, though he stopped when it made his own ribs ache. Enjolras half-smiled. “Thanks for catching me, though.”

“Anytime,” Grantaire said with a wink that too quickly turned into a wince.

Something shifted in Enjolras’s expression, and he hesitated before asking cautiously, “Did you, um, did you have a dream while you were...out?”

Grantaire blinked, sluggish memories slowly coming back to him, images from a dream he couldn’t quite remember, like they were just out of reach. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, I did. Something about…” He thought about it for a long moment before snorting a laugh. “Something about the June Rebellion, of all asinine things. Clearly I’ve been spending too much time with you.” He looked over at Enjolras, tracing his features with his eyes. “You were there, I think.”

Enjolras managed a smile. “You were in my dream, too.” He paused before asking, “Was yours a happy dream?”

Grantaire shrugged and winced. “We were together,” he said simply. “That’s enough to make any dream happy.”

“Good,” Enjolras said. “I just...I didn’t want you to have another nightmare.”

Grantaire shook his head slowly. “I think…” He frowned slightly. “Don’t ask me how, but I think I’m done with those dreams now. Like something happened in my dream that made it….I dunno, ok somehow.”

“Yeah?” Enjolras asked, watching him closely.

“Or maybe I’m just high as balls on morphine.”

Enjolras laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably more like it,” he said. “You should get some rest.”

“So should you,” Grantaire said with a yawn. “Besides, there’s something I gotta do first.” He stretched his hand out from his hospital bed toward Enjolras.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras asked.

“Trying to hold your hand, you dolt,” Grantaire said sleepily. “Since I can’t hold all of you right now.” Enjolras hesitated and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Do you permit it?” he asked sarcastically.

Enjolras scowled but nonetheless took his hand, lacing their fingers together, and they stayed that way until both of them fell asleep again.

Together.

64 notes · View notes

forgiveness-in-the-misery · 3 years

Text

Arthur The Ventriloquist Penn is definitely not meant to be a parental figure to Oswald, despite that being said back when season five started by people working on the show.

The reasons for my disagreement being: Oswald already had a mom and a dad.

Oswald looked at Carmine Falcone like a father, he even to a similar yet mostly gay extent admired Jim Gordon. These things are important because Oswald has an obvious respect for men that he admires or sees as a sort of or complete father figure.

He treated Arthur like garbage, he treated him like he hated him most of the time. Which makes no sense if he respects him or sees him as a parent.

Arthur to me is an obvious Ed replacement, to a small extent in season four but to a much larger degree in the final season of the show.

Mr. Penn reminds me of Ed in the first and some of the second season of the show: both men tend to dress in a way that is bland, they stick to muddy colors that appear to cause them to blend in with their surroundings, their clothes often looking cheap, and ill fitted for their thin frames. Penn like Ed before he became The Riddler is socially awkward and often seems nervous, falling into being a “jittery loser” as Oswald referred to the Ed he first met. Penn just like Ed in the first half of season three cares possibly too much about pleasing Oswald and earning his praise and validation which we see primarily in season five, except unlike Ed he doesn’t get it.

Oswald loves Ed, he doesn’t love Arthur. Arthur is a pale imitation of Edward from the “good days” before Oswald fell in love and before Ed betrayed him.

With season four when Oswald finds out that Penn had been working for the Falcones he was pissed, but much like Ed pretending to help Butch in early season three it’s a soft betrayal especially because we know Penn had no real malicious intent. So we see Penn back by Oswald’s side, except being treated worse now.

I think Oswald took out a lot of his frustration and anger he had towards everything that had happened with Ed out on Arthur, he makes sure to never treat Arthur good like he had Ed, in fact he treats him like he’s not even a person. Just a thing that he owns. I’m not saying what they had was romantic and definitely wasn’t sexual, but the tensions and subtext of Oswald and Arthur feels like a romantic relationship, it feels like a twisted not right version of what he wanted with Ed. To live in city hall, the place him and Ed had once claimed before everything went to shit, running the guns and a good chunk of the city, even down to owning a dog albeit Ed definitely would not have let Oswald name their dog Ed. Except he isn’t sharing any of this with Ed, instead he has Arthur who seems like an older pathetic version of the Ed he had met years prior.

Even when Arthur dies Oswald isn’t incredibly upset, he’s bothered by it but it isn’t a death that haunts him because strangely enough Ed comes into his life soon after Arthur dies. Then when they settle into a new relationship we get an episode where Ed is annoyed by Oswald’s lack of commitment to building their submarine that Oswald named after his mother aka a way to claim it as his and his alone despite doing none of the work. The two bicker and Ed’s obviously hurt and upset by Oswald still after all this time being selfish and incapable of just being there when Ed needs him.

Then Arthur comes back with a puppet named Mr. Scar face and suddenly for me he’s a lot like Ed.

Ed became The Riddler because of Oswald and because of Oswald Arthur became Ventriloquist. Both villains have a personality disorder, both created an altar that is stronger and more bold than they themselves could be. Watching Arthur confront Oswald for the way he treated him, for the fact he didn’t even try and check for a pulse or heart beat or give him a burial but instead just left him there to be tossed onto the streets mirrors Ed’s season three pain at finding out Oswald’s obsessive selfishness lead to him having Isabella killed. What turned both men against Oswald were actions he took because he’s ultimately a selfish man.

I also like how Ed spends a lot of the time being irritated by Arthur and irritated to find out Oswald made another villain. That Oswald really hasnt changed. What cements Arthur as a rebound romance for me is that Oswald does end up faced with two men he had close ties to and hurt in different yet similar ways he confesses that he treats those in his life he cares about like shit. He treats people badly and pushes them away and he knows he’s doing it and he knows he’s alone because of the way that he is. As I said in another post, Oswald places people in boxes of what use they have to him, and a lot of times this results in those people hating him like we saw with Butch and Ivy and Barbara and Ed and Arthur. He could have had better and longer friendships or in Ed’s case a romance with these people if some part of his brain hadn’t slotted them in a box of “tool”.

The pentacle of this all being very gay and very much about romantic relationships is that after the puppet is....killed, Arthur is grateful to Oswald and also straddling his lap which is super gay, but also that Oswald seems like he would be willing to try to treat him like a person this time around....Then Ed kills Arthur when technically there was no cause to do especially because that could have triggered Oswald to turn on Ed. Ed explains Arthur was a lunatic and they needed to get rid of him, which I can’t argue with but Ed also is unpredictable in the same way as Ventriloquist. Ed explains that he accepts Oswald for who and what he is and that this thing of theirs works because Oswald accepts him as the trainwreck that he is. Oswald says maybe they are meant for each other and....all of that is gay.

Due to network interference it couldn’t be gay, but season five really drove it home as hard as they could. And Arthur was very very clearly a rebound romance and a placeholder until Ed came back into Oswald’s life.

Also just general shoutout to getting to see Ventriloquist in live action, like all of that was exactly how I would expect the puppet and character to look in real life.

#gotham #oswald cobblepot #edward nygma #the ventriloquist #arthur penn #nygmobblepot

54 notes · View notes

dietraumerei · 3 years

Text

Whumptober 2021: Crush Injuries

You can read this, and my other Whumptober stories, on AO3 here: Hurts So Good: A Whumptober 2021 Collection

Summary: The cutest woman in the WHOLE WORLD has just moved to Crowley's village. Obviously, she comports herself with dignity and grace.(Not many couples essentially get two meet-cutes, but here we are!)

(A new Human AU, with femme Aziraphale and Crowley. I borrowed a few OC's from my Castle Terra AU, but you don't need to have read that to understand them here :) )

CW: serious injury, broken bones

“How did you...you were walking down the street,” Chita said, frankly impressed.

“I saw her,” Crowley said miserably.

“Her-her?” Chita asked, eyes going wide. “Your crush who lives in our tiny village but whose name you somehow don't know? You really saw her?”

“Chita, don't tease,” Crowley snapped. “Yes, I saw her and I stepped wrong off the curb and now my ankle is magnificently broken, all right?”

Chita softened immediately. She and Crowley had dated years ago, before she figured out she was aro-ace, and in the way of lesbian lore they had broken up and remained the best of friends.

“I'm sorry, love. I shouldn't tease you.” She leaned over and kissed Crowley's forehead. “It's really bad?”

“Yeah. I'm lucky like that.” Crowley grimaced. “Surgery and everything.” “Poor duck,” Chita said. “It's all right, we'll take care of you. This isn't usually what they mean by crush injuries, you know.”

Crowley gave in and laughed, and gave her friend a little shove. “Shut up and go and get me an overnight bag, all right?”

Chita laughed, and hugged Crowley tightly. She was good at hugs, and the fact that her right arm ended just below her elbow did nothing to change that. “I'll be back lickety-split. And then we are tracking down your mystery angel. She deserves to know the chaos she's caused.”

“Oh, God,” Crowley said, but Chita was already gone.

“Crowley!” Chita ran over and hugged her gently. “I can't believe you made it.”

“Honestly, same.” Crowley smiled and hugged her back; she was getting good managing the crutches. She'd been invited to Elsie's birthday party before breaking the fuck out of her ankle, but it had been a month since the surgery and she felt...fine. Good. Her ankle had mostly stopped hurting and although she was in plaster for another few weeks, she was pretty good at hobbling around. And if there was one thing to be found at Elsie's, it was accessible spaces; with all of this combined, there was no way Crowley was going to stay away.

“You look wonderful,” Chita said, and kissed her cheek, and the shit of it was Crowley believed her. She'd got her pixie cut touched up, and her shorts maybe weren't enormously flattering, but she looked cute in a soft butch sort of way; she and her hairdresser had even agreed to leave her little baby lesbian mullet, so soft waves tickled the back of her neck.

“You're very kind to the invalid,” she teased and followed Chita over to a shockingly comfortable Adirondack chair. She didn't have to keep her leg elevated all the time anymore, and enjoyed sitting a little out of the way, scooting to the edge of the seat when Elsie next made her rounds so she could hug and kiss the birthday girl, and make much of her.

“You absolute gem,” Elsie said, cupping her face. Figuring out how to hug her in her chair while they were both seated had been interesting, but worth it. “Are you well-watered? Oh good, you've got a drink. Make us take care of you, dearest.”

Crowley made a face, and Elsie laughed. “I'll bully you into it. I'm so glad you came.”

Crowley wriggled a bit and got so she could hug Elsie again. “Of course. I wouldn't miss your parties for the world. Happy birthday, love.” She kissed Elsie, friendly and sweet, and smiled at her. “I brought a card, and I owe you a present.”

“Tch. You can pay it off by inducting a new friend into our circle,” Elsie said. “Her name's Aziraphale – she's due any minute, had to work today, poor lamb.”

“Of course,” Crowley said. She'd been new herself, once, brought into the circle of village queers by her relationship with Chita. When that had ended, she'd just never left.

She was up and over by the food, talking with Chita in fact, when Chita went stock-still, her eyes huge, and then she grinned.

“What?” Crowley asked, twisting around to look and.

Oh.

Oh shit.

It was probably good she was already on crutches so when her knees turned to jelly, she didn't collapse.

It was her.

It was the angel.

She was tall and thick. Big hips, big stomach, big bosom, her arms were round and her legs thick and Crowley wanted to find out if being held by her was as soft as it looked. She was wearing a prairie dress and chunky boots and her hair was long with the sides shaved and it was back in a braid, silver-blonde and she had blue eyes and she was coming right toward Crowley.

“There you are!” Elsie was pushing herself along cheerfully. “Crowley, meet Aziraphale. She's new to the village, I was telling you about her earlier.”

“Gyuh huh,” Crowley said as her brain turned inside out. “Um. Hi.”

“Aziraphale!” Chita grinned. “It's so good to meet you. I'm Chita, but Crowley is your appointed friend buddy.”

“I am a lucky girl,” Aziraphale said, and grinned at Chita and then, blushing, her eyes dropping, at Crowley. Well, at Crowley's foot. “Um. Hello.”

“We'll leave you to it!” Chita trilled, and Crowley contemplated kicking her.

“You both like good wine and good food, and can't abide folk music,” Elsie added helpfully, before pivoting gracefully and metaphorically rolling off into the sunset.

Crowley contemplated chasing her down and kicking her.

“Um. So. Hi.” Crowley cleared her throat. “Do you want a drink? Something to eat? The wine's pretty good.”

“Th-thanks. Yes. Ah. So food's right here?” Aziraphale looked up through her lashes, smiling shyly. “Do you want anything? I can fill plates for both of us.”

“Yeah! That would be great, um. Thank you. Uh. Thanks.” Crowley smiled weakly, and followed Aziraphale down the buffet, mumbling her requests as the gorgeous woman beside her filled their plates, and got them each a glass of wine.

Her hand was shaking.

She was nervous too.

Instantly Crowley's heart softened, and any nervousness was put aside in favour of making Aziraphale feel comfortable and welcome. She could have a breakdown later, now that she knew her angel's name, and that she had a beautiful deep voice and a beautiful...everything, actually.

“Do you mind carrying mine over there?” she asked, nodding to two chairs set together, a little out of the way. “I won't make you eat with me.”

“No! I mean. Of course I'll carry it over. And I don't mind eating with you. Unless, um, you want to be alone. Or if you want me to get someone – you must have friends you'd rather spend time with?” She bit her lip, worried it with her teeth, and Crowley fell in love.

“No. I mean, uh, I have friends. But I'd like it if you joined me, really. Please.” She tried a smile and probably didn't look too weird? Well, no weirder than usual.

“I'd love that,” Aziraphale said quickly, and they went the short distance, Crowley settling down with a stifled groan; she'd been standing for a bit.

“Do you want something to put your leg up on?” That soft, rich voice. Dear God.

“No, no, I'm fine. I broke it like a month ago, it's stopped hurting,” Crowley said as Aziraphale handed over her plate and glass, and joined her in the chair beside her.

“Oh, gosh. I hope it wasn't serious?”

Crowley shrugged. “Pretty bad, but it's all right. Got two more months in plaster, then I can start walking in a boot. Could be worse.”

“I don't see how!” Aziraphale covered her mouth, and blushed. “Please forgive me. I'm glad you're not in pain at least, Crowley.”

“None at all,” Crowley assured her, and not just because she was pretty sure she'd never feel pain again, the way Aziraphale smiled at her. “I think I've seen you around the village – you've been here a month or two, right?”

“A bit longer than that, but I was, um, recovering from surgery,” Aziraphale said. “So I wasn't out much.”

“Oh, honey. Is everything all right? Do you need anything?”

Aziraphale smiled. “I'm fine. It's part of why I came here. Uh. I transitioned a couple years ago, but only got just my surgeries – finally – and just...wanted to start over somewhere new.” She blushed. “Silly, I know.”

“No, sweetheart. I'm so glad for you, though.” Soft, gentle, gentle. Crowley was so in love. “This is such a good place to live, I swear. Even if falling off the kerb can sometimes be a bit dicey.”

Aziraphale giggled. “You poor thing!” She smiled warmly at Crowley. “I think I'm going to like it here a lot.”

They made it to their second date before tumbling into Crowley's bed and making love until dawn. Aziraphale was still moaning softly as the sun rose and the world turned from grey to colour, and Crowley kissed her girlfriend, long and tender. “I love you,” she said, even though it was way too early.

“I loved you the first time we met,” Aziraphale confessed, and they curled up together, careful of Crowley's foot, Aziraphale fussing tenderly and finding a pillow. “You were so handsome and so kind, I didn't know what to think.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Crowley asked, once her lady was back in her arms and kissed.

“Of course.” Aziraphale's smile was so nice, and hid a wicked tongue that had made Crowley laugh for hours already. Also moan.

“You know I broke my ankle when I stumbled off a kerb?”

Aziraphale nodded, and tweaked a nipple. “Clumsy love.”

“I stumbled because I'd seen you. You were so beautiful, I lost my balance.”

Aziraphale's jaw actually dropped. “Crowley! You're lying!”

“I swear to God.” Crowley was laughing, and reached for Aziraphale's hand, kissing her knuckles. “You can ask Chita. I had such a crush on you; didn't even know your name. But I saw you across the street and didn't look where I was walking and down I went.”

“Crowley! That's awful!” Aziraphale was laughing though, gathering her close and kissing her tenderly. “Bless Elsie for shoving us together. You need a minder.”

“And a girlfriend. And a lover.” Crowley pressed a long kiss to Aziraphale's throat feeling her pulse thrumming away. “My darling.”

“Silly,” Aziraphale murmured, but they still twined together, naked bodies held close, and, finally, dropped off to sleep still holding one another.

#whumptober2021 #good omens

8 notes · View notes

rainbowwritesthings · 4 years

Text

I Just Died In Your Arms Tonight

Hughie reached up and felt the edge of the knife that was lodged in his ribs and could almost feel where the tip of the knife exited from his back. Butcher grabbed the hand that was fumbling with the knife handle and brought Hughie’s knuckles to his lips, “don’t worry bought that now.”

Hughie dies for awhile. Butcher freaks out. AO3

Soldier Boy stared Hughie down, somehow managing to exude disinterest while still maintaining an energy that spoke of impending bloodshed.

Hughie forced himself not to look around for Butcher, who had slipped away to try and track down the very Supe measuring the young man up.

“Where are your friends?”

The sudden baritone had Hughie jolting slightly and his usual instinct regarding a very powerful Supe asking questions rang true.

“Who?”

Butcher had made fun of Hughie countless times because of his ‘play dumb’ strategy, and the gruff man would always end the jab by saying it only made people more suspicious.

MM and Frenchie had made similar, less pointed comments about his lies under pressure, even Kimiko had once given him a look when Hughie dumbly asked, “who’s Hughie Campbell?” When someone was trying to intimidate him.

The heavy sound of boots walking towards him had Hughie’s heart beat harder, and he wished he could at least pretend to be brave while facing the first superhero.

This was Soldier Boy’s first meeting with any of the group and Hughie could understand why this was so disappointing for the man.

Soldier Boy stood in front of him and raised his eyebrows, “you’re really a member of The Boys? The group that kills Superheroes.”

Hughie blinked and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted when the man continued on.

“Your leader is former SAS and CIA. His right-hand man was a combat medic, left hand man was a gun-runner and chemist expert. Oh, and the other member is a trained Super terrorist.”

Hughie noticed the lack of mention for Starlight and hoped it meant that her spot on the Seven meant she was safe.

The Supe got even closer until they were just inches apart, “you used to upsell bullshit equipment for a Radio Shack. Why the fuck are you here?”

God Hughie wished he had a good answer to that, or at least the spine to say something cool like he knew Butcher would have.

“It’s a long story.”

This answer gained him a grunt and Soldier Boy stepped back, with no warning his fist shot out and Hughie fell to the ground. The Supe lowered down to straddle the man and Hughie tried desperately to get out from under him.

When two hands linked around his throat, Hughie froze and stared up.

“I could snap your neck and there’d be nothing you could do to stop me.”

Hughie was already well aware of this fact, and somehow being in such a powerless position eased the panic welling inside of him. As Soldier Boy’s grip around his throat tightened, Hughie grabbed his knife.

The first knife that Butcher had gifted him in the guise of safety, the one Hughie kept with him at all times since receiving it. He used it to stab the Supe in the arm, and Soldier Boy didn’t so much as flinch as he shifted to hold Hughie down with one hand.

The other hand reached up to yank out the knife, he examined the knife and looked down at Hughie.

“Maybe you aren’t as balless as I thought.”

Hughie sucked in air and heard heavy footfalls closing into to him. Butcher finally arrived with stomping feet and a shout, “Oi, cunt!” As Butcher shot at the Supe, Soldier Boy only looked up at him as a courtesy.

“Finally, a true member of the team.”

With a cold smile the Supe maintained eye contact with Butcher and rammed the knife through Hughie’s chest. Hughie couldn’t help but scream when the knife ripped through his lung, cartilage, and bones, and after it was in he weakly grasped at his chest.

When Hughie grasped about the area he could only feel the tip of the handle sticking out, the rest of the blade and handle was buried firmly in his lung and ribcage.

Butcher let out a roar and the rest of clip was unloaded into the Supe, Soldier Boy merely stood up casually over Hughie and wipe his bloody hand on his pants uniform.

Burcher was still holding an empty gun to the Supers face, seething with unbridled rage.

“I’ll kill every fuckin’ one of ya’!” For once an emotion other than boredom crossed Soldier Boy’s face, but Hughie’s vision was too blurry to make out what expression it was exactly, but it looked almost like surprise.

Black filled the whole of his vision and peace was momentarily granted, until strong hands were firmly shaking his shoulders and a voice was ringing in his ears.

Butcher came into a blurry world view that slowly cleared until all Hughie could see was Billy, cradling him in his arms with a desperate expression.

“Hold on now Hughie. Others are on their way, gonna get you all patched up.”

That was the most blatant lie Butcher had ever told him, even if MM rolled in right now with a squad of trained medics it wouldn’t matter.

Hughie could almost feel where the tip of the knife exited from his back and reached up to the area once again.

Butcher grabbed the hand that was fumbling around the knife handle and brought Hughie’s knuckles to his lips, “don’t worry bought’ that now.”

Hughie tried to focus on the man, truly he did, but he was also trying to gather air into his lungs. He was drowning in himself, there was no other way to describe it.

Butcher seemed to pick up on his gasping for air and with a gentle warning, lifted Hughie so he was braced on his lap.

Slightly more upright Hughie coughed up a spray of blood, coating both Butcher and Hughie. It was still hard to breathe, he could feel the blood pulling in his chest and congealing in his throat.

“Breathe darlin’, just breathe.”

At the command Hughie drew in a wet breath and immediately coughed harder, “Butch-“

“Shh, save your breath luv.”

A calloused hand ran through his hair before cupping his cheek, “you’ll be fine, made of strong stuff you are. This ain’t nothin’ compared to what you been through.”

Hughie’s vision cleared enough to see Butcher, more distraught than he had ever seen him before which lead to a new resolve.

“Listen-please listen to me.”

It was odd how exhausting that simple sentence was and the dawning comprehension that he was dying finally beginning to hit him. This understanding must have shown on his face because Butcher placed more pressure on the wound with a feral look in his eyes.

“You’re gonna be fine, ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to ya.”

Holy shit, Billy Butcher was in complete denial about what was happening.

“Billy. I love you. Please don’t-“

More burning pain had Hughie wheezing past the blood, clutching Butcher’s hand in a vice grip. When the burn ebbed, he blinked past the black spots.

“Don’t give up.”

While the man knew he was in no way comparable to Becca, his death wouldn’t leave a gaping wound in Butchers heart like hers had, he also admitted that he was important to Butcher in a different way.

Hopefully someone else would fill his place as both a member, as well as someone to stand beside Butcher. Someone who could shine a light in the dark but was still resilient enough to stand against the Supes without fear.

He must have blacked out again because when he was blinking through the tunnel around his eyes he could hear Butcher whispering, it almost sounded like a prayer.

“You can’t give me a light in the fuckin’ cave just to take it away, not like this. Not him, please, anyone other than him.”

Hughie could hear a harsh wheezing and it took a moment to realize it was coming from him, distantly he could feel the pressure Butcher was keeping on the wound and the feel of Butchers face buried in Hughie’s hair.

He tried to swallow the thick metallic in his throat but ended up painfully coughing instead of forcing it down. Somehow coughing around the thick paste painting his insides hurt so much worse that the actual stab wound did.

Though now that he thought about it, he could still feel the knife stuck between his ribs, moving around and tearing something else up every time he tried to breathe to deeply.

God, there was so much more Hughie wanted to say to Butcher. He wanted to comfort the man who had already been through so much and let him know that whatever he found so special in Hughie could be found in someone else at least ten fold.

Hughie could hear the rest of the Boys arrive, not able to determine who was who when they filtered in but with sudden resolve he forced himself to focus.

“I-I can’t do anything about this man.”

He could hear MM distantly, as if his ears were packed full of wool, but despite how far away the voice was he could hear the pain laced in every word. Hughie felt cold in a way he hadn’t felt before, this wasn’t like a sudden cold snap that struck before you before the space heater was ready, instead it went deeper and curved around his bones, his very soul even.

He was also thirsty, despite how thick the blood coated his throat he still wanted something, anything, to quench his thirst. He could hear another voice, muffled as it was, and was able to determine it was Frenchie.

The only thing keeping him from floating away growled and Hughie forcibly peeled back the weights holding his eyelids closed. Everything was tilted on it’s side and he could barely see past the tunnel around his vision.

Billy’s face slowly came into focus and when he saw Hughie looking up at him, he gave a terrible smile. Not the one that promised impending bloodshed or illegal activities, but a new one entirely.

It took a while but Hughie was able to focus on MM next, the man looked as if he had been the one stabbed and gave the younger man a reassuring smile that contrasted with every other body signal he was giving Hughie.

Frenchie was rubbing the back of his head and pacing, but when he saw Hughie’s eyes on him he stopped and stooped down.

“Petit Hughie.”

He gave the dying man a shaky smile, and Hughie gave him a weak smile back. At this Frenchie looked around and sniffled slightly before getting up to pace around more.

Hughie looked at Kimiko and was shocked to see tears gathered around her eyes, her gaze was locked into his chest and the barest hint of the hilt that was visible sticking out of his chest. She was breathing deeply and Hughie knew she was visualizing taking the knife that killed him and slitting Soldier Boys throat with it.

Which led to Hughie imagining what the group would do next.

Butcher would go on a complete warpath, maybe even worse than it had been before. Homelander would always be the first mark, but now Soldier Boy would be directly under that name.

God Hughie hoped that Frenchie and mainly MM could keep Butcher, and maybe Kimiko, from trying to fight Soldier Boy without a plan.

There was no reason for all of them to crumble under one Supes hand over him, though honestly Hughie reasoned that none of them were that foolhardy to try and rush towards revenge before he had started to decompose.

Well if anything else, Annie could always get them to at least consider reason if their vision became clouded. He could hear Butcher above him and forced himself to focus.

“Please luv, you can't leave me. I love you Hughie, fuckin’ hell I love you.”

Hughie wanted to say that he loved him just as much, that Butcher was never what he expected from a partner but he didn’t regret the decision to join him even if this was the result.

“B-billy, thank you.”

For everything, all the terrible gory bits and the sweet moments that made life feel worth living. An ironic sentiment considering how close death was breathing down his neck right now.

Hughie hoped that when they broke the news to his father, they would lie and say it was instant. That there was no pain, no Hughie wheezing around his own blood.

Fuck he was really going to die, wasn’t he?

Hughie vomited up more burning blood as Butcher tried to sooth him and try as he might the numbness filled him completely. Swallowing Hughie whole in a dark embrace, free of pain and worry.

Hughie felt the world come into view in pieces. First there was a searing burn surrounding his very existence, threatening to burn him alive. Then the burn centered on his chest, and the only instinct Hughie had was to try and expel it.

He felt hands shifting him around, pulling him in different ways so that he could vomit the substance easier. Every time Hughie felt like he could take a breath a new wave of fire would hit.

Several objects that were suspiciously hard found their way trapped in his throat; he wasn’t sure who dug around his mouth to fish them out but Hughie owed his life to whoever did so.

Finally, when all the congealed blood and bits of bone had been expelled Hughie could take in full breaths instead of the chocked gasps he had been using before.

He vowed to never take his lungs and the beautiful feeling of filling them with air for granted. With uncoordinated blinks the world started to slide in place around him.

MM was smiling down at him and that answered the question of who was keeping him upright, “holy fuck man.”

Frenchie lunged forward to kiss both of his cheeks, speaking quickly in his own language. He got the sense that Frenchie was putting to words the pure relief that shone through his face.

Kimiko was practically beaming at him; she was signing to him and Hughie knew that he should recognize what she was saying but couldn’t focus long enough to create a translation. However he didn’t need to know exactly what she was saying, the meaning was clear when she was smiling so openly at him.

Past her Butcher was staring at him, completely still except for the way his chest was heaving. His expression was of blatant horror mixed with large dose of disgust, he wasn’t looking at Hughie’s face and if his jaw clenched any harder his teeth may be in danger.

That was what splashed Hughie in a new wave of panic.

“I died.”

Saying the words out loud sparked Hughie into moving, jerking around and clawing at his chest.

“I fucking died! What the fuck?!”

MM was trying to calm him down, gently holding his wrist when Hughie began to scratch at his throat.

“Oh god, oh my god. I was- I!”

His eyes darted around to the others, trying to get them to understand.

Kimiko had a look of understanding that he hadn’t seen from her before and Frenchie was leaving to grab something from the front of the van.

Throughout all of this Butcher hadn’t moved, though his face hardened as he watched Hughie thrash weakly in MM’s hold.

Butcher, who hated Supes of any kind, who still didn’t trust Kimiko or want anything to do with her despite her status as a firm member of the group. He tolerated her because she was useful, a good fighter as well as a good shot.

Hughie wasn’t either of those things, and as such wasn’t needed like she was.

“You’re going to kill me.”

Hughie’s voice shook with the statement, there was little doubt in his mind what Butcher was really thinking when he eyed to closed chest wound. Frenchie moved in front of him, brandishing a needle.

“Petit Hughie, this is going to help you to relax. Do not worry mon amie, it will be alright.”

Hughie thrashed about and the man knew he was babbling, begging the others for so many things but he couldn’t hear his own words.

Would he go in a cage until they decided what to do?

Small but strong hands held his legs down and Hughie felt the prick of the needle going in. His vision blurred almost immediately after, and finally he felt someone push his hair from his face.

#the boys #butchie #billy butcher x hughie campbell #billy butcher #hughie campbell #hughie is an important member of the boys #temporary character death #secretly a Supe Hughie #Soldier Boy is an ass #tw: blood #tw: violence #rainbowwritesstuff

77 notes · View notes

merelliahallewell · 3 years

Text

In Honour of Sexual Sunday: Non romantical and non sexual relationships are very important, but as it is sunday just for now the focus is on that other kind of relationship! List a person who your character had a romantical or sexual relationship to and who actually changed parts in your Muses Life positively and negatively, their outlook and their story (and stayed in that life or left it)! How did they met? How did their relationship changed all of them? How did the relationship, if it did, ended?

I was tagged in this by @lady-proudmoore and have taken an age to get to it! Merellia has had relationships of various sorts but we’ll focus on her present one: Alexandria Hallewell ( @alexandriawilliams )

Tagging: anybody who wants this prompt!

Alexandria is a hot butch knight that Merellia loves very deeply. She was a widow who had not loved for a while after the death of her husband until she met Merellia. Alexandria was Merellia’s first love. While not the first to show romantic interest in Merellia, it was the first time such interest was reciprocated. They took some time to begin courting because Merellia was anxious and felt herself undeserving, and they eventually stole small moments together while combatting a cultist threat. This led to some cute moments and a deeper relationship that blossomed into love.

Their relationship was tested - and failed - when war, doubt, and distance pulled them apart. They met again over two years after their last parting, each one changed in their own ways. Alexandria still loved Merellia, but the inquisitor still carried bitterness and hurt. She struggled to trust Alex, though the two began a tentative friendship. Alex’s acceptance of who she had become over that time helped Merellia not feel so bad about changing herself radically. In fact, she seemed to embrace and delight in the new identity Merellia had forged.

This tentative friendship led to passionate nights followed by moments when their true feelings were revealed. They still cared, but Merellia had trust that needed repairing. They eventually resumed their relationship, now living and working together in Autumnhearth, Merellia’s manor. I’d say it’s going pretty well, now. Even still, the pair encounter regular challenges and new experiences that must be overcome... but at least they work towards it together.

Positive Outcomes: Compassion, first and foremost. Alexandria is a knight of the Silver Hand, and actively works to live out her virtues. Merellia... did not live out that virtue, when she first met Alex- but her example inspired Merellia to not think of compassion as a weakness, and instead look to it first. While she cannot always manage such a thing, the inquisitor does her best to remember compassion in difficult situation. Even during their time apart, Alex’s compassion has always been there to inspire her.

Merellia in a broad sense has improved as a person because of Alexandria’s constant, gentle reminders to be the best she can be. During her absence, Merellia had to learn how to become strong, how to wield a blade and fend for herself. Alexandria was her inspiration, because Merellia wanted to become as strong as she was. When Alex came back, Merellia was far, far different... and now the pair are an unstoppable duo. Sometimes, though, Merellia longs for the days when it they were just a knight and priestess together, and laments they never really saw much combat at one another’s side during those days. Despite this, she values a dependable combat partner- Alexandria is the rock she can always trust to keep her safe.

Negative Outcomes: When Alexandria was gone from her life the first time, Merellia discovered just how dependent she had grown on the paladin. She didn’t have friends, she didn’t have deep relationships of any kind except that with Alex. It wasn’t the paladin’s fault- she did not smother Merellia, but the inquisitor had grown rather attached. When that was taken away, she realized that she was alone. It was only thanks to a very nice cat and a witch that she soon found herself on the pathway to more long-term and healthy friendships.

Alex’s absence sent Merellia into a pretty rough spiral, as well. She threw herself into indulgences of various sorts in Kul Tiras, living pretty roughly for a time. She struggled with mental health and with self-worth- a struggle that had existed previously, but was exacerbated by what she felt was a rejection of her. Even after Alex came back, she often still struggles with this- and has occasional flashes of jealousy and possessiveness that come into play as well. It is only through the paladin’s gentle care and many nights spent reassuring her of her value that this negative is soothed.

#Merelliams

6 notes · View notes

thewritingstar · 4 years

Text

Falling Back to You

Pairing: Blossick (Blossom x Brick, Reds)

Fandom: The Powerpuff Girls

Soft, sweet reds because I've been feeling angsty lately and needed a breather lol. Sorry to everyone who follows me for other fandoms, I promise Ill write more for FT (you can always leave asks lol)

Tag List: @over-under-through1 @shellielyzabeth (if you want to be on my tag list, you can find the post or dm me)

I hope you enjoy. This has been sitting in my drafts for a few months and decided to just finish it lol.

---

“I’m surprised you don’t have your hat on.” A voice came from behind him. But not just any voice. The moment the first word left those lips, the hair on his neck stood up and sent a familiar chill down his back. It was a voice that he knew well, could distinguish in a crowd of a thousand voices, it was the equivalent of his favorite song or the taste of the sweetest thing to melt in your mouth.

“Blossom.” He said under his breath but her super hearing picked it up.

She thought she was prepared to see him, after all its been two years. That’s enough time to heal, right? But she prayed that he didn’t hear the small gasp that escaped her lips as he turned. That crisp dark red suit fit him like a glove and she spotted him from a mile away in that signature color. He looked good in red.

“Hi.” She managed to say smoothly as he took a step towards her.

“What are you doing here?” He asked with a reluctant tone. It was only the most important night of his life. The one where he would be promoted to the head of the department, the one he busted his ass off from the ground up. Not to mention an award for a case he worked on last year.

She shrugged and bit her lip. “My boss is here and I have to write a report for him.” Then added. “And I wasn’t going to miss the achievement you have been talking about for literal years.” She said shyly. “I promised after all.”

And she did. Back when they had dated all those years ago. Blossom was by his side as he worked from being an assistant at the law firm to one of the most promising lawyers, and now the highest ranked lawyer, but she missed the last part. Unfortunately.

He studied his ass off and she did too, both of them determined to outshine anyone in their paths, maybe that why they chose different companies. They had traded their childhood rivalry for a path of lust and love, a simple competition would not be throwing them down that path. In fact their jobs were the reason they weren’t together.

“You remembered.” He said under his breath. She heard it, of course.

She tapped her foot and looked around before giving a puzzling look. “Wheres Jasmine?” It pained her to ask.

Jasmine. Oh yes, his girlfriend who couldn’t be bothered to celebrate to most important time of his career. Or rather, ex girlfriend, As of last night where he found her with another man.

“Not my girlfriend.” He simply stated as she nodded before taking a sip of her drink.

It must have been good if she brought it to her lips. Blossom loved a good cocktail but if it was hard liquor, she required top shelf, something he admired. He was like that too and was the reason she only drank the highest quality.

“What about Tyson?”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Not my boyfriend.” She said bitterly and he didn’t know why he was happy about it. “Cheated on me for a blonde.” Her glass was on the verge of cracking before she smoothed out her dress. “Typical.”

He hummed in agreement. There was a feeling of anger running through him as he thought about any man hurting Blossom, sure he hurt her too but nothing like that. No their fight was different, it was a fight about whats best for both of them.

They had just under an hour before the cermony started. He didn’t want to bother being inside socailzing with a bunch of random people and he had a feeling she didn’t either. The wide open hallway was becoming stuffy and he could see a trio of men walking their way and knew Blossom would become the talking point.

Before Brick could turn them the other way, the men were already there.

“Brick.” The tall one spat.

“Landon.” Brick matched his tone. What a dumb name he thought.

Landon turned and did not bother to hide the fact that he was checking out Blossom. Of course he was. Even in her simple black cocktail dress that screamed sophistication, she was a walking dream.

“And you are?” He gave her a smirk that could charm anyone, expcet for Blossom of course.

Brick was pracitcally smiling as Blossom shook his hand. He knew she wouldn’t take his bait.

“Blossom Utonium. Head of corrupt affairs at Duchess Law.” She started with what Brick likes to call her “Miss Business voice”.

Landon smirked. “Duchess Law? Someones a smart cookie.” He winked.

The other men behind him agreed and Blossom held her tounge. She hated being patronized or looked down on. He should be thanking the lucky stars that he’s even in her presence.

Brick could tell she was annoyed and wrapped his arm around her waist before looking at Landon. “She makes more money than all three of you combine and actally can win a case so show some repect.” He spat and he turned them around towards the back doors that led to the garden space.

The feeling of having his arm around her sent a spark through her body. At first it felt foreign but the memories came rolling in waves as they walked.

“I could handle myself.” She stated and he hid his laugh.

“I know, but you won’t because of your repuation. I for one don’t care about mine that much.”

“Or maybe its because you still care.” She teased as she sat on the stone bench with him.

He was about to response but his phone began to ring. He wanted to ignore it but Blossom probably would say something about it.

“Its Butch.” He said before trying to put it back into his pocket.

“You should anwser it. I’m sure he’s wanting to wish his brother well.”

He huffed and anwsered on the final ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey quick question. Do you think that I would win in a fight against Thanos?”

Brick only shook his head.

“Butch.”

“Its serious cause Buttercup doesn’t think so but I could take him for sure.”

Blossom was holding a hand to her mouth as the guy kept going on about the stupid question.

“Oh shit dude, tonights your night!”

“Yes it is now Imma hang up now.”

“Brick be nice.”

“Wait a minute bro. Is that Miss Blossom with you?”

“Yes because shes the only one who bothered to care.”

“Hey you’re the one who said not to come. Anyways tell her I said hi and that you two should totally get back together because you kept going on and on about how you missed her and leaving her was the worst choice you made-” The line cut dead and the phone was shoved in his pocket.

“Hes stupid.” He mumbled and Blossom drank the rest of her drink.

“Hes not wrong.”

He turned towards her and gazed silently. She was just as he remembered. Gorgeous and graceful and even without a word spoken, she could command a room. He admired her greatly and she felt the same.

“Brick, can we just skip all of it?” She asked softly.

“I’ve kinda been looking forward to my award.”

“No, not this.” She gestured to the building. “But this.” She pointed between them.

“Skip what?”

“Oh I don’t know, the drama of it all? Because if we don’t confess now we are going to waste so much time running after each other and I-I dont want to waste time.” She looked down at her shoes. A sad sigh leaving her lips. “I just miss you.”

The confession surprised him. They were both forward people who never beat around the bush but when it came to their feelings between them, they had always been shy. Boomer and Bubbles were easy to confess and even Butch and Buttercup seemed to have it together but for them, it felt impossible sometimes.

No matter where he turned, she was there. They had always crossed paths like star-crossed lovers and it was as if the universe was constantly pulling them together and they had tried. They really did.

Perhaps the timing wasn’t enough or their pride had stood in the way. they never meant to fall apart the way they did but when the other side of the bed was empty, those walls they held up became transparent and it only took a mere few seconds to see what they had lost.

But he understood what she meant. They both knew that if anything were to happen between them tonight it would start a snowball effect that everyone was tired of seeing. Over and over they would fall in line and build each other up before something came between them and pulled them apart.

He wanted to get past all the hurdles of playing cat and mouse until on of them caved and said their feelings. But her saying she missed him wasn’t her caving, she was just tired and so was he.

They had been young when they had fallen in love. The rules of life tossing them into a sea of doubt but now they were adults who knew the game and could easily avoid anything in their paths, except each other.

His hand slid over hers. “I missed you too.”

She smiled softly before her hand rested on his cheek. “I’m really proud of you Brick, you’ve come along way.”

“I’m just happy you got to see it.” He whispered before his lips touched hers with a fire they both had missed.

A swirl of fire and ice that only they knew. No matter how much life decided to pull them apart or change the course, he would always find himself coming back to her.

The kiss didn’t last as long as he would have liked but seeing the faint blush on her cheeks made it all worth it.

“What are you doing later?” He asked as he helped her up from the bench.

“I was going to get take out and sit in my hotel room watching movies.”

Brick leaned over to fix the bow in her hair, taking the time to have her close. “I don’t suppose you would accept any company?” He winked before kissing the back of her hand and handing her the red purse.

“I think I can make an exception.” She winked and he had never thought she had looked more stunning.

She took his hand, their palms resting naturally together, before walking back to the ceremony, where he would leave with not only his award but the woman he had loved for years and years.

was the ending lazy? yes. do I care, only a little bit. Lol. I’ve had a really off day so I hope this is good.

Hope you enjoyed :)

#blossick #blossom x brick #reds ppg #ppg x rrb #ppg fanfic #blossick fanfic #thewritingstar

117 notes · View notes