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willehugsimme · 2 years

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🌼Young Royals S2 Predictions🌼

Thank you for tagging me in this @books-books-smolderinglooks ! This was super fun to do and has filled me to the brim with inspiration for fic that I’ll never write. 😸

The rules are simple: Copy the questions into a post and answer them to the best of you ability. Tag other people to join, if you want to, and remember to use #YR2quiz (important so your quiz answers wont get lost). Enjoy, and have fun. May the best fortuneteller win!

1. What month will season 2 be released? August. Just to fuck with the association. But truthfully June. She’s a pride number.

2. What episode will Simon and Wilhelm have their first S2 kiss (who will initiate the kiss)? 3? But then I do assume that this season will have 8 episodes instead of 6 and I think it’s not going to be a ‘we can finally be together’ kiss but a ‘shit i miss you and can’t stand living without you like this’ kiss. I think Wilhelm will set it in motion.

3. How will Simon find out about August being behind the leak? Wilhelm will tell him.

4. Will there be snow in s2? The whole season will consist of snow. By the end of it, it’ll come out of our noses.

5. Will there be any physical fight (if yes, who will be involved)? I think so. Alexander against August. Simon might just jump in to defend Alexander.

6. Will Wilhelm abdicate? Nah. Much like Prince Zuko (my other disaster comfort character) he has honour to uphold. Mainly about making Erik proud as a way to deal with his grief.

7. Will Wilhelm make a new public statement about his sexuality? Uhuh. He will. What form that will take is a mystery to me though. Also how much he’ll give away. He might just say ‘fuck your need for labels’ and have that be the statement, which honestly, power move. He’d be doing it for God And The Gays. Just like Gaga.

8. Will there be introduced another queer character (can be a s1 character - if yes, who)? Yes. I hope it’s the new character and I hope they’re the kind of queer character who’s super involved with queer culture. Simon might be out as gay but I’ve felt like he’s not as well versed in the community as one might think. I feel like both he and Wilhelm could use a safe haven into the found family trope that queer communities provide.

9. Will Sara become a boarder student at Hillerska? No because August is talking out of his ass of course. He’ll just end up with another Eriksson sibling nagging his head off. I think Sara will fixate on her newly dreamed-up future at Hillerska until it turns into frustration much like Simon with his money. Only Sara will turn inwards and take it a lot harder on herself mentally. And I’m afraid this will see her navigating it alone because by the time the time the dream has turned into a nightmare, Simon will have found out about her secret and broaden his Wille abstinence to include his sister. Honestly happy 2000-you-have-to-choose-yourself year to Simon.

10. Do we get a forehead kiss between Simon and Wilhelm (if yes, who kisses who)? I’ll have to riot if not so I choose yes. I want to see Wilhelm kiss Simon on the forehead in a i’m-proud-of-you gesture, turned face kisses, turned make-out session. Now, I will declare it Christmas if even a forehead kiss happens but a girl can yearn. And if it ends up being the other way around, Simon will be sat in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G Wille on the forehead, who’s one branch lower opposite him.

11. Will Simon and the queen exchange any words (if yes, who will speak first)? I think they will. I’m afraid the tightening on Wilhelm’s leash might just get so narrow, despite the good fight Wilhelm is bound to put up, that he can’t sit by and watch Wille struggle by himself any longer and goes to confront her. I can imagine him realising he still very much hates the current institution of royalty while loving someone who’s part of that and that those two things can be true at the same time. I think he will fix her with a look before speaking. Levelling the playing field. (i might just be projecting my desperate needs for this series here tho lol)

12. Will there be clothes exchange between Simon and Wilhelm (if yes, what item)? We all know what Item. (it’s the purple hoodie). For Simon hmm. His scarf that shit would be so cute.

13. Will Sara speak any Spanish? That’d be a marker of her end goal as a character right? Sara speaking Spanish would mean she’s rid herself of the shame of her own heritage, class and family. These things are major. So I’m not actually sure. I’d see it happen in a third season (pls gods). But maybe, just maybe, she might slip into her Spanish tongue when she’s hit rock bottom. At her lowest low, at the mercy of all the stress from pretending and masking she’ll be cared for by Linda and Simon and she’ll lay her deepest vulnerabilities bare in the language that feels most like home.

22. Will Simon and Wilhelm have any PDA (if yes, what kind)? YES. They’ll hug, hold hands and kiss. In that order. I think Wilhelm might take full advantage of his situation as being out to the school to do what he truly wants. It might take a little more feeling out the situation and all but I see him being determined in not holding back any longer.

14. Will Simon become aware of Wilhelm's anxiety? Yes. I think it will put some things in perspective for him as well. But I think he might become aware of it in a time where they’re not together yet. Simon will be observing Wilhelm from a distance and see his signs. I think he’ll worry about him at this new realisation but he’ll also feel like he can’t approach Wilhelm because they’re not close like that yet and Simon really has to focus on himself first before he can care for Wilhelm again. That’ll be a big struggle for him I feel. Everything in him will be screaming to help his boy. But he also knows that it would halt all progress on his new made boundaries.

15. Will Wilhelm break the 4th wall at some point? The series doesn’t officially start until those big sad and frustrated eyes meet mine across the screen, that’s for sure. But I also don’t put it past the series to have this moment be marked by Simon.

16. Will Alexander get some sort of revenge (if yes, how)? Absolutely. Han havner på en skole i Sveits my ass. I don’t know how far he’ll take it. He could either see Wilhelm as an equal enemy to August (ew i know, unfathomable). Or, and I root for this (we will all be rooting for you!) he’ll find an ally in both Wilhelm and Simon and help them bring August to justice to their own satisfaction. Alexander is a grey mouse in this universe and he could play that to his power and come out victorious on top where he’ll become a more layered character. I bet that as an often ignored person in the room, he for sure has some dirt on that whole society but especially August as he’s followed him like a puppy. He’ll act as karma personified #RevolutionForAlexander

17. Will Erik appear in any form (letter, flashback, etc.)? Hmm. I see him appear in audio form. Quick flashes of smirking whispers in Wille’s direction. A warning, a mundane request triggered by area and occasion. I think this will have a haunting effect on Wilhelm. It’ll have him breaking down over what could have been in the middle of whatever. Creeping grief but flash-bright when it actually is present.

18. How many characters will cry (with tears) - who? I think they all will tbh. The amount of shit the oncoming storm is going to bring will leave no one dry I think because they’re so impactful on a bigger scale. One thing though, I hope Alexander gets to smile. Genuinely. He’s the only character I don’t want to cry.

19. Will Simon and/or Wilhelm say 'Jag älskar dig' (if yes, who says it first - will they both say it)? I’m not sure. They’re gonna go through a shitstorm. First separately and I assume then together. But I think the time in between trusting again and forming an actual relationship is too short to goalpost that. But if it happens, I’d see Wille wait for Simon to say it back. Give him the space he asked for properly. It’ll be around the end of the season just like Wille. I can dream up a million routes that the i love you scene could happen from both their ends but this is it for now. Maybe I should write fic about it?

20. How many times will we see Simon eat pasta? A total of four times. Once at home, once at the Forest Ridge House dinner table, once at the pizzeria in Bjärstad and once at the palace, a special request from Simon to the kitchens.

21. Who will have the first kiss in season 2 (named characters)? I hope Felice and the new guy. I hope she gets swept off her feet by him. She deserves it!

Tagging: @ninibae , @earlgrey-lateatnight, @prince-simon, @lovelierbitsoflife, @royalrainbows, @royalglitternotes,

#YR2quiz #riska rambles #i'm probably contradicting myself a lot here #i did not proof read this #v fun to write and speculate on #good questions!#young royals #aboutme

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raksh-writes · 3 years

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Hi! Could you do 26, 32, and 34?

Hello, nonnie! I'd love to even! ^^

26. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

Hm, I don't think so? When I started writing Voiles I was maybe a lil' bit apprehensive of getting some of those "this is problematic and you should stop" type of messages, but it's been super chill and lovely ^^ To be absolutely fair, though, since I dipped my toes into the Supernatural fandom, I am hesitant to try and contribute anything, or even reblog much content? I know the few bad apples don't reflect on the majority but still... Maybe I'm not yet immersed enough to not give any damn. I'd love to write my crossover idea with Void, probably will because I just like it too much, and even though I'm not planning much - or any - shippy stuff there, I'm still hesitant to get it out into the fandom. So yeah, I guess I'm kinda in this stage now, at least with this crossover idea.

32. Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less.

A palace, a deal, an infamous lord and a stubborn town's boy yearning for more.

(I am physically incapable of making it 10 or less, I'm sorry 😂)

34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

Oh goodness, how do I even choose... Okay, think I gotta go with an excerpt from my Fluffy Tails one-shot, 'cause I just love the whole thing and this part is one I'm really proud of, and fond, too, yes ^^

So here, from A simple gesture of affection:

Stiles purses his lips and scrunches his face and he's ready to get even snarkier, when Void asks:

"What is it, darling? So hard to just ask one little question?"

Curving up one brow and his voice full of mockery, and there's— There's something in Void's tone, something well hidden but different enough for Stiles to pick up on — like a note out of tune underneath the taunt. It gives Stiles a pause.

And that's when it hits him.

How very hard it must be for Void to even consider just showing his tails — as if it's nothing, as if he wasn't hiding for hundreds of years, as if they're not the highest proof and representation of his power and spirit. How intimate of a request it must truly be — and as close and intimate as they are, this— This isn't something Void is in any way used to. And if all of that didn't give Stiles enough of an idea what his petulant behavior must've felt like, the coolness under his shadow's rune would be a dead giveaway; they don't withdraw from their bond unless they have to — or not in this way, at least.

All the ugly energy goes out of Stiles like air escaping a popped balloon, instantly and with a hiss, leaving behind a strange emptiness that almost seems to ring in his ears. Stiles swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth, lamely fidgeting with Void's hand that's still in his, somehow, as his face burns even hotter. It still doesn't make him miss the moment Void's energy changes flavors, though; that barely noticeable, cold steel melting away. And Void would be ready to offer it to Stiles now, he's sure of it, but fuck that, Stiles was in the wrong here and if the only thing Void's asking of him is for Stiles to, well, ask, then that's the least he can do.

Thank you for the ask ^^ 💗

Send me an ask! | From this Questions for Fanfiction Writers

#ask #anon #Raksh answers #ask game #💗💗

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the-odd-job · 4 years

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When the Heart Is Yearning - Chapter 1: Death’s Doorstep

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Category: General Fandom: Transformers > Merformers Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Bluestreak, Original Characters Relationships: None Additional Tags: Captivity, Captive Mers, Aquariums, Aliens, Alien Planet, Post-Partum, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Incest, Codependency, Hermaphrodites, Starvation, Self-Starvation, Drowning, Suicide, Injuries, Murder, Euthanasia, Hurt No Comfort, Graphic Emaciation, Forced Feeding, Minor Character Death Words for Chapter: 6678

Direct continuation of Nature Calls. An alternative outcome of the fic; for a slightly happier version you can check out Fading Light.

This is not a happy fic in any shape or form. Please, please, PLEASE heed the tags. There's an actual image at the end, that I drew, that is not any more happy than the rest of the fic, and to which the warning tags also apply. This isn't just graphically descriptive of certain things, there's actual visual material to go with it.

Proceed with caution, I beg of you.

And if I missed any tags, please say so and I'll add them at once.

“Please come back.”

He’d whispered that plea into the emptiness of the tank, with no one but his newborn pups there to hear him. How desperately he’d wished Sunstreaker was there, yearning for it with his whole being… He just wanted the presence, the support Sunstreaker had promised him and that he knew his brother would also give him.

He wanted to disappear into Sunstreaker’s embrace and just for a moment forget about everything else. Pretend everything was fine.

Just long enough that he could get himself together.

Because he was a mess right now, even Sideswipe could recognize that much through said mess.

He cried, and he cried, and he cried, his face in his palms, his shoulders shaking. It was hard to breathe.

And the babes, oh Primus. The babes were there, and they would have needed him. That thought didn’t help, the everyone is asking far too much from me feeling weighing down on him and stealing all of his strength, emotional as well as physical.

And all the while the babes waited, because there wasn’t much else they could do. One continued to sit on his tail; he could feel it moving every now and then.

The other one kept laying next to him, frighteningly still.

He didn’t know how long they all spent like that, the babes patiently waiting and him shattering into tiny little pieces he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to pick up and put back together again. Time, as a concept, completely eluded him when he was already so preoccupied, even though the thought that he needed to see to the pups, right now was wrecking the back of his mind.

It didn’t help.

Nothing helped.

He just wanted Sunstreaker. Sunstreaker was rock solid when he was there for him. Sunstreaker didn’t bend or break.

The same couldn’t be said for him, now.

The lights had begun to dim when Sideswipe finally managed to calm his breathing, little by little. It took a while from that to pry his hands away from his face and finally… Acknowledge what had happened.

Accept it.

He had pups to look after now. They needed him. It wasn’t just about himself anymore.

And it didn’t matter how the pups had come to be or who their sire was. That didn’t change things.

It didn’t change the fact he wanted to be a good carrier for them—as good as he could be in the circumstances. As good as he could be despite the fact they lived within four solid walls that he’d never left since the day they’d brought him here.

He didn’t want to think about the alternative, the wild. It was pointless. It would only make him hurt more.

So he didn’t allow those thoughts foothold.

Accept it. Maybe they wouldn’t keep the babes here forever—although he could only hope they didn’t take them away right away—but even if they didn’t, what his babes would see once they left was likely just another tank not so different from this one.

If he knew the humans any.

It was something he just had to live with. It wouldn’t change things no matter how he dreamed of a way out, an escape, or however much he raged against their captors. He’d done a lot of both when he was younger.

It hadn’t changed anything. It wouldn’t change anything.

He wouldn’t teach his babes anything about the wild. There would be nothing for them to yearn for when they wouldn’t know of anything else—of anything better.

That decision, it… Calmed him. He had a course of action he could follow.

Just as long as Sunstreaker allowed him. He wasn’t sure what his brother would think, and as the sire of the pups, he… He had say too.

But maybe he could convince him into agreeing with him, even if Sunstreaker was against it at the beginning.

Just as soon as they returned Sunstreaker.

He’d have to wait for that. In the meantime he had pups to look after, and after a deep breath Sideswipe finally gave his attention to them. He smiled at the one still on his tail, where it had probably sat and stared at him through all the hours he’d completely failed at being the mother they needed.

But he didn’t attend to it first. Its sibling was his first concern, and carefully, so as to not jostle the more active pup, he reached to the side and grabbed and lifted the little one laying on the (luckily) warm floor.

It made a little noise at the handling, and Sideswipe felt a surge of relief at the fact it was at least still alive. He brought it up for inspection, wiping a careful thumb over its little cheek.

It was lax in his hold, but at the contact it opened its eyes. They were the same orange hue as its sibling’s, as he’d expected.

Sideswipe smiled at it too, and got a blink for his trouble.

The secondborn wasn’t smaller than the firstborn, but something was different about them for the first one to be so alert, and this one… Weak, somehow.

He’d have to keep a special eye on it. Make sure-

...Make sure the fact its sire was also his brother hadn’t adversely affected it.

Sideswipe brought the babe closer to his face and snapped the umbilical cord between his teeth. Once the pup was free, he let go of it, and to his pleasure the little one did start swimming. Or using its swim bladder, rather, because it sort of just… Floated there.

Sideswipe chuckled before gently pushing it aside and picking up its sibling. The process was repeated on the stronger pup too, and then they were both ready to swim on their own.

There were no dangers in the tank, so Sideswipe left them to it while he started to clean up the mess birthing them had left behind. The placenta was neatly disposed of, although he could do little about the blood still in the water.

Normally he would’ve just- No, no, there was no point in thinking about normal. This was his normal. Their normal.

He pushed those thoughts aside studiously before he returned his attention to the babes. They were practicing their swimming techniques by following him around, and the stronger one was helping its sibling along when it struggled under its own strength.

Warmth bloomed in his chest and Sideswipe couldn’t help his smile. It was good to see them working together already.

...Not that there was any reason why they would’ve needed teamplay, because- No, those were forbidden thoughts too.

Sideswipe shook his head to chase them away and focused back on the present and the babes. He would need to keep them entertained.

And once Sunstreaker got back… Maybe things would start to be alright then.

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He waited. The season met its end, though he wouldn’t have been surprised if the humans didn’t know that right away. At least they didn’t bring Sunstreaker back then.

So he waited a little longer, and played with the pups, made sure they had something to do when they were awake, and curled up with them on the floor of the tank when they tired and needed a rest. The secondborn was still the one quicker to tire, but it was gaining strength.

It came to be a week or so after the end of the season. They still hadn’t brought Sunstreaker back. Sideswipe began to worry.

Two weeks. It still wasn’t too unusual. Sometimes they separated them for weeks at a time, when they fought badly enough and needed time to recover.

But they hadn’t fought. The only reason they had moved Sunstreaker seemed to have been the season, and things were long past that.

Why didn’t they bring Sunstreaker back?

Three weeks, nothing.

Four weeks. Still nothing.

Six weeks. He held onto hope.

Two months.

The pups were growing nicely and were about equal now, the secondborn having bridged the gap between them much to Sideswipe’s relief. But it was hard to focus on that. Really, really hard.

It was hard to keep his thoughts from Sunstreaker and the question that ate at his mind day and night.

Why hadn’t they brought Sunstreaker back yet?

He couldn’t keep still anymore. He was always fidgeting. The pups were copying him, turning restless even though there was no way for them to understand what was happening.

They couldn’t understand the growing fear that they had no intentions of returning Sunstreaker. They’d never met him.

Never met their sire.

Was this them punishing them for what happened? It had been the humans’ own damn fault! If they hadn’t-

If they’d just left them in the ocean, none of this would have happened.

But he didn’t want to think about that.

Yet the alternative was to think about Sunstreaker and feel the fear constrict his chest. Whether he yearned for the wild or his brother, he couldn’t seem to not want for something more than what he was given.

But was it too much to ask that Sunstreaker was here with him? They’d spent their whole lives together. What had changed?

The pups? Was it because of the pups? The mating? That thing they had done that had had results neither of them had wanted? He couldn’t think of any other reason. It was the only thing that had changed.

Three months.

Half a year.

They weren’t going to bring Sunstreaker back, were they?

The pups were growing, and Sideswipe should have been proud of that fact. They were active and strong, flitting around the tank without a single worry on their minds.

It had been right to never tell them about the world outside the tank. They’d adapted to this life in the way babes picked things up so fast. Malleable, easy to teach.

They were used to this life, now. They didn’t know of anything else. They’d never even met mers other than their sibling and carrier.

But they should have met their sire.

And all the thoughts relating to that one were what made Sideswipe despair, what kept him from being happy with his pups’ progress.

He wasn’t alone, but he felt so lonely.

The one thing he’d had for his whole life wasn’t there anymore. Sunstreaker wasn’t there anymore.

He didn’t know what to do.

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He didn’t get used to it. He had thought that maybe with time he would, that he could put Sunstreaker behind him, just… Accept he was no longer a part of his life.

But he couldn’t. How could he have? Sunstreaker had been the most important thing in his life since the beginning of their time, always there. He loved his brother, more than anything. More than he loved the pups, as much as he cared about them too.

They were the only thing he had left of Sunstreaker. And they looked so much like him. Every time he looked at them, he could see his brother in them—in their features, in their colors, in their fins. Someone might have argued that they looked like Sideswipe too, that he and Sunstreaker had always looked very alike, but all Sideswipe could see was Sunstreaker.

They were all he had. And for them he put up a smile even when he felt he had no reason to smile.

He missed Sunstreaker so much. He couldn’t get under, over, or around that.

He just missed him.

It made his very core ache, made him feel so lost even though there was nothing to get lost in here. It was a simple life. Swim, practice taking orders from humans, swim some more.

Eat.

He hadn’t really had an appetite.

He’d let the pups have his portion more often than not. He wasn’t sure if the humans had noticed at first, but they did nothing about it in the beginning.

But he started losing weight. Sideswipe could tell that much as his tail slimmed down until you could almost make out the muscles beneath the scaled skin.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

But he didn’t really have an appetite.

That was when the humans started to go out of their way to get him to eat. They’d try to offer the fish directly to him, and when he simply handed it onward to one of the pups, they had him come out of water and onto the platform where they would try feed him.

He didn’t really have an appetite, though.

So he’d turn his head away and refuse, sometimes turning around entirely and just slipping back into the water before he was given the permission to do so.

There were always the treats that came as a reward for doing the tricks they wanted from him. They had him doing more tricks than usual to have more reasons to reward him.

Eventually he stopped eating those, too.

His weight kept dropping.

That was when the force feeding started.

They brought him on land with a call that he stupidly obeyed, even though he had no other reason to do so than sheer boredom and wanting any excuse to break the monotony. He hopped out of the water onto the platform, and moved further from the water’s edge when they beckoned him forward.

It wasn’t that unusual for them to direct his arms behind his back and tie them together at the wrists. They did that sometimes, when they didn’t trust him to not act up during this or that. Sideswipe didn’t fret over it even as he tested the bonds, only to find them solid enough.

Needles? Also not too unusual. Sometimes they gathered blood from him, sometimes they injected something into him. It happened.

So Sideswipe laid there on the cold floor, barely flinching when the needle pierced his skin.

The humans waited around for a while, as did Sideswipe to see what they’d done this time. When he began to feel a little drowsy, he had a pretty good idea of what that something was.

Sedatives. Not enough to knock him out entirely, but enough to make him placid.

He rested his head against the floor, blinking as his thoughts started to run sluggishly. Somewhere at the back of his mind he wondered what it had been for this time.

He didn’t need to wait long for an answer. Hazily he followed as the humans moved around in his field of vision, until they stepped up to him and caught his head. He growled lowly at the handling, but they knew he wasn’t Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker would’ve tried to bite their damn hands off.

Sunstreaker…

He was distracted from the path his thoughts started to take when someone stuck their fingers into his mouth. He barely had the time to wonder about it before his mouth was already pried open, and wedged that way for good measure.

That was when his good temper ran out. Sideswipe flailed, trying to move away and get the damn thing out of his mouth, tugging on his bound arms-

But they were prepared for his struggles. There were enough of them to pin his head and shoulders into immobility, and do the same to his tail. Normally that might not have been enough, but normally he wasn’t fighting just to get his body to move. His coordination was gone, each of his thoughts clouded.

It didn’t stop him from knowing he did not want anything to do with whatever they were about to do to him.

That thought was only further confirmed when they held his head still and slipped something into his mouth. They didn’t stop there though, oh no. The damn thing was carefully directed into his esophagus; he could feel it crawling further and further down into his chest.

He tried to pull away, to bite, to knock off the humans holding him, but it was no good. There were too many, his mouth was held open, and he was too out of it to put up a real fight.

That didn’t mean he wanted to admit defeat or make the process any easier on them. So he continued to struggle, in vain, even as the tube slipped further and further down until it met his stomach.

That was when they stopped that part of it, apparently satisfied. Sideswipe tried to swallow on reflex, to move the blockage in his throat up, or down, or really any damn direction that wasn’t stuck in his food pipe. The feeling was horrid, but they wouldn’t let him do anything about it.

Sideswipe wheezed, feeling his heart beat several times faster than it was supposed to. He wouldn’t have said he was scared, but anger was definitely rising as it often did when the humans decided to do something particularly outlandish. He had no purchase to act on it, though. His arms stayed stuck behind his back and the humans kept a tight hold of him.

And the tube wouldn’t budge.

He hadn’t wanted to guess for its purpose and likely get it wrong, but when one of the humans approached his head with a container of some sort of sludge, Sideswipe tensed.

He didn’t particularly fancy being right about this one thing, but when that human proceeded to force the slurry down the tube, all the way to his stomach… He was right.

If he wasn’t going to eat, they were apparently going to feed him whether he liked it or not.

Resignation sank into his bones and made him finally still, closing his eyes and letting the humans do as they pleased—they were going to do it anyway, weren’t they?—while he tried to fight back the discomfort of having something stuck in his throat, of feeling something enter his stomach without input from him.

It wasn’t much that they forced into him. It was over faster than he would’ve expected; before long they were already carefully pulling the tube back out. Sideswipe pulled his head back when it had almost cleared his throat, and surprisingly they let him.

The tube slipped out entirely, to great relief from him, and the wedge was quickly removed too. He gasped and would’ve wanted to rub at his sore throat if it wasn’t for the fact they still had his arms tied. They fixed that soon enough too, though. They unbound his arms, and in the same breath gave him the permission to return back to the water.

Like he wouldn’t have done that anyway.

Still a little uncoordinated, Sideswipe got his arms beneath himself and turned around, whacking one of the newer humans with his tail as he did. They crashed into the supplies behind them to audible distress from the others, but Sideswipe didn’t stay to see what happened.

He pulled himself to the platform’s edge and fell over it into the welcoming water. His pups were immediately upon him, distressed by what they had witnessed. They had been taught to suffer through several procedures without putting up too much of a fuss, but never… That.

“Carrier! Are you okay? What did they do? Why did they do that for?” came the anxious questions as they circled around him, laid their little hands on him to assure themselves he was still in one piece.

And Sideswipe didn’t know what to tell them. Didn’t know how to say he missed someone they didn’t even know so dearly that his will to do anything was wavering—that eating was just one of many things he didn’t really want to do.

That his fasting would have eventually weakened him, if the humans hadn’t decided they didn’t want him in poor health.

That if he had continued undisturbed long enough, he would have died.

But that wasn’t what he had wanted to do. He didn’t want to leave the babes. He just…

Primus, he missed Sunstreaker so much.

He still didn’t want to eat, but neither did he want a repeat of what the humans had done. So he made a point to eat, a little bit.

Not enough. It was barely a week before he was called from the water again, before the whole process was repeated again, before the pups were distressed all over again.

So he ate a little bit more.

Still not enough. Again they did it, but he could’ve never told when they called him out of the water for it, and when it was for completely unrelated things.

So he went, and they held him down and forced more of their sludge into his stomach.

He ate even more after that, just to avoid having to go through it yet again. This time he found the balance. He still didn’t eat as much as he once had, but…

He ate enough to keep the humans satisfied.

He ate enough to keep the babes from having to see that particular thing even one more time.

That would do.

-------------------------------------------

The babes grew so much, so fast, just like they were supposed to. The time to call them pups came and went. Soon they were already yearlings, lanky and awkward but full of life and desire to learn.

But yearlings meant the onset of the season, once again. They were too young to participate.

Sideswipe wasn’t.

They all felt the call, even if he was the only one with the need attached to it. Even the babes were swimming restlessly this time of the year, something in them telling them to go to places they had never seen—didn’t even know existed.

They didn’t know what to do with that feeling, but then neither did Sideswipe. There was no available outlet for it except to swim, swim, and swim, circling the tank in a never ending loop. So that was what they all did. It was their first lesson on the mating season, too, although Sideswipe was careful to leave everything he told vague.

To not hint at the existence of the ocean.

They didn’t need to know any more than what was necessary to explain what was right in front of their noses. He had to lie a little bit, too, to explain away the apparent need to go somewhere.

Say it was nothing big.

Make no mention of the Gathering.

Sideswipe grit his teeth and bore the season, complete with its need and the ever constant frustration. He had no other option. The babes were too young, and…

If Sunstreaker was here, he wouldn’t have wanted to be in the same tank with him. Not during the season, not after what happened during that first one they were old enough to participate in.

Except that was a lie, wasn’t it? If having Sunstreaker here during the season was the tradeoff to having Sunstreaker around at all, he would never say no.

Even if the tradeoff was a repeat of what had given a beginning to the babes…

He still wouldn’t have said no.

There was no privacy in the tank, but when Sideswipe sequestered himself into one corner, the babes gave him space to bury his face into his hands and give in to the awful distance he felt from Sunstreaker.

He missed him so much. Missed his scent, all but gone from the tank, the room.

Missed his voice, rough and handsome.

Missed the sight of him, now only a shadow of it left in the babes.

Missed his temper, his deadpan sense of humor, the way he’d wrapped him into his arms whenever things felt tough.

Why had they never brought him back?

---------------------------------------

The years ran by with little change. The babes grew, the humans continued to “teach” them things, Sideswipe continued to eat the minimum required for them to leave him alone.

His body wasn’t the same anymore. He felt weaker than before. Not hungry, per se, but not quite energetic as he had when he had still eaten like he was supposed to.

When Sunstreaker had still been here.

When he’d still held onto hope that they would eventually reunite them.

The babes didn’t need him anymore, hadn’t for a long time. The humans still kept them together, and the babes didn’t know any better.

Sideswipe knew. Sideswipe knew they should have parted ways already.

But there wasn’t the option.

He wondered about it, sometimes. Had they removed Sunstreaker because they had wanted to keep the babes and thought things would’ve been too cramped with all four of them there? Dammit, it had been too cramped with just two of them. What difference did it make if there were two pups in there too?

If everything being cramped would’ve been the cost of having Sunstreaker here, he would’ve accepted it in a heartbeat.

------------------------------------------

It was into the fourth year after the babes were born that things finally changed, although Sideswipe wasn’t sure if he would have wanted that change or not. One day they just came and… Took the babes.

The two were first called out of the water, which wasn’t at all unusual and Sideswipe hadn’t paid it much mind. He continued to swim around leisurely.

But time went on and on, and yet the babes hadn’t returned to the water. Eventually worry had him peeking out of the water onto the platform where they were supposed to be, which was the only place they could’ve been outside of the water, but…

They weren’t there.

They just weren’t.

He didn’t even have it in himself to panic. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened.

Humans. Humans had happened.

And Sideswipe doubted they would ever return, either.

He let himself sink to the bottom of the tank where he wrapped his arms around himself and gave in to the sorrow and loneliness that hit him like a physical weight, made it feel like someone was crushing his chest. Made every breath hurt. Made his eyes burn.

What little he had had left of Sunstreaker… The things they had made together.

His babes.

They hadn’t even been allowed a goodbye.

Not even a goodbye...

Why did he feel like he’d been here before?

--------------------------------------------

He’d been alone in the tank before. That wasn’t new.

But that hadn’t happened in years. Him and the babes hadn’t fought like him and Sunstreaker had; there had never been a need to separate them.

That barely mattered, though. It had never been any better even when it had happened more frequently. He had never wanted to be alone, not even after he and Sunstreaker had had their worse fights. What mer didn’t yearn for company? It wasn’t natural to be alone.

And there had always been that uncertainty of if they’d ever even see each other again. They always had, eventually.

Until they hadn’t.

The babes had always been a distraction, something to keep his mind occupied and away from all of the more negative thoughts.

Now, there was no one and nothing to save him.

And the thoughts came, unbidden, relentless. Nights were the hardest. During the days he could never forget he was under the watchful eye of the humans, never allowed true privacy. It gave him what he needed to keep it at least mostly together.

At night, there were none around, and no reason to pretend he was okay. At night he found himself curled up on the empty floor of the tank, sleepless, his mind rewinding the days where he’d still had his brother around. They’d fought and they’d made mistakes, but that paled in comparison to the companionship they had each offered. The love, the acceptance, the understanding.

All taken from him.

Just like that.

There was no more laughter, no chasing each other around. No jokes, no conversation.

Now not even the babes were here. Where had they been taken, he wondered, and knew he’d never find out. They’d just disappeared from his life, just like Sunstreaker had.

He couldn’t understand it. He tried, tried to think of some reasoning for the humans’ behavior, but nothing other than cruelty came to mind. Why would they have acted so otherwise? First left him to take care of newborns alone, and then, when those newborns had grown, taken them too?

Leave him alone again?

He couldn’t understand it.

He stopped eating, again. The humans tried their tricks, again. He ignored their attempts, again.

They shoved a tube down his throat, again.

He didn’t swim much anymore. More often than not he was sitting next to the one window of the tank, passing the time by watching the humans moving around on the other side of it. Tall humans, short humans. Adults and pups, if he understood it right.

He wondered if they were free to go where they wanted to, or if they were similarly trapped as he was.

They watched him in return, but he could ignore it by now.

---------------------------------------

He didn’t need to be alone for even two weeks, though. Sideswipe left his vantage point next to the window to investigate when there was a ruckus from the platform, breaking the water to take a look.

His eyes widened when he saw the shape of another mer. Not Sunstreaker, not the babes, that much was immediately obvious from the grey scales, but it was… Another of his kind.

Why? Why had they taken everyone he’d had before, only to bring in someone completely new?

Not that he was entirely opposed to this development. Even strangers were better than being alone. Strangers were potential friends.

He dove back under and settled to wait for the humans to be over with the transfer, and most likely for the other mer to work the sedatives out of their system. He doubted they’d handled him much without those.

It didn’t take too long. Soon enough the mer was slipping into the water, shaking himself off once he was underwater.

Then he had a look around, saw Sideswipe, and immediately waved at him enthusiastically. “Oh, hello! I didn’t know if there would be anyone else, but I’m really, really happy there is, you know, being alone sucks so much. Have you been alone? I don’t see anyone else… How long were you alone? You don’t have to be so anymore though! I swear I’m good company, and I hope we can get to know each other. Oh, I’m Bluestreak!”

Sideswipe cracked a smile at the litany aimed at him. There wasn’t a single speck of blue on the other mer though, aside from his eyes. He was shades of grey with accents of red, and yet, “You can call me Blue, everyone does.”

“Alright, Blue,” Sideswipe said, swimming closer slowly. Bluestreak didn’t seem to mind the approach though, his demeanor was just so… Cheerful.

It reminded him of himself. Or of what he had been like… Way back when. “I’m Sideswipe.”

“Sideswipe! That’s a really nice name, I like it, and it’s really nice to meet you-”

The mer had a mouth on him. Sideswipe didn’t mind, though. It broke the quiet and kept his mind distracted, and Bluestreak was nice. Incredibly chatty, but that didn’t make him any less nice. He was kind, thoughtful in his own way, and funny without even trying to be.

Their conversations weren’t all one-sided, either. Sure, Bluestreak did most of the talking, but Sideswipe got in a question here and there, little things that he pieced together to build an image of Bluestreak’s life and history.

He was captive born. He’d never seen the ocean, only heard of it.

And Sideswipe’s chest tightened. That was his pups. They were about the same age too, still a few years from sexual maturity.

He had no maternal feelings for Bluestreak, he was well past the age of needing anyone to hen over him, but… He became something like a friend pretty quickly.

He still couldn’t forget, though. Bluestreak was no replacement to Sunstreaker.

The two didn’t even compare. They were nothing alike.

And he missed his brother. He wanted his brother.

It had been years, and he still

Just

Wanted

Sunstreaker.

-------------------------------------------------

“Who’s Sunstreaker? You sometimes… Talk about him in your sleep.”

Sideswipe flinched when Bluestreak approached him with that question. He’d gone back to sitting by the window, his tail curled under him. Bluestreak liked to stop his swimming to come talk to him pretty often.

But as much as they’d talked, Sideswipe hadn’t told much about himself, and Bluestreak had never pried.

Bluestreak knew he had been born in the wild, but he didn’t know about Sunstreaker, or about… What had gone down between them.

He didn’t know about the babes.

And he’d been in no hurry to broach any of those topics.

So Sideswipe wrapped his arms a little tighter around himself and resolutely stared out the window. “No one.”

Bluestreak was uncharastically quiet for a moment, and Sideswipe thought he’d maybe hurt his feelings a little. Then came a quiet, “Oh. Okay,” before Sideswipe could feel Bluestreak swimming away.

He didn’t want to hurt him, but neither did he want to talk about Sunstreaker.

Sunstreaker was his memory to keep.

And only a memory.

Sideswipe hung his head and let the emotions come like a tidal wave.

-----------------------------------------------

He still didn’t eat. He knew Bluestreak had noticed his thin tail the moment they’d met, but he never asked about it before he witnessed the first time the humans shoved some more food down his throat.

Then he asked, horrified by what he had seen. Humans had never treated him like that.

Of course they hadn’t. Maybe it was just Sideswipe they liked to torment.

He hadn’t had the answers that time, or any of the times afterwards. His food pipe had nearly grown numb to the treatment with how often it happened. He didn’t fight it anymore.

But they couldn’t feed him often enough to make a full difference. His tail kept getting thinner. Bluestreak was getting worried, fussing over him every and now and then and begging him to eat something.

Sideswipe ignored it. He sat by the window and ignored it.

Bluestreak was a good companion, there was nothing with that. But… He still wasn’t who he wanted.

He only wanted Sunstreaker.

He’d held on for years for the babes. He’d never wanted them to see anything they couldn’t forget. He’d taken care of them longer than what was natural.

Hadn’t he deserved a break?

Bluestreak wasn’t enough. He would never be enough.

He couldn’t get over Sunstreaker.

He’d pretended for the sake of the babes, he really had. He’d tried his best for them, just like Sunstreaker had said they would.

But Sunstreaker had meant they would do their best together.

Except they hadn’t. They hadn’t been given the chance. He’d been left to do his best alone, and he’d tried.

He’d tried so hard.

And now he was tired. He had been all the time, really, but now...

He had no reason to hide it anymore. Bluestreak didn’t matter to that extent. Bluestreak was happy. He didn’t know of anything else; he would continue to be happy through everything the humans did to him.

Sideswipe knew of something better. He’d had that something better, if just for a fleeting moment. He’d been able to withstand losing it all with Sunstreaker by his side. They’d faced the unknown together, had each other’s backs every step of the way.

Not anymore.

Bluestreak might’ve been there, but he still felt alone. Without Sunstreaker, he suspected he always would.

He wouldn’t have ever known how much his brother meant to him if they hadn’t taken him from him, and he’d have been glad never knowing.

He didn’t have an appetite. He didn’t eat. They kept forcing him to ingest things when it suited them.

Sideswipe started throwing it back up as soon as he was back in the water.

They kept trying. He kept expelling it, every time.

They grew frustrated, desperate, but what could they do? Keep him on land with his mouth closed until he’d digested it? That would have taken far too long.

They wouldn’t give up.

Sideswipe thought that maybe he had. He still rebelled against the humans in the way he could, but… There was a weight in his limbs that didn’t come just from lack of nutrition.

There was a weight in his heart that never went away. A pain. An old would that had never gotten the chance to close. He’d covered it up, that’s all.

He didn’t want to anymore. He was tired. So, so tired.

He didn’t want to keep going. He didn’t want to keep trying.

So he sat by his window. He kept throwing up everything they tried to feed him. The pace at which his body changed shape quickened. Fat reserves were eaten away. He was slim, so slim, and not in a healthy way.

He knew that.

He kept doing what he did.

He stopped answering the humans’ calls.

He sat by his window, even when a curtain was drawn on the other side of it, hiding him and the tank from view. He suspected it was because of him. Who wanted to watch a slowly dying mer?

And that was what he was doing.

Day by day he could feel his strength waning. Day by day he wouldn’t move. Day by day he would compare his reflection to what he had looked like in another lifetime. His cheekbones had always been sharp, but now his face was beyond that. It was gaunt: cheeks caved in entirely, eyes sunken into their sockets.

He’d had broad shoulders, a muscular chest. Just like Sunstreaker. He’d always been happy with the way he looked. How they both looked.

You could see his ribs, now. Count every single one of them. His shoulders were all but gone, nothing but shriveled bumps holding his arms in place.

His arms, once so strong, it was hard to lift them now. His elbows were sticking out, as were the bones in his wrists, hands. Everything was sticking out, everything was thin enough to wrap his hand around and have his thumb touch the rest of his fingers.

His hips were gone. There was no muscle left, barely any left in his entire tail. It was no good for swimming anymore. He’d pick at his tail fin in the lack of anything better to do.

His fins. They’d always been ragged, but now they were ragged enough to barely exist. His abdomen had practically caved in. There was almost nothing left of his colors, they were so muted.

He looked terrible. There was no pride left.

And he hurt. He hurt inside and out, in his body, in his emotions, in his heart and mind.

But there was also relief. The humans hadn’t been able to get to him, not at the bottom of the tank. They hadn’t managed to reverse things with their tubes, and now they couldn’t even try.

He knew he didn’t have long anymore.

Sideswipe smiled, and he felt it. Felt how it was the most genuine expression of happiness he’d displayed in long, long years.

His heart was beating an off rhythm. Sideswipe lifted a hand and pressed it against his withered chest, feeling its beat against his palm. Bluestreak sensed the change in him and swam over—sat next to him, wrapped his arm around him, pulled him into his side.

Sideswipe slumped against the healthy body, letting his head rest on the smaller mer’s shoulder.

Bluestreak had stopped asking. He’d stopped trying to convince him to fight on.

Sideswipe was grateful. It was too late to say it, but he laid a hand on Bluestreak’s tail, and Bluestreak covered it with his own.

Maybe that was all that was needed.

He closed his eyes and felt, heard the way his heart began to skip beats, fluttering in his chest unevenly.

But he was happy. He didn’t know where Sunstreaker was, but he wouldn’t have to go on without him anymore.

He could rest.

And if there was an afterlife, maybe they would meet again there.

I wanna scream Is this a dream? How could this happen Happen to me? This isn't fair This nightmare This kind of torture I just can't bear I want you here I want you here

— Plumb - I Want You here

----------------------

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

#maccadams #merformers #sideswipe #sunstreaker #bluestreak #captivecest mers #fic #2020

21 notes · View notes

vaingloriosa · 5 years

Text

love brought weight

Summary: When war against alien beings took the love of your life away from you, you cross time and space to find him again.

Word count: 5.5k

Characters: Quentin Beck x female!reader (though I do not use any descriptions or explicitly call the reader a “woman”, i do use the word “wife” to often describe the reader)

Warnings: major character death, angst, pining, cross-dimensional love, more anguish, slight “far from home” spoilers

Author’s note: my first quentin fic and i got a little carried away with this story? VALID! so, the gist of the universe i created is that alternative timelines can cross to different timelines. think back to the ending of endgame and those portals and how scott describes quantum realm physics...but this is on a much grander scale. it’s an occurrence that is readily accepted so it isn’t “freaky” but rather sorta normalized to see alternates crossing the timeline. hope i didn’t lose y’all jsjskaljskal. forewarning though: i did write some of this story while on a lot of ibuprofen...i get absolutely silly whenever i’m on that. i also made quentin bisexual because Rights. gif made by me :)

Quentin isn’t sure why he continues to twiddle with the gold band around his ring finger while he’s not performing in front of an audience.

After every debriefing, he takes a bow as the curtain draws before him, the spotlight diminishing from his view, he can’t help but reach for it. The ring acts like some sort of tether, bound somewhere between the role Quentin plays and something far fetched...a yearning feeling that breaks his own heart at times. He can’t quite find the words to express how he feels but he knows to ignore such foolish longing.

Focus, Beck.

Focus.

Home.

A mystery to be solved.

Staring down the familiar cherry wood door before you, there’s a hint of hesitance as you bring your fist up to the door. It will be him, but he won’t be yours. Being in this universe felt foreign to you with the eerily stillness of the Venice air. Back in your universe, it felt as if the world was engulfed in an endless war, a hellish nightmare that had not a single light at the end of the dark tunnel. However, you had your husband, the two of you surviving alongside each other until...until...

You blink back the tears before they have a chance to fall.

Perhaps you weren’t as ready as you thought you were. Though you may argue that the years it took to find yourself on these steps in front of this exact same door that kept the outside world away from you and the love of your life may say otherwise. You poured everything you had to get to this very point in time to be with him again, to reconnect, to have your soulmate in your arms again.

No, you are ready for this.

Knock, knock.

You can feel your body vibrate, goose flesh forming along every inch of your skin, heartbeat slightly drowning your own thoughts. There’s a beat of silence then you think to yourself that maybe this may not be the best time for a reunion. You look over your shoulder to admire the scenic night life outside the bustling tourism. The water current beats against the concrete, boats gently floating near the pier, a hypnotic lullaby. Street lights illuminate passersby as their laughter fills the once still air. You can’t help but smile at them, memories flooding back from your universe with your loved ones. Moving to Venice may had been a spur of the moment kind of deal but you had him by your side every step of the way. You miss waking up in the morning to him, interlacing your fingers into his, the way he would hold you close to his chest.

It becomes too overwhelming to bear the heaviness of the loss of Q-

“Can I help you?”

Your head perks up at the sound of a voice you never thought you would ever hear again. Slowly, you turn around to face the man that had sacrificed his life in return for your safety.

“Quentin.”

Your voice sounds nearly disembodied; even being taken aback by the sound. You swallow thickly as your eyes fixate on the face you thought you had lost forever. The way that everything seems to be in place, how it’s like looking at an exact copy of him, like he never really left, put into this alternative universe that you found yourself in. Your heart begins to skip, you feel your palms become clammy as if you were on your first date with your Quentin all over again.

Oh, it’s him! It’s him! It’s him!

Oh! You know it’s him!

Your eyes beam as if reinvigorated by being in close proximity of his aura. “Hi, I’m your wife from another timeline.”

Silence.

Quentin narrows his eyes at your form to try and soak in who you are and what you just told him. Is he in a dream? Is he currently sleep walking? Another one of his illusions that came back to bite him in the ass? Or, rather, are you what he’s been searching for?

He shakes his head violently.

You begin to protest. “I know it sounds wild, believe me I know! After losing my Quentin, the other Quentin in my timeline, I desperately been trying to find my way back to you.”

Quentin takes a step back, still clutching the door like a lifeline. Even in the dim lighting of the light post shows how white his knuckles are and you know he’s frightened and overwhelmed like you were once you crossed the timeline boundary. You want to reach out, to hold Quentin and tell him it’s going to be alright because you are there to help him through this.

He takes another look at you, then shakes his head again, letting out a shaky breath. Despite the fact that “cross-timeline destiny” has been achieved before doesn’t mean that he fully understands the concept. There were others who have crossed the quantum realm into different worlds and universes but experiencing for himself...it all feels unreal. Quentin has always been more methodical, leaning against science as proof of existence. You standing there may be the lifeline a part of his is reaching for but he thinks with his brain first.

“Listen, I am not him. This “Quentin” of yours must be really something for you to travel through space and time like that but believe me, I’m not what you’re looking for. Goodnight.”

He goes to close the door but you press the palm of your hand before it can lock. Quentin looks at the door then shifts his gaze to you. It’s not a look of determination or anger but rather of brokenness. How shattering it is to look into your eyes that loved someone like him, eyes that carry memories of the two of you.

A ring on your left hand that proves who you are.

You blankly stare at the ghost of a man you used to know, somebody that’s supposed to be dead and shredded into bits. You long to embrace Quentin, to be protected once again against the evils that the world can bring. Memories flash before your eyes as you gaze into those ocean blue eyes of the lover you thought you lost. Lazy weekend mornings, faily evening strolls through the streets of Venice, resting on each other’s shoulders, just conquering the everyday with each other. You know it’s going to be a 500 mile journey to get there yet you are determined to be there every step of the way. You have loved your Quentin and you have crossed several boundaries, bent the known physics of the fabric of time to be with him again. You will not let that stop you from getting him back; the hero you’ve lost before.

“How did Other Me die?”

The first week had been particularly rough for the two of you. How does one even navigate a situation where someone is claiming that she’s his wife from a different dimension? Tense to put things lightly. Quentin often finds you watching and observing him as he gets ready for “work”. You gaze from the corner of the couch while he cleans up the house or waters the plants outside on the patio. Every time at breakfast, it’s always stifled in awkwardness where you can’t help but break a little as you remember your mornings with your Quentin. Ones where you snake your arms around his waist while he cooks, little kisses placed on your forehead before he leaves for work, how you two would play footsies underneath the table and giggle during any ordinary day.

Now there’s just silence.

Until Quentin decides to take a step forward in discovering more about you.

Your chest heaves a bit as you straighten yourself. You’ve tried to give Quentin some space to try and adjust to his new reality since you did just intrude on his personal space. Only when he’s ready to talk, you remind yourself.

“Well, you died a valiant death. There was only one way into stopping the hellish fight with these monsters from another world that you tried to create a portal to engulf them. And that saying...’the captain does down with the ship’...my friends had to pull me away as I watched you waved goodbye with a kiss then turned it on. The portal you created obliterated you. Afterwards, I ran over to your dead body and kissed your forehead for one last time. I told you how much I loved you.”

Quentin mulls this information over for a few days.

He wonders if he should call you “alternate’s wife”.

Sure, Quentin may not live up to his Other Quentin namesake with sacrificing himself up like that but there’s something deep down that believes he is capable of doing exactly that. He’s always wanted to be the hero in his own origin story.

Peering over his shoulder, he watches you paint your nails on the couch in the living room. It’s evening already and the television is playing the news with the volume on low. Quentin can’t help but feel a pull, mesmerized by such simple actions as blowing your nails dry. He has to admit that you are still very much his type. Perhaps this Other Quentin has some taste.

Before you can even catch him in the act, he turns back to his work.

Alternate wife.

Explains the ring around his finger that he has chosen to hide away.

The one who makes him laugh, one that challenges him, nearly breaks his own mind to try and figure you out. You’re good company to the market as you playfully toy with him and reminisce on how the two of you used to do this every Saturday. Sometimes the looks you give him, the way you involuntarily reach for his hand...it kills him to know that he is not Other Quentin.

Still, Quentin tries to be there for you.

One night he wakes to the sounds of your screams.

This is the third time this week.

Quentin rushes over to your side as your whole body rattles. You run your hand over your face and leaving them there. He’s not sure how to comfort somebody who comes from a different timeline who is supposedly your alternate you’s wife and has nightmares about the night his Other died. It’s not like people Google search “how to console someone who has seen another version of you die a horrific death with their very eyes” frequently. To see you in such a state slowly broke his heart.

All he can offer is a shoulder to cry on and a hand to hold.

Those nightmare nights are complete opposites to nights where you get drunk off his beer and become a giddy individual who loves to over share.

“You know I love you, Quentin? Mmm, so, so much. Like you know the universe? The stars and the moon? She has nothing on us.”

You take another sip as Quentin still nurses his first bottle.

You sit right next to him and curl your legs under you, carding your fingers through his silky hair then try to mess around with a few strands. You miss being this close to him and you know it’s the liquid courage coursing through your veins right now.

Another sip sends you back into memory lane.

Your features brighten up, placing a finger up as you place your bottle on the coffee table. “Gosh, I just remembered our first date together and how I thought it was such a disaster. You are afraid to eat in front of others but I didn’t know then so I really thought you were like...blowing me off just to seem disinterested. It was like ‘Hello! I’m carrying this whole conversation or what!’ When I got that text afterwards about that whole fear, I always found it quite endearing. I’m glad we worked through that together though.”

You giggle at your own anecdote and Quentin rubs the back of his neck.

How did you know about that? The last few girlfriends and boyfriends before that never quite understood it, let alone find it “endearing”.

“Ooh!” you nearly screech as you bounced up and down on the couch. “I’ll never forget that giant teddy bear you gave to me for my birthday then having them eye us having sex that night kinda killed the whole mood.”

Quentin watches as you come alive for the first time in a few weeks (after the last time where you nearly blacked out). You dance to the sound of your own tun and try to recruit Quentin on the “dance floor”. He chuckles, places his hands up in mock surrender, and tells you that he should be going to bed. You pout, folding your arms across your chest, and telling him that he owes you a dance.

He caves in with a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

You provide your own music as you sing out loud some song Quentin’s never heard before but sounds eerily familiar. It’s some funky pop song that sounds like a top 40s song yet all that is in the background. He focuses on you only, the way your face is animated, lifting his arms up to twirl yourself around and not giving him the chance to dance on his own. You keep telling him that you love him with your entire being and that the rain has nothing on the love you two share.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you...

You press your head against Quentin’s shoulder.

He can feel your shallow breath against the fabric of his night shirt and he feels goose flesh forming. You have started falling asleep with one hand interlaced with his and a hand on his shoulder. Slowly, that hand that was on his shoulder drops down to the crook of his elbow.

Quentin carries you and he finds it a tiny bit ironic at the name of the hold: bridal style. You’re his alternate wife and he’s your alternate husband in a timeline unlike his, a timeline he tells the people at work about. He lays you carefully on the couch you’ve called home for almost a month now and pulls a blanket over your form. You bury your head into your pillow to try and get more comfortable.

Could it be possible to be jealous of a man Quentin’s never met before?

He’s jealous of Other Quentin finding someone like you in his timeline. Somebody who is willing to sacrifice the very physics of time to take a leap of faith and find him again. Quentin will admit that much about his love for his Other Self.

He envies the Other Quentin on how the exact same person sleeping on his couch watched another version of himself perish in front of her eyes yet still had that much love within her to approach a corpse full of blood and a rotting flesh to press a kiss against his temple.

Those same fingers that interlaced his brushed off guts and gore from Other Quentin’s face and still found love even in death.

And he has the audacity to call himself a “hero”.

Anomalies are known to happen in science.

When there’s an unusual blimp on the radar that isn’t of his own doing, Quentin’s blood runs cold. He can’t explain it on his own rehearsed terms and desperately tries to regain his composure in front of Agent Fury and Agent Hill.

Just plaster on another face.

However, deep down, he’s afraid.

Sabbath morning.

He places a plate of Challah bread in front of you as you shift in your chair. You move your head to the side as you wonder if Quentin knew this was your favorite type of bread. Maybe an alternative universe is just a mere mirror of oneself; still the same but slightly different.

Quentin nudges the honey pot closer to you.

The sun highlights the amber tint of the honey that you drizzle over your piece of bread. You take a moment to bask in the warm rays of the Italian sun while sitting outside of Quentin’s patio. Birds call out from above, clouds nearly stationary against the pale blue sky, and the world continues to spin on its axis. You take a small bite of your bread, licking a few honey droplets off your thumb.

It’s a comfortable silence between the two of you before you spot honey along Quentin’s lips.

Out of habit, you reach over to his chair and direct his head towards you with your hand so you can inspect him. You swipe a dampened thumb across the seam of his bottom lip, bringing your thumb to your lips and licking the stray honey right off. Quentin feels that pull again, the pull that you that’s intoxicating and has been drawing him closer and closer to you ever since the moment he found you standing outside his door. Why can’t he just admit the feeling? How can he admit that he can’t live up to the expectations of Other Quentin? The man you once fell in love with? How on Earth is he jealous over how Other Him managed to find someone as beautiful and loyal as you? He thinks he doesn’t deserve kindness, nor does he think he deserves the love that you are trying to give him.

A love that has stood the test of time over an alternative timeline.

Something tells him to give into that pull like a ship returning back to the sea of the unknown. It’s exciting, electric, new. Quentin brings hims lips closer to yours, you closing the gap until both of your lips are mere inches away from each other. His breath tickles your skin and it’s so damn familiar that you’re becoming more unhinged with each passing second. The scent of honey on his lips brings a certain sweet delirium that stirs inside of your body. Quentin shivers as his nose presses against yours and the softness of your skin sends a new wave of chills down his body.

Quentin places the ghost of a kiss on your lips.

He can’t. Not now.

You don’t deserve this emptiness.

Quentin shuts his eyes closed in frustration, pressing his forehead against yours for a second then apologizing.

“Sorry, I have a debriefing to attend to.”

You are not his to keep, anyways.

He wants to be your Quentin but he doesn’t know if he can. Quentin knows he will never hurt you nor put you in harm’s way yet he’s scared his technology might unintentionally do so. Maybe he’s slowly going soft on you as you stubbornly sleep on his couch, eat his food, crack jokes from here and there, and make him smile whenever you can. You are more than just some random roommate but...he fears it’s something more. Maybe the Other Quentin is rubbing off on him in some way, shape, or form even despite such cross-destiny conspiracy that his brain is yelling at him to stop believing in. The longer Quentin stares into your eyes, with infinite knowledge and wonder in them, he begins to wonder if he’s truly fallen for you. The idea of you? Was this just the jealously of Other Quentin?

Or the imminent danger unraveling before him and having no way in stopping? Could it be that he’s afraid of losing you?

Maybe the biggest act of love that he can give you now is to let you go in order to be safe. You don’t deserve to be thrown into the whirlwind of his creation, a deceitful bitter lie born out of cold revenge. To Quentin, admitting that he cares for you is a step in a frightening direction of questioning if revenge is the right way in dealing with Tony’s betrayal. In his fury, he never predicted there would be an actual imminent danger.

He stands up suddenly, pushing the white iron chair away from you then departing. You don’t open your eyes, not just yet. You squeeze them tighter as you hear the sound of the front door close then you feel your chest tighten. You erupt in a ravaging sob that causes your entire body to shake in the process. You bring your trembling hands to your mouth to try and muffle your cries but to no avail. Your fingers brush upon your quivering lips as you try to memorize the shape of him once again.

You love him, you love him, oh, how you loved him in your universe. To do anything to kiss Quentin’s jawline again with his stubble tickling your lips. How he would place kisses on the back of your hand, on your palms, on your neck, your body was a temple and he wanted to show you the utmost devotion. You miss his intimate touches, his hair against the palm of your hand, his warmth near your body. The memories only add fuel to your fire with no end in sight to your crying.

How could you be so selfish, you wonder to yourself.

To think Quentin could be the same as the Other Quentin. How could he love you the same way as yours did?

But it’s him, it’s him...you know it’s him.

Perhaps you are merely just Icarus who flew too close to the sun. Maybe you will die in your own act of selfish hubris with scorching wings that acts as your medal of valor for your efforts in time travel. Have others felt the same way that you did after crossing over a new timeline? Shame? Guilt? Selfishness? You felt alone in a universe that is not yours to keep. Had it all been worth it?

You yearn for his touch, the warmth of another human being.

You sigh, your eyes fluttering up to clean up the long abandoned breakfast.

Anxiety greets him like an old friend. Oh, how the cold Beck before him would guffaw!

Quentin reconvenes with his team and discusses the next illusion. Not as elaborate as the ones they’ve pulled off before but Peter is more than naive to notice. It’s yet another role to act with a script that gives him commands and actions.

He remembers you.

There’s a hesitation as he hovers over the phone number that reads “home”. But why? How can he tell you that the monsters that infiltrated your timeline and killed the Other Quentin, causing you to find your way back to him, are ripping through the fabric of time to destroy this world? The world you thought would be safe? The reason why Quentin pushed his true feelings aside was that he was afraid of hurting you and now there’s actual threat to his livelihood.

Now is not the time to think about his illusion, it’s about saving your life. Feelings coming bubbling in his stomach but Quentin knows this is the right decision, much to his team’s dismay.

After all you’ve done for him, Quentin accepts what has always been there inside of him.

Calling home.

You hesitate at the bar door.

It’s like being in school again when you peer into the windows then your eyes lay on a mysterious figure sitting at the bar. There’s a kid with glasses next to him hunched over a glass much different than the beer bottle of the man. He’s dressed a little funny in what only appears to be a costume of sorts. It’s hard to make out who it may be but you begin to scan the other patrons of the bar. They’re all very much in their own little worlds, caught up in the whirlwind of different discussions.

You wonder where Quentin may be.

The man at the bar turns to the kid and your heart nearly drops. The profile reminds you of Quentin but why would he be wearing a costume? With newfound gusto, you enter the bar.

He turns to see you and his eyes light up. It’s Quentin.

You tilt your head to the side.

Quentin reaches his arm out to you and you walk a little closer. As you approach, the kid turns his attention to you and suddenly you feel very out of place, almost awkward.

What’s happening right now?

“Peter, this is—my alternate’s wife.”

Your breath nearly catches in your throat as after so long, he acknowledges you for who you really are. You feel a hand at the small of your back, almost hesitant but gets stronger as the kid named Peter reaches his arm out for you to take.

“It’s really nice to meet you. Mysterio only told me very little about you but I respect his boundaries, y’know?”

Mysterio? Talked about you?

You turn to look at him but a solemn expression replaces the one he had before. You place a hand on his shoulder and shake your head.

“Are you alright?”

Quentin closes his eyes for a second then lets out a shaky breath. He swallows thickly as he catches your gaze for reassurance, to make sure he is doing the right thing. Quentin begins to replay the gruesome death of Other Quentin he’s conjured up as you told him more and more details over the course of the month. His eyes bore into your soul, knowing the inevitable.

He waves his hand like a conductor and just like that, the illusion drops.

The bar begins to dissolve in thin air with dusty chairs and tables coming to light. You spin around to take in your new surroundings, watching Peter stiffen then removing his glasses. His boyish features turn to that of pure confusion. You look over at Quentin who stands up to take off the chest plate of his supposed armor and tossing it haphazardly to the side. His mouth is agape, almost as if to say something but closes it back up.

Quentin’s afraid to reach out for help. He’s vulnerable in front of you, his lie exposed to you once and for all.

Will you love him any less? Will you care about him any less? Will you understand?

“I’m a fraud,” Quentin begins with his eyes glued to the rotting floorboard of the establishment. “There’s not too much time to explain everything but we are all in real danger.”

He glances up at you with pleading eyes, ones that beg for forgiveness. “Those monsters that came and destroyed your timeline? Well, they’re back in this dimension and I don’t know how to stop them.”

You are taken aback. You can feel yourself become lightheaded, a chill running down your spine as your eyes become wide open.

Oh, no, you tell yourself.

Not again.

“You are smart, Quentin. I believe in your work and so should you.”

Yet he feels absolutely powerless. No illusion to save him from this destruction. No more hiding behind a façade perfectly constructed to his liking.

Several papers sprawl all over the table in a headquarters you never knew operated underneath Venice. All those times you strolled with Quentin in your other life, you never knew this was all happening at the same time. However, you felt somewhat secure in a place like this. Even with the agents you met, Hill and Fury, with a tough exterior towards strangers, they warmed up to you after finding out who you are.

You are brought back to reality when Quentin sighs in frustration.

Just like before.

The life you knew begins to mirror in this timeline and you are petrified of the outcome. Would history repeat itself again and you are left picking up the pieces? Could this happen again where you lose the love of your life again? Were you simply chasing a future to call your own? Or was it simply destiny to live broken?

No matter the impending destruction, you stick right by Quentin’s side, or Mysterio that others refer to him as.

Quentin pulls out the wedding ring again.

He thinks it may bring him luck, maybe even strength, but deep down he knows it represents more than that. He touches the ring to remind himself of you and the journey it took to find him here.

It all feels a little too late when Quentin begins to reciprocate the touches that were once one-sided. He actively seeks you out, having you close to him whenever he can. Even if the days between the two of you is dwindling, Quentin tells him that he won’t stop expressing how he feels in the only way possible. You begin to sleep next to him on his bed, curled against his bare chest and falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. You two share lively conversations over every meal with laughter filling the room. Quentin holds you closer whenever a nightmare startles you awake.

It all feels like you two are running out of time.

During a particular debriefing, you recount the plans that Other Quentin had in defeating these alien beings. It pains you to revisit memories just days before his death and even looking at Quentin brings back that forlorn feeling.

Maybe this time is different, maybe this time you can stay.

You two hold onto maybe.

But maybe is never good enough.

The moments before the inevitable begin to play out again and it’s all painfully real. Quentin has the contraption along his wrists, ready to go into the line of fire for his final act. In order for this all to work, he must get close to the actual being in order to extinguish it out of existence.

He had volunteered.

Just like Other Quentin had before.

Hot tears drop down your cheek as you try to find your voice to call out to Quentin. There is utter chaos going about with Peter, known as Spider-Man, begins rescue efforts with other agents from S.H.I.E.L.D. working besides him. You can feel the heat from the fiery being and you close your eyes to blink back the ash that the wind peppers you in. Your arm is being pulled back by Agent Hill, her barking orders being tuned out as you watch Quentin walk past you. He stops with his back towards you.

This is his time to be the actual hero.

He stalls for a bit then turns to you. You can tell Quentin’s eyes are glassy with tears but they weren’t tears from the heat.

Sadness.

In your mind, you begin to plead for mercy, that this couldn’t possibly be happening again to you and your Quentin. The progress you’ve made comes crumbling down as each minute ticks away. Nothing ever seems to last.

Quentin steps forward and places a warm hand to one side of your face. You forcefully remove your grip from the agent to wrap both of your hands around his wrist. He says your name in a gentle voice and you begin to shake when you begin to relive the nightmare that woke you up in the middle of the night time and time again. The love of your life brings you closer to his face and closes the gap, sealing your fate with one final soft kiss on your lips.

And this time he means it.

You are pried away from Quentin once again as he gives you a reassuring nod, a sad smile on his lips. Oh, how you want to reach out for him, to throw yourself into the line of fire if that meant being with him again in another life.

For his final act was out of the love for you. He knows that in order to protect you, he must sacrifice his life for the safety of not only you but for others.

There’s a blast of green that drowns over you as two cosmic beams light up the night sky. Agent Hill shrouds you with her body despite the fact that you are safely away from the chaos.

It’s happened again.

You don’t listen to the chastising commands coming from the agent once the beams die down. You are determined to find Quentin again.

History repeats itself, first as a tragedy but for you, then it’s another tragedy.

Lying on the ground is the man you traveled far to find again. The one who held skepticism towards you but you could tell he was warming up to you slowly. The man who saved your life again.

You drop to your knees at his lifeless body. You wish to kiss his fingertips again, to laugh again, to dance together again, to tell him you love him again.

You brush some of his hair side then trace his jawline gently with your index finger. There are several abrasions, burns, and blood all over his face but you know it’s still your Quentin. Tears begin to blur your vision, smoke permeating the air which wraps around you like a shock blanket.

You loved and you loved and you lost him, then you loved and you loved him then lost him again.

You press a soft kiss on his forehead.

“I love you, too, Quentin.”

Tagging: @kwaiky, @xmicrxn // @omi-writes-things (AHHHHH??), @cura-posterior // @can-t-figure-it-out (i hope u open ur home to all this angst, my friend), @aliebestraum // @fuckodinlives (bruh moment ://) @phalangewrites // @chaotic--lovely (i know u said keep it optimistic...well...), @reyskywclker (you KNOW i had to do it to ‘em), @deviantramblings (i am so sorry), @arsynia (true mysterio sluts), @obsiidio (HHHHHH it be like this sometimes), @alphysian (asjdksajlska ltierally...we had it coming huh), @drmsqnc (hello, queen), @bum-rayee (hehe :3c), @lastflyinggrayson (oh hell yeah babeyy!), @anniesburg (they call us mysteriHOES) and last pero not Least @the-darklings (now i know why u write a lot for your stories....the words just keep coming and they won’t stop coming)

#angel writes #quentin beck x reader #quentin x reader #quentin beck #mysterio x reader #mysterio #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #mysterio imagine #marvel fic #far from home #spider man far from home #idk how to mf tag omg i havent written in so LONG #love brought weight

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deathvsthemaiden · 4 years

Note

🌻

Congrats! You have won access to a list of some of my most random thoughts in recent memory! Enjoy maybe (advance apologies for not linking any sources to any of the half remembered fun facts...don’t take them too seriously I never know what I’m taking abt 😬🤗)

•If you’re talking loud enough for people to hear you without trying or meaning or wanting to...it doesn’t count as eavesdropping!! @/my mother I am innocent! Learn some volume control 📢

•The older I get the more toxic and alienating I find the commonplace turn of phrase “I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached!” Why is that painted as a bad thing...... 🥺💔❓I’d loveeee to forget my head. Just a few times. 👌🏽 As a treat.

•excluding the obvious, such as slurs, my least favorite words in the English language are landlocked (hideous reminder of my geographic state of affairs), and kismet. The latter is just so uglyyyyy the original language(s) it’s derived from make it sound so much better why can’t we just say kismat! I speak Urdu so I’m biased but like—

•I emphathize with fish an odd amount. I’ll eat them gladly and w gusto but I also find the level of suffering they’re allowed to feel staggering. It blindsides me. Blob fish used to (actually still do) freak me OUT!! Like my sister would scare me by showing me pictures of them w no warning. But apparently the reason they look the way they do is normally they live like 2000-4000 ft underwater and the decrease in water pressure as they’re drug up to the surface misshapes and deforms them and apparently this is very painful?? Even if it isn’t tho...the first time I read that. Immediate tears sprung into my eyes. And apparently some fish can choose to commit suicide? Like they just stop swimming and eating... god oh my god—!! They’re FISH!! Why are they so COMPLICATED!!! And I used to own a tank full of fish and usually fish don’t last long in our house! Rancid vibes you know? And my mom and I were so pleased these ones had lasted so long!! And then mysteriously they all just died too?? We did everything RIGHT! It was probably more than 2 years ago and we keep saying we’ll get more fish but I just don’t have the heart...I’m.....not ready to get hurt again so soon.

•apparently purple marble is/was a thing that exists. But the Romans used it up? Wild if true

•can’t stop thinking abt how elegant FGO!Bedivere would look in fencing gear

•My parents almost named me Sumbal

•You know how B&N has special gilded hardback editions of various classics? I will never forgive them for making their edition of Jane Eyre black/grey and WHITE!! MONOCHROME and BLEAK!! (Just bc it’s gothic!!!) It’s one of the most colorful books I’ve ever read!!! It swept me off my FEET! During the happiest parts of the book everything in my line of sight irl was GOLDEN I was in literal actual and true LOVE!!! I fell a-freshly in love w life bc of how much this book delighted me and they swaddle her in black and WHITE?? I can’t deal gentle reader I cannot deal—

•I have mixed feelings about poetry but I have a soft spot for The Tiger is out yes (you know the one, by the little boy? the ENERGY!!)+e. e. cumming’s The Grasshopper. On average poetry doesn’t make sense to me but grasshopper is the sort of (non)sense which I’m capable of appreciating. I dream of having a voice controlled fancy robot try to kill me so I can tell it to recite grasshopper and then it just explodes in confusion bc you can’t do that (recite grasshopper) 🐅 🤖

•I’ve lost track of the # of years I’ve waited in vain for Shoukoku no Altair to be localized and have official (physical!) English copies available for purchase, instead of just ebooks. Since the forgettable and upsettingly bad anime adaptation I’m afraid it’ll never happen ever...💔 I ache and yearn for naught but idk how to stoppp 😭

•The Cr*wn of L*ve by John Everett Millais is one of my most favorite paintings but I’m like. Embarrassed about it 👑 @my brain WHY. When did I become such a s*ppy gremlin. I blame ur fics and Jane Eyre Eve 😑 I was firmly in the ‘romance is a neurochemical con job’ camp just years before courtesy of my upbringing....what have I become 😶😶😶

•nothing screams “I hate you” like not appreciating+wasting food and also not returning the favor ever like it’s not a zero sum game but god is a little reciprocity too much to ask yes it is and yes I am sensitive and have been hurt before why do you as—🤐

•purposely vague but sometimes I wonder if I’d been one of those kids who put her head down on her desk in elementary school a lot and stopped listening to teachers whilst doing so maybe life, academically speaking, would go smoother for me now. But I was too afraid of getting in trouble and not yet the full fledged quitter you do (not literally) see before you today. Although the urge to put my head down wasn’t one I never felt...Missed opportunities alas

•I used to be able to handle spending any length of time in those mesmerizing aquarium tunnels and even enjoy myself in them but I’m now a more fragile and wise gal and can not even look at pictures w/o feeling intense WHJDNDNDND idek. They’re scary man. 🌊

•one of my favorite fun facts ever is this painter in 1881, Edward Burne-Jones finally realized mummy brown paint actually had bits of real mummies in it when having lunch with friends and was so unnerved he tried to give his tube of the paint a burial immediately. Like immmmeditately. (read this like a year ago in The Secret Lives of Color by Kassia St. Clair) 🎨 📖

#wow I didnt wanna be boring and only say 3-5 things so I listed way more but wow. this is a doozy I apologize sort of #asks #tyyyyyy 4 asking+ur patience #i took so long to answer I figured I should make it worth ur while....

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tomjopson · 5 years

Note

The idea of a fic director’s cut is fascinating to me and tbh if you pasted any fic of yours in a doc and wrote a commentary, I’d be delighted to read it, but for the purpose of this meme: anything you’d like to say about “hope lost on yesterdays”? 🙌✨

I all but copy-pasted the fic, condensed with added commentary below the cut!

Sorry mobile users since read mores dont work properly on the app ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“hope lost on yesterdays” writers commentary addition *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The grind is deep enough that Edward feels the vibration inhis bones. It is a deep, guttural bellow, like that of a mammoth gate of ironand rust scraping open to reveal a deep descent into the bowels of the earth,beyond its molten crust into the unending conflagration of hell.

[Portrayals of hell in literature and media alike havealways fascinated me. Now of course, my portrayal here leans the traditionalfire/brimstone imagery, but I also like to play with the idea of a frozenwasteland, such as the Arctic itself, being indicatory of a hellish landscape.]

The ship groans again, as magnificently and terribly as acrack of lightning, and for a brief, heart-stopping second, Edward wonders ifthis was the final one; the wood of the ship splintering and bending to theintense pressure of the ice, crumpling inward as easily as a paper boat crushedin a child’s careless grip. [Is it a Terror fic without the ice groaning andsome metaphor about the ice crushing the ship? I think not. But I was pleasedwith the analogy of the child and paper boat which took me more time to comeup with than I like to admit because it makes the ice as careless and indifferent as a child with a plaything; it removes the malice from the force of nature.]

“You’d think it get easier,” Solomon’s rumbling andsleep-filled voice says, “ignoring the ice. Damn noise wakes me up every time.”[For all the people who sayI get Solomon’s voice down (which, by the way thank you ), Iliterally mutter dialogue to myself as I write it, and if I can picture DavidWalmsley saying it, I call it good.]

Edward hums in response, sliding deeper under the covers ofthe bunk when the man beside him turns toward him and wraps a pair of strongarms around his middle. The tip of Edward’s nose brushes against the man’sbeard, and he sniffs at the tickle.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Edward whispers, his eyesfluttering shut again when Solomon’s fingers start rubbing circles on his lowback. [Lots of casual intimacy in these paragraphs, constant little touches,a continual desire to be in contact; this plays off my belief that Edwardhimself is very tactile but also the intimacy that has blossomed between thesetwo and has translated to how physically comfortable they are with each other]

Solomon nudges a leg under him, and Edward allows him to twist them around sothat Edward lies on top [I love making characters manhandle Edward. Not surewhat that says about me…], the new position accentuating the leftover achebetween his legs.

…Sergeant Tozer had crept through the vacant wardroom to Edward’scabin door, sliding it open quietly and quickly, without invitation, but asmall and warm grin on his lips that dispelled any reprimand forming onEdward’s tongue. [Part of the appeal of many, many pairings in Terror isthat they’re all forbidden, to a certain extent. There’s always thethrill of secrecy and the risk of being caught, that makes each relationshipfeel dangerous and exhilarating, portrayed differently depending on thecharacters and how he would personally react to breaking/bending rules.]

…further loosened by the bottle ofmadeira that Solomon retrieved from the inner folds of his coat, lifted duringthe re-organizing of the ship’s stores as they prepared for the long walkacross the ice. [Although at this point in the show’s canon, Solomon does not like Hickey and has not flirted with the idea of mutiny yet, hehas made his feelings on authority pretty clear, so I like to think that hisway of “sticking it to the man” would manifest in things like his stealing thewine.]

“And who will punish me? Can’t be the first lieutenant.He’s a habit of breaking rules himself.”

“What rules would those be?”

Solomon had given him a wicked smirk as he handed him thebottle.

“I don’t think the Admiralty takes kindly to theirofficers sucking cocks, sir.”

[Another trope I like exploring in Terror fics is how themen react to homosexuality, his own personal sexual preference, the need forromantic vs platonic vs sexual love, and how that translates to hisinterpersonal relationships. Now, because I am an absolute sap, Itypically lean romance in a lot of my portrayals, but I like to think that whatdrew Solomon and Edward together in the first place was physical.]

They fucked in near silence, the pillow swallowing Edward’ssighs and Solomon digging his teeth into Edward’s shoulders to muffle hismoans. [The sex scene is straightforward because these two clearly know whatthey want from each other and don’t feel the need to draw it out withunnecessary pretense. Plus, at this point in their relationship, I believethey’ve fucked a few times before and have their nonverbal communication and rhythm down.]

Perhaps it was the acceptance that their expedition had failed, and now, theywere simply trying to escape the Arctic with as few casualties as possible. [Ireally want to highlight the last line of this paragraph because I think, in alot of ways, conceding defeat and accepting failure is one the biggestcharacter flaws of numerous Terror characters. Admitting failure is tough,sure, but the stubbornness and arrogance of this led to men’s deaths and further suffering. And of course, the failure is even worse when you add the ever-increasing number of men lost.]

That night was also when Sergeant Tozer—some unspeakablequality also altered in him, following Carnivale and the death of PrivateHeather—had crossed the threshold into officer country for the first time andelbowed his way into Edward’s cabin and bed. [It was important for me tomention the loss of Heather, whether as the loss of a friend to Tozer or theloss of one of his “men” so to speak. This loss was what propelledTozer forward, to pursue Little. The use of the verb elbow wasjust a further nod to how Tozer wrenched his way into Little’s life, but youknow like affectionately.]

“I don’t want to go,” he admits, the words falling from histongue like the last leaves clinging to a long-dead tree.

“You don’t have to. This is your cabin.”

The attempt at humor is poor, but the irritation in Edward’svoice is dulled by his exhaustion.

“The ships, Tozer. I don’t want to leave the ships.” [I love this exchange, because Edwardis broaching a very difficult topic, and Tozer just lets it slide off his backlike water, still attempting to bring lightness to the situation.]

Instead, Solomon’s voice is muffled by the hair on Edward’s headwhen he says, “We may die yet, and all this will finally be over.” [self-destructiveor simply realistic? This fatalism that grows in Tozer is partly what made himso susceptible to Hickey’s mutiny later.]

Edward sits on the edge of his bunk, and Solomon’s kneesbump into his as the man fumbles toward him in the darkness. Solomon gropes forEdward’s hand, and he unfurls each finger, tracing the lines along Edward’spalm. The longer he stands there, holding Edward’s hand, the more that Edwardfights the urge to interlace their fingers and pull Solomon back. [It was soso so important to me that it wasn’t just 1) drink 2) fuck 3) leave, so I triedto infuse as much sensual intimacy as I could into this story. The sex is aperk, sure, but what ultimately draws these two together is a deep desire for connection, understanding, and comfort. The hand holding is another exchangethat shows how they don’t want this shared moment to end, and how both of thembenefit from and desire this intimacy.]

“See you on the other side, sir,” he says as his goodbyebefore he slides the door open and leaves. [Significant that this is what he says vs simply a goodbye or, worse, nothing.]

Edward settles himself back into his bed, burying his noseinto the portion of his pillow where traces of Solomon’s scent clings. [The yearning.Still clinging to traces of Solomon, even as the man’s presence disappears fromthe room.]

[Final note, I wrote this in a single evening, literallyout of a desperate desire to have more Little/Tozer content. I went into itdeciding that I didn’t even care if the fic was any good or not, and, much tomy chagrin but also relief, this ended up being one of my better fics. Removingthe crippling perfectionism and expectations does writers wonders. I also very much want to write a companion piece that takes place during the first day both of them are at Terror Camp together, so fingers crossed that I write that sooner than later.]

#ferrame #edward little #solomon tozer #the terror fanfic #lozer #meet me in the schoolyard at 3 pm to fight over the ship name #asks #my writing

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will-iswriting-again · 7 years

Text

Squish

Title: Squish

Fandom: Sander Sides

Pairing(s): Logicality

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 2564

Warning(s): Weight Mention

Tag List: @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

Finally finished @lamp-calm-sanders fic, so sorry it took so long (I say knowing full well this is sadly the shortest amount of time it has ever taken me to write a fic, I am so sorry) (also spent like and hour trying to fix this because tumblr hates the copy paste option)

~~~

Logan hadn’t always felt bad about his body. Logan hadn’t always looked at his chub with disdain or fantasized what it would be like to be skinny, he hadn’t always wondered what it would be like to not be fat. God, he hated that word, he hated it’s definition, the connotations it brought when he said it, he even hated the ugly way it seemed to roll off his tongue. But he hated that he hated his body even more. He knew he wasn’t unhealthy (He encouraged Thomas to eat healthily often and Logan was not much of a hypocrite) it was just how his body metabolized food and he understood that. He knew the other three loved him and his body but he still couldn’t stop the negativity he felt when he thought about it.

Like he said though, he hadn’t always hated his size, for most of his life the thoughts never dared cross his mind. He wasn’t really sure when they had started, when Thomas was younger he hadn’t minded his size, if anything he liked his body. And he knew the other sides had no problem. Roman didn’t really care, he could playfully quip with Logan no matter how skinny or fat he was. Virgil liked to act like it didn’t bother him but he secretly loved the comfort that came with Logan’s hugs that wouldn’t have felt the same if Logan were any skinnier (he had always taken pride in being the only one besides Patton who could calm the anxious trait down.) And Patton, of course, loved Logan’s size, when they were younger Patton would always gush about how adorable Logan was, calling Logan his favorite “squish.”

Squish (adj)- a way of describing someone who is smol (see card 37), loveable, and sometimes even physically squishy.

Logan pretended he thought it was annoying but he secretly loved the endearing nickname. A warm fuzzy feeling would erupt in his chest whenever Patton said it, his heart would swell and his cheeks would turn bright red (when he was older and could understand emotions better he defined this feeling as happiness.)

Happiness (n)- the state of feeling happy (showing or feeling pleasure/contentment)

But that all changed during Thomas’s teenage years. It had started off small, Thomas would watch a movie with his friends, the coined “fat kid” was always the butt of the jokes. Logan had brushed it off at the time, high school children were often harsh for the sake of it, there was nothing wrong with him, the cruelties of high school were to blame. Then Thomas’s chubbier friends would get picked on at school, Logan once again would brush it off as useless teenage bullying but now there was an inkling of doubt (what if they were right? What if he was the wrong one here, what if they were right) Then social media began to take off and everywhere Logan would people just like him endlessly picked on for no other reason than how big they were. They were accused of being lazy, fat, disgusting, unhygienic, unmotivated, wrong, bad, wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong

After careful data analysis and consideration Logan finally concluded that being fat was bad. If so many people hated it (hated him) then statistically it must be true. Fat was wrong, he was wrong.

If Logan was younger he would have talked to Patton or Virgil about it. He would have crawled in their beds and cried his feelings away until he felt better. He could’ve sobbed into Patton’s chest and laid his insecurities out as they cuddled in his bed. He could have leaned on Virgil’s shoulder as they watched rain trickle down the their windows, just enjoying the quiet content of it all.

But it was too late for that, they had grown distant as Thomas had gotten older. Virgil was much more controlling during high school, he knew all the horrible things kids in school could do and he just wanted to protect Thomas from it all. But the other sides never thought that was the right way approach to high school and soon it became a constant war of Virgil vs. everyone else. So it hadn’t really surprised Logan when the other’s bickering had grown so tiresome for the anxious side that he had decided he was done with it all and retired to his room. Patton had been upset at first but Virgil could still do his job and he came out eat when he needed to so eventually Patton relented. By the time Thomas started making vines Logan had only seen Virgil a handful of times.

And Logan, too, had become more distant, Patton and Roman were too emotional most of the time (this was when he missed his left brain bro... the name was Virgil’s suggestion) and he did not have the time or energy to deal with them. He and Roman started disagreeing more often, Roman’s outlandish ideas sometimes overpowering any logical thought. Patton, of course, tried to bond with him every once in awhile but each time Logan would brush it off, so yeah, Logan was not in any position to ask any of them for help.

So he dealt on his own, and he was good at it. He learned to bottle his emotions up into this tiny spot in his chest and never touch them again. Using that method he could cope with all his issues without any negative connotations for Thomas. He was fine.

Until he wasn’t.

~~~

“This one’s for you Patton!” Thomas exclaimed, phone in hand. It was a late Tuesday night and they had yet again been subjected to Sides Q&A. “What’s your favorite cartoon?”

“Ooh! It’s so hard to choose,” Patton gushed. “But if I have to choose I’d saaaaaay, Steven Universe but Legend of Korra is always a close second.” Patton said with a grin. It’d been a bad day for Logan, nothing particular had happened it was just one of those really bad days where the mirrors seemed to distort his image until he felt like he was looking at an ugly monster. It was one of those day where he didn’t want anyone to see him, it made him feel open and vulnerable and he couldn’t deal with that right now. Â It was just one of those days where he just wanted to lay in his bed and hide under the covers until the sun went away. But life was never exactly kind to Logan when exactly kind when he wanted it to be.

“Virgil, in your opinion, who gives the best hugs?” Thomas queried, breaking Logan from his train of thought.

“I don’t really have many options considering Patton’s the only one who hugs me but I guess I’d say Patton,” Virgil said, bitterness from his years of exclusion leaking through. Pain pierced through Logan’s heart, he used to be Virgil’s favorite hugger.

Longing (n)- a yearning desire for what once was or what could be

“I will make an effort in the future to engage in more comforting physical contact.” Logan managed to squeeze out of his chest, stoic as ever, determined to hide the swell of emotions threatening to break the surface.

“As will I!” Roman declared. “I shall become the best hugger you have ever seen Virgil dear.” Virgil rolled his eyes but everyone could see the light blush that dusted his cheeks.

“Ah! Here’s another one for Logan,” Thomas interrupted. “What’s your favorite vocabulary card?” The interests of the other three perked up. It seemed like Logan had hundreds of cards and they’d only seen a handful.

”There are many that I’ve grown fond of but at this time my favorite is Extra.” Logan replied, flipping the card out from his back pocket.

Extra (adj)- Someone who is over the top, flamboyant or dramatic when it is not necessary

“It was not only one of the easier ones to learn but it is also an adequate insult for Roman.” He said with a mischievous smirk. Roman feigned an affronted gasp.

“I’ll let you know,” He cried, hand over his heart “I take that as a compliment.” He said dramatically and sniffled.

“See, case in point. You are extra.” Logan said, pointing at him, earning a chuckle from Virgil and another gasp from Roman. Thomas chuckled but pulled up another ask.

“This one’s for all of you,” He said. “Who do you all think is the hottest?” Immediately, they all jumped in, putting in their thoughts.

“Noooo, I can’t choose we’re all beautiful.” Patton said in distress eyes bouncing to all of them wildly.

“Oh it’s me of course,” Roman said gallantly, striking a pose.

“Why are you forcing us to choose who is what society expects to be ‘hot?’”Virgil asked, shaking his head.

“I hate to say it, but I do agree with Roman,” Logan spoke up and everyone paused to stare at him, even Thomas, Logan rarely agreed with Roman, much less on frivolous things such as this. “While you all are beautiful in your own way, Roman is the only one who fits the societal version of a hot version and actively tries to maintain this image.” No one spoke for a moment, the air tense and uncomfortable. Everyone was staring at Logan like he’d just grown two more heads, he looked away, not used to so much attention on him at once. Finally, Patton broke the silence.

“You mean, we are all beautiful, you forgot yourself.” He whispered and Logan tensed, Patton was the type of person who just sort of knew when someone wasn’t feeling like themselves and Logan didn’t want Patton to know right now.

Intuition (n)- the ability to understand something immediately, without the need for conscious reasoning

“Yes, yes, of course, merely a slip of the tongue,” Logan lied, his fingers tapping on his wrist to the beat of his nervous heart rate. “However, this question was shallow and I’d prefer not to take part in ones like these again, therefore I shall be going. Goodbye everyone.” He sunk out as quick as he could, he could hear the others saying their goodbyes and following behind him as he willed all his strength into not sprinting into his room and collapsing into his bed.

“Hey, Logan,” Virgil mumbled from behind, managing to catch him in the commons. “Umm.. sleep well.” He said, smiling softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. It may not have seemed like much but Logan knew it was so much more, when he was ready he would go to Virgil and finally talk about what was bothering him but he wasn’t ready yet and Virgil understood that.

With that comforting thought, he finally made it into his room and collapsed on the bed, the metaphorical damn breaking as his chest seemed to cleave in two, silent tears leaking out as he curled in on himself, bringing his knees to his chest. But he surprisingly didn’t feel particularly bad, there wasn’t any of the usual uncomfortable ball of sadness weighing on his chest, instead there was nothing. But he didn’t feel good either. It wasn’t like the weight had been lifted, it seemed more like a pleasant numbing. If he was being honest, he didn’t really feel anything at all.

He could deal with that, not feeling was fine, Logan was perfectly okay with not feeling. It probably wasn’t healthy but it was something different from the aches that usually plagued him everyday and Logan could use every break he could get. Patton, on the other hand, was not fine with that and chose a very poor time to barge into Logan’s room.

“Hey, kiddo, I noticed you were feeling down earlier and wanted to know if-” Patton paused, noticing the strange emptiness of the room. “Logan?” Logan didn’t move, laying still in his void of nothingness, he wanted Patton to go away and take all his feelings with him, Logan did not need them right now, he couldn’t breathe when they were there and needed them to leave.

“Oh honey,” Patton cooed and hurried over to the bed to sit next to Logan, his hand resting soothingly on Logan’s knee. “Is this about the Q&A question earlier?” Logan hesitantly nodded numbly, staring right past Patton. It was useless lying to Patton, he’d pester Logan until he confessed if he didn’t.

“I-I was not feeling my best.” He managed to mumble, the salty sensation of his tears shocking him closer to reality.

“Why?” Patton asked softly.

“It.. reminded me that I-I do not have a.. d-desirable body type.” He said slowly and Patton frowned.

“Is it because you’re chubbier than us?” Patton asked and Logan nodded again, more tears flowing as a silent sob wracked through him. Patton frowned and turned to face the crying boy. “You know that your size has nothing to do with your beauty right?” Logan paused.

“B-But it does,” Logan said earnestly. “I have looked over so much data, and the data shows that fat people are ugly. So I must be ugly... It’s only logical thinking.” He trailed off at the end, looking away from Patton and focusing on a tiny speck of dust in his covers.

“Can you sit up kiddo? I want to prove you wrong.” Patton said after a moment, an unidentifiable look in his eyes. Logan frowned but relented, sitting cross legged across from Patton, who smiled and poked his arm.

“See these arms? You may only see flab, but I see that these arms are the same arms that give the best hugs in the mindscape, even Virgil will agree with me on this one.” Patton lightly squeezed his arm and Logan rolled his eyes.

“And this tum?” Patton lightly pinched a bit of fat around his stomach. “This is the cutest tum I have ever seen. Even if you don’t think so.” He gave Logan a quick tickle as Logan giggled slightly and squirmed away.

“And you said your body isn’t hot? Well we must be talking about different people because Logan baby those hips do not lie.” Patton whistled, gaining a small chuckle from Logan. “You are perfect just the way you are Logan, your size is beautiful and just the right size for you. Your size is a part of who you are, you wouldn’t be my favorite squish without it.” The childhood nickname sent Logan over the edge as he launched himself into Patton’s arms, sobbing as Patton cupped Logan’s head against his shoulder. He let years of anguish and self loathing overflow as he clung to Patton like a frightened child. Patton calmingly shushed him and whispers words of kindness into his ears as they fell back against Logan’s bed, content in each other’s arms.

Logan knew he’d always have bad days. He knew there would be times where he couldn’t stand to look in a mirror. There would be days he’d want to hide away and never let anyone in but he knew Patton and the other sides would always be there for him and in that moment, for Logan, that was enough.

Also, Logan lied, extra was not his favorite vocabulary word.

Squish (adj)- a way of describing someone who is smol (see card 37), loveable, and sometimes even physically squishy. (i.e Logan)

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #tw: weight #sander sides fic #my little contribution to the anniversary today #logicality #angst with a happy ending

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adhd-ahamilton · 7 years

Text

Flirtation

So, here we are with the 11th of January, which means: happy birthday to Mr Alexander Hamilton! *clap clap* This fic doesn’t technically have anything to do with this date specifically, but I thought it’d be nice to spend the day to finish it off so I could post something happy (mostly??) in celebration! So here you go!

The quill tapped lightly against the inside of the ink stand, disturbing the contents with a soft plop. After scraping against the rim, it returned to its place on the page, scratching long, languid letters.

Yr Affectionate John Laurens.

The nib circled the air over the completed letters, thoughtfully, before being dropped with a clink into the well again, lest an errant black drop disturb the messy lines. Calloused fingers smoothed the paper, careful not to disturb the drying ink. It was rare that he had both the time and the drive to respond so swiftly as he had with this latest letter, and it was a relief that he would be spared of the lingering guilt of putting the task off.

His task completed, John leaned back in his chair, listening to the predictable squeak of wood. This entire room felt familiar to him now – the beds (Hamilton's, at present, covered by books and pages and unusable for its intended purpose), the desks, the window. The wind murmured through the house and against the panes, a soothing presence compared to the wild gusts they had suffered before and would many times again before the winter would pass its zenith. Louder, if less consistent, was the murmur of his companion, speaking softly to himself as he read and copied down noteworthy passages.

John had intended to merely take stock of the situation for a moment before suggesting a shift to the bed, but for the moment he felt too comfortable to disturb anything. This was, it seemed, one of those rare days when the air felt almost temperate, and in the yellow light of the candle, he felt closer to home than he had since he had stepped onto the boat back in England. For several long, blissful seconds, he let himself relax.

It was strange – he had never imagined, fully, this portion of fighting the war. His head had been full of quotes and arguments and half-developed ideas about liberty and tyranny and good government, and he anticipated the physical struggles and clashes of men and arms, but he hadn't thought at all of the quiet moments that would come in between defending his country by pen and by sword. But then, until this winter there had rarely been a spare moment to notice.

And yet, even if he had wondered what he would do for the rest of his time, he certainly would not have expected that he would spend it side by side with someone for whom he now felt so great an affection.

Alexander was sitting at the desk beside him – as always. After a long day of poring over letters and supply lists, a few locks of red hair had escaped his queue and fallen over his cheeks. As John watched, a finger which had been running along a rough page flicked upwards to tuck the hair behind his ear, a strangely feminine motion of the sort Alexander was unconsciously prone to. His lips continued to move, murmuring soft words John could not quite tell apart. At all times his eyes remained lowered, long lashes obstructing his swiftly darting pupils from view, fixed solely on his book.

John became aware, distantly, that he was smiling.

His breast felt tight. It felt like it had been so long since he had felt this – such untainted, unencumbered love for another person.

“What are you reading?” he asked; in the quiet of the room, it came out barely above a whisper.

Alexander didn't respond. So focused was he that he didn't even seem to hear him.

John huffed a single laugh. “Alexander.”

After a long moment, Alex leaned back and blinked several times.

He turned to John, eyes unfocused. “Hm?”

His hair had fallen out again. It was terribly endearing.

“I wondered what you were reading. You seemed very focused.”

Alexander blinked again, as though he were finally seeing John properly. And then, he seemed to stop. His eyes went wide, lips just slightly parted. The candlelight illuminated his face better now, turned as he was towards it.

After some moments, John raised his eyebrows. “Still focused.”

“Ah-” Alex abruptly looked away, then down at his book, and then began to pack his things up. “No – it's nothing important. Of minor interest.” Avoiding John's gaze, he set aside his papers, bundling them together with uncharacteristic roughness to replace in a pile.

Bemused, John paused, but there was no reason any longer for remaining up, so John followed, pushing his chair back to prepare for bed.

Here, too, Alexander seemed strangely withdrawn, staring downwards as he fiddled with the buttons of his waistcoat. When he noticed John watching, he swiftly glanced away and promptly continued the work of his undressing.

Had he given some offence? John wondered, a little uneasy, as he blew out his candle with a puff of air. He supposed he had been staring. Had his thoughts been made manifest in his expression? But, they had been nothing bad. It was not wrong to think fondly of a friend.

He mulled it over, concerned, but when he returned to their shared bed and settled down within it, Alexander followed immediately, resting his head down beside John's own.

The warmth – both that from the blankets around him and from Alexander at his side – was a luxurious relief, and John closed his eyes, mind going blank save for the sound of the house creaking around them and the softness of his pillow.

He felt a breath and opened his eyes. Alexander was watching him.

“...I must admit that my pride has been pricked, sir.”

John stared. “What?”

Alexander huffed. “I had fancied myself experienced in these matters – I have sparred with the finest of partners, and believed that I was capable of taking even the most skilful of blows without batting an eyelash. And yet you so easily have me beat.”

John frowned. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Alexander pauses. “Flirting,” he breathes.

John blinks, slowly, as the word settles.

It seems an inappropriate joke – because of course Alexander has flirted with him many times until now, flattering him with raised brows and smiles too broad to be sincere. But he had never hidden it – had made jests in open public, and in clear daylight, of things John would have felt guilty to put into words even within his own mind. It had been discomfiting, but in his admiration of the man (and perhaps his own emotional attachment), he had been content to believe there was nothing behind it.

Because it was good, after all, for two men to become intimate, and mingle their joys and woes, and share in the deepest of their thoughts. Such relationships would bolster a man's capacity for sensibility, and in so doing they would ensure one another's morality, serving as a trusted check to one another and reminding each of the pain of loss and destruction. John had yearned for a relationship such as this since he was young enough to remember – and yet over and over, his own desires had betrayed him, requesting such base actions on his friends that could certainly not be good for them. Even as he tried to wish them well, his body would betray him, revealing the selfishness that still lay within him – a part of him that secretly wanted to disgrace them. When he had met Francis, and found for the first time a willing partner, he had tried in vain to unite these two competing urges within him, to maintain their friendship in spite of their nightly activities, but it had been in vain. Francis, it was clear, had not shared his sympathies. And whatever it was he felt for him, he was now convinced it was not friendship.

So with Alexander, he had been resistant, at first. But as with Francis, he had swiftly become enraptured by the man, consumed with thoughts of him. And Alexander had seemed to understand what John craved from him, that which Francis had never seen – a closeness reminiscent of legend, two men whose hearts were intertwined. So he had wanted to believe in it. That if he pursued this friendship with true love and dedication, that the nature of it would cleanse him, leaving goodness in its wake. He had trusted Alexander to steady him, to keep in sight the same goal that John was striving for.

But for him to broach the subject now - to confess to having been affected by John's actions, while they lie beside one another in bed...

John shivered, itching to shuffle back. “I am not aware of having done any such thing.”

His voice comes out bluntly. His heart hammers; he cannot conceive of what response his friend might give.

He wanted to believe that there is some meaning here that he has missed. He couldn't bear to lose esteem for him.

There was a sharp intake of breath. And then a soft - “oh.”

Before John could speak, Alexander himself shifted across the bed, as far away as the bed allowed. John stared, but then, just as abruptly, Alexander sat up, pushing down on the surface of the bed.

John clasped his wrist in his hand.

Alexander jumped, and flicked his wrist jerkily as though to shake John off, but he held. His arm was shaking.

The panic in him was so familiar – striking John to his core.

“I never intended...” John began, but faltered.

He was aware that Alex was staring at him. John didn't understand why this was happening – he had believed all his life that his vice was exceedingly rare. That had made him feel entirely alone, but it had also been a comfort, certain as he was that he would be able to restrain himself as long as he was never given any invitation...

But his sensibility bubbled up in him, in vain, misdirected – instead of guiding him along the correct path, all that he wanted to do right now was soothe his friend's fear, to not offend this striking vulnerability which John had never been privy to from him before.

If he spoke, it could not be but the truth.

“I...cannot claim myself opposed, if that is true...”

Alexander continued to stare. Sitting up like this, the moonlight blanketed his skin, catching at his eyes where they alit.

His wrist shifted, but slowly; John's hand followed it, clasped loosely around, as bit by bit Alex lay down again. John's skin prickled, as though it understood better than his brain what was to come. A breeze passed over him like a ghost and he shivered. It was too cold to not be tucked securely between the sheets, but he felt paralyzed, held stiffly in place.

Alex shuffled closer, and then closer again. Their noses touched.

He wanted...

Their lips touched. John breathed in, deeply – he hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath. Alex pressed further, tilting his head to kiss him more fully. The hand John had been holding worked itself free and locked its fingers between John's smoothly.

Lost, John kissed back.

There was a soft 'hm!' from Alex (or had he done it himself?). The lips shifted, pulling away just a little; John realised after a moment that it was because Alex was smiling. Instead, Alex ducked his nose into John's cheek, almost in a nuzzle, and rocked his hand forward, clutching John's palm closer.

Suddenly overheated, his body rejecting the physical touch it has cried out for just moments ago, John leaned back, and then began to turn over. Alex didn't protest, opening his arms for John to lean into him as they had done so many nights already.

Alex rested his head against John's skull, a hand teasing at the ends of his hair. John breathed in and out, slowly. Alex chuckled – giggled – and John felt a touch at the top of his neck.

“Good night,” Alex murmured, and even in husky whisper he sounded impossibly happy.

John nodded. His throat was too tight.

In no time at all, Alex's breathing slowed – or so it felt. John couldn't say how long he lay awake, Alex's hand hot against his chest. But he could not remain awake forever, and in time, he too fell.

#my fanfiction #lams #hamilton #laurens #I just wrote this in the end heh #but ive had this lying around with just the first few paragraphs done for MONTHS #and I felt this occasion was a good enough reason to finally get around to writing it #I actually dont mind that I waited now because I wrote a few things v differently than I originally envisioned - and for the better IMO #and its probably obvious but: this isnt the end!! all my fic is in a rough same universe but this def has direct sequels planned.

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