#jclichasseur

[mywhataguy-a]

WHEN YOUR BEST FRIENDS ARE GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF YOU

@jclichasseur @boorishbrute

[mywhataguy-a]

"I've been told so many stories of adventure, power, and glory that it's beginning to bore me that I remain here."

“Then-- why don’t we leave? Together? We can travel the world-- see what it has to offer. You can save countless other villages and win the hearts of the entire country-- no-- the world! We could set sail for the Americas and truly test our grit.” His gaze turned upward to Gaston, a bright smile on his features.

“I’ll go wherever you do-- and tell your tales along the way.”

[bolsteriing-blog]

"Why did you come back?" ~jclichasseur (too lazy to switch accounts lol)

@jclichasseur

“Friends don’t abandon each other.” And yet there was a hollowness to his voice that suggested he was hardly there at all. LeFou lurked in the doorway, a physical presence sans the bounce and bravado so well known to him. No more of an imposition than the furniture, humble and stationary, crowding Gaston’s sickbed. Though, perhaps this was an ill-fitting comparison–– he’d mistakenly underestimated furniture in the not so distance past, and was making a point to wean himself off of former habits. Consider the visit a moment of sought closure– the first step towards rehabilitation. Or relapse. 

[bolsteriing-blog]

Gaston emerged from the back room of the garage, carelessly wiping the grime and oil from his hands with a rag. The sweltering heat outside, even with the large doors wide open, had made a slick mess of his forehead, shoulders, back, black shirt absorbing the worst of the stains and keep him presentable for customers, at least. Sharp blue eyes flicked up into the round face of the man waiting at the counter. Of course. "What can I do for you?"

It was had been his first (and, given his experiences, likely last) grandiose purchase. It had simply seemed like one of those things that followed when you were promoted– clear out the desk, kiss your new paycheck, and buy the shiniest, most impressive thing you could before remembering your old, outstanding debts were still waiting to congratulate you on the recent cash flow.

He didn’t know the first thing about cars. But he did know that there was something inexplicably sexy about the way the sun glided off the sleek, black exterior of the machine’s hull. He did know that the engine rumbling through his fingertips stirred awake an ego that social decorum and crippling self-awareness had kept sedated for most of his life. He did know that his down payment was tailed but enough zeroes to make him feel like anything else but. 

He did know almost instantly that he had made a huge mistake.

R meant reverse. That was straight-forward enough. But apparently, in these newer models, D also meant reverse. As did P. Sometimes doing absolutely nothing at all meant reverse and he would just have to sit white-knuckled behind the wheel and roll with it. Literally. 

He stood in the relative cool of the building’s atrium, one eye menacing the window, as though daring the car beyond to try anything. The engine had been switched off, and he had the keys tucked within his pocket (paranoia had prompted him to check this twice since he’d walked in), but somehow he felt that letting himself slip into a sense of security was tipping the first domino in a long, clattering line of abject disaster.

“Yeah, uh–” He turned his head, maintained eye contact for a dazzled three seconds, or however long it took for such buzz words as ’biceps’ and ’oily’ and ’oh’ to hit his consciousness with the force of a jackhammer, and jerked his attention back to his car, baking sullenly in the heat. 

“I–” He paused, reaching into the dizzying heights of his vocal register and tugging his pitch down to something more dignified.  "I think I’m having an-an issue with my car…“

[paintednoir-blog]

Aren't you even the slightest bit intrigued, Belle?

¿¿¿Belle squares her shoulders and crosses her arms over her chest, quirking a charcoal eyebrow. The old squeaky wheels and cogs of perfect predictability are turning in her head and if only she could capture this moment somehow. 

Ah yes, Gaston was attempting to court her! Finally looking amused, she lets out a small crafty laugh and shrugs her shoulders, pretentiously ‘oblivious.’

❝Why… Why wouldn’t I be, Gaston? You managed to tie your bootlaces today. I’m in pure awe. I swear it.❞

[strangespecialmostpelicular]

Are you sure? It's no bother. I'm quite happy to help you, you know.

Belle tried to keep a calm and graceful posture as she carried the parcels, which were threatening to topple at any moment. Eventually she relented and took the top one, one of the slimmest and handed it to Gaston. “I can handle the rest.” She announced, beginning off.