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great-merlins-beard · 6 years

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Things You Don’t Say To Your Roommate

Sequel to Sometimes the Nightmares Are Too Much. Which you can also read on Ao3.

Thank you @basic-banshee for beta-ing!

Simon

It had been a couple weeks since my nightmare, since I woke up to Baz telling me to breathe Simon. Since falling asleep in his bed.

Since falling asleep wrapped up in his arms.

If I’m being honest, it was the best sleep I had ever had. Not that I would ever outright tell this to Baz. Even though we had agreed that all of this “enemies” stuff was behind us and declared friendship, there were things you don’t just say.

For example, you don’t tell your vampire roommate that he has the fittest legs you’ve ever seen or that you want to fall asleep looking into his eyes every night because they are so steady and calming.

There are things you can get away with, like “Baz how do you get your hair like that? Mines only ever a tangled mop on top of my head. Yours is so pretty.”

And then your roommate will quirk his brow at you, but he won’t sneer, we’re mostly past sneering at this point, and he’ll say “Pretty? My hair is not pretty Snow,” and he’ll smirk cause I’ll shoot him a glare for using my surname, “my hair is gorgeous. I spend ages on it to get it to look this way, believe it or not. I don’t just wake up this beautiful,” and then he’ll whip his head dramatically and you’ll both laugh.

And you’ll think yes you do wake up that beautiful, I’ve seen it. But you don’t say things like that to your roommate. Especially because it won’t come out nearly as suave as you say it in your head. So instead you say something like “yeah you numpty, oh wait, you were just kidnapped by them,” and he’ll glare at you because Snow I told you that in confidence. “And I know you spend ages on it. You’d think you are the bloody Queen of England with how much time you spend in there.”

There are some softer things you can get away with saying if you say it with a bit of bite. Like “hey move your fat arse, you are gonna take up all the pillow space.”

And he’ll bitch about it but will do it nonetheless because you are friends now. And friends sleep together if they feel a little uneasy at the thought of sleeping alone yeah? Then wake up with tangled limbs all of the time right? And friends pretend to stay asleep if only to stay a little longer in the comfortable position of their roommates arms.

Right?

I blow out a breath of frustration. I’m just overthinking things. Penny and I cuddle all the time on the sofa. But you don’t find yourself thinking about the exact color of her eyes, now do you? Another huff. I put it all these thoughts on its own list of things to not think about—a Being Friends With Baz List. And then I lock it away in my head. It’s easier not to think about things, it makes everything less weird in my head.

I move to the list of Things I Can Think About.

Baz sitting at meals with Pen, Aggie, and I (and after a couple of days and some ear pulling by Baz, Dev and Niall too). Having actual conversations with him.

The fact that now I know that Baz has a sister named Mordelia. His stepmom’s name is Daphne, and she is kind but will never replace his mom. I know all about his mom. How close they were and how much he loved her. How the reason he got drunk in the Catacombs so much was because she is buried there.

I know that his favourite color is a plain blue and that he has a secret stash of scrunchies he likes to use.

I know he likes his shoes ordered in a certain way and that his clothes at home are colour coded because he likes the organisation.

His favourite constellation is Sagittarius because he likes the bow of it and you know Snow, you have a similar pattern right here and points to it on my left forearm. We laid out on the grass for over an hour that night (only two days ago) and it was cold so we laid with our sides pushed against each other.

I know he is a vampire. He hasn’t told me, I don’t think he’ll ever really tell me, but he has hinted at it. I think that is as close as he’ll ever get to saying it out loud.

I think about how that means he trusts me.

And I think about all of these things I’ve learned about him in the past two weeks, and I can’t help but be angry at myself for wasting all of this time these past eight years.

But now it’s Christmas Break and Baz is packing a bag to travel home.

“Aye, don’t forget pants,” I tell him with a cheeky grin. He turns around and looks at me, almost insulted by the suggestion.

“I’m not going to forget pants you twat. Who forgets pants?”

“I mean, everyone does it at some point. I’ve done it before,” I respond with a shrug.

Now Baz looks right offended. “You’ve forgotten pants?” He pauses for a second and his eyes raise to the ceiling. “Actually, I’m not surprised by this. You are wholly unsanitary, I’ve seen you wear the same shirt for three days in a row.”

I glare at him now, “that’s because you jinxed all of my shirts to itch when I wore them. I was lucky that one had been under my bed. And I wore it for three days because that’s how long it took for Penny and I to figure out what spell you used so we could undo it.”

He’s trying to hide his laughter and it’s making my cheeks twitch.

“It’s not funny you arse,” but I’m full on laughing now and so is he. I throw my pillow at him from my bed and say “I smelt awful. Agatha wouldn’t even talk to me because of the smell.” Baz stiffens a bit but relaxes so quick I almost think I imagined it.

“How is that whole thing anyways, you and Wellbelove?” His light tone seems slightly forced but I’m not really sure. I’ve never been good at reading people.

“Oh, we broke up a couple weeks ago. She didn’t want to be my destiny or whatever,” he stops packing, turns around, and leans against his bed so we face each other. He’s giving me his full attention and I remember that though we’ve really only been mates for two weeks, it feels like we have been friends for much longer. It’s hits me suddenly that I completely trust him. Without a doubt in my mind, I trust him. I clear my throat and continue, “but honestly? I’m a little relieved. I know that sounds terrible, and I love Aggie, but I think I love her as a friend. Neither of us was ever really happy when we were dating. Neither of us really...er...cared? I feel like this is coming out worse than I mean it to...” I trail off awkwardly.

He looks thoughtful for a moment before he responds.

“Not that I particularly enjoy Wellbelove’s presence, but you both deserve to be with someone that makes you happy, if that’s what you want.” He’s looking me in the eye and there is a palpable tension in the room. I’m not sure why I like the itchy feeling it’s giving me.

The silence is broken as his eyes narrow, cocks his head, and says “Wait. You usually stay with her during Christmas Break.” There is no question in his tone and I nod my head because yes that’s true.

“If you aren’t staying with Wellbelove where are you going? Are you staying with Bunce?” I look at the floor and shrug.

“I’m staying here,” I answer with as much casualty as I can muster. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll just steal some scones from the kitchen before before Cook Pritchard leaves.”

Narrowed eyes narrow even further. Honestly they almost look closed at this point. “You are going to eat scones for every meal for a week?”

I shrug again because I really don’t know and I feel awkward. I don’t really know what he wants me to say about the situation.

“Do you have a bag?” He asks suddenly. My head snaps up and his eyes are scanning my side of the room.

“My school bag. Why?” The question caught me a little off guard. His eyes zero in on it and he crosses the room to pick it up. Then he’s next to me and upending all of its contents onto my bed.

“H-hey! What’s that about?” I try to grab my bag but he hold it in the air with his right hand and holds me back with his left.

“Got clean shirts?” He asks. I raise my eyebrow but I stop fighting. I think I know where this is heading, maybe.

“Aye, yeah I do.”

“Good. Pack ‘em. Come with me.” My jaw slacks.

“You want me to go with you to your house? Don’t your parents hate me? Don’t you live in some fancy castle thing? Don’t you need to ask?” I can feel my eyes bugging out of my head, but this is uncharted territory.

This whole situation is uncharted territory.

“Yeah Snow. We aren’t enemies anymore, this is a good way to show my father that. Show that you aren’t against us. Really this is a political move,” he sounds haughty as he says it.

I face the floor. I want to go but… “I don’t want to be a burden.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder and his face softens.

“We’re friends now, yeah?” I nod. “I don’t want you to spend Christmas here alone, and truthfully I’m not keen on the idea of being alone with my family on Christmas. You being there would make it better. Even if my father has a conniption over it.”

I look up to meet his gaze. His face breaks into a cheeky grin and says with a mockingly sweet tone, “Come home with me Snow.”

A groan immediately escapes my throat and I roll my eyes.

“Simon. Crowley Baz how many times have we gone over this?” I can’t help the slight exasperation that enters my voice.

He smirks (the minger). “As many times as it takes for you to not make it fun.”

Baz

After a two trains and a car ride, we make it to the estate round mid afternoon. Simon’s leg is jumping, he’s twitching like mad and his magic is stinking up the car. I push his knee into the floor and look down at him slightly. His big doe eyes meet mine.

“Sorry, I bounce my leg when I’m nervous.”

“Your magic spills too,” I say pointedly. His eyes widen further and he looks into his lap and forces himself to full body stillness.

“S-sorry.” My brows furrow. That’s not really how I wanted that to go. My right hand finds his left arm and I pull it slightly, trying to gage his attention. He doesn’t move his head but his eyes look to me from the side. I lower my gaze to his.

“It’s okay, you don’t need to apologise. Just… try to breathe. And think about scones. We have a recipe for some, we can try to make them later—focus on that.” He sits back into the seat and takes a deep breath. I’m surprised he is reacting so strongly on this right now. I’ve seen him burst into a battle, him against forty goblins, with no anxiety. Yet here he sits and he’s shaking like one of those dreaded tiny rat dogs.

I am nervous too. But for different reasons. I’m bringing home the Chosen One. With no warning. On Christmas Eve. The Heir of the Mage that has caused my home to be invaded twice already. I have to tell my family that we are friends and I no longer plan on fighting him to the death. I have to hide the fact I’m in love with him from their watchful gaze—specifically my father. There is a lot that is riding on this visit.

Not that I would ever tell Snow that.

Snow already tries to shrink himself into not being seen when he’s nervous or feels unwelcome. It’s something he learned from being in care homes.

Something he is still learning to forget.

But it’s muscle memory for him and I’m hoping he won’t revert to using it. The memory of his screaming still makes my hair stand on end from when he had that nightmare two weeks ago.

I just don’t want him to feel alone again.

Simon

For the most part, it isn’t too bad.

Baz’s stepmum, Daphne, was shocked when I came in the door, but once Baz described the situation she tutted her tongue, wrapped her arm around my shoulder like a mother hen, and said “well we’ll just get the spare bedroom freshened up and everything will be good. No one deserves be alone on Christmas.” She kept her arm around me all the way to the room I’d be staying in across the hall from Baz. It was an odd feeling, having someone immediately take on a comforting mother figure so quickly with me. But it was… nice. I felt myself envious of my roommate for a moment, having a mum figure as caring as Daphne in his life.

Malcolm Grimm was another story. He wasn’t… unwelcoming, exactly, just incredibly guarded and watchful. It made me slightly uncomfortable, but it was nothing less than what I had expected from him.

Mordelia and I immediately get on because we have prime blackmail material on Baz that we traded over fancy chocolate and creme desserts found in the freezer. I am now the proud owner of a well earned photograph of a six year old Basilton dressed up as a lion. Cat whiskers and everything.

His twin sisters mostly just whispered while looking me right in the eye, but really they kept to themselves. As for the baby, he giggled at all the ugly faces I made at him.

After (a very posh) dinner that Baz hardly touches, Baz and I go up to his room.

I immediately laugh when we walk in. It looks like a bloody room for the royals. Everything is waxed, polished, carved, and richly coloured.

Baz gives me a very unamused look and my laughter becomes louder. Oh—oh this is too good.

“Shut up,” he snaps at me. He’s all bark and no bite, I know that now. I poke at his cheek and my sides start hurting from the laughter.

“Do you have a crown under your pillow? No, tell me, is that bed frame worth 10,000 quid?”

“The bed frame is worth more than your life Snow.” I wave off the insult and then I actually look at the frame.

“Are there gargoyles on this?” Wheeze “please tell me you have a bell in here for when you need service. That would complete everything.”

He’s scowling at me but his lip twitches. He walks over to the nightstand and pulls out a box. He opens it and—there it is. A full silver bell with swirls and angels and demons carved into it. There are tears legitimately streaming down my face now.

“No!” I howl and throw myself on the bed. My stomach is actually in pain over this. I’ve been so stressed tonight that this laughter is just bursting out of me. I know the room really isn’t that funny but it feels so good to just go off.

Baz is losing his battle of keeping his composure. He flops down next to me and starts snickering. “You are ridiculous.”

We hang out for about an hour before a lady, who I think is the maid, pops her head in.

“Your room is ready, sir.”

“O-oh okay thank y—” she shuts the door before I can even finish my spluttering. Baz checks his iPhone.

“It’s twenty past ten. I suppose we should go to bed.”

I wrinkle my nose for a second but get up. “Yeah I suppose. Goodnight.”

He’s looking at me funny and I can’t figure out why. “Goodnight,” he says, and it feels like something is hanging in the air.

I walk out the door, across the hall, and into my room.

Another hour passes before I walk right back across the hall and into Baz’s room with a pillow and blanket in hand. I don’t even knock.

“Baz, are you awake?”

“Simon?” He’s watching tv but pauses it when I walk in. “Yeah I’m up. You okay?”

“There are things making noises in my room.” I put the pillow on the couch and flop down.

“Oh, you mean the wraiths?”

“D’know, dun care.” My eyes immediately start drooping shut. I’m exhausted.

“Simon, do you want to—” but I’m asleep before he even finishes the question.

Baz

Simon passes out on my couch and I blink in surprise. I mean I know Simon’s body heavily relies on sleep, but I’ve never seen someone drop so fast. He drops like a numpty.

The thought makes me grin for a half a second before a weight enters my chest and stomach.

Shit.

I press my palms into my eyes until I see spots. Slow breaths, I tell myself.

I’m not in the coffin anymore, I remind myself.

“You are here,” I say to myself. I remove my hands and look at his golden curls. “And you are safe,” and I’m not sure if I’m saying that to him or me.

The pillows are plush and form to my head as I lay down. I close my phone, roll over, and plug it into the charger on the nightstand.

I take a breath and pause before I turn out the light. I could keep it on. Crowley knows I don’t do well in the dark anymore. Snow has been sleeping in my bed often enough back at Mummers since his nightmare that it hasn’t bothered me too badly. But here… this room doesn’t even feel like mine.

I take a look at Snow’s face. He’s in here, I should be okay. The light shines in his face I feel a stab of guilt. He needs to sleep, he will only be stressed out tomorrow if he doesn’t, and he needs to be relaxed with my family.

I turn out the light.

I get comfortable.

And I close my eyes.

Simon

I wake up with a start because is someone whispering my name. Are the wraiths in Baz’s room too? I shut my eyes and decide to go back to sleep until I hear a whimper.

I pick my head up off the pillow and look to Baz. Did that come from him?

“Baz,” I say quietly, in case he’s asleep. The sound repeats, a little louder this time. It’s definitely coming from his bed. I stand up quickly, but I can’t see shit. I move hands in front of me and try to feel around for his bedpost, instead I walk into the middle of the foot of the bed and my hips hit mattress. I swing my body around the corner and come up on the left. I can’t see him at all, the room is pitch black with black out curtains drawn, but I know I’m right. He’s definitely whimpering.

“Baz are you alright?” I gently poke around the bed, trying to find his arm and hoping to not hit his dick by accident.

A sort of half sob breaks from his throat and my chest feels like it’s caving in. What’s he dreaming?

Baz

I’m back in the box. This damned fucking coffin. How long have I been here? It must only be a few days, really, but it feels like a lifetime. When was the last time they opened it? When was the last time I ate? My leg aches and it smells atrocious in here. My hands are at my thighs and I grab them, ready to bruise them if it means getting a grip.

I need to calm down.

But I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here. A muffled sound of panic passes my lips before I can control it.

I need to calm down.

My hands are pushing into my legs, and the pain gives me slight focus.

I need a plan of attack. When the coffin opens, I’ll bite them, I’ll set them aflame, I’ll do whatever to escape.

So I wait.

And wait.

And time seems to be passing so quickly somehow, it’s like I can feel the days flying past.

Somehow, in a few minutes, I know I’ve been in here for weeks.

My heart is beating so fast, but it feels tenfold quicker, because it’s the only part of me that somehow still has energy.

I move my hand up to my chest, to help me focus where I need to breathe, but my hand grazes my rib and—

That can’t be correct.

I can feel my bones.

I can barely move and I can’t see I can’t see but

I lift up my shirt, and somehow I just know.

I’m rotting. The smell is putrid and suddenly I can feel the worms eating at my flesh and I’m grabbing onto my uncovered bone and I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe.

And all I can think of is the one thing I’m always sure of—blue eyes and bronzed curls. A universe of moles and freckles. Simon. I’m never going to see him again.

And suddenly I’m shouting his name over and over but I feel so far away. I’m flying away from my body and I’m watching myself rotting away somehow and I’m being pulled far far away through the clouds.

A new scene. I know this place immediately, the nursery room, my nursery room. There are rays of light coming through the window, and I follow them to the door where they end. The door swings open and my mother comes in, and she has me, as a baby, on her shoulders. She’s making airplane sounds with her mouth and I’m giggling with my arms straight out and I look so healthy, so alive.

But I can’t shake the feeling that something awful is about to happen.

Mum swings me off of her shoulders and pulls me into a happy hug.

I need to tell her something’s wrong, that she needs to get her wand and barricade the doors, but I can’t move. I can’t speak. And I know that even if I could, she wouldn’t hear me.

I’m a passenger in this scene.

I hear them before she does, the vampires.

They burst into the nursery and Natasha Pitch turns from sweet to hard in a seconds time. She whips out her wand.

And then she attacks.

It’s a full battle, at least twenty vampires are all fighting her, but she expertly slashes her wand through the air casting brilliant jinxes and curses left and right, setting them on fire, throwing them out windows and through doors. Within a few minutes, they are all defeated.

I breathe, but I don’t feel relieved. Something still feels wrong. And then I know why, because she turns and looks at me.

Looks me dead in the eye.

And there is no love there.

And I look back, with all of the love and shame in the world.

We watch each other in silence, so I see when blood suddenly drips off of her and onto the floor.

She touches her neck where two puncture wounds have suddenly formed and her face drains of color.

Her wand raises in the air and she takes a step toward me. Her eye contact is unbreakable, concrete. I can’t bear to look away even though she is looking at me with such disdain, such hatred. I haven’t seen her in so long.

“I would rather be dead,” she says as she takes another step. She’s standing right in front of me now, her voice dark and steady as she snarls “than be like you.”

I try to speak, still nothing comes out.

“Tyger, tyger, burning bright!”

I feel a tear escape my eye. This is how this was supposed to go. She’s right. I’d be better off dead.

And I’m burning burning burning but I can’t bring myself to want it to stop. Because I deserve this. I’m a monster.

This is the fate that monsters get.

The fire hurts and my skin is melting, but all I can do is watch this little baby screaming screaming screaming because he is watching his mum, his best friend in the entire world, burst into flames in front of him.

The flames take up my whole vision for only a second before they dissipate completely and the scene has changed again. I’m back on the school grounds near the forest. Blades of grass are tickling at my ankles and the sun is nowhere to be seen, hiding behind dark grey clouds.

“Basilton!” I hear, and I spin around. Snow is coming toward me. I’m so relieved to see him that I run to meet him halfway.

I’m running and I’m crying and I can taste the salt and I go to grab him and he’s muttering something too quiet for me to hear and he looks like he’s about to pull me in for a hug and I think I’ll let him because I just watched my mother die.

But then I feel this pain in my gut.

Simon is looking at me with a fierceness and triumph, he’s grinning like mad with his nose scrunched up and eyes aflame like he always knew he’d eventually get the upper hand.

He’d always have won anyways. I’d always have let him kill me. It’s always been him in the end.

I fall into his shoulder and he drives the blade the rest of the way in.

He nudges my ear with his nose and whispers into my ear.

“Baz? Baz wake up. Basilton you need to wake up.”

He pulls his head back and his blue eyes are rimmed red and crying and he says desperately, “Baz please.”

Simon

“Baz?” I shake his shoulders lightly. His eyes brows are pulled up in the middle and his face is strained.

“Baz wake up.” His breathes are coming in and out irregularly, it’s like he’s choking back sobs. Like he’s trying to quiet his pain even as he sleeps. I don’t like that thought.

“Basilton you need to wake up.” My hand comes to hold the right side of his head and I don’t remember moving it there. I bring the other one up to match.

“Baz,” and my voice catches a little. “Please.” I stroke his cheekbones now, they are wet with silent tears.

His eyes snap open and find mine immediately. And then he does something I don’t expect.

He shoves me away from him and scrambles so his back hits the headboard of his bed. I hear the thunk. Suddenly the light from his lamp is on and he’s lifting his long sleeve shirt up to reveal his stomach. He’s prodding it frantically like he’s looking for something but he isn’t finding it. Baz’s breathing is coming in harshly and I tell him so. His eyes whip up to meet mine and all I can see is red. Bloodshot eyes strained from crying.

I start to walk over to him again and he gives me the worst look I’ve ever seen from him. This look of absolute betrayal and pain. And it hurts more than every sneer, every snicker, every punch and push and threat.

So I stop.

I put my hands up.

And I say “Baz, I would never hurt you. I will never hurt you. You were having a nightmare so I woke you up.” I take a slow step toward him as his face face relaxes slightly.

“Because that’s what we do for each other Baz, we help each other with our nightmares.” His eyes are searching mine and he no longer looks...destroyed, just sad. My chest pulls toward the direction of him. I follow it.

I sit in front of him on the bed. I slowly move my hand toward his. I give him every opportunity to push me away or say no. The second my pinky brushes his, he intertwines our fingers in a hard grip. He pulls my hand a little and I look at him, but Baz is very purposefully avoiding eye contact. So I do what I want to do (and hope it’s what he’s meaning for me to do). I pull him into a hug.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and I bury my face into his neck. My lips brush his skin and I don’t think about it, this is not the time to think about it. But then his face is burying in my neck and it’s becoming really difficult to not think about. Instead I busy myself with rubbing his back.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask softly. His neck is soft. He shakes his head.

“Will you want to talk about it later?” He shakes his head again. Then a few seconds later he shrugs. I can tell he’s focusing on his breathing.

“That’s okay,” I tell him, “we’ll do whatever you want to do.” Then he hums to himself and speaks.

“Will you just talk to me? It will help me calm down. Just distract me with something.” I try to think of something. I really do. But all I can think of is Baz’s breath on my neck and how I shouldn’t be thinking about that right now and why have I been thinking about this so much lately? You aren’t supposed to think these things about your roommate— you’re not you’re not. But I’ve been quiet too long and he needs me to talk and I’ll do whatever he needs so I open my mouth and—

“You drive me crazy,” I blurt. I’m not good with words, but these are the only words I have in my head because his lips are brushing my neck so I’ll have to run with it. “You drive me crazy with this list of things I don’t like to think about.” I pause, unsure if I should continue, but he flexes his hands, asking me to. So I do.

“And over the past couple weeks you have given me this pretty long list…” I’m drawing circles on his back. I focus on the shape, it helps to keep my cheeks from burning at what I’m about to say.

“You drive me nuts with your stupid hair and your stupid legs.” I feel him freeze, but now that I’ve started I don’t really want to stop. The words start tumbling out with the speed of a rant.

“And you know, mates don’t think about these things, but I’m bad with words and this is all I can think about lately: I know your favourite color and how you love Paddington,” he snorts into my shoulder. “And I think about how your smile drives me up a wall. It’s so much worse than when you smirk at me. So much worse, because, like, it’s just blinding. And it like,” I huff.

This is hard to word without sounding gay.

“It just stays at the front of my mind for hours. Your smile. And I find myself wanting to see it all the time.”

If I'm being honest with myself though, it is proper gay. I can’t really bring myself to care.

“But see, you aren’t supposed to think these things about your roommate. I’m not supposed to want to run my hands through your hair,” my fingers make contact with the subject in question. It’s silk between my fingers. “Or wonder the exact shade of your eyes,” I pull back now and look at them; they are wide and dazzling. Wet pavement, I think, that’s what they look like. His eyes are getting closer to mine, when did I start leaning in?

“Roommates,” I drop my voice to a whisper (there’s no need to speak loudly when we are this close) “aren’t supposed to want to crawl into the other’s bed with them every night because it’s the best part of their day.” Our foreheads are touching now and he isn’t pulling away.

“Because sleeping with you is the safest I’ve ever felt.” It’s hard to look at his eyes this close, so I close mine. I bring my hands up and cup his face. My thumbs stroke over his cheekbones.

“Simon,” he breathes and I can feel it mingling with my own.

I close the distance.

Baz

Simon and I kiss for a while before we even come up for air. My lips are swollen and so are his and all I can think is I just did that to Simon Snow’s mouth. And he’s smiling and smiling and then he kisses both my eyebrows, nose, hairline, and then kisses me softly on the lips once more before saying “Crowley, I’ve wanted to do that for weeks.” I can hear his grin before I see it.

My heart is beating so fast and my cheeks actually hurt from smiling, which is a thing I didn’t know could happen. Snow is looking at me like I’m his world.

Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life.

I pull him back in for another kiss and I make it slow because I want to feel exactly how his lips move against mine. And then whisper, with disgruntlement, “we really should go to bed.”

And I know he knows what I mean, so I don’t feel that embarrassed for it sounding entirely suggestive (though my cheeks warm at the thought anyway). He nods his head and pulls me down onto the pillow, wraps his arm around my torso, and fits his head into the crook of my neck. He kisses me right on the artery on my neck and I jolt a little because it tickles. I feel Snow snicker and hear him say “good to know.” And I think about the implications of that. That he’s saying that he’s saving that for future knowledge—he’s expecting this to happen again. That this wasn’t a one time thing for him.

And I know there are much bigger problems to face in the morning. I know I have to tell my father that plans have changed and that Snow is my friend (something more? Not that I’d tell father that).

But right now I can’t bring myself to care, because I’m holding the sun in my arms, and for once, the burning feels good.

#Snowbaz #snowbaz fanfic #snowbaz fic #snowbaz fanfiction #simon snow #baz pitch #basilton pitch #basilton grimm pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #this chapter was a little happier #hope you guys liked this!

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vizhi0n · 7 years

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Sawney - Part 15

Chapter Masterlist

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Warnings: smut, Negan’s potty mouth.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.”

Desa had never experienced someone worship her body the way Negan did. He took his time, unpacking each part of her— her breasts, her lips and neck, his ass, everything. Any attempts to return the favor were met with a steely gaze and a sharp tug to the hair.

Negan’s free hand worked away at Desa’s clit, fingers pinching and massaging the bundle of nerves before snaking to Desa’s hip. He was on his knees, Desa facing forward and seated in his lap. Their clothes lay on the floor, Desa’s shirt in tatters. She hadn’t even gotten a chance to properly scold him for ripping it.

She didn’t have time to care further. Negan was biting into her shoulder, guiding her as she swiveled her hips. Negan attempted to steal but Desa stopped him, kissing him to stifle her groans as she clenched around him. He followed shortly after, erratically pumping his hips before slowing to a lethargic twitch.

Desa, arm wrapped around Negan’s neck, let out a breath. She was facing the door to his room, and over his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes and blonde hair — Amber — peering through a small crack in the door. The girl disappeared before Desa could say a word.

Desa flopped onto her back, watching Negan roll off the condom and toss it into the trash. He knelt between her legs, the pads of his thumbs gently massaging the skin just above her hipbones.

She grinned at his heaving chest and tussled hair. The thought of Amber touching him caused her nerves to flare. The thought of any of those women touching him made her irate.

“You spoil me,” Desa murmured. Without thinking, she drawled, “Do you love me?”

“No.”

“Is it because I’m damaged?”

“You’re not fucking damaged, Desa. You’re not a fucking monster, either. That’s not why I don’t love you.”

Desa sat up, eye level with Negan. She analyzed him, eyes narrowed, eyebrows drawn close together. She lifted a hand, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “You and I are the same. We can’t feel, unless we try. I know there’s love in you, Negan. There was no love in Father and Mother, but there is in you—”

“There was. That shit is gone now.”

“I said the same thing.”

Negan ducked his head. In a tired voice he said, “That’s where me and you aren’t alike. There’s a reason, Desa. You’re going to be disappointed in me no matter what the fuck I do — I can’t please you the way you fucking want me to.”

“I’m not asking you to drop everything for me. I’m asking you to be honest with me.”

“I’m being fucking honest, Desa.”

There was no coaxing it out of him. The stern look on his face told Desa that she didn’t need to prod any further. Instead she rested her head back on he pillow, sighing. She heard Negan speak his voice hoarse.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think it is we have…it’s not love. You’re lying to yourself if you think you love me. You were fucking hurt, and I was there. I still am. Just not in the way you want me to be.”

“I was foolish for wanting more. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do shit,” Negan murmured. Desa felt the bed shift as he stood, heading towards the shower.

They bathed and dressed, barely speaking. Negan did not usher Desa from his room — instead, despite what he’d said earlier, he let her stay. Probably because of the nightmares, but Desa didn’t implore. Sometimes he pushed her away, sometimes he didn’t and needed her for the night, when he’d wake up yelling. His wives were of no help in that department.

Desa slept better with Negan, although tonight, she lay wide awake, wrapped in his embrace. Maybe his hold on her was wearing off. Maybe he’d been right — maybe she was just latching onto him, using him as a coping mechanism. She knew it to be true on Negan’s side — there was no reason for him to keep her in his bed and in his thoughts. When he healed, he would just cast her aside —

No. He won’t. He can’t.

He won’t ever heal. Nobody does. Not really — they just pretend.

Negan is an excellent pretender.

Desa wondered if he’d always been that way. He was jaded, like her. He didn’t know true happiness. Only suffering.

“You’re deep in thought.”

Negan’s eyes were open. Desa hadn’t even felt him change positions, one arm draped over her waist.

“I do that occasionally. Late at night.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“All the possible futures. The past — but only a little bit.”

“Possible futures? More than fucking one?” Negan flashed those perfect white teeth, noticeable even in the dark. “Fucking tell me about it.”

“There’s a future where you tell me who Lucille is. Where you lead the Sanctuary like a benevolent leader. Women don’t have to come to you for protection. You never have to burn another mans face.”

“Sorry to rain on your parade, but that shit sounds unlikely as fuck.”

“There’s a future where we all die. Horrifically. But somehow Father lives,” Desa murmured. She felt Negan flinch. “Then there are the cookie-cutter, lame ones. Run of the mill happy-endings. The tragedies outweigh the happy endings…”

“You think this shit will end in tragedy?” Negan snorted. “Fuck no. I’m not dying, and neither are you. So cut that shit out. Stop thinking up sad scenarios. You’re gonna make me sad.”

Desa smirked. She hoped, even with the lack of light, Negan could see it.

Snuggling into Negan, Desa murmured, “Right. You won’t die. Because I’ll be here to keep you out of trouble.”

The merry Hilltop gang consisted of Drake, Desa, Simon, Laura, and about six Saviors whom Desa had never met before. She had no time to introduce herself, no time to learn names. They were off, first thing in the morning, trucks loaded, weapons locked.

Desa could see Negan in the rearview mirror. Simon drove next to her, oddly silent. The moment Negan was out of sight and Desa relaxed, Simon seemed to let his guard down — he gave a tired sigh, glancing over at Desa.

“You, uh, okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I hope you know,” Simon said, “You can confide in me about anything. I’ve been told that I’m a superb secret-keeper.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“I’m serious. I won’t tell a soul — unless concerns some ploy to take down Negan, or harm a Savior…you understand that, though. There are some thing I can’t let slide and there are some thing Negan doesn’t have to know about. For example, personal problems. Specific issues like that.”

“You think I have some personal problems?”

“You barely ate any of your breakfast which I, by the way, prepared. That’s unusual. I had to eat the rest so it wouldn’t go to waste — I haven’t seen you pass up an opportunity for food yet. That’s a clear sign something is wrong.”

“My stomach hurts.”

“You’re not acting like your stomach hurts.”

“How would I act like my stomach hurts?”

“By uttering the words ‘my stomach hurts.’”

“I just did that.”

“Yes, but only when I asked about your unusual behavior. That’s a sure sign that someone is trying to hide something,” Simon waggled a finger. “You’re going to have to work harder at fooling me.”

Desa groaned, resting her head against the window. After a few moments she gained a burst of courage, sitting up straight and saying, “Does Negan love any of his wives?”

“No,” Simon looked at Desa as if she’d asked the stupidest question in the world. “Is that what you’re upset about? The wives? If you decide to join them, you won’t have any competition. Trust me.”

“That’s not why I’m upset. I’m…discouraged by his lame attempt at seeming shallow.”

“I mean, he is shallow. Can’t be too concerned nowadays. Or bothered. There’s not many deep, philosophical things to care about anymore,” Simon drove steadily, scowling. The moment he looked over at Desa, however, his face lit up. “I make an effort to surround myself and invest in art. Along with culinary-related activities.”

Sighing, Desa said quickly, “Negan said that you like me.”

“‘Like you,’?” Simon scoffed. “This isn’t middle school. Although I would be lying to myself if I denied that I do find your personality intriguing. And appealing to the eye.”

“I find you appealing to the eye, too. Your personality could use some work, though,” Desa replied.

“Har har. Very funny. But seriously — I’d love to get to know you better. Maybe a nice, candlelight dinner? I cook, you show?”

Desa was torn. Simon’s offer was serious - he wasn’t laughing, wasn’t smirking. Negan wasn’t the issue here. Desa wasn’t sure if attempting to move on was smart — a small part of her knew that, deep down, it wouldn’t matter. A part of her had latched onto Negan, with no sign of letting go.

Despite that, Desa said, “Sure. Dinner sounds great.”

Hilltop was a beautiful, thriving community. The moment Simon and the following caravan stopped their trucks at the gate, Desa felt anxious. The massive house on the hill reminded her of the Estate. The place was unknown territory. She prayed the beautiful scenery wasn’t concealing anything sinister.

Simon hopped from the truck, while Desa stayed seated. She heard Simon shout up to the guards, and the guards shout back. After a few minutes, Simon was back in the drivers seat and the vehicle was lurching forward, rolling onto the dirt path leading to the ornate mansion.

The place had a vast garden, cows, chickens…it was similar to the Estate, but the place lacked that ominous feeling. The people, the ones farming and sitting with their families (or what was left of their families) didn’t look tortured or tamed. They all, however, lifted their heads as the caravan rolled to a stop.

A balding, older man approached as Simon leaped from the truck, Desa following suit. The man surveyed the group, raising his eyebrows in alarm when Simon strolled right up, extending his hand.

“Sorry for intruding. Nice place you’ve got—”

“Listen, we don’t have room for any more strays. We’re short on resources already—”

“That is not what I’m here for. I’d very much like to finish my introduction, please,” Simon said through gritted teeth, a smile still plastered across his face. “I’m Simon. I’m a…representative of sorts. For a higher, greater cause.”

“Gregory,” the man shook Simon’s hand, a look of confusion still stapled to his face. He said slowly, “Welcome to the Hilltop. I’m the one in charge, here. Do you, uh, want to come inside?”

“Of course,” Simon smiled sweetly. He gestured for a few of his men to stay, before beckoning for Desa and Drake to follow. The warm interior of the mansion was a welcoming sign — it was beautiful, from it’s dangling chandelier to it’s painting, velvet carpets…Desa was busy ogling at the architecture, until Gregory’s voice tugged her back into reality.

“I hope you understand, Simon, that this is my turf. These are my people — I’m willing to work with you, maybe help you find another place to settle close by. But I’m not allowing any more people inside these walls—”

“I told you, that’s not what I’m here for,” Simon said forcefully. “We’re here to collect. Not everything — half. People and produce. Drake and Desa over there know that you recently accepted a small group of stragglers inside this fine community.”

“We want them back,” Drake said mildly. “I mean…not the produce. Well, I guess the produce. I wasn’t told about that part.”

I was.

Desa glanced away as Gregory stared incredulously, stammering over his next words.

“The people I could care less about. But…half the produce? We’re struggling already—”

“I saw a lot of people sitting around out there, not working, not grinding. I’m sure it’ll work out for you, all you have to do is try,” Simon slapped Gregory on the shoulder, chuckling. “I apologize for not being…delicate with things, but time is short. I’ve made my point, now it’s time to collect.”

“We can work out a deal — both sides can benefit—”

“You’ll benefit. We’ll protect you from any…undesirables that decide to infringe upon your beautiful settlement. Trust us. I know it’s hard, but it’ll all work out.”

Gregory’s blabbering went unheard. Simon pushed through the double doors, exiting the buildings, letting out an ear-piercing whistle. The saviors stood at attention while the residents of Hilltop stopped working. Desa saw people she recognized — kids, Jack’s age. Myra, the laundry woman. Kent. Stacey.

They came forward with caution. Drake was beaming, while Desa had her head ducked. The ten approaching figures looked just as confused as the other Hilltop residents, who lagged behind, unsure.

Drake stepped forward, attempting to quell any doubts. “Father is imprisoned. We have him. Everyone is free…the rest of us escaped the rink. We’re at the Sanctuary — that’s where we live, now. If you come back with us, you can live there to. They have food, shelter, everything.”

“You’ll be safe,” Desa added, when she lifted her head, several people recoiled at the sight of her. She’d forever be a traitor — those that revered Father and Mother would probably never fully trust her. She’d brought upon them nothing but ruin and death.

And freedom.

Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.

“Start rounding things up,” Simon said. The saviors hopped from their posts, dispersing amongst the community. The Hilltop residents watched, some stepping to intervene, only to find themselves shoved to the side.

These people can’t fight.

The saviors were easily outnumbered, but from the look of things, none of the Hilltop residents possessed any firearms — save for two handguns she saw, one tucked into someone belt, the other clutched tightly in someone hand. The rest were all unarmed, scared, cowering.

“You’re paying your dues,” Simon announced. “We’re taking half of your things, and in exchange, we protect you from the big bad unknown. You’re welcome.”

“Half?”

“We’re low on resources already! You can’t just waltz in here and steal—”

“You want to debate that point?” Simon crossed his arms, attempting to add some height to his already intimidating stature. Desa rolled her eyes, intervening.

“Stop it. No point in arguing anything — it is what it is, people. And trust me, you don’t want to fight it. Now, are the rest of you coming back with us, or staying here?”

No votes were taken, nothing was tallied. The former Estate residents unanimously slid over to Drake’s side, more inclined to go with the group who possessed the most weapons. It was a habit.

Desa had been keeping an eye on Firearm Guy #1 and his cohort, and the minute she saw his pale hand fly to unholster his weapon, she reacted. She was a quicker draw, yanking out her gun and, without hesitation, blasting a hole clean through the guys forehead. He toppled, his own weapon flying from his fingers. Children and adults alike screamed, ducking to the ground.

Simon cursed, hand slapping against his own firearm. A dreary silence hung over the group, and Desa saw Gregory staring, mouth agape at the bleeding corpse before him.

“He just tried to kill me,” Simon stammered, eyes darting wildly back and forth between Desa and his slain attacker. His voice rose in volume, words garbled and filled with rage. “Oh, no, no, no. That’s not going to happen—”

He was a quicker draw than Desa. His gun flew from his hip to his hand, discharging before Desa could say a word. A nameless Hilltop woman dropped, and this time, Desa screamed.

“Simon!”

She planted a hand on his chest, shoving as hard as she could. His next shot missed, the bullet sailing into the open sky. Several saviors pointed guns at her, while the rest controlled the crowd.

Simon’s face was flushed, and he was panting. Desa reached up to grip him by the shoulders, saying, “Calm down. These people are nothing if they’re dead,” lowering her voice, she hissed, “Negan believes that. Nothing matters if all these people are dead. Stop.”

She knew it was most likely useless — Simon could snap her in half like a twig. She probably looked pathetic, having to stand on his tiptoes to really get a firm grip on him. Nonetheless, it seemed to work. She saw him visibly calm, quickly sliding his gun back into it’s holster.

In a gruff voice, he called to the crowd, “We’re done here. Anybody coming with us, load up into the trucks,” he turned to Gregory. “We’ll be back in a week or so to collect. Make sure you have everything. Really make an effort, Gregory.”

Gregory was hardly able to speak, eyes bugging out of his head, fists clenched, shoulders slouched in defeat. He didn’t put up a fight and instead nodded sheepishly, like a schoolboy being scolded for bad behavior. Desa engrained that expression into her brain, intending to keep it there.

This is why Negan does what he does.

He makes people like that…worth something.

Did she believe that, truly? She didn’t know. The caravan peeled from the Hilltop, vehicles packed with new residents. New workers. New soldiers.

For the first time, she felt like a conqueror.

#vizhi0nw #negans thirst squad

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villainsarebetter · 8 years

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Lost and Broken

Parent Fic: (Creature of the Black Lagoon AU) Rumpelstiltskin is a strange aquatic creature living a lonely existence on an isolated island and Belle, having been dragged to the middle of nowhere by Gaston looking for a hunting prize, is a young woman who catches his eye while swimming in his territory.

This Prompt Fill: Belle discovers some secrets that might have been best left forgotten.

Prompts: @Anonymous: Creature from the Black Lagoon!Rumple remembers his old life. @Anonymous: Black Lagoon Rumple--I have to know, was he originally a human who was experimented on, was he a chimera created in a lab, or are/were there other swamp people? If he was human, what happened? If he was lab created, were there other experiments? What happened to them? Did/does Rumple have family who miss him, whether other lab-grown creatures, a human family, or a creature family? (Also is Mulan the only other human in the expedition sympathetic to Belle and/or Rumple?)

The Creature was patient and compliant as Belle bandaged his side, standing still without so much as a whimper or flinch and allowing her to do as she wished with dusty gauze and half-full bottle of something that smelled sharply of alcohol. It was difficult to see with only the moonlight to guide her, although it was easier here than in the other room since all of the windows were long-broken in this one. There weren’t even any shattered shards attached to the frames anymore. They were simply empty.

Belle couldn’t help but notice that the skin beneath her hands was green and covered in scales, nothing like anything she’d ever felt before; rough on his back but transitioning to snake-like smoothness on her patient’s stomach. The only times she’d touched him for more than a few moments were last night and when he’d saved her life. She hadn’t had any time to register the difference in his skin either time. It wasn't so much unsettling as it was fascinating - her hands itched to explore further, to see what other textures and colors she could find, but her concern kept her on track tending to the Creature’s injury.

Once she was done, he sighed in relief and beckoned her away from the room full of broken debris, back down the hallway to the dim room that contained his nest. It was only when he stepped into the structure, knelt down, and started shifting the bits of vegetation and cloth around that she realized what he intended. It was late, it had been a long day, and as that fact finally sunk in, fatigue hit her hard.

The Creature was free. They were both safe. And Belle had no idea what she was going to do about her friends. Or ‘friends’. She wasn’t so sure she wanted to call them that anymore, thanks to their treatment of her new companion.

Belle was only slightly surprised when, once satisfied, he settled carefully onto his back, favoring his healing side. She was more surprised when he extended a beckoning hand towards her and cocked his head, obviously inviting her to join him.

Briefly, she wavered. If he’d been Gaston, she would have instantly suspected ulterior motives...but all the Creature seemed to want was to sleep. In the dim light, he looked more like a monster than ever - his eerie eyes were wide and dark, reflecting little light and reminding her of dark pits, while his skin was mottled dark grey and green and the scanty light reflected off of his sharp claws and fangs.

….But Belle knew better. Despite the inhuman traits picked out by the moonlight, he’d proven to be caring and respectful. It only took a moment of hesitation before her resolve firmed and she let him usher her into his nest. It was surprisingly soft, having been worn down with age, but she could feel the hard, unforgiving floor beneath the padding.

Exhaustion took hold before she could dwell on the many and varied reasons that being there was a bad idea and likely to cause problems for both of them. The Creature and Belle fell asleep lying next to each other in his nest.

Belle woke up stiff and sore with the irritating grimy sensation of dirt ingrained into her skin. Her clothes were wrinkled and scratchy and she shifted uncomfortably, feeling every bump and bruise complain. When she tried to roll over to get more comfortable, she ran into something warm and breathing that jumped at the contact.

Her eyes snapped open and she found herself staring straight into the brown and gold eyes of the Creature who was looking at her with a distinct deer-in-headlights stare from mere inches away. She was so close that she could pick out the shimmers of hazel, amber, and pale gold in the inhuman iris ringing the dark pupil.

She had accidentally rolled over on top of him.

Before her embarrassment could completely take control, she dredged up a smile for him and a quiet. “Good morning.”

He squeaked.

With as much grace as she could muster, she rolled back over and clambered to her feet, giving him the space to do the same. When she was composed, she turned to look at him, hoping her embarrassment wouldn’t be too obvious, only to find that he was wringing his hands and refusing to meet her eyes, badly hiding his own embarrassment.

It was endearing and Belle smiled fondly at the sight.

The hard floor had left kinks in her back and neck and she stretched as she turned away, trying to work out the stiffness. A few circuits around the room was not enough time for the Creature to overcome his embarrassment and Belle quickly grew tired of watching him pick nervously at his nest, refusing to respond to any soft questions or even meet Belle’s eyes.

“I’m going to take a look around, alright?” She finally offered, thinking to give him time alone as well as satisfy her curiosity about the unnerving building that the Creature called home.

She received a slight jerky nod in response, though he still did not turn to look at her.

The rooms and hallways were bathed in sunlight that shone in through the dirty and broken windows and Belle found that it was easy to find her way around. It was a small building with only half a dozen rooms, all leading off of the main hallway; the office that the Creature had chosen for his nest, two similar offices full of broken furniture and little else, two storage rooms, and the big laboratory from the previous night. The first storage room was lined with shelves that had once been full of chemical supplies (for cleaning, Belle assumed) which had been knocked down at some point in the past so that now the shelves were empty and floor was littered with ominously colored bottles of liquid that had long since lost their labels to the ravages of flooding. The second storeroom had a broken rusted lock on it, and inside she found four old fashioned walkie-talkies that had the word ‘Security’ painted on them in faded red paint. There were makeshift stands and slots set up to hold other items…but they were empty. Whoever had cleaned out the offices had also cleaned out that supply room.

The final room – the lab - was at the end of the hallway, opposite the boat shed where Belle and the Creature had entered, and it dominated the facility. On its own, it probably took up half of the entire building. Belle found her attention drawn to it despite already having seen it and shortly found herself staring at the gurney, the shattered tank, and the rusted counters and cabinets. The sight was even more disturbing in the daylight – it reminded her of something out of a horror story or from the island of Doctor Moreau.

Her curiosity quickly overcame her caution and she ventured inside, picking her way through the broken glass on the floor. Unlike the rest of the rooms, this one had not been cleaned out – it had been destroyed. Shredded, faded papers clumped around the room, unreadable and all but disintegrated with age, metal and plastic equipment lay haphazardly around the floor or shoved into cabinets at odd angles, every single pieces twisted, snapped, or shredded to the point where they were unrecognizable from their original functions. Belle found an entire drawer full of shattered glass and broken syringe tips, another full of knives and scalpel handles (the blades had been ripped off), and another full of plastic bags that had weathered the years better than anything else.

It was only on Belle’s third circuit of the lab that she made her most interesting discovery: wedged behind the cabinet furthest from the windows and door, in the shadows of the broken reptile tank and hidden from the sun, was a black notebook that had escaped the weather and the destruction. Belle managed to slip her fingers into its protected hiding place and ease it out into the light, turning it so that she could read the name on the cover.

Doctor Simon Zoso.

Belle froze and her eyes widened. Dr. Zoso. The strange man who had insisted on coming along on Gaston’s foolhardy hunting trip, who had in fact given them the location of this island, claiming that Gaston could achieve fame by hunting the island’s never-before-seen animal species. But he’d never shown any interest in Gaston’s kills once they were there, instead insisting that there was more to be found deeper in the forest. He’d been ecstatic when Gaston caught the Creature yesterday.

For more reasons than the novelty, it seemed.

Without any reservations, and bursting with curiosity, Belle turned the first page and began to read.

The Creature paused in tending to his bed when he heard Belle’s voice, tilting his head and turning it slightly so he could hear her better. He liked her voice. In fact, he could easily say that it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. But who was she talking to?

He pushed himself fully upright with a wince, waiting until his still-tender injury stopped throbbing before following the sound of the human’s voice down the hallway, towards the big room. He didn’t like the big room – it had things that could fix him, things he’d always known how to use, but he always felt like there was someone looking at him when he was in there. It made him uneasy. And when he left, he had to force himself not to run – as if there was something to escape from inside the empty room. Over the long time that he’d lived there, the instinct had dulled, but he still remembered what it had felt like back when the glass shards were still sharp on his feet and he hadn’t yet twisted the scary things until they didn’t look scary anymore.

What was Belle doing in there?

He paused in the doorway, cocking his head in confusion at the sight of her hunched over in the corner, reading out loud from a book he’d never seen before in the slow, measured way that she spoke when she wasn’t sure what something meant. The long words that tumbled from her mouth seemed to confuse her, no matter how hard she strained to understand them. However, with a start, the Creature realized that he knew exactly what they meant.

As Belle read the book out loud, engrossed by the writer’s account on a mystery specimen studied in the lab and ignorant to her companion’s presence at her back, the Creature found his unease growing with every word. Normally, he had trouble understanding Belle because he did not know about things she took to be common knowledge (though he was getting better under her patient tutelage), but this time he found he understood every single word. Even the ones that puzzled Belle, that she carefully enunciated to commit them to memory so she could look them up later, connected in his mind... the dark, shadowy part of his mind. The lost recesses of his memory, the time he knew he’d forgotten and did not particularly want to remember. Enough pain and anger filtered through the block to make him fear what was on the other side.

But as Dr. Simon Zoso’s dry commentary droned on with Belle as a vocal filter, the Creature could feel those shadows fading away – or, more accurately being driven away. The dull, lost emotions were becoming sharper and more personal while vague impressions of old memories were seeping through to influence how he saw his surroundings.

The dark room of glass and metal had always bothered him but never truly inspired fear in him, not since he’d woken up in its shattered confines with a horrible headache, cuts all over his body, and a mysteriously empty memory. He’d spent the next couple weeks curled up in the room that currently housed his nest, suspended in the welcoming embrace of gently shifting water which had filled the building almost to the ceiling. He’d been disappointed when it drained away and he’d had to venture out into the crocodile infested lagoons to submerge himself.

Now…the wall of shattered glass loomed, tall and intimidating, inspiring a surge of helpless anger and the impressions of dagger-like pain stabbing from the roots of his claws and cool, intact glass under the pads of his fingers and palms. The long-degraded and rusty cuffs attached to the central table shortened his breath in reflexive, baseless fear. Paranoia about what was contained in the rusty old cabinets lining the counter-walls haunted him – even though he knew from long years living down the hall that he’d twisted everything inside into non-scary shapes, the feeling remained that whatever was inside was not medical supplies but instead associated with pain and helplessness.

As the images – memories, he realized with horror, they were memories – became clearer, the Creature curled in on himself, making a quiet sound of distress that Belle did not notice through her single-minded focus. Her eyes were fixed on the pages of Zoso’s journal with the intensity she always showed when trying to puzzle out something she didn’t understand. For the past week, that had been the Creature and he’d preened under the attention and admired her determination.

Technically, he was still the subject of her interest, though maybe she didn’t realize it. There was no physical descriptions included in Zoso’s notes. Nor was there a name.

As Belle flipped quickly through the pages, skimming the oldest and least detailed notes to find the passages worth reading, the images came fast and hard to the Creature. Whatever barrier in his mind had been broken, the words she spoke now freely pulled from the shattered depths.

It was terrifying and unwelcome, but bearable – until she reached an account of a test that had happened on the gurney in the center of the room.

“The subject no longer willingly submits to our tests.” She read, mumbling the words rapidly, flush with the thrill of discovery. “We have been forced to use physical measures for restraint. Our budget does not allow for tranquilizers; however, Gorgon is certain he can handle it. There is no reason to make allowances for injury prevention – the subject has become remarkably durable to the point were significant pressure must be used to penetrate its skin with a scalpel.”

Every word that fell from her lips, no matter how muffled, dislodged bits and pieces of the past that stabbed at the Creature’s mind like broken glass. Here was the feeling of metal biting into his wrists. There was the sight of pale human skin running red with blood as scales burst through from beneath. Here was blunt teeth and the rawness of throat that meant he’d screamed himself silent. There was the sight of a human man – his father? - accepting a large stack of green bills and walking away. The cool smoothness of glass under his palms. The biting pain of claws emerging from his fingertips. The sound of generators. The taste of blood. The bite of a needle. Bile in his throat. Burning, glowing liquid. A rubber tube in his mouth. His own voice. Screams becoming whispers becoming silence.

Belle’s attention was focused entirely on making out the densely written words, much of them medical jargon, and attempting to make sense of what they were talking about. As he listened, the Creature leaned backwards until he was huddled against the doorway as far away from the painful words as possible. His clawed hands rose in distress – but instead of reaching for his ears, he clamped them tightly over his gills.

The pressure was an unfamiliar pain but the effect of his panic had an unexpected consequence – the dichotomy of gill and lung breathing diminished, allowing his vocal cords to flex for the first time in decades.

The voice that emerged was rough and garbled, but fully understandable.

S-sTOoo-oP!” His harsh cry instantly startled Belle from her research and she whirled in shock, dropping Zoso’s journal.

The sight to him arrested her instantly. “Did you say-?”

“No moRe! StOP!” He keened and then turned and fled, eyes wild. They were fixed on the water inside of the boathouse at the other end of the hallway. Escape.

By the time Belle came to her senses and surged after him, face twisting in realization, compassion, and worry, he was gone.

#Rumbelle fic #Monster Month #creature!fic #creature!Rumple #Creature of the Black Lagoon AU

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eridianshores-blog · 8 years

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The Walking Dead: Season 7, Part 1

Warning: There be SPOILERS ahead! If you don’t want the skinny on all the twists, turns, deaths, and surprises in the first half of Season 7, stop reading now!

Ready?

When we last left our motley crew of survivors, Negan and the Saviors thoroughly had them bent the fuck over...and someone got beat to death with a baseball bat (wrapped in barbed wire, though I’m not sure how much difference a few small cuts makes when your aim is to cave in someone’s skull). Honestly I expected Aaron to get it since he was the least main character, though my second guess was Eugene - especially since he seemed to have outlived his usefulness and the fact that he was trying to become more survivor-like. If you pressed me further I probably would’ve gone with Rosita or Sasha just because - narratively speaking - they’ve kinda been dead weight. I even considered Maggie as the possible victim just as a means of wrapping up the whole pregnancy thread without retreading ground we covered with Lori.

Well I was wrong; no surprise there as I’m apparently terrible at predicting events like these.

In what was already a really, really, really drawn out scene from the Season 6 finale, Season 7′s premiere makes it feel even longer. Granted some serious shit goes down, but it kinda feels like the punctuation at the end of a run-on sentence. Anywho, Abraham goes down, and not to be forgotten, tells Negan to “suck my nuts” after the first crushing blow. The second one drops him for good, and Negan turns poor Abrahams head into something resembling a smashed watermelon with a generous dose of red Jell-O.

Shocking, right? I guess. But in my mind Abraham never quite made that leap into the upper echelon of folks like Rick, Daryl, Carol, Carl, Glenn, Maggie, Michonne and maybe a couple of others I’m missing. Whatever import he carried had passed and he was quickly slipping into non-essential territory. His death would’ve had a greater impact back when he was at the forefront - namely on the road to Terminus - but as it is he’d just sort of slipped into the background.

So ol’ Abe is dead, Negan is still fucking talking...now what? Here’s where the real shocker comes. After all, we spent all summer (figuratively speaking in my case) knowing that someone was going down. But when Daryl’s angry lunge is met with the sudden and gratuitous execution of Glenn, well, I think my jaw hit the floor along with everyone else’s. Some criticism was leveled at the scene’s gore / violence / sadism / brutality / whatever you want to call it, but I didn’t bat much of an eye at that sort of stuff. Yeah, I realize a lot of “squares” got into the show and still squirm at the sight of CG brain matter and latex bite wounds, but I’d been watching zombies eat people along with other depraved acts of violence years before TWD hit the scene. If the show wants to push people’s buttons with gore and torture and brutality then by all means, go for it, but stuff like that is neither going to make or break an episode for me. Was it gratuitous and excessive? Probably, though I think some people forget that this is a horror-themed show and not an action-drama (stylistically speaking).

Back to Glenn though...yeah, I think it was a shitty move to kill him off. Was his fake death in episode 3 (ish) supposed to foreshadowing or some shit...? I’ve since read that his death was adapted from the comic book, but as I said in my previous post regarding Season 6, comics and TV are vastly different media and you can’t just transmute one to the other. What may have worked in the comics (I don’t know, I’ve never read them) isn’t necessarily going to play out the same way on screen, especially when the heightened emotional investment of the viewers is concerned.

After this cathartic yet jolting hour and change of television, the following episode introduces us to “The Kingdom,” replete with horses, spears, “armor,” and a fucking guy in an auditorium calling himself a king. With a giant tiger. WTF. Seriously. WTF. (This could well be another case of the comics not lending themselves well to the small screen...)

I wasn’t wild about this largely expository episode, especially as viewed through the Morgan-Carol lens. Some of that was due to their endless and circular conversation which wore on my nerves fast. The show is trying to find a place for Morgan but I don’t think they’ve really figured it out yet (respect for life is cool and interesting and all that, but in a world where it’s kill or be killed, you’ve got to go somewhere with it), and Carol is rapidly becoming a second-rate character due to her seemingly random onset of neurosis. Morgan is torn between the necessity to kill versus one’s ability to change. Has the show even attempted to reconcile that yet? No? Then let’s move the hell on. Oh, and Carol wants to be left alone? Do we really understand why? Is she any closer to telling us? No? Then let’s move the hell on.

Moving on. I promise I’m not going to spend this much time on each episode.

As the show enters its third episode, “The Cell,” it nearly grinds to a halt. What could’ve been a more insightful look into the Saviors, or a more sympathetic portrayal of Dwight, Sherry, and their hardships, or a further character study of Daryl, turned out to be a 10 minute story strung out over an hour. All we do is watch Negan attempt to break Daryl, which doesn’t even work. We basically expect Daryl to endure whatever the Saviors throw at him, and he does. What is so frustrating is that the story doesn’t advance one iota.

And then there’s the fourth episode which really tries my patience. Negan comes to Alexandria, scares the shit out of everyone, and relieves Alexandria of nearly all of its creature comforts and most of its necessities (despite claiming to only want “half”). Negan talks...and talks...and talks...and talks some more, while Rick skitters around with his tail between his legs, eager to prevent any further deaths. It’s a little difficult to watch in one sitting, mostly because every uncomfortable moment is stretched and milked and then absolutely beaten to death...before moving on to the next. It’s like...intense yet stagnant at the same time...I think that’s the best way to describe it.

A quarter way through the season and the ho-hum pace is become obvious. Can we get a true Negan encounter or at least change the status quo within the next 4 episodes...? It’s not looking good.

Episode 5 spends most of its time at the Hilltop, still staunchly refusing to actually advance the plot. Compared to the best of The Walking Dead, this episode is another snooze-fest. Maggie and Sasha and “Jesus” and Gregory go at it some more and blah blah blah. The Saviors bring some zombies over in the middle of the night and it seems the only people in the whole damn settlement capable of doing anything about it are sick, pregnant Maggie and Sasha. Then Negan’s main crony, Simon, comes to town and basically does all the same shit we’ve watched Negan do: talk, threaten, demean, dehumanize, and fucking talk.

What I don’t understand about this episode is Maggie and Sasha’s hard fought battle to stay at the Hilltop. For the life of me (maybe I missed an important line somewhere or something) I can’t figure out how “going to Hilltop to get Maggie a doctor” turned into “Maggie and Sasha live at the Hilltop now,” seemingly indefinitely. I could understand if they wanted to hang back a while while she recovered or got her strength back or whatever, but the flavor of their conversations with Jesus and Gregory seem to plainly indicate that their intention is to remain at Hilltop for the long run. As much as this group has talked about family and helping each other and all that shit, I just can’t understand Maggie and Sasha’s sudden willingness - nay, desire, to remain in Hilltop and leave Alexandria behind, especially without even a word edgewise.

And while we’re on the subject, we’ve got a similar situation going on over at the Kingdom. Back at the beginning of that episode, Morgan mentioned to Carol that they should stay a week or so while she recovers from her 2 gunshots. First of all, Carol recovers remarkably quickly from a bullet to the arm and another to the leg, and we know that large amounts of time aren’t passing because of Negan’s weekly visits to Alexandria - the whole first half of this season seems to occur over the course of about 2 weeks.

Anyway, after throwing enough fits, Morgan escorts Carol to the abandoned house outside of but near the Kingdom. Now then, with Carol obviously capable of caring for herself and Ezekiel looking after her besides, why the fuck doesn’t Morgan promptly return to Alexandria with the news, “hey everyone, there’s this whole other community full of decent people not too far away and they’re receiving regular bitchslaps from the Saviors as well!” I mean not only would this be the decent thing to do as a member of this “familial unit” but it may also prove to be valuable strategic knowledge that could directly impact the safety of its residents. Why the hell is he milling around the Kingdom eating pomegranates and smiling at the sun or what the hell ever? It doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. I get that the writers are trying to set up something, but they can’t just scatter our little group willy nilly and suddenly act like they don’t give a shit about their comrades or if their people have a fucking clue where they are, if they’re alive, dead, whatever. We could at least be given a few lines of dialog as to why they’re not returning to Alexandria. So far this is something that has really really bothered me about the season. It just doesn’t seem like these characters would vanish without a good reason and without letting their group know...it just seems wildly uncharacteristic and like the writers are outright forcing them into these situations without valid reasoning.

Going into episode 6 we’ve got to move forward, at least a little bit, right? RIGHT!? Oh no, wait, there’s that girl...and that dude..who somewhat inexplicably hit the road for 2 weeks in search of supplies. Why Tara and Heath of all people? Why didn’t a more competent fight - and a more seasoned scavenger for that matter - accompany them or hell, go instead? Who knows. It was weird when they mentioned it way back in Season 6 and it still doesn’t make any damn sense. The 2 most elite members of the A-team (Rick and Daryl) go out on a sorghum run, yet the timid Tara who’s spent a large part of the outbreak in a dark apartment and relative newcomer Heath who’s lived in the relative comfort and safety behind Alexandria’s walls up until the past couple of months are the sole members of this 2 week expedition...? Methinks this decision was made with a shrug and out of convenience, and I don’t like it, but that’s the way it is.

We catch up with half of the inept duo, washed up on a beach somewhere. Long story short we’re introduced to the rather odd community of Oceanside...at lest that’s what Wikipedia calls it; as of the mid-season finale, I don’t think it’s been given an official name on the show. Through one contrivance or another, Tara manages to be like, the only stranger ever not to be shot on sight by this community of, strangely enough, nothing but women and girls. (Is it just me or is there something ironic about them (lots o’ women) living at the coast and having an endless supply of fish!?)

I don’t know which was more uninteresting: an episode revolving solely around Tara or this fucking Oceanside establishment. We lost people blah blah, times are hard blah blah, I hope you understand why we can’t trust strangers, blah blah blah fucking blah. It seems purely like Oceanside is a source of cannon fodder for whatever is going to happen with Negan. Far too late into the episode do we finally find out that the Saviors murdered all the men and the remaining survivors fled and established the current settlement. This is of course after they pretended to be cool with releasing Tara and then trying to kill her, something which I’m still not sure I completely understand. Tara is assisted by a sympathetic member of the group who makes her swear not to tell anyone about the community; Tara eventually makes it back to Alexandria only to find out all the horrible news: her girlfriend’s dead, Ford is dead, Glenn is dead, and the camp now inks out a living under the tyrannical rule of Negan. Whoopee. You’d think after all this she would’ve at least confided in someone about Oceanside - maybe not Rosita as she was at the time - but at least someone. Hell, at least she came back.

We also get a snippet into Tara’s 2 week excursion with Heath, which was far less interesting than it should’ve been. Basically they didn’t find shit, found an abandoned camp on a bridge (which by the way was a really cool place / idea for an encampment and I would’ve loved to see more of it), and then - not totally unexpectedly - their novice post-apocalyptic survival skills put them smack in the middle of a zombie attack. And after all that we still have no idea what the hell happened to Heath. I guess he discovered another settlement, haha. No but seriously, I wouldn’t be surprised.

I’m ok suspending disbelief, really, I am, but I think it’s a little too convenient that within the span of what must be only a couple of weeks our group has suddenly discovered 4 additional settlements. Throughout all their travels from Atlanta to whether they are in Virginia they never ran across anything remotely resembling a permanent settlement or long-term community except for Woodbury, Terminus, and maybe that hospital, though I question how permanent that arrangement really was. More than that though, I can’t understand how the scouts and runners for Alexandria didn’t discover these places, or at least a hint of their existence. And for that matter, how come none of these places discovered Alexandria? We’ve yet to find out if any of these places knew about each other (excluding the Saviors, obviously) but so far there’s no indication that the Hilltop, the Kingdom, or the residents of the former or current Oceanside have any awareness of each other. I’m not questioning the existence of the communities themselves, I just think it’s unlikely for the Alexandrians to encounter 4 of them for the first time in 2(ish) short weeks.

At this point we’ve been diverted every which way - the Hilltop, the Sanctuary, Oceanside...and we really haven’t made much headway going into the penultimate episode of the season’s first half. Episode 7 is still mostly exposition, though we get a semi-insightful glimpse of the world that is the Sanctuary. We’re also treated to one of the most balls-to-the-wall moments of the entire series thus far: Carl mowing down a couple of Negan’s men and 110% ready to keep unloading. Jesus and Carl have both trailed the Saviors back to their home compound, with Jesus choosing to remain hidden while Carl goes into full blown MDK mode.

Carl’s behavior also brings up an interesting point that I alluded to in my Season 6 post concerning Negan’s methods of control. See, the problem with Negan’s brand of cruelty is that he leaves his subjects with nothing left to lose, which in turn will lead to revolts of the most fervent, determined, and bloody kind. It would seem to me that people in the midst of this amount of suffering would be so miserable that losing their lives in service of at least trying to break free would be the way to go. If they die then so what? Negan has made their lives so fearful and meaningless that they truly have nothing left to lose. This is exactly how Carl acts, and why he’s the only one is beyond me, especially after seeing how downtrodden and afraid and broken the residents of the Sanctuary truly are. You can’t sustain a rule with violence and fear for very long. There is only so much pain and suffering that a human will endure before they’re willing to try anything, at any cost, to alleviate this pain. Maybe this is what we’re building up to - Dwight’s looks of dissention certainly seem to suggest something in the ballpark - but even so, Negan seems to have operated for a very long time, leaving me to wonder how he maintained his rule for so long.

Anyway, the episode tries to gradually build tension throughout Carl’s guided tour (with Negan as the tour guide) of the Saviors’ home, though for some reason I never really got the impression that Carl’s life was in any danger. Now what Negan might do to the other Alexandrians, well, that’s another story and certainly something worth dreading, but as far as Carl himself, I felt pretty confident that he’d skate through the encounter somehow.

I will say that despite the episode’s shortcomings, it was a great, nay, fantastic showcase for Carl’s character, a guy who’s been mostly relegated to awkward and confounding encounters with the why-the-hell-are-you-here Enid. Being a young kid at the show’s onset, it was tough to give Carl meaningful arcs or development and he mostly served as a foil for Rick and Lori. As he’s gotten older though, he’s definitely grown into his character a bit more, and never is that more evident than here in “Sing Me a Song.”

We’ve already established his ultimate badassery via the act of fearlessly popping up out of the truck with a fucking machine gun and pulling the trigger without a shred of hesitation, but there’s another great moment up in Negan’s office (or lounge or whatever) where Carl proves he’s got balls big enough for a dumptruck. I don’t remember the dialog verbatim, but at one point he calls Negan’s bluff about hurting him and proclaims that if he was smart he’d kill him and Rick right now. And he’s not just being young and dumb and posturing - he is scared, he is rattled, and he is concerned about the repercussions of his actions, but he’s saying this shit anyway, which is worth about a million points in my book. What will perhaps go down as one of the greatest lines ever uttered throughout the series (along with Abe’s “suck my nuts” mid-execution) is Carl’s vitriol-filled response to Negan’s, “what do you think I should do with you?” to which Carl retorts, “I think you should jump out of that window and save me the trouble of killing you,” delivered with all the venom and hatred that this post-apocalyptic world has to offer. BAM. It don’t get much more badass than that. Daryl, you’ve got some competition. I’m not sure Negan quite takes Carl seriously, but I like to believe I detected the tiniest bit of anxiety in his face...I like to think that at least some small part of him was shaken by Carl’s cold, nigh psychotic suggestion. Ultimately I suspect that Negan will get his comeuppance; I can only hope it’s at the hands of Carl by way of Lucille, and that the event doesn’t scar Carl too much and make him all withdrawn and mopey for a season. I hope he walks away from Negan’s shattered cranium with his head held high, fully aware that his actions will ripple (for the better) across whatever immediate future there is for the area. Ol’ “One-Eyed Carl” will definitely be a bright spot worth paying attention to as the seasons wear on.

Although we do learn a little bit more about the Saviors, particularly that they live under the same oppression as the other communities, if not worse, it’s still just a big ol’ dose of Negan talking and talking and talking and talking. Perhaps most importantly we’re witness to a punishment known as “the iron,” and thereby clued in to the reason behind Dwight’s gruesome disfigurement. I realize that Dwight’s been built up to sort of be Daryl’s nemesis ever since their first encounter, way back in pre-Savior days, but the writers also seem to be setting the stage for Dwight to play a crucial role in the inevitable uprising against Negan. The real suspense in this episode happens as Negan escorts Carl back to Alexandria...but then he just talks and talks and talks some more. It’s not all bad necessarily, there’s just too much time and focus dedicated to how charismatically twisted Negan is. I think it’d be more productive if he let go of his schtick for just a moment and really clue us in to why he is the way he is and what he’s really trying to prove or accomplish beyond being a power-mad sociopath (and maybe that’s all he is).

I mean even back in the days of the Governor, at least he did some good amidst whatever issues he had. He had his dark side and his cronies and Merle on hand to take out the trash, but he wasn’t simply depraved for the sake of being depraved. He built something. And then he actually built something again. There was definitely a piece of his brain dedicated to being a crazy shit, but he also did a lot of what he did because he thought it was the right thing to do and because he was genuinely interested in protecting his people and creating a purposeful life for them. Does Negan actually think he’s building something or accomplishing anything? Was he the product of some other tyrant or has he always been this way? Was he ever the victim? Is there anything or anyone he genuinely cares about? Is there really any purpose behind this rampant acquisition and exploitation beyond his instant gratification? These are all things that would give Negan a lot more depth and make his copious amounts of screen time far more justifiable. Maybe we’ll learn more. I hope so. Right now he’s basically the devil incarnate, and while that may account for some quick thrills, pure evil isn’t all that interesting.

Ok, deep breath, mid-season finale...is this too gonna fizzle out or will we finally be propelled into something other than Negan bitch-dom or some new group of shacks and shanties and another cadre of scared-as-hell survivors? In a nutshell, this is easily the best episode of the season thus far, though that’s not necessarily high praise.

We pick up where the previous episode left off and watch the group splinter even further: Michonne goes out on her own, Spencer ventures out, Rick and Aaron desperately seek supplies for Negan, and Rosita berates Eugene in taking her to the machinist shop to make her a single bullet. It’s kind of a lot to keep up with but ultimately I think the episode reconciles these threads well enough - certainly better than they have in quite a while.

Rick and Aaron provide us with the most interesting sojourn whereby they track down a now-dead survivor’s cache of supplies. The problem? They’re all loaded onto a boat on the other side of the pond...a pond filled with anchored zombies. Lo and behold there’s a boat at the shore...but it’s been riddled with bullet holes. This is tangential and a minor point, but I never understood Rick and Aaron’s approach to using the small boat. Their strategy was to go as fast as possible and hopefully cross the relatively short yet treacherous distance to the larger boat full of supplies. Using pieces of wood they row and do alright until about the halfway point where they’re almost overtaken by zombies, Aaron falls into the water and is nearly killed. What I don’t understand is why didn’t the guy in the rear row slowly and more cautiously while the guy in front killed upcoming zombies and bailed water out in the meantime. At the slow rate that the boat was filling with water, someone continually bailing out water would’ve been able to keep it afloat indefinitely. I mean it doesn’t really matter since they were able to collect the supplies without injury, it just seemed like one of those situations that could’ve been handled much more safely.

Beyond that though, I don’t understand why they didn’t just walk around the pond and get at the boat from the other end. We see the mysterious mis-matched boot man peering from behind, and it’s easy to see that the pond wouldn’t have taken more than a few minutes to walk around. Regardless, I did kinda like the idea of a boat as a supply cache in the middle of a pond “guarded” by anchored zombies.

Back at home in Alexandria the vibe is as nervous as ever as Negan continues his psychological torment of Carl and Olivia. (I would include Judith, but obviously she’s too young to have any clue what’s going on.) And just then big dick Spencer waltzes on over with some liquor in an obvious attempt to curry favor with Negan. Initially I thought the guy had come around and finally grown a brain and was trying to work some kind of angle, but then he just threw all his cards on the table and basically asks Negan to kill Rick and put him in charge instead. At first Negan seems agreeable, but I knew better. (Finally I had an accurate prediction!) Negan makes 2 excellent points, 1) Rick is the one out there “swallowing his hate” and getting shit done, and 2) if Spencer wants to be in charge so bad, why doesn’t he just kill Rick himself and take charge? Once it was apparent that Negan saw Spencer for who he really was - a coward - we pretty much know what’s going to happen next, though I will say that I didn’t think it’d be so graphic.

So Spencer is dead, but who really gives a shit? You’d think that the death of his brother, then his dad, and then his mother would’ve made him into something more than the naive little flake that he was, but no. I’m not saying I’m glad he died necessarily, but I am glad the writers smartly handled his attempted betrayal via Negan. I’m impressed that the writers actually gave Negan the capacity to see through Spencer’s pandering instead of some weird situation where we have Negan very openly on Rick’s ass and Spencer behind the scenes trying to subvert Rick’s every move. One important thing about this scene is that it shows us that Negan is not a diplomat nor interested in diplomacy. He recognizes Rick’s value as a survivor in this world versus Spencer’s, and chooses this productive enemy over any type of superficial cordiality with Spencer. Good for you, Negan. I guess. Sortta.

Directly following the “Evisceration of Spencer,” Rosita throws all her chickens in her only basket and pulls the trigger. By the magic of television, the bullet strikes Lucille but clearly scares the shit out of Negan. Some random crony is ready to carve up Rosita’s face, but in true Savior fashion, Negan shows people that it isn’t themselves that will suffer for their own actions, rather it is the innocent that will endure the consequences. For whatever reason the lady-thug decides to off Olivia, who joins Denise and Deanna and Noah and Jessie and others as a casualty of background-character-who-we-sort-of-start-getting-to-know-gets-killed syndrome. Oh well. I seriously thought Rosita was going to get the bat since she seems to have outlived her usefulness.

Now what happens next is 1,000,000,000% perplexing: not only does Negan decide to inspect the casing from the spent round, but he also has a keen enough knowledge of guns n’ ammo to detect that the bullet was clandestinely fashioned. This seems extremely far-fetched to me, and I’m not sure I even really understand the point of it other than to kidnap Eugene and show us that Eugene has grown a pair when he admits to making the bullet after Tara falsely confesses...then again, hasn’t the show been intent on updating us on the status of Eugene’s usefulness every 4 or 5 episodes...? Why this? Why now?

I know that the Saviors cleared out Alexandria’s armory and that having a bullet fired at him would be reason to be suspicious, but at the same time, is it really so hard to believe that Rosita managed to find a gun (and a bullet) while scavenging? Is “let me inspect this spent casing” really the first thing that runs through his head after being shot at? When he asks himself where someone got the firearm and the ammo is the first possibility his mind shoots to really, “hmm I bet someone made this damn bullet!” Did someone make the damn gun too? He doesn’t seem all that concerned with where she got the actual gun from. And seriously, how the fuck does he enough to distinguish a homemade bullet? Had we been treated to a scene or two where it was previously established that Negan had some sort of elaborate knowledge of firearms I could swallow the pill a little easier, but no, right out of the clear blue he’s certain that someone made a bullet. Whatever. You get the point. Couldn’t Negan have nabbed Eugene for some other reason? Hell, does he even need a reason?

The most significant moments of “Hearts Still Beating” occur as the episode begins to wind down. Daryl escapes with the aid of Jesus, savagely murdering a scared fat guy who gives us a shred of enlightenment when he pleads, “I’m just tryin’ to get by man, just like you!” Daryl is understandably beyond all appeals of reason from these people (hence the skull-busting) though I did kinda feel bad for the fat fella.

Also of import is Richard’s (one of Ezekiel’s main soldiers, like the Kingdom’s head of security or something) pitch to Carol and Morgan regarding the Saviors. The 2 communities seem to be at odds with each other a lot less than the Saviors’ other subordinate settlements, yet the relationship appears tenuous based on the exchange we saw back in “The Well.” Richard evidently recognizes the volatility of the Saviors and the inevitability that relations will sour and seeks to act proactively despite Ezekiel’s passive and placating nature. He needs warriors behind him, and he needs help in convincing Ezekiel to go to war. Carol goes into full-on bitch-mode without a shred of regard or concern for basically anyone, refusing almost to the point of stubbornness.

Meanwhile, Morgan is so goddamned in love with every scrap of life that he fails to even make any sense, espousing his philosophy to the point of ridiculousness by saying pretentious shit like, “you don’t have to kill them, you just think you have to,” or something of equal flavor and devoid of practical meaning. I don’t quite get it to be honest, and it almost seems like Morgan is of the impression that just because he doesn’t want to kill someone means that they won’t kill him. Or all these other folks he claims to give a shit about. Then as an enraged and dejected Richard departs, Morgan and Carol manage to get into the same tired altercation where Carol just covers her ears and shuts her eyes and shouts, “leave me alone!” until the room is clear. (That doesn’t literally happen, I’m just so sick of it and her one-track mind.) It’s a shame because I really thought the vaguely philosophical banter between Morgan and Carol would lead to some interesting conclusions, but all it’s done is spiral into the same tired and ultimately meaningless cyclical gridlock.

Richard then goes and has a Governor-esque moment in his hidden camper full of what I assume to be off-the-record supplies...not really sure what all that’s about but I’m pulling for him and he’s got the sort of mindset that’ll really jumpstart this played out “Negan will fuck your ass up” storyline. And judging by the previews for the second half of the season he won’t be alone for long. But he’ll probably die before long, since that’s what happens to tertiary characters right about the time you learn their name and they become a recognizable face.

Then there’s the matter of Michonne, who without hardly breaking a sweat learns where the Sanctuary is. And then she kills the bitch that drove her there in straight up cold blood. But she does gain some valuable tactical info about the Saviors, which is a hell of a lot more than anyone else has managed. She comes home to an absolutely shattered version of Rick (the 2 appear to have gotten pretty serious about each other) and somehow, between her almost anti-inspirational speech about the behemoth that is the Saviors and Rick’s crushing psychological dismantling at the hands of Negan, convinces our fearless leader that the time for war has come. The A-team marches up to the Hilltop and lucky for them, Sasha, Maggie, and Jesus have all come to a similar conclusion. Daryl is finally reunited with the group and you know damn well he’s ready to slit the throats of any and every warm body in the Sanctuary. They’ve also got an ally in Richard who’s over in his camper breaking bottles and crying, they just don’t know it yet. At this point it looks like Oceanside wants to do anything but fight, plus no one knows about them save for Tara anyway, though I think it’s apparent that they’ll somehow be drawn into the coming conflict.

And so the halfway point wraps on an inspirational, borderline uplifting note. The promise of action seems inherent, but The Walking Dead has a weird way of putting off honest to goodness action and narrative momentum so I’ll try to temper my expectations. We still don’t know what happened to Heath (do we care...?) and Eugene’s fate is anything but certain (seriously though, how many times can we watch the poor guy oscillate between blubbering weiner and doing something requiring balls...) but otherwise this was a mostly satisfying mid-season finale and a welcome change from the bullshit cliffhangers we’ve become all too accustomed to.

The dead returns on February 12th, and hopefully I’ll be in a position (and remember) to at least catch the encore or encore-encore broadcast. Overall this hasn’t been the best of front-half seasons, though I wouldn’t consider it a failure, just paced a little too oddly for its own good. Maybe instead of devoting an episode to the Kingdom, and then another to Alexandria, and then another to Hilltop, and then another to Oceanside, TWD could take 2 or 3 of them an alternate between storylines in a single episode - shows do it all the time. We get a segment of Alexandria, cut to commercial, come back to Oceanside, and so on. I feel like this would do a lot to alleviate the choppy, disconnected feeling of the series at this point, and it would also provide some padding for plot threads like those of Oceanside (the episode “Swear”) where we don’t really have a strong lead to adequately carry the show. As an example, regardless of what you think of Alana Masterson’s acting abilities, it’s just plain fact that Tara doesn’t have enough of an emotional rapport with the audience to carry her own episode. Conversely, Morgan and Carol are certainly able to do just that, yet fail to (back in “The Well”) because of how the episode is written. The limitations of TV actually become more apparent when the show hedges all its bets like this, and I sincerely hope that this doesn’t happen again. They did the same shit back in Season 4 with the journey to Terminus; it was frustrating to watch then and it’s frustrating to watch now.

I liken it to different subjects in school. In a given 6-ish hour day you go to something like 4 to 6 different classes...stuff like math, English, history, science, music, art, and so on. What if Mondays were all about math. You get to school and for 6 straight hours you’re bombarded with nothing but math. Then comes Tuesday and you’ve gotta study history for 6 hours, and so on. Now if you really love math, Mondays are going to be fucking awesome for you. But if you absolutely abhor history, Tuesdays are going to be one long ass unforgiving hell. The alternative? Why not study each subject for an hour every day? Every morning you’ve got an hour of math, and then an hour of science, and then an hour of history, etc. Sure, you only get to study what you love for an hour of a day, but a) at least you get a little bit of what you really enjoy everyday instead of once a week, and b) that history class that you really can’t stand only lasts an hour. No matter how bad it is, you’re only 59 minutes away from reprieve, which I think we can all agree is a hell of a lot better than 359 minutes.

There’s another advantage to smaller daily doses as well. If you’re doing English and only English on Wednesdays, you may cover a lot of ground, but how much of that is going to stick from then all the way until the following Wednesday? Not only are you dealing with whatever volume of material that can be stuffed into 6 hours, you’ve got to retain this massive block of information for 7 days and in the midst of 6-hour chunks of all sorts of other information! See what I’m saying? Now if you approach it the other way, you’ve got a lot less information to hang on to and a lot less time that you’re forced to retain it.

In case my point wasn’t crystal clear by now, I’m saying that devoting entire episodes to a single thread is detrimental to the viewing experience and may actually hurt one’s view of the show. If, for example, you really just can’t get behind and identify with Tara’s character, then the entire episode of “Swear” is going to be a complete and utter bust for you. It’s also a jolt to be forced to re-acclimate to a different setting every episode too. “Ok, so we’re back in Alexandria...wait, what happened last time? Is so-and-so still here? Does so-and-so know that such-and-such happened?” It can be tough to recall the finer details and plot points of past episodes, especially considering that, if you watch it as it airs, it may be 3 or 4 weeks between appearances by a certain character. So c’mon folks, delegate these stories properly between episodes; if you ask me, this whole method of singularly focusing on a single situation per episode is kinda...well...lazy.

Finally, the other aspect that’s held this half-a-season back is the lack of emotional depth and/or character development regarding our Big Bad. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again (and so have others): Negan’s endless chatter gets fucking boring. “Less is more” would’ve been an appropriate philosophy when approaching the portrayal of Negan. His peculiar brand of jovial ruthlessness would make much more of an impression if his monologues were used sporadically and to punctuate certain events rather than outright carry them. The simple fact is that Negan is a victim of over-exposure. Now were he an actual person this wouldn’t be so bad, because ideally all this time we spend with him would reveal multiple layers to his personality. But we never really get to this point. I also said earlier that Negan is little more than evil for the sake of evil, and while disturbing, it still gets old because all we really see is that he’s doing awful shit because he enjoys doing awful shit and will continue to do so. He is a very static character in all regards and I feel like this is/was a grievous error committed by the writers.

It is possible that the latter half of Season 7 can help make up for the lackluster experience of wading through the former half, but we’ll have to see some damn crafty work. There ain’t room for more than 1 or 2 duds...no more of these hard breaks between threads and lots more advancement of the plot, whatever that may be. One critic remarked that this first half was like “laying out all the pieces on the new chessboard” and that we “finally got to moving some of them around” going into the 7th episode “Sing Me a Song.” This is a pretty accurate metaphor (if not a tad euphemistic) for what we’ve seen thus far, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that this is a chess match worth watching.

#the walking dead #walking dead #walking dead season 7 #the walking dead season 7 #walking dead negan #walking dead saviors #walking dead hilltop #walking dead alexandria #walking dead oceanside #walking dead kingdom #walking dead sanctuary #walking dead carl

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