#he joined the military for gay reasons only to just kinda fuck off

[ayakashibackstreet]

omg Angus birthday in less than 5 minutes.......

[pub-lius]

back back back again with the lafayette content (lafayette pt. 5)

you know the drill, here's pt. 4, gay people

Where we left off, Lafayette had just had a very exciting campaign in Rhode Island (the most exciting thing to ever happen in Rhode Island), but now what? Nothing. Nothing is happening. I'm not joking, he was bored for several months.

So, here's the real question, how would you, as a little French man in America who somehow obtained the title of major general, handle your boredom? Correct! You would duel Lord Carlisle, the head of the British peace commission.

Or at least, you'd try. Lafayette challenged Carlisle, but Carlisle fucking ignored him. Because obviously.

So when that fell through, Lafayette decided to just. go home. Not permanently, but for a visit. I mean, he was only gone for like a shit ton of time, and had left behind his pregnant wife without a real explanation, and in that time his eldest daughter, Henriette, had DIED. So, it was about time to go home. And when he was contemplating this, he checked how much money he had left, and realized he was broke and was like yeah it's time to go home.

In addition to this, he also wanted to apologize to the king since he kinda fled the country against direct orders and nearly started a war with England. One of Lafayette's main goals in life was to fight under the French flag, and he couldn't really do that unless the king liked him. So, he got a letter of recommendation and the promise of a ceremonial sword from Benjamin Franklin, and headed home to France.

Back, back, back again (in France)

Everyone was SO HAPPY to see Lafayette in France, and I would be too. Lafayette went to Versailles and was like "heeyyy King Louis XVI, my favorite king of all time, I'm really sorry for fleeing the country despite direct orders not to and nearly starting a war with England, do you forgive me?" and King Louis XVI put him on house arrest. But, to be fair, that is a very mild punishment, considering what he did was somewhat akin to treason.

Also, fun fact for the frev/Marie Antoinette girlies who know about her relationship with Lafayette during the French Revolution, she actually intervened on his behalf, which allowed him to buy a command of a regiment of the King's Dragoons! Which is like a huge favor because that command cost him 80,000 livres, which in modern US dollars is what the scholars call a shit ton.

This new popularity in France allowed him to aid the American cause in France by corresponding with French and American dignitaries, advocating the wants and needs of one side to the other. He actually played a vital role in this area, and John Adams, who did absolutely fuck all, got jealous and started beef with him for no fucking reason.

Lafayette didn't forget about his military ambitions, and was apart of a plan to attack the English mainland with John Paul Jones. This didn't work out and Lafayette was greatly disappointed (again), but it would never have been supported by France, so idrk what they expected. Fun fact, this was one of the many ideas Benjamin Franklin and Lafayette came up with together, along with a kinda gruesome children's book.

In the meantime, Lafayette daydreamed about being sent back to America in charge of the French naval forces he helped to negotiate. As you expected, he was very disappointed when they were put under the command of Rochambeau, who was just overall more qualified for the job.

While he was in France, he engaged in some ~aristocratic adventures in the arts and sciences~, and that's not an innuendo, he almost joined Franz Mezmer's cult. This is, actually, the first of two times he almost JOINED A FUCKING CULT. The second time was an Amish cult. So. There's that.

(If necessary, I can employ my boyfriend to explain how Lafayette was exactly the kind of person to get roped into a cult.)

In America Again! (This time it's Serious)

Lafayette returned in a bleak season of the war in which many of the Continental officers (Washington included) were itching for a major engagement with the British, and planned a French-American attack at some large British occupied area, hopefully with a good port.

The ideal place seemed to be New York City, and Lafayette was fixated on that. He was hoping he could have a major command in the attack. And, you guessed it, was super disappointed when he was ordered to march to Virginia to join General Greene. He was present for most of the Virginia campaign, and his main target was the traitor, Benedict Arnold.

PLOT TWIST that major attack was never in New York, but would actually be at Cornwallis' station in Yorktown, Virginia. Lafayette commanded the major Continental infantry forces that kept Cornwallis pinned at Yorktown while the commands under Washington, Rochambeau, and Admiral de Grasse surrounded him in a violent siege.

The one catch-up was that the trenches they were digging couldn't fully surround the British reinforcements due to two redoubts, 9 and 10. Lafayette's American command (led by Colonel Alexander Hamilton with his own command and Colonel John Laurens with a division under Greene) partnered with a division under Rochambeau to attack the redoubts, which led the British to surrender.

One of my favorite little details about the Revolution is that, at the surrender, the British troops refused to look at the American soldiers, so Lafayette told his band to start blasting Yankee Doodle to get their attention. Absolute icon.

I'm gonna cut this one a little early since this is the end of Lafayette's involvement in the American Revolution, and the French Revolution will require WAAYYY more attention. See you in part 6, gay people

[rollercoasterwords]

hi rae, i was wondering if there was any specific reason for y regulus is the first one to leave/rebel in atwmd, and sirius being the one who is the most dedicated to being a death eater, bc their roles r inversed from what they r in canon, and im curious if there is a reason y u chose to do that or it was just something that worked better for the narrative (just to be clear bc the marauders fandom is a bit weird, this is a genuine question, im not shitting on your characterization)

lol appreciate the clarification dw tho i get what ur asking! it's mostly explained in the fic in pt ii + the reg pov ch, but happy 2 summarize & explain the thought process etc.

atp i no longer remember if i was planning 2 have reg be working w the order or just be dead when i first started the fic, but i decided pretty early on that i wanted him 2 have a locket-arc similar 2 canon & to be seemingly dead when the fic begins bc i love giving s a dead brother <3 & from there i decided it would work better 2 have him secretly be alive + joined up w the order bc that helps explain how s comes around 2 working w them. so then i had 2 figure out how 2 make that fit both their characters!

the thing abt this fic is that i'm still writing it trying 2 preserve like...what i personally view as the characters' core traits/key parts of their personalities from canon, just transplanted into a completely different world. so s is actually still less dedicated 2 the d.e. than reg in this fic; s is essentially forced 2 join the d.e. the way that some parents ship their gay kids off 2 military school (in the u.s. at least), but bc of the way he was coerced into it he resents the d.e. from the beginning & even tho he's internalized many of the prejudices he grew up with he still has a pretty strong moral compass that creates this ongoing internal conflict w what he's doing. at the same time, the power he gets from becoming a higher-ranking d.e. is what allows him 2 then go let loose & like...fuck around + be gay, essentially, without fear of repercussions, bc he can basically do whatever he wants in private (even if it becomes a bit of an open secret) as long as he's got this scary public-facing persona. so he chafes against pureblood society more throughout childhood + into adulthood, but he's also powerful + charming + able 2 succeed in that world.

reg, on the other hand, doesn't rebel the same way s does growing up + kinda flies under the radar, which would be fine in theory--except reg does want 2 be powerful + recognized, & he develops this sort of inferiority complex + almost resentment of his brother in some ways. that's why he compares s 2 a sponge in his pov ch; even tho s kind of protects reg growing up by taking up their parents' negative attention, he also soaks up all the positive attention, and reg ends up feeling forgotten. as they get older, this same dynamic is echoed in school, where s gets shit on 4 being gay but also is undeniably magnetic + talented, and reg doesn't understand why his brother can't just be normal bc he'd be so popular if he didn't insist on like. being so open abt who he is. & then s joins the d.e. + suddenly he's like this entirely different person & everyone is scared + in awe of him, and he doesn't have time 4 reg anymore. & even tho reg has resented him 4 soaking up all the attention, s is also the only person who's actually paid attention 2 reg in turn, and suddenly that's gone, and he feels even more invisible. so he goes + does this fancy difficult alchemy program but even then nobody seems 2 care, so he finally decides 2 join the d.e. himself bc he wants 2 become a powerful + noticeable person the same way his brother is.

so as in canon, reg actively decides 2 join the d.e. in this fic, and wants 2 be there. but when he joins s pulls the same old trick: he starts soaking up all the attention, suddenly becoming one of voldemort's best soldiers. & for s he's trying 2 protect his brother from being noticed + used for horrible things, but bc he's doing such a good job of it reg doesn't even know what he's being protected from, and he resents s 4 stealing the spotlight again. so reg decides he'll have 2 get voldemort's attention some other way, & he starts paying really close attention 2 things + picking up information he probably shouldn't, which leads 2 him figuring out about the horcruxes on his own--but through that process, he realizes how stupid he's been 2 join the d.e. & like...the depths of depravity in the organization, & ironically by trying 2 impress voldemort he's learned way too much & essentially doomed himself, bc he knows voldemort will kill him if he finds out, and he will find out eventually. so in his frustration + hopelessness reg decides "fuck it if i'm gonna die i'm gonna go out swinging" & goes after the horcrux on his own, & that's when the order intercedes bc they've been after this same horcrux, & james saves his life, & then he's like hey wanna join the order. & reg is like well. what else am i gonna do i basically need 2 kill voldemort now if i ever want 2 show my face in britain again.

so even tho this leads 2 reg rebelling + joining the order rather than s, the roles aren't actually meant 2 be inverse to canon! in fact, the reason s doesn't rebel is largely bc he's trying 2 protect his brother, and then once reg is dead he's just kinda going thru the motions. he's a product of his environment & so there's only so far his questioning goes; he disagrees w a lot of pureblood society but doesn't really question the foundational assumptions (wizards + muggles are inherently different; wizards r superior 2 muggles) + still goes along w the path of least resistance even when it eats at him, etc. but ironically from the pov of basically anyone who didn't grow up w them it seems like reg rebelled + joined the order, even tho reg was the one who actually wanted 2 join the d.e. (unlike s!) so their actions kinda flip-flop, but their motivations remain the same as in (my interpretation of) canon: reg decides 2 join the d.e. + then changes his mind + works against them; s acts out against his family + gets punished for it + ends up doing his best 2 protect those he's loyal to + himself--only in this world, when he acts out + gets punished there's nowhere 4 him 2 turn, and the main person he's loyal to is reg, so he has 2 figure out how 2 protect himself & his brother as a d.e. fun!

[splicejunction]

So like. overall there are two sort of Things that I want the story to be about. the first is how perception of comic books went from "thing weirdos like" to a thing that everybody liked to a thing mostly spineless losers like--I don't believe that btw, I just feel like that's the public perception because a lot of mcu fans are kinda spineless losers because of the whole. disney military industrial complex. I'm sorry if that seems harsh. and that would be the point. that action movies have (always, but it seems like especially recently and especially with the mcu) served to glamorize fighting so that people are inspired to join the military and fight for the preservation of the us empire. I would literally want to talk to annie nocenti about this but I would like to expand on her metaphor of the mojoverse to talk about this. longshot (1985) is about how entertainment glorifies violence (among other things) and I'd like to expand that to say. entertainment glorifies violence in service of imperialism. and superhero movies took a genre that has always kind of just been a place where weird nerds do wacky worldbuilding stunts and turned it into a recruiting tool for the US army. and I'm mad about that. and I don't really feel like doing plot summarization here or trying to explain exactly how I'd do the metaphor because the best way to convey a metaphor is by actually writing the fucking. Story. but just trust me when I say I would construct the plot around this metaphor. the action would come from here

The second thing I want to do is literally just pay tribute to fabian nicieza writing gay people in the 1990s in comic books. everybody makes a contribution to progress in their own way some bigger or smaller than others. I think. if the only opportunity you're given in life to make a little artistic impact on the world (because comic books are nottt considered high brow) is comic books. and you think hey why don't I write one of these characters gay. In 1992. I respect that. He didnt like throw the first brick at stonewall but like who cares he did something I think is cool and I'd want to kinda continue in his legacy by like....

so if xf19 (the comic) was maybe 5% more gay than the cultural climate allowed at the time, I'd like to make something that's like 30-50% gayer than the cultural climate allows right now. I like action movies & I grew up with almost exclusively action and scifi movies and TV so that's the genre I would want to work in. I like the aesthetic I like the story tropes I think action is cool and fun and also I like that it has the potential for broad appeal because if I can tell a story a lot of people want to watch while also bringing in a lot of narratives that don't get a lot of air time that'd be cool you know? like I have a story I want to tell here but I'm not the only one--and by the way I think this is the reason I'd do a tv show rather than a movie--I want to make a tv show adaptation of xforce 1991 but I really only have stories I need to tell about. 3 of those characters. Maybe really only one. Like I'd love to have others who love these characters come on and do this with me you know.

I really want a major set of themes to be... home and belonging and alien-ness and indigeneity because you have like. two indigenous characters (jimmy and danielle moonstar--I would replace sam and beto with her I'm sorry I don't think it served xforce to have them there I love them but they don't really add to the narrative. she would though. I could have her leave and come back in disguise undercover like a season later and it would be fucking epic especially if she wasn't off-screen while she was undercover) (three if you count rictor which. I do. I would love to cast an indigenous mexican actor for him and get someone to write him who's more qualified than me. and for jimmy and danielle tbh) two immigrants (rictor and terry) and two people who grew up in places that weren't homes (tabitha and 'star).

the three stories I want to tell through this are [1] tabby's character arc would be about figuring out how to be butch. oh yeah maria would be there and she would be a little freaky looking and also a dyke. she and tabby would have problematic butch4butch sex. and [2] it doesn't make sense for rictor to be closeted around a bunch of gay people unless he's transgender and spent years thinking the only way people will take him seriously as a man is if he's straight. what else. oh this I also think it'd be funny if cable was a trans man but because hes from the future and got T/O virus nobody realizes and he just genuinely forgets to tell them because he's too busy raising them as child soldiers. [3] The um alien narrative its getting too late I need to wrap this up but I feel like I shouldn't need to. elaborate on this one at this point. You know

aesthetically it'd be. early 90s, desert, lots of rough music (I'd probably see if I could dig up some songs from the scene at the time in places in arizona and mexico) with lots of like. dated scifi elements. idk man i should go to bed

Can I actually tell you guys my vision though because I seriously

[normal-thoughts-official]

I think both Magnus and Alec have a big part of their lifes that have nothing to do with eachother. Okey, they are happily married and the live together but anyway... What about their hobbies? What about their own personal projects? Friends/queerplatonic relationships? I want to know who they are, besides of great politic leaders or someone's husband

i mean, i agree. i hate it when ppl reduce magnus and alec to malec or just generally care more about the romantic relationships than the other ones, nevermind bothering to develop other aspects of their lives that are just... theirs

to be fair i feel like we got a reasonable amount of that for them (for shadowhunter’s standarts of giving us content anyway). i mean, less for alec but that kinda makes sense considering that he’s spent most of his life avoiding any kind of close relationships that weren’t with his siblings like the plague and generally being, like, raised in a military based society with the weight of the world on his shoulders and also gay. but i totally agree that we should have gotten more of him getting out of his shell and finding hobbies and friends beyond just a romantic relationship. and for magnus, well, we know that he likes physics and science and studying magic as a whole, and dancing, and we know about his friends aka catarina and ragnor and raphael and dot, we know about his found family and his club and that he likes parties and good food and drinks, travelling, and meeting new people and cultures. you know?

but anyway, other headcanons with little things about their lives:

alec is totally the workout gay who likes fucking, idk jogging every morning and shit, and for some reason i can see him being into mountain climbing???? and magnus is like No Thank You. I Will Do Literally Anything Else because yikes the amount of effort and sweat and it’s just generally unpleasant. magnus is far from being sedentary, but also, no. yikes

he’s more into taking long walks in nice places and admiring the view and shit like that and he’s all like “isn’t it great? :)” and alec is like “haha yeah how far are we” because he’s just... goal-oriented and when he’s doing sports he likes to have a clear goal, something to achieve, or to push himself to his limits and all that bullcrap. while magnus likes to do it for the sake of doing it and enjoying himself and getting in contact with his own body & mind & soul and shit. they find some sort of enjoyment in it with the way alec always makes magnus laugh with his grumpiness + inability to truly understand what this whole thing is about + just general himboness, but as a whole, magnus likes to take his walks alone, so he can get that space for himself. and he’s definitely not joining in when alec is doing his weird sportsman training gimmick whatever-thing, either

same with tai-chi! magnus tried to get alec into it (altho somewhat awkwardly since magnus does magical tai chi and alec very much does not have magic) but it just, didn’t work out. one second into it and alec was already making that painfully concentrated face and he’s stiff as a board and it’s the opposite of what it’s supposed to be and magnus breaks down laughing and alec is all offended and they just can’t get past a few seconds and end up giving up. alec is the bitch who sits down to medidate and is immediately like BOY I AM GONNA GET IN TOUCH WITH MY INNER SELF SO FAST AND HARD FUCKING WATCH ME I’M GONNA BE THE BEST MEDIDATOR THIS SIDE OF THE PACIFIC FUCKING OOHMMM BITCH. introspective arts are just not for him

i like to think that alec gets closer to aline, and i can see him and helen hitting it off, too. like seriously guys let alec have friends who aren’t just magnus’ friends (and let magnus have friends that are HIS friends, too)

i know underhill is implied to become his friend but also, like..... he’s so boring i just can’t have any hcs for them as friends daoijsdaiouja i think they have more of a solidarity, nodding when walking past each other in the halls thing than actual friendship you know

obviously there’s alec’s siblings as he will always be the one izzy loves the most and she will always be one of the most important people for him, and even as magnus and izzy totally are friends too, she is still alec’s sister and they make it a point to see each other, just the two of them, at least once a week. izzy always smiles and loops her arm through his and alec’s immediately huffing but he loves it and she knows that he loves it. she was like, his only source of physical contact for so long, and god he really needed it and he loved her for giving it to him even as he pretended it was something he hated. neither of them want to shake that habit, so it stays

but there’s also a particular brand of friendship magnus has with her that alec doesn’t. like when they get all weird about dead bodies or go shopping? alec’s out 

magnus does a lot of studying (mostly languages, physics, and chemistry, as well as magic) so he has his own study room (plus the apothecary) that’s a whole damn mess filled with books and notes scattered around and shit and alec is not allowed in because he always wants to organize it and GOD FUCKING DAMN IT IT’S NOT DISORGANIZED I KNOW WHERE EVERYTHING’S SUPPOSED TO BE and if alec moves a single pen, magnus Will Know About It

in exchange he always keeps the door closed or spelled so alec doesn’t have to look at it

obviously there’s archery, which is something alec loves to do and practice, especially as he starts to get more into the bureaucratic parts of shadowhunting. he needs his bow and arrow to feel connected to himself and his body and safe, and he also has his own practicing room. magnus can do archery fine, but it’s not really among his interests

magnus of course has his regular meetings with the immortal squad and his breakfasts with raphael :) not that raphael isn’t part of the immortal squad but they also enjoy having a time just for the two of them. they are father and son after all, and besides, they lived together for quite a while, and the dynamics of them versus them + ragnor + cat are different

while magnus loves taking alec with him in his trips and to art galleries and out to eat in great restaurants and shit, they both know it’s something that alec, while very curious to know about, does not appreciate the same way that he does. not more or less, just, differently. if they go to an art gallery, magnus is gonna be looking at every piece and musing and maybe talking about the painters of x and y movement that he knew, and analyzing the technique or whatever. alec is less interested in the paintings themselves and more in the artists, what their life was like, what the period/place they lived in was like, how that shaped their art, you know? like he’s just not a very visual person haha me projecting never so what interests him is more outside of the paintings than inside. so even when they go to these places together, they’re just having completely different experiences? and a lot of the time they end up straying and meeting each other later, where they’ll chat and generally be ridiculous. but the both of them also enjoy going to those on their own or with their friends who Get It, you know? because again just completely different rhythms and interests and stuff

i feel like they both enjoy trashy television, but like, in completely different ways? like magnus loves him a terrible sitcom even if he’ll never admit it, where alec is more into like..... really bad and dramatic mystery shows

they both enjoy watching reality shows though. magnus wasn’t that huge on it before, but with alec? man, that’s a riot. he’ll judge absolutely everyone and make faces and just generally be fucking hilarious

ok i know that i’m talking about things they do together but my goal here is to talk about like... who they are and what their interests are individually, even if they are together, you know? and not like, As An Unit

magnus loves music and recitals and dance shows of all kinds. also, street art! i feel like that’s something him, cat, and maia have in common

speaking of cat; there are always His Cats. like sure they like alec fine but as soon as magnus is home they all immediately flock to him. it’s like alec never existed. goodbye, tall person

tbh i feel like raphael is totally an animals person and soon the dumort kind of turns into like, a sort of animal shelter? like magnus gives him the idea and all the vampires are naturally drawn to the idea of the dumort becoming a place for the strays of the world, especially if it means they get some company.... and maybe warm cuddles. anyway, my point is, magnus loves to visit the dumort and play with the cats and dogs that are there from time to time and he’s so proud of raphael and what he’s doing with the place and i just aaa :’) 

i feel like alec would have an interest in technology? like he’d be that bitch who Knows tech (probably started because of his job, but soon he found that he like, actually has an interest in it?) and who cleans his keyboard every day and only gets licensed programmes and takes care of his laptop like those guys who are weird about cars

lmao for some reason i can totally picture him and aline bonding over that? 

oh man alec would be into PUZZLES. word puzzles, jigsaw puzzles, the whole grandpa shit. he doesn’t do it often but when he does, he’s just At It. him and madzie can play with jigsaw puzzles for hours and wouldn’t remember to eat. she visits one day and is like I Got A 3D Puzzle and alec is just like neat! and they just sit down and do it until they have to be forced to bed or something. then at like precisely 6AM their eyes snap open like It’s A New Day, Puzzle Time and it just keeps being like this until they’re done

also there’s magnus’ morning routine, of course, especially since he doesn’t really have a schedule, and as sociable as he is he does enjoy some alone time to make himself some breakfast, do some tai chi, maybe read a book or comic, and all that. alec is just snoring the whole time completely passed out when it’s not a work day, tbh

okay that’s all i have actually doasdiad i hope it isn’t too much or disappointing or whatever. also, if anyone else wants to add their own headcanons for alec’s and magnus’ hobbies, feel free to do so :)

[write-havoc]

This Is How I Disappear Ch. 38

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

Fandom: The Walking Dead AU

Pairing: Negan/Original Female Character

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

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

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlists in my bio

Chuck sits on the couch staring at the tv screen, her mind miles away as the video game that she was playing is left on the pause screen. Earlier, she thought that the game would get her mind off of what happened last night. And what is going to happen when Negan gets back. But her mind is still preoccupied.

  Brendon. Negan is off at Alexandria to pick up Brendon and bring him back here. And he’s going to kill him. In front of everyone.

 Chuck doesn’t like it. She hates that in this new world, killing is so commonplace. That death is something that people should just accept. In her life before the turn, in her small home town, decades passed without a single murder. And there were maybe one or two lives cut short by car accidents or something like that a year. People grew old. People died of the normal things. But now... People are torn apart by the dead. People get killed for food. People murder. And people are executed brutally.

But she knows that it has to happen. Brendon needs to die. For a lot of reasons. As punishment for what he did. To stop him from doing it again. To deter others from committing similar acts. Yes, Brendon needs to be executed. But it’s still horrible.

Chuck gives up on her game and leaves to go to the lounge. Maybe the wives can help her make sense of everything. On her way there, she passes Curly the cat leaving their litter box room. About a week ago, Negan moved the cats’ litter boxes out of his office and into a small room down the hall, since the cats are getting bigger and “shitting too much,” so Negan said. But since the litter boxes are elsewhere, the cats essentially have to have free reign of the entire floor. And the wives don’t mind. Everyone keeps their doors open for the cats and enjoys to cuddle with them. And the cats love all the new beds and couches they can sleep on.

Chuck walks into the lounge and gives the women a little wave before she sits down. Tonya is busy in the middle of the room cutting Sherry’s hair and Frankie and Kayla are sitting on the couch nearest to them, with Creamsicle sleeping on the arm beside them.

Kayla gets up and comes right over to Chuck. “How are you doing?” she asks sympathetically and sits down beside her. The wives were there when Aaron said that Brendon was at Alexandria. And they also knew that Negan left to bring him back. Chuck figures that they are probably a little worried about the situation and how Chuck is handling it.

Chuck tries to smile genuinely. “I’m fine.”

“Negan didn’t get back yet?” Sherry asks tentatively.

“Not yet,” Chuck answers. “So, um...” Chuck lets out a nervous breath. “So, what do you guys think about, you know, Brendon and all.” She wants to get their take on it, feeling that maybe it will help her with her own feelings.

“I’m glad Negan’s gonna kill that bastard for what he did,” Tonya answers quickly.

“Yeah,” Frankie agrees. “He deserves what’s coming to him.”

“You guys don’t feel... bad for thinking that?”

Everyone looks to Chuck with confusion written all over their faces.

Kayla grabs Chuck’s hand and holds it tightly. “It’s hard to get used to the brutality of this world. But if you really think about all of human history, brutality was the norm for most of it. I mean, I remember learning about the Middle Ages in school!” She chuckles and it lightens the mood a little. “Maybe someday we’ll get back to trials and juries and fines, but right now? This is the way things have to be.”

Chuck nods. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“You just can’t dwell on it,” Sherry adds as Tonya finishes up with her hair. “You can’t let it eat you up, okay, Chuck? Brendon broke the rules. And he hurt you. His punishment is justified.” Sherry gets up and walks over to Chuck. “It’s justified, Chuck. Focus on that.”

Chuck nods. The wives’ words actually do make her feel a little better. “You guys are right. It sucks that it’s the way we live now, but... I won’t feel guilty over it.”

Tonya cleans up her mess and joins the women. “So... Your uncle seems really nice,” she changes the subject.

“Oh, yeah! I’m so glad he’s here. We were really close before. After my dad died, he really helped me and my mom out. He was kinda ‘the man’ in our house. Cleaning the gutters, fixing the cabinets... he always did that stuff for us.”

“I’m surprised Negan let a man he didn’t know in here with us,” Kayla says with a chuckle.

“Negan probably didn’t see him as a threat or whatever.” Tonya replies to Chuck then looks around at the questioning faces of the women. “Because he’s gay, right?” she clarifies.

“Uh, yeah,” Chuck answers, a little befuddled that Tonya picked up on that. “Aaron is gay.”

“Oh!” Kayla answers, surprised at that information.

Tonya laughs. “I have military grade gaydar.”

All the women laugh.

Frankie jumps in. “I bet that doesn’t even matter. Negan would do anything Chuck asked him,” she teases.

“That’s not true!” Chuck tries to deny it, but she kind of agrees with what Frankie’s saying. She knows that Negan has always given her everything she’s asked for. Not that she tries to get him to do things. Not really, anyway.

“You know it’s true!” Tonya exclaims with a laugh.

“Negan told me that he loves me,” Chuck blurts out. She doesn’t really know why. It just comes out of her mouth without her thinking about it.

The women look around to each other in shock, not saying anything.

After a few moments, Kayla finally finds her voice. “Well? What did you say to him?!”

Chuck giggles a little nervously. “I-I said that I wanted to be with him. More like... a couple.”

“Finally!” Tonya cries out.

Kayla laughs. “Negan has been head over heels for you since you first came up here.”

“He said that?” Chuck asks.

“Of course he didn’t say it!” Sherry answers. “But it was obvious.”

Chuck throws her arms up. “God, I’m an idiot! How did I not know?!”

Everyone laughs.

“You know, speaking of relationships...” Kayla clears her throat, “I, uh- I’ve been spending a lot of time on the fourth floor with Amber. And... there’s this guy. He lives next door to her.”

The women gasp. They knew what the punishment for cheating on Negan was.

“I mean, we haven’t done anything,” Kayla explains quickly. “I wouldn’t cheat! And he’s very respectful of the whole wife rules thing. But he’s cute. And nice.” She blushes. “And seeing Amber and Mark together... And you and Negan, too...” she gestures to Chuck, “I’ve just been thinking lately that I want that. I want real love. And maybe even a family.”

“That’s great Kayla!” Frankie calls out genuinely, but turns almost sad. “But you’ll have to move downstairs...”

“I know. That’s why I haven’t really brought it up. I love you guys, but... I think I just need more from life, you know? We would still be friends! And visit each other!”

“Of course, Kayla.” Sherry coos. “I want you to have the life you want. And it’s not like we wouldn’t all still live in the same building.”

“Well, now’s not a good time to tell Negan, obviously. Considering everything that’s going on. But... This is what I want. I don’t want to be a wife anymore. When things settle down, I’ll tell him.”

Chuck smiles at her warmly. She would miss having Kayla there all the time, but she wants her to find happiness. So if Kayla wants to move downstairs to pursue that, Chuck supports her.

The sound of the stairwell door opening down the hall has Chuck rising to her feet. A few moments later, Negan steps in front of the doorway.

“Come on, baby girl.” He holds his hand out to her and she takes it.

Chuck notices the dirty backpack on his shoulder, but doesn’t ask about it as they walk to Negan’s apartment. Once in the office, Negan takes the backpack off of his shoulder and sets it on his desk.

“Did you get him?” Chuck asks quietly.

Negan nods as he turns back to her. “Yeah. He’s in a cell.”

“Good.”

Negan bends down and nuzzles into Chuck’s neck while wrapping his arms around her. “Are you okay?” he whispers.

She nods. “I’m okay.” She kisses his temple and he straightens to look at her. “I know what you need to do to Brendon. And I’m okay with it.”

He brings his hand up to caress her cheek. “You really mean that?”

She nods and runs her fingertips over his lips gently. “I do.”

Negan kisses her fingers and hugs her tightly. “You don’t have to see me do it tomorrow. You’ll have to be there at the start, but you can leave before I actually fuckin’ kill him. We can tell everyone you’re pregnant and that you can’t see it. Or be upset or what-the-fuck-ever. If you want.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “I don’t think I really want to see it. And... we should tell everyone about the baby, too.”

Negan nods and pushes some of Chuck’s hair from her face. He lets out a sigh. “Brendon wrote journals. I read them,” he starts quietly. “He’s a monster, Chuck. All the shit he did...” He grasps her face gently in both of his hands and places his forehead on hers. “I’m so fuckin’ glad he didn’t take you from me.” He puts his hand on her belly. “Or this.”

Chuck touches his cheek and kisses his lips lightly. “Me, too,” she whispers.

He moves his hand to her neck and softly rubs his thumb over her jaw. “I would do anything to protect you. You know that?”

She runs her hands up his chest. “I know, Negan.”

“I love you so fucking much, Chuck,” he says with more emotion than Chuck has ever heard from him before.

She looks him in the eye before whispering, “I love you, too, Negan.”

He smiles and kisses her sweetly. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever fuckin’ heard.”

Chuck giggles, but she stops when her stomach growls loudly.

“Shit! I better feed my babies!”

 Later that night, Chuck has a hard time sleeping. Negan is snoring away softly beside her, but she can’t stop her racing thoughts about Brendon. She suddenly remembers the backpack full of Brendon’s journals that is still sitting on Negan’s desk and curiosity fills her.

Chuck sneaks out of bed and into Negan’s office. As quietly as she can, she pulls out a notebook from the backpack and sits behind the desk. Flicking on the desk lamp, she opens the notebook to a random page and starts to read. The entry starts with Brendon and Drew running across a family of four. It then describes the horrible way that they brutally murdered them, even the children, and ran off with their supplies. Chuck starts to cry upon reading the words.

She reads entry upon entry, each one even worse than the last. But no matter how horrible the words are, she can’t stop reading them.

“What are you doing?” Negan’s voice calls out gently from the doorway, making Chuck jump.

“I-I couldn’t sleep.” She wipes her cheeks of tears. “I just... wanted to know.” She looks down to the open notebook in front of her.

Negan comes forward and around the desk to stand at her side. He slowly closes the notebook and places it back in the backpack. “I didn’t want you to read that.” He sits on the edge of the desk and looks down at Chuck. “The only reason I brought them back is because some of them have plans, schematics for shit I can use. The other stuff, the journals, I’m gonna burn that shit. No one should read that.”

Chuck nods sadly. “I’m really lucky, aren’t I? He could’ve easily killed me. Or worse. Why didn’t he?”

Negan lets out a sigh. “He knew you.” He wipes her cheek gently with his thumb. “You made him... feel something, for once. He couldn’t be that numb fuckin’ monster he’s become when he saw you.”

Chuck nods as she lets out a tense breath and stands from the chair. She takes Negan’s hand in hers. “I’m glad Brendon came here.”

Negan looks at her confused. “Baby girl?”

“So we could stop him from ever hurting anyone else.”

 The next morning, Chuck and Negan wait in his office for everything to get ready in the courtyard. Instead of having Chuck wait downstairs with everyone else, Negan wanted to keep her with him. When they get word that everything is ready, they leave.

Negan grabs Chuck’s hand and walks through the hallways of The Sanctuary. “You good, baby girl?” He turns his head to get her response.

“Yeah, Negan. I’m good.”

They walk through the doors and out through the now kneeling crowd. Right in the center of everyone, two saviors are holding Brendon, making sure that he doesn’t try to do anything.

Negan is still holding Chuck’s hand when he starts to speak. “This is a good fuckin’ day, people! And I bet y’all can guess why!” He points Lucille at Brendon. “Now, some of you might not remember that motherfucker right there, but he is Brendon, the guy we’ve been searching for. And we’ve been searching for him because he broke the rules! Namely, he hurt this sweetheart right here.” He lets go of Chuck’s hand and puts his arm around her waist. “He kidnapped her, beat her, and tried to rape her! Thankfully, she wasn’t permanently fuckin’ scarred! But that fucker,” he points again, “still broke the rules. And he’s in sore need of a fuckin’ punishment.”

Chuck looks up at Negan and then to the crowd. Her heart pounds in her chest at being talked about in front of all these people. And their eyes on her aren’t helping.

Negan leans down to whisper in her ear. “You’re doing so good, baby girl.”

She gives him a little smile.

“Prior to all that shit he did, I wanted to make this girl my wife! Which I did, while she was recovering! Sadly, because of him, I didn’t get to fuckin’ show off my baby girl like I usually do with the routine marriage festivities. But here she is. My girl Chuck! And she is very fuckin’ special, as some of you eagle eyed people might be able to see.

Chuck instinctively puts her hand on her belly because Negan is talking about the baby.

“That’s right, people. Our union was a fruitful one!” Negan’s hand joins Chuck’s on her stomach. “My girl is pregnant with my first kid!”

Everyone actually claps and seems genuinely happy. It brings a smile to Chuck’s face to think that everyone is so supportive.

“Since my girl is pregnant, though, she will have to opt out of the rest of this fuckin’ show. I don’t want to upset her. But she will rejoin us for the big fuckin’ celebration that is going to happen in the caf right after this shit! And everyone gets one free drink! No points needed!”

Everyone cheers again. Alcohol is pretty expensive normally, so most people don’t get to indulge too often.

Negan gives Chuck a little kiss on the cheek and a long look. “I’ll see you in a bit,” he whispers.

She smiles at him for a moment until he gently pushes her forward from the small of her back.

“Simon? Would you please escort my wife inside?”

“Sure thing, boss.” Simon comes forward and leads Chuck back through the doors. They start to ascend the stairs, headed for the fifth floor, but Chuck pauses at the second floor door.

Simon is halfway up the stairs before he notices. “Chuck? What are you-“

She opens to door and starts to rush down the hallway.

“Where are you going?” Simon catches up to her quickly.

“I have to see.” She enters the rec room and heads to one of the windows that overlooks the courtyard.

“Chuck, I don’t think this is good for you,” Simon pleads from behind her.

“I have to see, Simon.”

Her eyes are glued on the figures below. Negan, without Lucille, is standing directly in front of Brendon, who already has blood all over his face.

Then, there’s movement. Negan grabs Brendon’s face with one hand and then swipes something over it with the other, but Chuck really can’t see. It does look like Brendon is in pain, though, from the way he is moving.

The saviors on either side of Brendon pick up his arms and hold them out. Negan walks over to Fat Joey, who is holding Lucille, and takes her from his hands, then walks back to Brendon. After saying something, Negan hits Brendon twice on his arms...? Or maybe shoulders. Negan himself is somewhat blocking the view for Chuck.

Negan knocks Brendon down by hitting his lower body with Lucille and then gets on top of him. Chuck can’t see much now, only Negan’s back and Brendon’s flailing legs. She assumes Negan is strangling him. It takes a few minutes, but Brendon stops moving and Chuck knows he’s dead.

She lets out a sigh and wipes a tear from her eye. She’s surprised to find that she actually feels relieved. She thought she’d be sad, or guilty. But she isn’t. She’s almost glad that the world is rid of him.

“You okay?” Simon asks from beside her.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You shouldn’t’ve seen all that.”

“I wanted to. I wanted to make sure it was done. And I wanted to see it for all of his victims that couldn’t.”

Chuck sees Negan walk toward the door and knows he’ll head for his room. “We should  get upstairs before he does.”

Simon lets out an almost tense breath. “Yeah. We probably should.”

 ——— Negan’s POV ———

I watch as Chuck and Simon leave. I don’t want her to see the shit I’m gonna do to Brendon, so I make sure they’re good and gone before I start.

“She was already pregnant, wasn’t she?” Brendon fuckin’ laughs.

“Shut up!” One of the guys holding him slaps him in the back of the head.

“Shit, if I would’ve know that...” Brendon continues, “I would’ve taken her and left. Let her get big and fat with your baby. Then I would’ve cut it out of her.”

I hold my hand up to my savior when he makes a move to shut him up again. I’m gonna let him fuckin’ speak. Let him get me more riled the fuck up. But he’s not gonna get me outta control. Which is what he’s trying to do. No. I’ve had enough time to think about this shit. I’m fuckin’ ready.

“Or maybe,” Brendon chuckles, “I would’ve forced her to raise it with me. Called it Junior. Maybe make her have some of my babies, too.”

I can hear the the crowd gasp and murmur in disgust behind me. I put a smile on my face and gesture to Brendon as I look back at the crowd. “See how fuckin’ horrible this motherfucker is?! How the fuck did he hide all that crazy while he was here?!” I call out. “And by the way,” I look back to Brendon, “I read all those journals you kept. I know just what a sick fuck you are.” I turn to the crowd. “Families. Women. Children! He’s slaughtered almost everyone he’s come in contact with! So there is absolutely no question that this fuck needs to die.”

I walk over to Fat Joey and hold my hand out. “Give me your switchblade.”

He roots around in this pocket and sets the knife in my hand. “Th-There you go, sir”

I hold Lucille out to him. “Take my girl. But be gentle.”

He grabs ahold of her lightly. “Yes, sir.”

I turn back to Brendon and stand close to him. “Grab his arms and hold his head back,” I say to the saviors on either side of Brendon and they obey. One of them grabs Brendon’s hair and tilts his head back. “Good.” I flick the blade out right beside Brendon’s face. “Fast or slow, people?” I call out to the crowd. They have no idea what I’m gonna do, but I want to drag it out a little for Brendon. Make sure he’s got every fuckin’ thing I could possibly do to him rattling around in his head.

“Do it slow, sir!” Someone yells out. “Make the bastard suffer!”

I nod animatedly as I chuckle. “Hold him still,” I direct at my men.

Brendon’s smile doesn’t drop a bit. Goddamn, he’s cold as ice. His smile doesn’t even fall when I start to put the blade up his left nostril carefully. But I can see that he’s breathing harder.

“Did you know that noses have a shit ton of blood vessels?” I start to taunt. “That’s why if you get a nosebleed,” I start to pivot the blade outward in his nose so it starts to cut into his nostril from the inside, nice and slow, “it bleeds like a motherfucker!”

He has his lips set in a tight fuckin’ frown now as I start to see the tip of the knife come out of his skin. He’s trying hard as fuck not to scream, but that won’t be the case much longer, I bet. I finally flick the knife all the way out, completely spitting open his nose and causing blood to gush out of it almost immediately. He still doesn’t scream, but lets out a loud growl as he tries to squirm as much as he can.

I have the biggest fuckin’ grin on my face.

But then that fucker starts to laugh. “That all you got, Coach ?” He gives me a huge smile back, his teeth covered with the blood pouring out of his nose.

I sneer for a moment before I shrug nonchalantly. “Look at that fuckin’ smile! How long you think you’ll have that smile for?” I look out to the crowd. “Any bets? One minute? Two minutes? Fifteen seconds?”

“You don’t scare me. I’ll be smiling this whole fucking time,” he growls at me cockily.

I suddenly grab his jaw and wrench it down, opening his mouth since my guy still has a good hold on Brendon’s hair. I take the switchblade and slice it right through both of his cheeks. Good ole Glasgow smile.

“Shit! You were right!” I laugh when he makes this weird surprised whining noise. “You’re gonna have that fuckin’ smile the rest of your life! Though that’s not gonna be that fuckin’ long!”

He still doesn’t scream. But he’s growling and grunting. And he’s starting to shake. His fuckin’ body is going into shock.

“Hold that fucker’s arms out nice and wide.” My men obey.

I go over to Fat Joey and exchange his switchblade for Lucille. “You know, the collarbones are the most easily broken bone? It really doesn’t take much.” I get in front of Brendon. “And when you do break them, your arms are fucking useless! Like limp ass noodles just dangling from your shoulders!” I bring Lucille down hard on his right shoulder, then his left immediately after before he can react.

He finally does let out a scream, but he tries to reel it in right after. Fucker’s still trying to act like he doesn’t give a shit about all this. “You... ffffuck!”

I cup my hand to my ear. “What was that?” I taunt with a laugh. “Let him go,” I say to my men. “He can’t do shit now.”

I expect that fucker to drop to the ground when my men let go, but he doesn’t. He stumbles a bit, but doesn’t go down. I guess I’ll have to help him. I swing Lucille down low and up in between his spread legs as hard as I fuckin’ can. Pretty sure I broke something because  he lets out a high pitched wail and falls to the ground in the fetal position.

I kick him once so he turns into his back. “How did that fuckin’ feel, you sick fuck! Why don’t fuckin’ compare it to all the shit you made innocent people go through!” I straddle his legs and set Lucille down beside me. I wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze. I admit that, now, I’m losing a little control. Now that I actually have my fuckin’ hands on him. “I’m gonna watch the life fuckin’ drain from your eyes, motherfucker!” I growl. “Keep your eyes open! I want to be the last thing you’ll ever fuckin’ see.”

He’s trying to fight back but his arms are fucking useless. He kicks his legs but he’s getting weak from blood loss and lack of oxygen. I push down harder on his throat and his eyes bulge out. I start to growl as I shake him.

“She was never yours!” I hiss. His face is bright red now. “This is what happens when you touch. what’s. mine!” I punctuate my words by slamming his head to the ground with each one. “It’s time for you to die, you fucking piece of shit!” I lean all of my weight on his neck and squeeze as hard as I can until I feel his windpipe collapse. But I don’t stop. I stay just like that for a couple more minutes until I’m sure that fucker is dead.

I lean back and catch my breath before I take out my own big ass knife and cut open his shirt. I carve “rapist” into his chest and stab that fucker right in the dick just to hit my point home. I get up, put my knife away, and pick up Lucille.

“Someone put this fuck on the fence when he turns.”

[nakedfullmonty-fr]

i want to draw but my eyes feel like someone put acid in them so!! heres a post about personal fashion styles instead!!

Niet - Usually she wears things that give good leg freedom so she can be ready to throw down for her Clan at all times. Personally though, she loves dresses, but even after she becomes Queen and can afford whatever she likes, she usually keeps them simple.

Yastrebok - Has to accommodate for his injuries and the fact that his arm is deformed and can’t move, so can’t wear things with sleeves or the like. Usually wears something akin to a Samoan lavalava (commmon in Water), or a lot of long draped fabrics, kinda like how ancient Romans look like they rolled through a bunch of blankets (common in Light).

Temahae - As a child, she often wears the sort of silly clothing that only children can really get away with (see her goofy jester type hat). Likes star patterns. She dresses like a child would, which doesn’t fit her monotone personality. As an adult, she dresses a little more standardly but seems to flit around different fashion styles. Usually favours black and green.

Magpie - Since she spends a lot of time underground, she wears clothing suitable for someone who spends a lot of time mining. Having been rejected from Wind culture, she doesn’t favour its fashion styles. Unlike most dragons, her thin, bug-like wings remain in her gijinka form, so she can only wear backless shirts. Often wears a Pareu type garment, which is common in Water. She wears orange a lot, probably because Lockheed probably said it looked nice on her.

Lockheed - Grew up in a temple and probably wore plain white robes her whole childhood, so her fashion sense is as terrible as her social skills. She used to wear black often, but since coming to Ogygia she now wears a lot of bright colours and busy patterns - It looks ugly, but she likes it, and reasons that as a Hero, she should be easily identifiable to those in need.

Bermuda - Ran away from home to join a pirate ship at the age of like 12 and probably hasn’t worn a shirt since. He changed his traditional eyepatch for a simple cloth bandana because he was worried he might intimidate children.

Euros - As the Queen’s assistant, escort and translator, he usually dresses in clothing befitting a member of a royal court. Niet keeps trying to get him to branch out and have at least one casual outfit, but even Niet has a hard time getting him to do things he doesn’t want to do.

Ricin - Wears plain and simple clothing, often unbefitting of a Princess. She has an attractive body type, but prefers to keep herself covered and does as much as she can to not draw attention to herself. Pinks and purples and peaches are common colours for her. She has nicer clothing and ballgowns for when her status calls for it, but it’s obvious she’s uncomfortable wearing most of them.

Ahkoolah - A Jock/Goth mix. Usually wears black, combat appropriate clothes. Also wears a lot of long flowing coats and things with hoods. Mostly, she just looks like an emo Assassins Creed character.

Europa - As a dancer, she tries to take pride in her appearance. Since her troupe has some high-class contacts, it’s expected of her to look good, so she probably follows fashion trends even though she doesn’t really care for them. That said, on her own time she probably likes to just wear a big jacket and her boyfriends pants.

Io - Most commonly she wears her armour as much as possible, because she’s convinced that the extra weight trains her frail body even when she’s not actively training. On the rare occassion she’s out of armour, she’s very goth. All black, big boots, skulls, chains, the whole thing.

Ganymede - His social isolation and agoraphobia mean that he doesn’t get out often enough to go shopping for himself, and he doesn’t have the self esteem to even attempt to dress any particular way. Usually, he wears plain Tiu (traditional Water garment).

Saburou - As a Maren, he dislikes clothes, but he wears them to fit in with dragon culture. Doesn’t clothe his top half, and for the bottom half it’s usually something like skintight shorts with a long fabric tied on his waist (seen here). Wears jewellery sometimes. He was often oogled and fetishised in his past, so he knows his appearance has appeal to others, and chooses to try and flaunt this to hide his terrible low self-esteem.

Vrinde - ??????????????? Honestly I have no fucking idea I dont think he really gives a shit he’s covered in gunpowder 24/7 anyways

Iru - Bright colours, big pants. However, when acting as “Iruka” or up in Ogygia on the surface, as a Deep-Sea Water dragon their skin and body are very sensitive to sunlight, so they wear all-black coverings. Their coverings are pretty mis-matched though.

Othira - Like Iru, she has to cover her face and skin to protect herself, but she has more fashion sense with her coverings. Kinda gothic and lacey, with those big Victorian era dresses. She has a fur coat she likes to wear when travelling, but Ogygia’s usually too hot to wear it. When she’s away from the sun and can dress how she pleases, her clothing is surprisingly boring in comparison.

Leiptrvarthr - A Shade monster, so he doesn’t wear clothes. However, sometimes he wears a blanket of sorts across his back, so that his student Ganymede can sit or stand atop him and travel without Ganymede’s paladin blood hurting him.

Cenna - Likes short shorts, but otherwise is quite modest. Originally a simple farmers daughter from a small village, she doesn’t wear elaborate clothing and sticks to simple, practical stuff. However, since coming to Ogygia, she’s started experimenting with trying to find a personal style. Likes cute things.

Aneikenon - Wears black, but because he’s scared people will notice blood on him from his curse, not because he likes it. As a Prince, he owns nice clothes, but since he gets out of bed so rarely he doesn’t wear them. Since he’s so cold, when he wears clothes he wears lots of layers. Wears a lot of traditional Ice clothing made from elk or caribou fur, since it’s effective at keeping him warm.

Galure - Whatever the Dragon equivalent of Louis Vuitton is. Wears all the nice clothes Aneikenon won’t. Likes furs, big ones. And boots, heeled ones, at least knee high. Doesn’t have the memories to know why it might be bad if people know about his curse, so wears light colours, especially white and blue.

Dantalion - Doesn’t really know or care about fashion. He’s from Plague, where you wear whatever you can find, and if not everyone’s chill about nudity. He changes his fashion to blend in with the culture of wherever he goes, or sticks to things that are good for sneaking around and hiding. He has few material objects that belong to him, but one of his prized possessions is a winter coat that Aneikenon made for him from scratch. Even when he’s not working, it seems that there’s a little goth in him that means he favours black clothes. He also wears more leather than your average person, but he’s gay so it’s fine.

Bitya - Finest lingerie collection in Ogygia, so she hangs out in that a lot at “home” - She owns a brothel and is a crime lord, so it’s not like anyone can tell her not to. Outside, her outfits aren’t usually extrvagant for someone of her nature, but she often spices her looks up with one of her many long coats. Usually wears colours in the black/white/cream/brown/gold range.

Zylhana - She works a lot, so she’s usually in some kind of uniform. In her home life, since she has plants growing into the sides of her thighs, her clothing has to accommodate that - Most of her pants and dresses have slit sides. Wears a lot of plain white, sometimes mixed with black. Her clothes are always simple, but she’s naturally beautiful so it looks good regardless.

Lis-Mirolu - Most often seen in her military uniform coat, since she works long shifts and is rarely off duty (mostly by choice). That said, out of uniform she’s a pretty snappy dresser (kinda like that hot office worker type vibe), and is one of the few people out there whole can make a turtleneck sweater look good.

Thulani - As a deity, his appearance depends on how people who believe in him depict him, and so his clothing is also decided in this way. However, he lost a lot of his power, and now he works in a hospital and just wears one of those long doctors coats. He also wears a facemask, and nobodies quite sure if it’s just a surgeon thing or if there’s something funky going on behind it. Nobodies ever seen. Nobody knows a fucking thing about Thulani like he’s some sort of cryptid and not the local medic.

Locket - Ever since he invented long-range communication and got famous for it, he’s becoming more and more of an obnoxious celebrity, and his fashion sense seems to have changed to match that.

[anoldwound]

Hold Tight - John/Sholto [BBC Sherlock]

“Captain John Watson?”

John stood at attention as his new commanding officer approached – he was tall, imposing, with a wide but gaunt face, and a purposeful and forceful stride. He had the look of someone whose face had been set into a permanent stony stare, which was further exacerbated by the icy blue color of his eyes. He could've almost been a statue were it not for the fact that he moved and talked.

“Yes, sir,” John said.

“I'm to be your commanding officer, Captain,” the man said. “Major James Sholto.”

“It's an honor to meet you, sir.”

The major continued to give brief, terse instructions, and John could not help but marvel at how every inch of this man was military. He would not have been at all surprised to learn that he had emerged from the womb wearing fatigues and bearing that same carefully controlled, cold stare.

Major Sholto took his leave after a while, with the customary salute. John watched him go.

 He's got nice eyes.

John blinked. ...Okay, that was an odd thought. He promptly forgot it.

* * *

There were a number of times when John would try to strike up a casual conversation with the major, only to be rebuffed with short replies. The man never seemed to interact with much of anyone at all, to be honest, except when absolutely necessary. He took his meals alone and kept to himself.

“Sholto ain't nobody's friend, mate,” one of the other captains told him. “No use trying.”

John chewed on the inside of his cheek.

* * *

“Take a look at that,” a private whispered in the mess hall one afternoon. “Major Sholto's graced us with his presence.”

And so he had – far off at a solitary table in the corner of the room, yes, but still, he was there, all formal posture and stiff spine, even when simply eating lunch. He cut his meat into perfectly even pieces, and chewed each bite with exactness. Everything the major did was done with the utmost precision, whether it was drilling his regiment or loading his gun or putting on his uniform. He was never, ever relaxed. It should have put John off, but instead he found it interesting, and oddly comforting. There was something to be said for that kind of discipline.

He felt compelled to go join Sholto, but had the feeling his company would be unwelcome, and instead joined in the laughter for a joke he had not been paying attention to.

* * *

“That Major Sholto,” Captain Stradlater was saying a few weeks later, “he's got a stick up his ass, don't he?”

John shrugged. “I dunno. I think he's kinda charming.”

Stradlater glanced at him, and John cleared his throat and dug into his peas.

* * *

Some of the privates liked to deliberately leave things that John needed on very high shelves that he could not reach. John was about to give up and go get the stool when Sholto, walking past and carrying a box, immediately placed the box on the ground and grabbed the folder John was reaching for.

“Here you go, Watson,” he said, looking down at him.

“Thank you, sir,” said John. He grabbed the folder, and in the second it passed from the major's hand to his, there was an odd shift in his face, and John could have sworn that Sholto had given him a small smile, that his cold eyes had softened slightly, before the moment had passed and he had picked up his box and was making his way down the hallway again.

John gripped the folder tightly in his hand. He suddenly felt very warm.

 Oh. Oh no.

* * *

This was ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. It was clearly because he hadn't even seen a woman for months now. Right? His libido was getting misdirected. Because he was most definitely not gay.

It was weird. Really weird. Weird and awkward and uncomfortable. He would just have to ignore it as best as he could. It wasn't as though anything could actually happen, anyway. Or that he even wanted to, really. He just admired the man, was all, and wires were getting crossed and it was all mixed up with his horniness from not having shagged anyone in a while.

That was it. Definitely nothing else.

* * *

Sholto carefully shed his clothes in the changing room, and John looked, looked and looked, despite not wanting to, yet wanting to, really wanting to, and the air seemed to become filled with something thick and heavy and inescapable, and his nerves tingled, and he could feel himself starting to rise.

 Okay. Maybe not just misplaced frustration, then.

* * *

Harry, tears in her eyes and mascara in dark trails down her face as their parents cursed her name, told her to leave and never come back; Harry nursing a bottle, still not over it even after all this time, after all these years of no contact, neither of them had seen their parents since that night. All of the pain, all of the judgment, all of the hardship, it had taken its toll and torn away at her, though she would never admit it or talk to him about it, and he had never asked because he could see it all anyway, in the empty whiskey glasses strewn about her flat. John turn-heeled when Sholto came down the hallway.

* * *

He was impossible to avoid entirely.

And ever since that day with the folder and the strange warmness and the odd smile, their short conversations turned into slightly longer, slightly more personal ones – or, at least, as personal as you could get when it came to Major James Sholto.

“You like peas, then?” John asked him in the mess hall one evening, after noticing that he ate all his peas first.

“Yes.”

John brought him some of his extra peas the next day, which Sholto accepted with a curious quirk of the eyebrow, and small upward twitch of his lips.

* * *

Sholto was amazing, simply amazing, in combat. John could see that, past his hard exterior, he deeply cared about his men, would die for them, would kill for them. Sometimes he felt like the only one who realized this, and would get incredibly angry when the others soldiers would occasionally disparage him in private. He was usually able to contain himself, but after one particularly nasty and unprovoked comment from Corporal Larson, John snapped –

“Corporal, do not speak that way about your commanding officer! If you do it again, I'll see to it that you're on toilet-cleaning duty for the remainder of your service. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Larson said, looking put out. John gave him a look and cleared his throat before going back to changing his bandages.

* * *

It seemed lately that the major would always have a secret smile for John, one he would never give anyone else, something special reserved just for him.

“You did well today, Captain,” he said.

“Thank you, sir.”

 DON'T. Don't. Stop.

* * *

John walked past his usual table at breakfast and placed his tray across from Sholto, who looked up from his bacon with some alarm.

“Alright?” John asked.

He swallowed. “Hello, Watson.”

John smiled and sat across from him. They ate their meals in mutual silence.

* * *

It was stupid to think about him this way – so stupid – he couldn't imagine Sholto feeling the same – if he ever tried anything he would probably get discharged – but of course he wasn't going to try anything –

No no no no no. Have to stop thinking about it. Have to. Even though he couldn't stay away from him, there was some strange pull he seemed to have that was too difficult to resist, but he just had to stop thinking –

* * *

Alcohol was a hell of a thing. It was also a rare treat for their unit, but after a particularly successful day, absolutely everyone was going out for drinks as an impromptu celebration. The nearest friendly town with a bar was a ways away, but not too far, and John was looking forward to getting pissed with the lads.

Vodka always made John incredibly horny, so it shouldn't have been a surprise that after doing several shots he started to wonder where Major Sholto was, and made the mistake of asking this out loud to no one in particular. Thankfully, nobody seemed to have heard him.

He shouldn't have expected him to come – this was the most anti-social man on the planet they were talking about – and anyway, it was good he wasn't here, because at this level of drunkenness, John wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from “casually” brushing against him, grabbing him by the waist, the strong shoulders, and –

Oh. He was here.

Predictably, in the corner of the room, at a small table by the toilets, with a glass of – was that water?

His judgment very much impaired, John decided it was an excellent idea to buy the major a drink. It was the best idea he'd had in his entire life, despite the protests of the still somewhat rational parts of his brain that were whispering, “Oh, no, that is not a good plan, please do not that”, but what good had listening to reason and logic ever done him anyway? The alcohol was coursing through his veins, making him feel like a warm and floating thing that was outside of his body, and Sholto in civilian clothes, God he was so fucking sexy, in a t-shirt, look at his arms, and those cheekbones, Jesus Christ, John stared at him and swung down the last of his beer, licked the liquid from his lips, Sholto lifted his own glass and drank, eyes staring straight ahead and not at John, God it was fucking hot in here, John ordered a scotch (he seemed like a scotch kind of bloke) and stood up and walked over to Sholto, strutted more like, everything else a meaningless blur.

He plopped himself in the seat next to Sholto and extended the drink towards him. “Eh?”

“Hmm?” He looked over, then at the glass in his hand. “Oh – thank you, Watson, but I don't partake.”

“Hold Tight” by Dave Dee et cetera was playing through the tinny speakers as John placed the glass on the table and slowly slid it in front of Major Sholto with his index finger.

“You can just this once though, yeah?”

Sholto considered the drink for a few moments, then John, then the drink again, before taking a small sip.

“You can do better than that!” John shouted, laughing (probably too loud, he really had to tone it down a bit).

He gave one of his small smiles, and took a slightly longer sip.

Eh, I'll take it. “Didn't think I'd see you here!”

“Why?”

“Doesn't seem like your sort of thing.”

“Nothing wrong with a celebration now and again.”

“So you're having fun, then?”

“What?”

“You're having a good time?”

He paused. “I suppose I am now.”

John grinned slowly, and Sholto began to spin his scotch glass in semi-circles, not making eye contact (and hold tight, carousel, girl, you'll soon ring my bell).

The world felt a little lopsided, but in a good way, and John carefully placed his hand on Sholto's forearm to steady himself. The pads of his fingers brushed against his skin, the pale blonde hairs, and Sholto's arm jerked slightly but didn't move (hold tight, we will fly, swinging low, swinging high), and John's thumb stroked up and down, once, not quickly, and Sholto seemed to freeze in place.

“Come join the rest of us,” John said, softly.

“I, er...” Sholto began looking everywhere except at him, but didn't move his arm away. “I'm fine. But... thank you.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He tilted his head, studying Sholto's micro-expressions, and his body went ahead of his mind as he took his hand off of his arm, and went to grab for the glass that Sholto was still fiddling with. His fingers brushed against his as he took the drink, threw his head back, and downed the rest of it.

Sholto was finally looking at him again. John ran his tongue over his lips, smirked, got up, the music thrumming, and made his way back to the rest of the party.

He wants it, he thought. Oh, he definitely wants it.

He was so convinced of this that he was stunned to find, five minutes later, that Sholto had disappeared.

(You'll never fall each time you call, hold tight, hold tight, hold tight)

* * *

It was a short while later that John, now having a miserable time, decided to leave the bar and head back to base.

“C'mon, Watson!” a few of the other soldiers cajoled him, but he simply waved goodbye as he and one of the drivers climbed into a jeep.

It was a long drive back to the camp, giving John lots of time to think and hate himself for being such an idiot. This was why drinking was a bad idea. Sholto was not interested in him like that, he'd been drunk and delusional, and it would be a miracle if he wasn't pulled aside tomorrow for a reprimand of some kind – or worse, discharged.

Or maybe not. He could just blame it on the alcohol, say he hadn't meant anything by it, he just got too...touchy-feely when intoxicated. Or maybe Sholto felt so awkward about the whole thing he wouldn't even bring it up. Or maybe he hadn't even realized what John was trying to do to begin with. It was going to be fine. He had to stop worrying.

“Thanks for the lift,” John said, jumping out, and began his trek back to his tent, the jeep peeling off to the other side of the camp.

It was so strange, how quiet it was. Absolutely no one was around as far as he could tell. The desert sand swirled around his feet, the sound of emptiness ringing in his ears. He still felt a little buzzed, and the cool wind whipped at his cheek.

When he finally reached his tent, he pulled back the flap and walked inside as he began to un-button his shirt – when he nearly leapt backwards and tripped over his own feet.

“M-Major...?!”

Sholto was sitting on the other cot, long legs locked, and his fingers twisted together in his lap. He looked up at John's entrance.

“What – what are you – ?” John stammered, looking rapidly back and forth between the major and the tent flaps, as though he had just witnessed an inexplicable magic trick.

Sholto said nothing, only curled his fingers more tightly around each other and stared at John with an intensity that felt like a thunder bolt and made him look at the ground.

“What are you doing?” Sholto asked, raspy.

John furrowed his brows and jerked his head back up. “I don't know what you mean, sir.”

“Yes you do.” Sholto stood up at his full height, towering over John. He slowly made his way over, and John's heart thumped so fiercely that he was certain Sholto could hear it in the white noise.

“What the hell do you want, Watson?” Despite the choice of words, despite the hard voice, there was no anger in his tone, no accusation, no malice – only the question, and a note of pleading, of wanting...

John let his gaze fall to the floor again, every muscle in his body tensed up, and it was only because he still felt so warm from the vodka, and because of how close the major was, so close they were almost touching, so close that John could feel every breath Sholto was taking as though it was his own, that somehow the following words came dripping out of his mouth.

“I want... to make you... come.”

He looked up, his eyes heavy with lust.

All staidness seemed to fall off of Sholto like a blanket that had been very loosely wrapped around him, and John did not know who initiated it, but suddenly they were kissing, Sholto's arms enveloped around him, John was on his toes, one hand yanking a fistful of Sholto's shirt to bring him closer, the other hand underneath, feeling the muscles on his back, he was kissing a man, this was completely bizarre, it was too much all at once, he could feel Sholto's hard-on against him, was this actually happening or was he having some kind of fever dream, they were on John's cot, they were kissing, it wasn't like kissing a woman, it was weird until it wasn't weird, it was so fucking good that John felt about ready to explode, he put his hand on Sholto's cock through his trousers, Sholto let out a choked gasp in his mouth, Jesus fucking Christ, Sholto was on top of him and riding against his hand, John wrapped his legs around the back of his knees, what was going ON, this was completely mental, but god it felt so good so fucking good Jesus Christ Sholto was moaning and moaning and John groaned and Sholto reached down his pants and grabbed John's cock and fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck he was stroking and stroking, faster faster, oh God, every inch of him was on fire, his fingers fumbled and he did the same to Sholto and Sholto pressed his face against his neck and his groan reverberated against his skin what was this what was this what was this it was amazing everything in him was climbing upwards and upwards and his back arched and and and and and

he came

and Sholto came

and it was over

and Sholto kissed him

gentle.

* * *

It was a learning process.

A rattling, nerve-wracking, foreign process, that proceeded with caution. Lots of caution. So much caution, in fact, that they hardly ever shagged at all – or at least, not as often as John would have liked.

But when they did... God.

The whole thing was an entirely new experience for John, being with a man, but it clearly wasn't for Sholto, who instructed and helped him every step of the way, something for which John was extremely grateful. For a little while he was very much out of his element, still sort of uncomfortable despite how good it all felt, but over time it became... normal. But not a boring kind of normal, an exciting kind of normal, an exhilarating and heart-stopping kind of normal.

It was also a thrill, keeping it a secret... or at least, it was at first. There he was, Major James Sholto, giving a stern talking-to to the regiment, and John would smirk to himself because no one had any idea that the man who was lecturing them had sucked John's cock the night before.

But the sneaking around and waiting and waiting for opportune moments and having to hide his feelings and stop himself from touching the major in a too-intimate way in public started to take its toll. Not that John was especially eager to go around shouting about it – this was the army, for God's sake – but keeping up a facade at all times could get incredibly exhausting. He didn't know how Sholto seemed to do it so easily. He supposed he'd had years of practice, though.

He slipped, once, during a battle, had grabbed onto Sholto's hand, fingers interlocking with his. The major had hastily jerked his hand away, and it had sliced at John like a knife, though he knew it shouldn't have.

And the more he tried to tell himself it was only a physical outlet for the both of them, that it didn't mean anything, some feeling would crawl up out of nowhere and contradict it, like when he would happen upon Sholto silhouetted against the morning sun, or when he would do some heroic thing like run into a burning building to save a family of three, and then would refuse to take any of the credit or accolades – it was times like those when John couldn't lie to himself.

* * *

He had taken to calling him James when they were alone, but he was always Watson, never John.

* * *

The Land Of Say It.

That was what his sister called it. It had never been a place John was able to get to easily. For some people it was only a quick jog and a sudden leap, but for him it was more like a long, arduous climb up a mountain before taking a giant plunge to the ground, hoping something would be there to break your fall instead of your brain and heart splattered to bits. Because he knew when he felt it, but he was never good at actually saying it. He'd had such a difficult time saying it to his then-girlfriend at university that she'd wound up having to say it for him.

He'd never been all that great at expressing himself, basically.

After one of their (meticulously and painstakingly) planned trysts, John and James lay naked underneath the sheets, sweat clinging to their skin and the sound of the desert night outside.

John made some joke – some careless, casual comment about something – and, to his great shock, James started to laugh. A full, hearty, loud laugh, almost like a lion's roar. John, nor anyone else, had ever seen him laugh before. A smile here and there, but never this.

Did I do that? John thought, as James continued to laugh, like some sort of dam inside him had burst. That was me?

He became giddy at this, and started laughing too, unable to take his eyes off of James' face, he just looked so happy, he had done that, John Watson had done that, he had broken through layers and layers of ice and had brought this incredible sound into the world, and that glowing grin, and everything seemed brighter, and there was a light inside John's chest, right over his heart, and he knew if there was anytime to go to The Land Of Say It, it was right now, right this moment.

As their giggling subsided, John breathed heavily, chest heaving up and down. He suddenly felt incredibly sick, the words were lodged in his throat, but somehow he managed to sputter out –

“I – uh, well, it's – I, uh...I...love you. Yeah. I love you.”

For a moment, James stared at him in amazement, and for another moment, it looked like he was going to say it back.

But then the wall came slamming down, and he muttered, “Good night, then,” and turned to his side and pulled himself away, yanking the covers over himself, and John stared up at the ceiling of their tent.

* * *

It was what it was.

* * *

“I'm half-expecting you to start giving me detailed battle plans and diagrams the next time you want to fuck me,” John mumbled in his ear while passing him in the lunch queue.

Two weeks later he found a crude drawing tucked into one of his socks, and burst into shocked laughter. Had James actually made a joke?

“Scandalous” was the note John left in James' shirt pocket. He saw him open it in the locker room and smile quietly to himself.

They fucked in an abandoned junkyard some miles from base that night, James on all fours, John riding him hard, his fingers splayed across his back, digging in deep.

* * *

There was one time, one memorable time, after a raid where John had nearly gotten held hostage – in a rare moment of passionate abandon, Major James Sholto had thrown all caution to the winds and fucked John in an empty room in the barracks as soon as they had returned.

“You're safe now,” he'd panted afterwards. “You're safe, you're safe here, you're safe with me now.”

Some lonely nights in his cot John would get himself off thinking about it, alone with just his hand underneath the sheets, “you're safe you're safe” a whisper in his ear.

* * *

The other soldiers in their regiment seemed to be warming up more to James, who in turn was coming out of his shell a little more every day.

John couldn't help but feel responsible for this, and would grin inwardly whenever someone would call Sholto “mate”.

* * *

The mask was on the verge of cracking constantly, whenever he would see James get wrangled into a romantic interaction with a woman off the base, his skin would get prickly and his face got warm but he couldn't say anything, and anyway he had to do the same thing, and sometimes he thought he would see James get jealous too but his face was so unreadable so much of the time it was hard to tell.

But his eyes would get so sad, sometimes, when he thought no one was looking.

* * *

“They're sending me back,” John said, shifting in his hospital bed.

“I heard.” A small, pitying smile. “You'll be back to going to work, coming home, every day. Lines at the supermarket. Late night telly.”

“It's what we're supposed to want to go back to, isn't it?”

“Supposed to.”

John smiled sadly back. James, James, of course he understood. “I don't think I can do it.”

His gaze shifted to the floor. “You'll get used to it again, civilian life. Just need some time.”

“No, I...” John nearly swallowed his next words, knew it was pointless to consider, and so stupid to ask, but – “I don't think I can do it... alone.”

James looked up at John's pointed stare. Something flashed in those clear blue eyes, before it was locked down and tucked away where no one could get at it, not even John, not anyone at all.

“You won't be alone,” he said. “You'll have your family. Friends.”

What family? What friends? “Yeah. You're right. 'Course you are.”

He didn't know what he had expected.

He certainly wouldn't be leaving, if he had any choice.

* * *

He'd started the letter about a hundred times, before finally settling with –

 Major Sholto –

 I hope you're well. Civilian life's been boring so far, and my limp hasn't really been helping. They're having me see this therapist for my PTSD. Load of bollocks, it is. Trick cyclist.

 I'm not supposed to be writing to anyone over there, but I wanted to know how everything is. Kinda miss it. A lot, actually. Write back. Please.

 Your doctor, Captain John Watson

He never got a reply.

* * *

It was too difficult, connecting with people now. No one could possibly understand him, could understand what he'd been through and what it meant, how it had changed him. Certainly not his old school friends. Everything and everyone was too boring, compared to his life in the war. He tried, but what was the point? He was just going through the motions, living his grey life in a grey fog. What was the point of it all? Why did he keep going? Because he was a soldier? He wasn't a solider anymore. He wasn't anything at all.

He could barely even stand talking to innocuous Mike Stamford, all this mindless small talk about flats. He wished he could make himself just get up and leave.

“C'mon. Who'd want me for a flatmate?”

“You know, you're the second person to say that to me today.”

Huh. “Who was the first?”