#illiiterate

[ofvanity]

@illiiterate continued from x

“ last i knew, old friend, i still outranked you. ” there was something properly feral in the look he gave the other, though it wasn’t aimed at him at all. “ i’ll be right behind you. someone needs to teach them why frenchmen should be feared. ”

[rxseblanche]

illiiterate replied to your post: Belle why think about dicks when you can think...

same belle. same.

 ---------- at least someone gets me. 

[jclifou]

illiiterate replied to your post: ;; still gigglesnorting over dorian’s monster c*ck...

the kracken

;;but it’s dorian gray, so it’s more like...the c*cken, y’know? XD

[ofvanity]

he feels feverish. it’s after the war, right? that’s how he feels and he doesn’t remember much but screams of anger and pain,  aggressive chanting. his body hurts, from where he’s not sure.  everywhere? he grunts as he moves in his half awake state, a wave of throbbing pain keeping him down. he can’t open his eyes, he can’t do much he notices as most of him doesn’t answer to his brain’s commands. even breathing is harder.

eyes flutter, but don’t open. he hears sounds around him, but he doesn’t understand where he is, who is there, what happened, if it’s night or day. did his brain dreamed him chasing belle through the village? was he still recovering from that time? - and yet, he doesn’t remember his injuries being so bad, back then. he literally can’t think straight.

when he’s able to open his eyes - hours later after falling unconscious again - the first thing he sees is lefou further in what seems to be a house. a muffled exclamation of pain and darkness falls again, but now he’s relieved. he’s alright. he knows who share the roof and he’s fine with that. he prefers that. no one should see him like this.

lefou can. he doesn’t mind him.

his mind is still confused. what happened exactly? he remembers falling, many floors stopping the speed of his course before he finally met the ground. or it felt like falling. where could he fall from so high?

it’s going to hit him when he wakes up lucid enough, but now he’s trustful of his friend (still his friend, he didn’t do anything, they both came back pretty beaten up from the war). he really just needs to get his timeline straight.

thinking is tiring why would anyone do that.

[ofvanity]

@illiiterate because it doesn’t enter the character limit anymore.

" how long? " asked about right after the last syllable left lefou's lips. contrary to popular beliefs, gaston had actually heard, listened and registered what his friend had told him. his mind still needed to process, but otherwise, he was the most attentive he had ever been. ironically enough. he shot lefou a short and dry look, but didn't comment on the fact he understood well the other had manipulated his feelings for belle to get out of his troubles. then his eyes went back up, sighing mournfully the lack of liquid in his glass. 

[ofvanity]

LeFou has a nightmare and it wakes Gaston up. Discuss. (idk man it's almost 2 am)

it was rarer.

or perhaps was it that it didn’t always wake him up. perhaps lefou’s brand of nightmares were more vicious, more silent. but gaston never thought that far, even if he should, even if deep within, he knew he should. but it was easier to live with everything at the surface of the world and not dig. the war had killed most of his curiosity.

it didn’t kill his instincts. and an once of comprehension that came with knowing nightmares, knowing their grip on a human soul was great.

he growled of course.his beauty sleep was important, truly.

but as he never abandoned a man on the battlefield, he wouldn’t abandon the other now. even if it was tempting. let the fool struggle so he could get a good night of sleep. his mind felt heavy with fog as he got up, his whole body protesting.

come back to bed, whispered… well said furniture.not that his imagination was good enough.

he forced himself to walk the few meters of distance between their bedroom, lefou’s plaints louder not that his door was open. it was rarer. to hear him squirm from a nightmare. to hear him suffer.

if he went with the number of times lefou had woken him up, it was rarer than gaston’s.

strong hands pinned both shoulders to the bed.

“ wake up lefou! ”

[ofvanity]

illiiterate a réagi à votre billet : @illiiterate @mywhataguy “ it’s not like you can...

lefou voice: me, no. him… probably. he’s the smarter of us.

i’d say you’re the smart one, then.

[ofvanity]

YOU ARE MY FUCKING SUNSHINE

you bet your fucking ass that i am

it happened quickly. too quickly. gaston was usually good reaction wise but he hadn’t seen that coming, not before he was too late. before he could scream for lefou to take cover, his friend was already down and gaston was already running ( toolatetoolatetoolatetoolate ). his large body didn’t make a sound when he dropped beside the other, worried. the soldier, however, was resigned. he needed only his whole mind to catch up to the reality of things.

“ sébastien! ”

strong hands handled him to his chest, blood, a lot of it, but gaston didn’t see it at first, clutching the smaller man for dear life. what he noticed was how limp was lefou’s body in his arms and how gradually still he was becoming.

worry shifted in a sort of cold panic. one laced with dull anger.

“ oh no no no, you survived one war, old friend, you can survive two. heaven above you even survived me. ” that wasn’t a sob he squashed in the middle of his throat, not at all. it was only an inappropriate and stressed chuckle.

he cradled the man’s head, hair sticking to his bloody hand, unaware that it was the first time he treated the other with such tenderness.

“ surely, this is nothing compared to it, isn’t it? ”

but he knew, oh he knew. too much blood on his trembling hands. too much blood everywhere. hard to notice on the red of his own clothes, but he was better than this. and lefou prove him right one last time, dying there in his arms. the medic arrived too late and before they could make sure gaston was fine, the captain had taken his gun and went back to the war. of course, he would survive, wouldn’t he? he thrived in battle and if anyone was honest with themselves, that day their captain seemed particularly bloodthirsty.