Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Schuldig: Contemplations ❯ Schuldig: Contemplations ( One-Shot )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Ann H 
Another part in the series:
Walking in London
Pilgrimage
Crawford: The Art of War
Schuldig: Contemplations
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 12.19.2002 | Updated On: 12.23.2002 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.1K | Visits: 721 | Status: Completed
Another part in the series:
Walking in London
Pilgrimage
Crawford: The Art of War
Schuldig: Contemplations
Anime/Manga: Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama | Type: One Shot | Uploaded On: 12.19.2002 | Updated On: 12.23.2002 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.1K | Visits: 721 | Status: Completed
Title: Schuldig: Contemplations
Author: Ann
Rating: PG-13 for mature themes, cursing and mentions of violence. My stories tend to include male/male sexual inclinations and relationships. If you are too young to handle such ideas, or simply don't care for this concept, please stop reading now.
Pairings: Part of a series featuring BxS... eventually.
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz characters and all rights belong to Takehito Koyasu and Project Weiss. This is fan fiction and no profit is made from this endeavor.
Notes: AU. Another part in the series that started with "Walking in London" then continued in "Pilgrimage" and "Crawford: The Art of War." Schuldig POV, because the bastard wouldn't stay out of my head. What Schu wants, Schu gets: Crawford, take notes. <g>
Look! No songs, one quote: I must not be well. Sorry, it's another short one.
Many thanks to Aleczandra for providing the French words used in the story!
Thought they went to Rosenkreuz, and were under Esset's control? Think again! Still, if you disregard the Schwarz CD's, this can be considered an alternate timeline leading up to the events in Weiss Kreuz.
*emphasis*
//song lyrics or quotes//
~telepathy~
#thoughts#
***
//The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there is any reaction, both are transformed// -- Carl Jung
Crawford and I are very much alike.
Yeah, a smile might actually break through that cool, unruffled demeanor were I to say that out loud. The man rarely smiles, and when he does it's seldom for pleasant reasons, so I take every chance to cut through the icy mask to reach the man hidden within. Why don't I say it, then?
Maybe because it's true, and I don't want to hear him claim otherwise. He can make derisive comments about my ability to follow orders, my impetuousness, even my wardrobe, but not about my intelligence. I may not have his formal schooling, but I have a different type of smarts.
He knows strategy; I know people. He sees future events; I see today, any secret, any thought that isn't his. I don't see where one gift is any better than the other; in fact, I think that we combine to make the perfect team. I know that I'm smarter than he thinks I am, and that he's more human than he thinks he is.
I may not be able to read his mind, but I know how to read *him*: body language, facial expressions, the choice of words, the varied subtleties of tone: all conspire to tell a story, to reveal what wasn't meant to be revealed. Imagine his horror if I told him his meticulous appearance, professional demeanor and controlling ways instead revealed his some of his most private secrets and fears to me.
I won't do that to him: I may argue with him, complain about boredom and chafe at his unwillingness to share more details of his plans with me, but I don't want to hurt him.
He's *my* bastard.
We really are much alike: his early life mirrored mine in so many, awful ways: being different, being chased, killing to escape, killing to survive, finally living life on our own terms. He deals with the painful memories and the tensions of today by managing everything and everyone, while I use my music, my occasional one-night stands and my telepathy for the same reasons.
Oracle or Mastermind, we can never quite escape our inner demons. But together, we can overcome them. Someday he'll understand that.
It's been ten months since he first tracked me down. He caught me off guard, something no one else has ever done, and for that alone I should hate him. Instead, I admire him: admire his cool composure, much as I long to shatter it; admire his cunning and his ruthlessness, a capacity for violence that matches my own; admire his determination, his strength of character, even as I plan to break through those self-imposed barriers protecting him from the world.
Ah, but those ten months have been an education. I already knew German and English, but at Crawford's insistence I now speak fluent Japanese, and have a fair grasp of Mandarin and French.
I told him once the French will be make even sexier our whispered endearments during and after sex. He glared at me, but didn't say a word. He can lie to others, but not me, and his silence told me everything he was afraid I would hear.
Bientôt, Brad, vous crierez pour moi. (1)
My studies went beyond languages. Crawford insisted I study a number of things. I found politics boring, geography only slightly less so, but the information on Japanese history and culture was quite interesting. I am going to enjoy our time there.
The etiquette lessons, though, were quite humorous. I really should thank my stoic partner for those. How to speak, how to eat, how to be a perfect gentleman. Now I know exactly what *not* to do. Really, he just makes it too easy to get under his skin.
Et maintenant je sais quelle fourchette enfoncer dans ses cul. (2)
My greatest education, however, has been watching him. My American partner is so focused, it's no wonder he's been successful in every endeavor he's undertaken. I trust him to make the plans, to direct our future. For Crawford, survival is first, followed by power; for me survival is first, followed by life. All I need to do is shake is his complacency every now and then, occasionally play the irresponsible fool, the teasing slut, whatever it takes to ditch Crawford and find Brad.
He will lead us to safety and power, and I will make sure he enjoys the results.
Whenever he catches me watching him, he thinks I'm caught up in his looks, his body. A small truth, buried within a big fat lie. The attractive wrapping only covers the fascinating soul within. I won't be satisfied with only the surface, Brad: I want all of you.
He really can be an idiot at times. The look on his face when he realizes this truth will be priceless.
There are just some things a vision cannot prepare you for. Soon, Brad. I can feel it.
***
Notes:
(1) Translation from French: Soon, Brad, you will scream for me.
(2) Translation from French: And now I know the correct fork to stick up his ass.
< br>
Author: Ann
Rating: PG-13 for mature themes, cursing and mentions of violence. My stories tend to include male/male sexual inclinations and relationships. If you are too young to handle such ideas, or simply don't care for this concept, please stop reading now.
Pairings: Part of a series featuring BxS... eventually.
Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz characters and all rights belong to Takehito Koyasu and Project Weiss. This is fan fiction and no profit is made from this endeavor.
Notes: AU. Another part in the series that started with "Walking in London" then continued in "Pilgrimage" and "Crawford: The Art of War." Schuldig POV, because the bastard wouldn't stay out of my head. What Schu wants, Schu gets: Crawford, take notes. <g>
Look! No songs, one quote: I must not be well. Sorry, it's another short one.
Many thanks to Aleczandra for providing the French words used in the story!
Thought they went to Rosenkreuz, and were under Esset's control? Think again! Still, if you disregard the Schwarz CD's, this can be considered an alternate timeline leading up to the events in Weiss Kreuz.
*emphasis*
//song lyrics or quotes//
~telepathy~
#thoughts#
***
//The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there is any reaction, both are transformed// -- Carl Jung
Crawford and I are very much alike.
Yeah, a smile might actually break through that cool, unruffled demeanor were I to say that out loud. The man rarely smiles, and when he does it's seldom for pleasant reasons, so I take every chance to cut through the icy mask to reach the man hidden within. Why don't I say it, then?
Maybe because it's true, and I don't want to hear him claim otherwise. He can make derisive comments about my ability to follow orders, my impetuousness, even my wardrobe, but not about my intelligence. I may not have his formal schooling, but I have a different type of smarts.
He knows strategy; I know people. He sees future events; I see today, any secret, any thought that isn't his. I don't see where one gift is any better than the other; in fact, I think that we combine to make the perfect team. I know that I'm smarter than he thinks I am, and that he's more human than he thinks he is.
I may not be able to read his mind, but I know how to read *him*: body language, facial expressions, the choice of words, the varied subtleties of tone: all conspire to tell a story, to reveal what wasn't meant to be revealed. Imagine his horror if I told him his meticulous appearance, professional demeanor and controlling ways instead revealed his some of his most private secrets and fears to me.
I won't do that to him: I may argue with him, complain about boredom and chafe at his unwillingness to share more details of his plans with me, but I don't want to hurt him.
He's *my* bastard.
We really are much alike: his early life mirrored mine in so many, awful ways: being different, being chased, killing to escape, killing to survive, finally living life on our own terms. He deals with the painful memories and the tensions of today by managing everything and everyone, while I use my music, my occasional one-night stands and my telepathy for the same reasons.
Oracle or Mastermind, we can never quite escape our inner demons. But together, we can overcome them. Someday he'll understand that.
It's been ten months since he first tracked me down. He caught me off guard, something no one else has ever done, and for that alone I should hate him. Instead, I admire him: admire his cool composure, much as I long to shatter it; admire his cunning and his ruthlessness, a capacity for violence that matches my own; admire his determination, his strength of character, even as I plan to break through those self-imposed barriers protecting him from the world.
Ah, but those ten months have been an education. I already knew German and English, but at Crawford's insistence I now speak fluent Japanese, and have a fair grasp of Mandarin and French.
I told him once the French will be make even sexier our whispered endearments during and after sex. He glared at me, but didn't say a word. He can lie to others, but not me, and his silence told me everything he was afraid I would hear.
Bientôt, Brad, vous crierez pour moi. (1)
My studies went beyond languages. Crawford insisted I study a number of things. I found politics boring, geography only slightly less so, but the information on Japanese history and culture was quite interesting. I am going to enjoy our time there.
The etiquette lessons, though, were quite humorous. I really should thank my stoic partner for those. How to speak, how to eat, how to be a perfect gentleman. Now I know exactly what *not* to do. Really, he just makes it too easy to get under his skin.
Et maintenant je sais quelle fourchette enfoncer dans ses cul. (2)
My greatest education, however, has been watching him. My American partner is so focused, it's no wonder he's been successful in every endeavor he's undertaken. I trust him to make the plans, to direct our future. For Crawford, survival is first, followed by power; for me survival is first, followed by life. All I need to do is shake is his complacency every now and then, occasionally play the irresponsible fool, the teasing slut, whatever it takes to ditch Crawford and find Brad.
He will lead us to safety and power, and I will make sure he enjoys the results.
Whenever he catches me watching him, he thinks I'm caught up in his looks, his body. A small truth, buried within a big fat lie. The attractive wrapping only covers the fascinating soul within. I won't be satisfied with only the surface, Brad: I want all of you.
He really can be an idiot at times. The look on his face when he realizes this truth will be priceless.
There are just some things a vision cannot prepare you for. Soon, Brad. I can feel it.
***
Notes:
(1) Translation from French: Soon, Brad, you will scream for me.
(2) Translation from French: And now I know the correct fork to stick up his ass.
< br>