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yournameoneverypage · 3 years

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When You're Ready

Reader request: Shawn Mendes x (y/n). "Shawn is on tour and invites the reader to the show so he can ask her to be his girlfriend and he sings When You're Ready, but Camila shows up and the reader is convinced that it's for C and not for her."

Word Count: ~3.7

Notes: Mostly fluff with brief moments of angst, and a smut ending.

Warnings: NSFW

~ * ~

(Y/n) stood at baggage claim at LAX, waiting for her blush-colored suitcase to roll by on the carousel. She was going to be in California for almost a week. Why? Well, her best friend was Shawn Mendes and he was currently on tour. He was missing her something fierce, he had said, and he wanted her to come see him.

Shawn had two sold out shows, consecutive nights, at the Staples Center followed by a show in San Francisco three days later, so why not make a week of it? His idea, but the second he mentioned it she was on board. She’d figure it out, find a way to make it work.

Any time she got to spend with him was both treasured and torturous. But she would go through the pain and heartache over and over again if it meant nearly a week with her most favorite person.

See, the thing was, (y/n) had been in love with Shawn for nearly as long as she had known him.

~ * ~

After retrieving her bag, (y/n) went in search of her driver. Shawn had said he or she would be holding a sign with her name on it. Shawn had a few interviews to do that morning, so (y/n) would be taken to his hotel to wait for him to finish, and then they’d have the entire afternoon and evening to spend together.

Aside from the aforementioned interviews, this was a day off for Shawn and he wanted to make the most of it because the Staples Center shows were the following two nights, and there wouldn’t be much down time during the days with soundchecks, meet and greets, and Q&As before showtime. Fortunately they would have more time to spend together between LA and San Francisco.

(Y/n) located her driver, who smiled brightly and introduced himself as John. He took her bag and engaged her in friendly chatter as he led her toward an idling Range Rover.

Who left a vehicle like this idling curbside at the airport?

John opened the rear passenger door for her with a knowing grin. (Y/n) started to climb in before she even noticed him.

“Shawn!” She almost tipped over into his lap reaching across the seat to hug him.

“Surprise, babe!” he chuckled into her ear.

“You’re here!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t collect you myself, but as much as I love my fans, I didn’t want to get stuck here for a half an hour taking selfies.”

“I thought you were in interviews all morning.”

“I was. I was hoping to come with John to pick you up, but I honestly didn’t know how long all the interviews were going to take so I didn’t want you to be disappointed if I said I would be here but then wasn’t.”

He was always so thoughtful; it was one of the many, many things (y/n) loved about him. She linked her hand with his between them, squeezed, and smiled. “I missed you.”

With a grin, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Missed you, too. So much. I’m so happy you’re here,” he breathed.

~ * ~

The day flew by way too quickly.

Once Shawn got (y/n) checked in and settled at the hotel, in a room that adjoined his, they grabbed lunch at one of Shawn’s favorite places.

It was (y/n)’s first ever visit to Los Angeles. Shawn had asked her if there were any specific things that were on her must do/see list, and he’d take care of everything.

They visited the Griffith Observatory, and strolled down the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

(Y/n) thought, and Shawn agreed, that too much attention might be drawn to them if he was spotted along Venice Beach or the Santa Monica Pier, as he had already been approached a few times during their activities earlier in the day. (Y/n) had been understanding and supportive of him spending a few minutes chatting with his fans and taking photos. She actually took a few of the photos herself.

Another day, he promised.

Instead, they spent a good part of the late afternoon and early evening at the Getty Center Museum.

They had dinner in Little Tokyo, followed by drinks at a tiki bar. Only one for (y/n) because she was a lightweight and tiki drinks were known to be quite strong. Shawn stopped after two, as he had a full day the next day and didn’t want to risk waking up with a hangover.

Back at the hotel, freshly showered, in pajamas, and in Shawn’s room, stretched out on his king-sized bed, Shawn and (y/n) ordered something from room service to share.

Even though they had chosen a movie to watch, they were too busy talking and laughing to pay much attention to the television.

~ * ~

Staples Center, Day One, had (y/n) immersed in the thick of things with Shawn, his band, and his crew. She knew only a few of them and was introduced to many more. Her laminated pass was the same as what everyone else had, giving her access to anything and anywhere she wished.

She soaked up as much as possible.

Shawn didn’t always attend soundcheck with his band, but for (y/n) he definitely wanted to be there so she could fully experience it. She stayed backstage, chatting with Shawn’s people while he did his meet and greet photos. She sat in on his Q&A session but stayed unobtrusively toward the back of the room. She could talk to him whenever she wanted; this was his fans’ time with him.

The concert was unbelievable, as (y/n) knew it would be. Shawn always left his heart and gratitude on stage.

That night they were in (y/n)’s room, she on one of the doubles, Shawn in the other. He was still a little high on adrenaline, asking her how she enjoyed the day, and especially how she enjoyed the show.

She knew it wouldn’t be long before he completely crashed out. When he did, he was still in her room.

~ * ~

Staples Center, Day Two, was much the same, although they started the day with Shawn dragging (y/n) to the gym to work out with him. They also skipped soundcheck to get lost together in the backstage corridors.

The closer it came to showtime, the more anxious Shawn seemed to get. He had a different vibe about him than he had the night before.

While eating dinner, (y/n) asked him if everything was alright. He assured her everything was amazing; it just felt like something big was about to happen and he hoped it would turn out to be a good kind of big.

~ * ~

Again, the show was absolutely incredible, although after the song he normally ended with, before acknowledging his band and going into the encore, he tried to quiet the deafening audience with a finger pressed against his lips.

Of course, it was futile. He just laughed, somewhat nervously, and said, “This song is for someone very special to me. Someone who is here tonight. I want her to know how I feel about her...”

That seemed to get everyone’s attention.

Shawn found (y/n) in the audience, met her eyes, and smiled adoringly.

Maybe I had too many drinks But that's just what I needed I hope that you don't think that what I'm saying sounds conceited When I look across the room, and you're staring right back at me Like somebody told a joke and we're the only ones laughin'

(Y/n)’s heart started thumping. He couldn’t be singing this for her, could he...? He had never expressed any interest in her as more than a friend. Had he?

Don't know why I tried 'Cause ain't nobody like you Familiar disappointment every single time I do Every single night my arms are not around you My mind's still wrapped around you

A couple of girls beside (y/n) bent their heads together and pointed to something or someone standing to the side of the stage. Shawn seemed to notice, as she had, and looked toward the side stage.

She followed his line of vision to see Camila standing there, beaming brightly. She put her fingertips to her lips and blew him a big kiss.

(Y/n) didn’t notice, over the dizzying blood rush in her head, that Shawn seemed to stumble a little through the chorus.

Baby, tell me when you're ready I'm waitin' Baby, any time you're ready I'm waitin'

Even ten years from now If you haven't found somebody I promise, I'll be around Tell me when you're ready I'm waitin'

He glanced once more toward Camila, but just as quickly his smile settled again in (y/n)’s direction. His voice steadied and grew stronger.

What if my dad is right When he says that you're the one No, I can't even argue I won't even fight him on it Call you when it's late And I know that you're in bed 'Cause I'm three hours back Seems like you're always six ahead

(Y/n) smiled back, although it seemed more reflexive than genuine, as her heart was currently crumbling to pieces. She tried her hardest to be happy for her best friend and the woman he was currently confessing his feelings for, on stage, in front of everyone.

Don't know why I tried 'Cause ain't nobody like you Familiar disappointment every single time I do Every single night my arms are not around you My mind's still wrapped around you

Baby, tell me when you're ready I'm waitin' Baby, any time you're ready I'm waitin'

Even ten years from now If you haven't found somebody I promise, I'll be around Tell me when you're ready I'm waitin', yeah

And if I have to, I'll wait forever Say the word and I'll change my plans Yeah, you know that we fit together I know your heart like the back of my hand...

Before the song ended, overwhelmed, unable to continue her façade, (y/n) had slipped from the crowd and backstage.

She wasn’t sure where to go once she was backstage. She was fighting back tears, so her vision was blurry, but she didn’t want to stop to ask anyone how to get out of the venue because they might ask why she was crying and then it would all turn into one big mess.

A voice from behind her asked, “You’re Shawn’s friend, right? Are you looking for his dressing room?” Was she? Would she be able to face him after his encore and bows?

“Yes, please,” she found herself answering.

“End of the corridor, turn right, first door on the left.”

(Y/n) nodded her thanks and began to follow the directions she was given. She wasn’t sure if it would be the first or last place anyone would be looking for her.

~ * ~

Shawn burst into his dressing room, out of breath from the end of his show and running around looking for (y/n). Incredibly relieved to see her, he gasped, “Are you okay? What happened?? You just disappeared!”

“I’m sorry. I just needed a few minutes.”

“In the middle of the most important song of the night?”

Her voice cracked. “I said I was sorry.” And she was. She should have stayed till the end. “I was caught off guard.”

“Oh no, babe. Shit! I’m sorry, (y/n). I overwhelmed you, didn’t I? I shouldn’t have made it so public. It should have been a private conversation. Forgive me?” he whispered.

“Of course. You’re my best friend and I’m happy for you,” she smiled softly, truly. And she was. His happiness meant more to her than anything else. It was just going to take some time to refortify her heart. “I wish you and Camila the best.”

“Camila?” Little wrinkles formed between his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“What do you mean, what am I talking about?” she puffed.

Suddenly Shawn started laughing.

(Y/n) placed her hands in the center of his chest and pushed him away, unamused.

He caught her wrists and pulled her to him. “I wasn’t singing that song for her.” He placed her hands over his heart and covered them with his own. “I was singing it for you, my beautiful, clueless, wonderful, precious love.”

“What?” she exhaled.

“I finished singing and looked for your eyes, only to find you gone.”

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

“I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend. Not Camila. You, (y/n). In front of the entire Staples Center audience. Why did you think I wanted Camila?”

“You kept looking at her side stage.”

“I glanced at her twice,” he contended, lightheartedly. “I was surprised. I didn’t expect her to be here tonight. It’s true that she recently told me she has deeper feelings for me-”

“And you have always had feelings for her.”

“I had feelings for her. Past tense. Before I met you. Are you really arguing with me about how I feel about you?” he smirked.

“But you didn’t sing that song last night, when Camila wasn’t here.”

“You are!” he laughed again.

“Stop laughing!” she exclaimed, unable to stop herself from giggling, her heart blooming with hope. She then whispered, “Did you really mean it?”

“Oh, darling...

“If I had professed my feelings last night and you had turned me down, I don’t think I would have been able to get through tonight. Telling you tonight, when there were three days before San Francisco, would have either given us time to disappear together for a few days, or would have given me time to sort myself out if you didn’t want me the way I want you.

“Please tell me you want me.”

(Y/n) wanted to scream, yes, I want you!, but instead she teased, trying to keep a straight face, “I don’t know. Any boyfriend of mine has to be a good kisser. Are you a good kisser?”

“I am a fantastic kisser,” he grinned. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and slid his hand to the nape of her neck.

“Prove it.”

His other hand circled her waist, fell against the small of her back. He leaned in, watched her eyelids flutter, then close, and gently guided her lips to his.

She had imagined this moment for so long but it was much more than she had ever expected. Thousands of thoughts were forced away to make room for one single idea. How could one kiss cause the world to fall away around her?

“Shawn,” she said, breathless, easing away.

“Still proving it,” he murmured. He softly licked at the seam of her lips, and when she responded he deepened their kiss. Her heart was pounding, and she was warm from head to toe. She felt his tongue meet hers and her entire body began to hum.

Their knees were weak when their lips separated.

Shawn touched his nose to hers. “Well...?”

“I will be more than happy to kiss you all night long, but only after you take a shower,” she giggled.

~ * ~

(Y/n) knocked on the adjoining door. She didn’t wait for a response before letting herself through.

Shawn was leaning against the dresser, partly sitting on it, phone to his ear, wearing nothing but baggy, cotton pajama pants. His chest and feet were bare. By his side of the conversation, (y/n) grasped that they were talking about the plan for the days leading up to San Francisco.

He held his hand out to her in invitation. His legs fell open and she automatically moved into the V they made. He ended his call, set his cell aside, and placed his large hands on her hips.

“So, about what you said... Something about kissing me all night long?”

She moved even closer to him. One of her hands curled around the back of his neck, the other tangled in his still damp curls. The roughened pads of his thumbs caressed the bare, soft skin just above the waistband of her pajama shorts.

She kissed him, tenderly at first, and then with growing intensity. He gently bit her top lip, sucked it, her teeth tugged on his lower lip. His kiss was determined and sent her head spinning. She began to tremble as she clung to him.

Shawn’s lips slowed and softened; he eased away and breathed, “I’ve already waited so long; we can take our time.” He slid his hands further up (y/n)’s sides, under her shirt. “We don’t have to rush into anything. I can wait for you.” She felt his thumbs brush either side of her breasts.

She started trailing tiny kisses from his chin up along his jawline before touching the tip of her tongue to the lobe of his ear. “I don’t want to wait,” she purred.

“Oh, thank God,” he groaned before again pressing hungry lips to hers.

She responded without hesitation.

Her hands trailed down his chest and to his sides, her fingers playing over the ripples of his stomach. She brushed her knuckles against the start of his arousal and his breath hitched, cupped him through thin cotton.

He arched his pelvis against the heat of her palm and she heard a low, rumbling moan from the back of his throat. He tangled a hand in her hair, tugged gently. He bit down on the skin of her clavicle, sucked, soothed it with his tongue.

She pulled away from his mouth. “Shawn!” she scolded, playfully, chuckled, “You’re going to leave a mark!”

“Good. Show everyone you’re mine. Mark you everywhere. But this,” he smirked, kissing the already purpling bloom, “will be the only one people can see.”

“Fuck,” she sighed. His claim on her made a shiver trickle up her spine.

“If you insist,” he grinned, smugly.

Feeling bold and sexy, she hooked a fingertip in the waistband of his pajama bottoms and starting walking backward. He stood to his full height and followed.

(Y/n) felt the backs of her legs hit the mattress. With fluid movement, she slid her shorts down, stepped out of them, and pulled her camisole up and over her head. She stood before him in small lace panties, breasts bare, nipples tight.

The way he looked upon her made her blood thrum, her body flush. He licked his lips, bit softly on the fuller, lower one.

His hand reached out and cupped one of her breasts. He gently tugged at her nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Instinctively, her hand slipped between her legs, at her core, and she rubbed herself through the damp lace. His nostrils flared when he caught the scent of her arousal. He whimpered, her name falling like a prayer from his lips.

“I wanna see you,” (y/n) purred.

Obeying, oh so eagerly, Shawn pushed his pants down, over his ass, off, his cock bouncing free, filling, curling up toward his stomach right before her eyes. He wrapped thumb and forefinger around the base, his other fingers pressed flush against his scrotum.

“Been thinking about me like this?” he hummed.

Yes. God, yes. Maybe one day she would tell him just how much. It was her turn to lick her lips and bite the lower one.

They fell together onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and with a crash of lips. When they separated to catch their breath, (y/n) reached over to turn off the bedside lamp.

“Nuh-uh, Sugar,” Shawn rasped. “Waited too long for this.” Voice rough with desire he sang softly, “I wanna love you with the lights on, keep you up all night long... Darling, I wanna see every inch of you, I get lost in the way you move...”

She might have giggled if her panties weren’t being drawn down over her hips, if calloused fingertips hadn’t begun to dance along soft, hot, electrified skin, lips and tongue following.

He took a dusky, peaked nipple into his mouth. Her back arched, hands grasping at the sheets at her sides, and moaned softly. He sucked her other nipple into his mouth, tasting, humming.

“Shawn,” she whined, moving a hand to tangle it in his dark curls, tugging him away from her breasts.

“Tell me what you want, Love.”

“I want you. I need you,” she pleaded.

“What was that?”

“Fuck me, Shawn.”

“Mm... Since you asked so sweetly,” he smirked, stroking his cock. He rolled on a condom and moved to rest between her legs.

She reached between them, taking him in her hand, and he shuddered. She wanted to feel the moment he slid into her. He let her guide him. Their eyes met and held, bodies drew together, foreheads touched. She groaned with deep satisfaction into his mouth as she adjusted to his girth and length.

He wheezed, stilled as he bottomed out. She was so tight around him that if he began to move in that moment it would be over too soon.

“You okay there, Mendes?” she purred and imperceptibly tightened her legs around his waist.

“Oh God.” That tiny shift was almost too much. “You feel so good. Too good,” he mumbled. “I need a minute.” His arms on either side of her, holding his weight above her, he buried his lips in the crook of her neck, centered on the scent of her skin as he salvaged control.

One hand again tangled in in his hair, the other stroked the skin of his upper back.

“Okayokay,” he mumbled, and he began to rock into her, slow... rhythmic... deep.

She gasped when the pebbled nubs of her breasts brushed against his taut nipples. Her whimpers and groans mingled with his rumbles and moans. She was torn between closing her eyes and wanting to watch his face as warmth and pleasure coursed through her.

He wanted her to climax before him. Wanted to watch her fall apart beneath him.

He knew she was nearly there when she began to ripple on the bed like a wave on the sea. The tide came all the way up; he was caught in the rush. And then the knot at the root of his cock dissolved in fire and he was falling fast, craving the feel of her so close to him, unsure where he ended and she began.

( FIN )

~ * ~

@theregoesmyherojd @benito-mi-vida @shawn-is-my-giant-jellybean @mendesblurb

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes request #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes x y/n

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extraintrovertedalien · 3 years

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Brave face, talk so lightly(hide the truth)

'All my life, I've just wanted to make things easier for them.'

Au August

Day/Prompt: Day 26 - Soulmate

Ship: Prinxiety, brief logicality, creativitwins

Word count: 3k (I'm so sorry I got carried away)

Cw: swearing / brief murder mention / implied death / crying / nightmares(?) / anxiety mention / caps / claustrophobia(?)

A/N: the prompt is your dreams are your soulmate's memories. The title is from the song "Sick of losing soulmates" by dodie. I wrote the first 1/4 of this a few days ago and the rest in one sitting and I couldn't care less about proofreading it so Im so sorry if there are any mistakes ;-;

@tsshipmonth2020

I see a girl in the distance. She has her back turned. Long chocolate-colored hair tied in a low messy bun. My hand is reaching out to her. I feel this sudden longing to be held by this woman. Craving her caring and loving words. Telling me that everything is going to be alright.

Wait. Why is she getting farther away?

She looks back at me with a sad smile. Everything gets dark. I let my eyes stray from her to look around. When was I in a hospital corridor?

"I'm sorry, Pumpkin. You're gonna have to continue our adventure without me. But, fear not, Little one. I'll always be there by you. You just gotta learn to know where I am,"

She caresses my cheek, giving me the warmest smile I have ever received.

She's gone, suddenly. I touch my cheek, still feeling the ghost of her warm touch. Along with… something wet? Am- Am I crying?

"Roman!"

I don't move. I feel stuck. But, also free, somehow. Just unsure of what to do, I guess?

"Roman! Wake up. You idiot!

"Roman!

"Oh, thank all things unholy! I thought someone was in our room, trying to murder us! You were crying, and- and whispering stuff! And it's creeping me the fuck out! And I'm not easily creeped out, you know that" Remus exclaimed as he sat on Roman's chest, grabbing his twin’s shoulders.

"Man, you're soulmate must have some twisted memories," He continued, getting off of Roman and returning to his own bed across the room.

'Yeah. Twisted…' Roman thought.

~*~*~

"You okay there, Sweetie?" Roman heard from where his head was buried on the kitchen counter. "Yeah... Just thinking about my soulmate again," he admitted.

"Another bad dream?" His mom inquired as she sat next to Roman, patting his back. "It's not just that. It's about the move. Like, we're never really sure which of our memories they see, right? But, they've seen all my memories from this place. Like, they know where I've been my entire life…" he trailed off.

"I'm just not sure how they would feel seeing a whole new different place… They don't seem to be in a place to experience a big change right now. All my life, I've just wanted to make things easier for them. And, yeah, my dreams don't really change that much. But, I make an effort, y'know?" Roman looked up at his mom to seek at least some kind of reassurance.

"I understand what you mean, and I think that what you're doing is great. And I know that you're gonna be the bestest thing that's ever gonna happen to them. But, I'm really sorry. We don't really have any choice with this move. I know your soulmate is in a dark place right now, but you can't always do everything for them. You're also your own person," His mom hugged him.

Roman felt like he was hopeless in this situation. And, he was always hoping for the best. For his soulmate or otherwise. Maybe his mom was right about putting himself first sometimes.

~*~*~

Virgil was in his first period when someone he didn't expect to walk into his classroom… walks into his classroom… They were wearing an army green shirt, a denim jacket with neon green highlights and spikes at the bottom, ripped jeans, and platform boots with more spikes and vulgar words written on them. To say that this man was familiar was an understatement. He KNEW this man's entire life THROUGH his dreams.

Virgil felt like he was trespassing someone's life. Like, he wasn't supposed to know the man. And that, they shouldn't be in any way related. Especially to their sibling.

He wasn't really ecstatic about meeting his soulmate. IN SCHOOL NO LESS. It wasn't really an ideal 'meet-your-soulmate' place for someone like Virgil.

"Alright, students, I'm sure you've all noticed that we have a new student right here. Now, why don't you go and introduce yourself, Mister," their teacher said to the denim jacket guy.

"Umm. Sup? I'm Remus Duke Kingsley. Nice to meet you all. And, if you see a guy that looks like me but without the mustache and wears red all the time, he’s always loud, you can’t miss him. That's my twin brother, Roman. The boring one," Remus says, yawning by the end of his introduction.

'HOLY FUCK, TWINS?!' Virgil thought. Fortunately(or unfortunately, depending on which part of Virgil's brain you're asking), Remus already gave him a vague description of who to look out for.

~*~*~

Virgil continues his day and falls into his daily routine, which mostly includes attempting to avoid being perceived by anyone. It usually succeeds if you exclude his friend, Patton, from ‘anyone.’ He only hopes that his soulmate also sees Patton in their dreams cuz, to be honest, Patton is the ray of sunshine everyone needs. Yeah, he was also friends with Logan, but he’s more like a moon if you ask him.

Virgil goes into the cafeteria and sits at their usual table, his back facing the entire cafeteria. He takes out a paper bag from his bag and grabs the sandwich he bought earlier, not waiting for his friends.

A few moments pass before Logan and Patton reach his table. “Hey, kiddo! You alright?” Patton says as he sits down. Virgil just gives them a nod and continues to eat. “I heard this morning that there were new students,” Logan inquires before Patton interrupts “Oh yeah! They’re twins! I have first period with one of them. He’s really nice. Oh! Hey! Roman! Over here!” Patton shouts and waves his arm toward a student that just entered the cafeteria. “Hope you guys don’t mind that I invited him over to sit with us,” He continues and flashes both Virgil and Logan a smile no one could say no to.

“Hey, Patton.” The guy says to Patton. “Hope you guys don’t mind me crashing your table. I’m Roman by the way,” Roman says to the other two. “Pleasure to meet you, Roman. I’m Logan. And, no, we wouldn’t mind at all,” Logan answered him back. Roman looked over to Virgil who just nodded and said his name. Roman then proceeded to sit next to Virgil but not paying him any mind.

And, though Virgil seemed to be calm about the situation, his mind is currently in flames having his anxiety and his gay panic fight over each other. Virgil is currently waiting for who would win, that's why he seems so calm on the outside. After finishing his sandwich, he was trying to think of something he could do to keep himself from leaving and be noticed. He looked over to Logan, attentively listening to Patton talking about the dog he saw this morning. Roman was silently eating his lunch, also listening to Patton, but looking around the cafeteria every once in a while.

It seems that Virgil’s anxiety won the fight because he decided that he doesn’t want to stick around with his friends and his apparent soulmate without doing anything. So, he stands up and excuses himself from the group. "Hey! Wait!" Roman calls after him. Virgil stops a few feet from the table to look back at Roman who was already jogging towards him.

"Virgil, right?" He assures.

Virgil nods. "Ok, there’s just something I wanna ask you. Are those two soulmates?" Roman throws his thumb back, pointing at the two left at the table. "Cuz, as much as how adorable they look together, I kinda don't want to be stuck as a third wheel," he continues.

"Oh. Yeah, those two are soulmates. Sometimes, I wonder if they ever do notice me every time I leave the table," Virgil elaborates, looking back at his friends with a slight smile.

"Umm. Class doesn't start for a few more minutes. I was wondering if I could join you for a while? Wherever you were going…" Roman trailed off, realizing he didn't know where the shorter male was headed.

"Uhh. Yeah, sure. I was just headed to the courtyard to pass the time,"

'Shit. Virgil, why are you doing this?! Why did you agree?! You have anxiety!' Virgil mentally scolded himself.

"Ok. Cool. I'll just go get my stuff," Roman flashed Virgil a smile before heading back to the table.

'Fuck. I am so screwed,' Virgil thought.

~*~*~

"So, what's the deal with those two? I mean, how did they deal with the soulmates thing?" Roman finally spoke a few moments after they found a bench to settle on. "Uhh, well. Logan is my childhood friend and the first day we started high school here, they both had a dream of roll call the other had that day, I guess? They both heard each other's name and boom. You got your glasses gays," Virgil discussed, reminiscing the events that happened that day.

Roman let out a chuckle at Virgil's last words, causing the other's heart to skip a beat. They remain silent for a while, watching the other students passing by.

"What about you?" Roman spoke up.

"What about me?" Virgil glances back.

"I mean, what about you? Have you met your soulmate? Do you know who they are? You just seem like an interesting individual to me, having to stick around knowing you're third-wheeling all the time yet valuing your time with them and your time with yourself all the same. Well, either that or I'm just embarrassed that I think you're uncomfortable with me here…" Roman rambled, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Virgil chuckled, "Nah. I just get anxious when meeting new people. Plus, I think you're a pretty nice guy." They smiled at each other, Virgil feeling his face heat up, and looks away immediately. "And, about the soulmate thing. I think I have a clue of who they might be, I just…" he trailed off.

"What's holding you back?" Roman muttered, lowering his head, attempting to catch the other's eye. "I… I just think that my memories aren't that… for them. They're just this amazing and joyful person… I just don't think they deserve to see my bland memories every night,"

The pair fell silent, Roman feeling sympathy for the other. Virgil felt Roman shift in his seat before speaking up, "I don't think anyone's memories are ever bland."

Virgil looks up at Roman who has a far-off look with a slight smile on his lips. "I think that our dreams are what shows us what we're missing in life. What our soulmate has that we need and what we have that they need. You know, what makes you both feel complete when you're with each other," Roman smiled.

Virgil pondered on the other's statement for a while. "Is that... Is that how you feel when you're with your soulmate?" He said, being careful with his words. Roman sighed but remained smiling, "I haven't met them yet. But, what you said earlier reminded me of them. I always think they're a little different. My moms said that dreams are supposed to show my soulmate's memories. But, no one is ever sure which ones we see. Well, my dreams always have one thing in common… There's darkness every time…" Roman trailed off, looking more sad as he continued.

"Sometimes, they walk out of their house and, suddenly, everything goes dark and I see pairs of eyes staring at me as I walk. Or sometimes, they lie in bed and, suddenly, it's dark again and I'm stuck inside a box too small for me. But, there’s always this one dream that always repeats itself. Though, I'm not sure my soulmate's gonna be comfortable with me sharing," Roman finally snaps out of his trance and looks up at Virgil, looking embarrassed.

At this point, Virgil is now entirely sure that the person in front of him is his soulmate. He feels tears cloud his eyes so he looks away to play off wiping them away before looking back at Roman with pity in his expression. This is exactly what Virgil was afraid of, having his soulmate also experience the darkness that clouds him every day he wakes up.

"Wow… They- I- I don't know what to say… What are you gonna do when you meet them?" Virgil glances at Roman, pity still in his eyes. Roman let out a sigh but smiled, "I'm gonna give them the biggest hug they've ever received and reassure them that I'm always gonna be with them and that they'll never have to feel alone all the time ever again." Roman looked at Virgil with a smile. But, before he could notice the tear that fell from the other's eye, a loud shrill of their school bell rang throughout the courtyard, signaling the start of their next class.

"Talk about first impressions," Roman said with a chuckle, standing up. "Well, see you around, Virgil. I got a few more 'Hi, I'm Roman' to do," he continued, leaving Virgil on the bench.

~*~*~

I hear my converse squeak as I walk through the hallway. There are people around me, but they're all just silhouettes of the same familiar darkness. I'm walking to what seems to be the cafeteria. I sit down and grab my lunch from my bag. A few minutes pass, two figures sit in front of me. There's something familiar about them despite being two black silhouettes.

"Hey, kiddo! You alright?"

Patton?

"I heard there were new students," Logan?

Wait. Am I…

"Oh yeah! They're twins!"

Oh.

"I have first period with one of them. He's really nice. Oh! Hey! Roman! Over here!"

Before I could look over to… me…

Darkness. Again.

I hear muffled voices. Too muffled to be recognized.

I stay in darkness for what felt like hours before I get surrounded by light.

Too bright.

There's a silhouette in front of me. It doesn't have any facial features but I can feel it stare at me. Slowly, the light around me doesn't feel too bright anymore. It feels… warm and comforting. Similar to the feeling I have in my chest, along with a squeezing feeling. I feel tears cloud my eyes, but I feel happy, somehow?

I feel someone embrace me. I look up to see the silhouette. Its arms around me, like it's protecting me. I feel secure. I feel loved.

I hug back, breaking down in its arms.

"You don't have to be alone anymore"

I hear my own voice. I break down sobbing, seeking more of the silhouette's warmth.

I stopped sobbing after a while but remained in the silhouette's arms for what felt like hours.

"You gotta wake him up!" I heard a distant voice say in a hushed tone.

"No, he hasn't slept like this since who knows when… Something must've happened yesterday..."

I feel myself slowly drifting from where I was standing.

"We can just tell the school he's sick"

"On the second day?"

I feel someone caress my cheek.

"You can stay too if you want"

"Hey, sweetie," Roman opens his eyes to his mom in front of him.

"What's going on? Why are you all in our room?" Roman asks as he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He eyes Remus standing in front of their mama. Their mom is sitting on the edge of Roman's bed, facing him.

"Well, sweetie. You see, you just had a full night's sleep," their mom explained.

"You looked so peaceful too," their mama added with a smile. Roman stopped to let the events of his dream last night come back to him.

"Roman, is everything ok?" Their mama walked over to him, tucking a few strands of his hair behind his ear. "Yeah… Yeah, I'm okay!" He flashed a smile to his moms, meaning what he said.

~*~*~

Roman hadn't been able to sit still ever since he got to school. 'Late', he should add. Apparently, he overslept while Remus and their moms decide whether to wake him up or not.

When they got to school in the middle of first period, they were excused because their moms were there to explain. With a slightly bent truth, of course.

Roman had to wait three(and a half) classes to talk to Virgil. They didn't have any classes together, to which Roman was bummed to find out. When the bell rang, signaling their lunch break, Roman hurriedly headed to the cafeteria. When he got there, he spotted Virgil just about to sit down at their usual table.

"Uhh. Virgil? Can I talk to you for a sec?" Roman felt awkward, to say the least.

"Uhm. Sure," Virgil replied, standing up. Roman led them under a tree in the courtyard, away from other students. They stayed silent for a while before Virgil spoke up, "So… what'd you wanted to talk about?"

Roman just stared at Virgil for a few moments, examining him, before enveloping him in a tight hug. Virgil stood frozen for a while, surprised at the gesture. He slowly placed his hands on Roman's back, still confused at the sudden affection.

"You're not alone anymore, Pumpkin," Roman said in a gentle voice, cradling the other's head. Virgil froze when he heard the nickname. His expression then softens and hugs Roman tighter, burying his face on the taller male’s shoulder.

"How did you find out?" Roman heard, slightly muffled by his jacket. "Had a dream about yesterday," Roman simply stated, not elaborating more. "What about you? You said you had a clue. Oh! That rhymed,"

They both laughed.

"I have first period with Remus and I recognized him right away," Virgil replied, his face still buried on Roman's shoulder. "Oh, I'm so sorry you have to deal with him," Roman chuckled.

"No, I'm sorry you had to deal with him your entire life,"

"Well, we're not alone anymore now, are we? Roman asked with a serious tone. Virgil parted a few inches from Roman, still holding on to him. He smiled as he looked up at Roman, "No, we're not."

This might be the last one I'll do for AU august but I'm also deciding if I should go back to the prompts I missed when I was sick hmm

I wish I included Remus more in this but it was already 3k words and thats the longest I've ever written so maybe its for the best XD

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thegreaterlink · 2 years

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Reviewing Star Trek TNG - S1E3 "Code of Honor"

(This screenshot is not reflective of the episode it's from, but it's too perfect not to use. It’s the most entertainment I got out of this episode anyway.)

Well, that's 45 minutes of my life I'll never get back.

Going in, I knew this episode had a reputation as the worst episode of TNG, if not the worst episode in all of Star Trek. And it's not hard for me to see why.

Let's just get this over with.

THE PREMISE

The Enterprise crew are in contact with the Betazoids of the planet Ligon II to acquire a life-saving vaccine for Anchilles fever. When some of the Betazoids beam up to the Enterprise to provide a sample, they kidnap Lieutenant Yar and book it.

The crew beams down to the planet to ask for her back, and Lutan, the Betazoid leader, tells them that they'll get her back after a banquet in the crew's honour.

Problem solved, right? I fucking wish.

Because at the banquet, Lutan announces that he's changed his mind and wants Yar to be his wife. This naturally angers Lutan's current wife, who challenges Yar to a fight to the death. The Enterprise crew daren't interfere with the Betazoids' honour code for fear of losing the vaccine, so they can only do what they can to help Yar.

MY REVIEW

The plot is stupid. It's a miracle this was approved past the concept stage. Maybe they were just desperate for ideas early on - it would explain why the last episode was a TOS rehash.

Wesley Crusher strikes again, this time getting a seat on the bridge. And Picard says he'll get another chance in the future. Joy of joys.

The Betazoids (such a stupid name for a species) are the laziest alien design yet - just humans with black contact lenses - second only to the Ba'ku from Insurrection. My research tells me that they were originally supposed to be lizard people, but this was changed for some reason. Maybe they didn't have it in the makeup budget.

This change has the unfortunate effect of making this episode unintentionally somewhat offensive - a group of black people living by primitive ideals and basing their society upon an honour code? Come on.

(Edit: I know now that not all Betazoids are black and that Deanna Troi is actually half-Betazoid, but that isn’t revealed until a later episode.)

What do I like about this episode? There's a nice scene between Geordi and Data where the latter makes an endearing attempt at humour. And there’s a funny moment where Data insults the French and Picard gets offended. And the fight between Yar and Lutan’s wife (I could check her name but that would mean watching this episode again) is somewhat entertaining to watch, even if it takes place on a weird-looking climbing frame. That’s it.

2/10 - Just skip this one entirely. With episodes like these, it's no wonder Denise Crosby decided to quit.

Previous Episode | TNG Masterpost | Next Episode

#star trek #star trek tng #star trek the next generation #jean luc picard #will riker #tasha yar #deanna troi #geordi la forge #data #no worf cuz he wasn't in this one #shut up wesley #wesley crusher #reviews #tv review #tv show

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thelucyverse · 3 years

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Suburbs fic idea Milippa /2 (1)

When Philippa wakes on the next morning, it is because someone is ringing the doorbell, and for a moment she is filled with limitless rage at being woken when for once she managed to sleep through the night, at being so tired it borders on feeling dead inside, at the frustration of having to be awake and alive.

This is a draft version. Expect nothing else or maybe wait for the finished product on ao3 lol

Note to self: thinking about maybe changing Tilly to another single woman instead? Single mom? Idk... I think Tilly/Chris is interesting, but like, idk

Then, she takes a deep breath and drags herself out of bed, takes her meds, goes looking for her clothes and only briefly goes into the bathroom to make herself look like more of a person. Then, she forces a smile onto her face and faces the world - or rather, the hell that is a small neighborhood.

Her first welcome committee is made up out of a woman and man - the redhead from the window yesterday, and the man presumably her husband from how he's standing next to her, carrying a plate with cake.

"Hi!" the redhead chirps brightly, beaming over her entire face. Philippa doesn't know whether that is making it easier or harder to keep the smile on her own face. Perhaps it's both - annoying yet also contagious somehow, and they cancel each other out.

"I - hello. Do come in."

"Thanks!" the redhead skips inside, followed by the two men who have yet to say a single word. The one holding the cake platter looks a little awkward with it, and Philippa points him to the thankfully already fully built-in kitchen counter, earning herself a grateful smile.

"Oh, I'm Sylvia, but everyone calls me Tilly!" the woman tells her happily and extends her hand. "And this is my husband Chris - oh, did you?"

"Already handed over the cake," Chris says with a fond chuckle, and Philippa smiles, too.

"Yes - thank you, really."

"You're welcome!" Tilly beams. "We're so happy that you're moving in here, the house has been standing empty way too long! And we have a wonderful neighborhood, there's a holiday party and now in the summer there will be barbecues... Um, yes, sorry," she breaks off a little awkwardly when she notices that she hasn't even let Philippa introduce herself.

"Hello- nice to meet you both. My name is Philippa Georgiou, feel free to call me Philippa. I must say, I am not much of a people person myself- I'm sure we will all still get on well, I just thought I would say that immediately, because otherwise you might think I'm standoffish when I really just have a limited capacity of... /people/ energy for a day, I usually prefer the anonymity of the city because of it, but I'm quite burned out from work and got recommended to live in a smaller town to calm down a little."

Tilly gapes at her a little, and Philippa suppresses a wince. She had planned to be honest from the start (well... About all but one thing, at least), so she wouldn't have to start awkward explanations later and get it all over with instead in one go. But maybe that was a little /too/ honest, now...

"Oh, alright," Chris says a little awkwardly, and Tilly finally catches herself.

"I guess maybe we should leave early then, leave you some energy to meet the rest of the street?"

"No, no, don't mind me, I can survive a day of welcomes, and we haven't tried your cake yet... I just meant in general, for the future... Wait, is really everyone going to come today?" Philippa can't keep her voice from showing some of the pain she feels at that thought. She had thought it would only be her direct neighbors, and maybe even then not all in one day, as people are busy with their own lives... But of course, in a town like this most everyone is at home on a Saturday, with nothing else to do but the routine of their daily lives.

"Um... Are you sure that it's fine? I can text and ask whether some can come tomorrow, or on the weekend, if you'd like... If you're okay with them knowing, that is?"

"Yes, thank you, that would be a relief. I don't mind at all," she never caref much about what people think, and in this case she actually likes spreading awareness on the issue, mental illness is still way too stigmatized, when in the current economic climate most can do nothing /but/ work themselves to exhaustion - not that she needs to, not anymore. She got lucky, making as much money as she did during the last years... But in the process, she unlearned what it means to relax and take a minute to herself.

"Alright, then I'll just let everyone know!" Tilly beams, pulling out her phone. "Not that we have, like, a neighborhood groupchat, just several inofficial friendgroup chats, we're all friends here, really"

"Yes?" Philippa asks, sounding perhaps a little too amused and slightly unbelieving now.

"You don't think we'll be friends?" the expression on Tilly's face is the epitome of 'Puppy-dog eyes', and somehow Philippa doesn't think that she is doing it on purpose. Next to her, Chris is looking at her with a quite besotted expression on his face.

"Oh, by the American definition, sure. I would just use the word acquaintance instead, you see? In most places of the world, you don't use the word friends quite so often, just for what you might call best friends here - and we don't have a ton of 'best friends', just one, maybe two or three in a group, and if we move and have a very good friend there that might be my best friend in that town, but it will be clear that it is not the best friend in general. Then maybe a few close friends, a bunch of friends, and friendly acquaintances..."

"And neighbors are just acquaintances?" Chris asks, sounding sincerely curious.

"Friendships can happen there too, but personally I would take even longer to switch the terms there - you're neighbours first and foremost, you have to live in the same area, that's a category all on its own."

"So, you don't think we can be friends soon?"

Philippe laughs. "Maybe we can be. You both seem nice so far, I promise."

"/So far/?" Tilly asks, just a little bit affronted.

"Well, don't know you very well yet, after all. There is more to a person than just whether they are friendly to a newcomer, and there are a number of issues I'd have to know about someone before I can consider them a 'friend'."

Her gaze falls onto the [xx and she xx unhappy memory about one bigot manager oso]

"Oh- ooh, don't worry about that! We're an inclusive bunch, or trying to be. You won't have to worry about-" she nods at xx, "Just down the street Joan and Keyla Owesukan are also a couple - no, married now of course, and we also have a bunch of gay guys, and everyone is just nice in general... So, you don't have to worry about being gay, a single woman Xxlikeherself?, or a witch"

"I'm not a witch," Philippa says a little perplexed.

"Then what are those crystals?"

"Oh, I just think they're pretty. I'm a bit of a magpie, if anything, a hoarder of shiny things..."

"Oh, you'll have to meet Paul then! He's an engineer, but he makes some shiny jewellery in his freetime, and also he's gay, living with his husband Hugh- not that I think you have to be best friends with all the gay people, of course! Just that well, you're here all alone in the big house, unmarried... And he knows everyone in the gay community, I think, might be able to introduce you to some ladies in nearby neighborhoods, I don't think Joan or Keyla would be much help there, they mostly stick to themselves"

Philippa makes a face. "I don't know whether anyone would want to be in a relationship with me, with how much time I need for myself," that had always been true - only in the past, she had retreated to write. Now, she just needs to be alone to breathe. "And I wouldn't want to live with anyone, I'm quite content having the entire house for myself I don't think many people would be willing to have a serious relationship at a distance that way."

Tilly looks like she is about to say something - like maybe, she knows someone fitting to Philippa's description - but then she just smiles.

#suburbs milippa #wip #unposted wip #not lverse

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no-error · 4 years

Text

Fantasy Klance Ficrec

Finally new list for fic recs. Hope ya all enjoy these awesome fics. :)

Remember check out tags!

Of Wolves and Wisps

Lance knows not to seek with his mind in the woods. The fae have a habit of twisting the desires sought by those who chase after the wisps. But when given no other choice, Lance makes the decision to alter his path. To change his fate.

He should have known, really, how things would turn out.

Never call out to wolves. One may just answer.

Words: 145,585 AO3

The Criminal Witch and His Knight of a Husband

Series

Under the rule of an unjust king, witches not employed by the crown had become illegal in the kingdom of Altea. Not wanting to work for a filthy murderer of a man, Lance spitefully refused to get his certification at the normal age of sixteen. But that was over half a decade ago. Altea is now ruled by the beautiful and reasonable Queen Allura, and Lance finds himself happily married to her head knight, despite his fugitive status.

Lance struggles with helping hot headed, prone to danger Keith stay alive, while simultaneously keeping his ability to cast spells a secret. He can't have him figuring anything out. After all, the last thing he wants is for his own husband to arrest him.

Words: 80,309 AO3

Star Cursed

A Dragon familiar is the last thing Lance expects to summon when he graduates lowest in the class at the Magerium. All he wants to do is summon a toad or a cat and get to work, but summoning a High Magic creature like a Dragon is something no one has done in hundreds of years. The Dragon, named Keith (why, WHY is he named Keith), is trained to be a familiar for the most powerful of mages.

Unluckily for him, Lance is assigned the task of lesser potions master. Lance has to navigate a precarious balance of grumpy-Dragon-with-nothing-to-do on top of his workload of boring tasks. That’s when he isn’t enduring the ridicule of the other students, who believe him to be “Star Cursed.” To make matters worse, discontent in the Magerium is brewing and it might mean danger for all High Magic creatures, which currently includes one Dragon named Keith

Words: 152,239 AO3

fit the crown to my head

“What’s the fun in a masquerade if you don’t flirt outrageously with the prettiest person in the room?” the young man says flippantly, and then winks at Keith. Keith huffs a laugh, amused.

“You keep saying things like that, but you haven’t seen my face,” he says, gesturing to his mask. “I could have warts under here. I could have spots, or scars.”

“You’d be lovely even with all of those,” the young man says, and he suddenly sounds serious. It takes Keith by surprise, makes his heart twist along with his stomach. “Your eyes,” he continues, tilting his head. “I’ve never seen eyes like yours before.”

Words: 75,705 AO3

Magic Bound & Unbound

Set in a world where familiars and witches are paired to perform magic together, Lance is an aspiring witch who is desperate to find his bondmate. He's dreamed of the day when he would be able to perform bonded magic, but hides a dark secret that could ruin everything. Keith is a familiar who's seen a little too much of the world. He's been paired with witches multiple times and each one has forced and broken a bond on him, so now he swears off ever letting himself be paired again.

When they meet, though, Lance triggers something in Keith and it scares the hell out of him. A part of him desperately wants to be paired, but he's not sure he can take rejection one more time.

Words: 56,345 AO3

Regarding Park Benches and Demon Bites

Lance forces his eyes open, all the way this time. It takes them a second to adjust, and when they do, his stomach plummets to the center of the earth. The man is in a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up on his forearms to reveal the runes inked across his pale skin. There’s a sword strapped across his back, a big one.

“You’re a Shadowhunter,” Lance blurts. Lance’s mother had warned him about getting mixed up with these bloodthirsty maniacs, and here he is, half conscious next to the very people he’d worked so hard to avoid the last two years. He’s fucked. Royally screwed. He isn’t sure what kind of punishment is handed out to warlocks for public intoxication but his mind races through options like indefinite imprisonment, dismemberment, death?

Words: 8,999 AO3

you build your tower (but call me home)

In the land of Arus, the youngest Nalquodian prince—Prince Leandro—is hidden away in a little castle that overlooks the kingdom; a countermeasure to protect him from the Galran assassins that have sworn to take his life.

And in the tallest tower of the castle, behind a grimy rose window and under a dusty sheet, is an enchanting gargoyle that the prince finds himself compelled to visit every day.

Almost as if by a spell...

Words: 63,041 AO3

Wild Magic

The Vastaya are an ancient and proud race, born of magic and man, and they are dying. The spread of humans makes the magic of their homelands run thin. What is left is preyed upon and corrupted by the rising galra influence.

After losing their home, what remains of the Marmora tribe scatters, fighting the spread of corruption where they can. For the last few centuries, this is the only life Keith has known. And with Shiro’s disappearance, he’s more alone than ever. But he keeps going, even if it means losing himself. For the fight. For his people. For their future. For his homelands. For magic.

The last thing he expected to find is another feathered vastaya, one with wings that shine like the sky and move like waves when he dances. He never asked for company, never wanted it. But as Keith finds himself growing fond of Lance’s flippant attitude and determined blue eyes, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to fight alone anymore.

Words: 151,776 AO3

A Touch of Magic

"Keith—" He feels his heart lurch as Keith squats down next to him. One hand on his wolf's head, scratching behind his ear. His eyes, however, remain fixed on Lance, and he had really hoped that the whole dry-mouth-lump-in-the-throat-heart-skipping-a-beat thing would've stopped happening when he turned, but here he is. Vampiric and still the flustered mess he was when he was human. "Buddy, I can't breathe—"

"You don't have to breathe," He says, that ghost of a smile still fixed and the whisper of amusement in his voice.

It sends chills down his spine.

Lance huffs as much as he can when there's a large wolf crushing his chest. "That doesn't mean it's not uncomfortable."

"You'll survive." He pats his wolf one last time before pushing to his feet. "Better luck next time, Lance."

"I'll get you one day, Keithy boy." He calls out as Keith walks away, disappearing from his vision and continuing down the path. "Just you wait."

Words: 19,953 AO3

For Fox Sake

Foxtail series

Photography has always been an passion of Keith's. Being able to capture that perfect moment - grant it immortality and unleash it to the world so that the people may decide what stories they tell - is what he lives for.

So when given the opportunity to expand his horizons, Keith finds himself on a month long excursion in the middle of nowhere, with only his camera and his own thoughts to keep him company.

And this forest - this mountainous landscape seemingly untouched by human hands - holds more than just a vast array of scenic landscapes and wondrous wildlife worthy of being captured in film.

It holds a secret. One Keith hadn't anticipated discovering, much less believing. And though they say "take only pictures, leave only footprints", Keith worries that when he finally has to return to his mundane world, he'll be leaving more than just tracks on the ground.

But his heart has always belonged to the woods, and he knows the fox will guard it well.

Words: 80,888 AO3

Ghost on the Shore

After moving into an desolated house in a swamp, Keith finds that the area's not as abandoned as he anticipated. He soon meets Lance, a mysterious boy that apparently lives out in the marsh, and who seems to possess magical powers to a certain degree.

Words: 37,055 AO3

It Never Rains on Saturday

Rain or Shine Series

In the magical kingdom of Altea lies an ominous tower filled with monsters. Every day, adventurers battle through the tower’s levels in a never-ending quest to slay the Demon King who lives at the very top.

Lance, a talented archer, is one such adventurer. However, Lance doesn’t want to kill the Demon King.

Lance wants to marry him.

Words: 22,726 AO3

Nameless

Lance McClain was not pale. He enjoyed the sun as much as any other, and though he was often run down or fatigued, this was due to his steadily amounting college work, not his need to sleep upside down. He was everything a vampire wasn't. Oh, except for his constant cravings for blood, and the name in cursive permanently scrawled over his wrist.

Since the name had appeared on Lance's thirteenth birthday, he'd been desperately waiting for the day he'd finally meet his soulmate. And it finally comes, the first day of his second year of college, delivering a boy that causes everything Lance had fantasized to come crashing down around him. Not only is his mate a human, but he's the kind of human that despises vampires. A hunter named Keith.

But matters of the heart aren't the only thing standing in Lance's way, for a much greater enemy is on the horizon, posing a threat not only to Lance and his family, but to Keith, too. The nameless are coming for them, and soon.

Words: 102,409 AO3

Were-woof

Living off the grid is one thing. Keith had been doing it his whole life. However, now that the mountain he has lived on his whole live is slowly being developed thanks to a ski resort it's getting harder and harder for Keith to keep to himself. Especially when he happens to catch the eye of a rather cute looking townie.

Words: 133,954 AO3

An Eternal Flame

“Do you have a deathwish?” The phoenix answers him with a question this time, apparently intent on dodging the question about its name. Maybe it’s for the best, Lance’s mama always warned him that he tended to get attached to things once he’d named them. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath.

He isn’t going to get attached this time.

Making sure that he’s still holding the phoenix’s attention, he reaches down and pushes his cloak aside, then lifts his shirt. There, bright red and ugly against his hip, are three long slashes. They aren’t scars, they aren’t healed in the slightest, they’re still red and open wounds. They don’t hurt, not in the physical sense, but Lance can’t help the repulsion he feels whenever he looks at them.

“Not a deathwish, a death sentence.”

Words: 63,692 AO3

#klance #lance vld #keith vld #laith #fanfic #fanfic rec #my list

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primatechnosynthpop · 4 years

Note

I can't choose between "you should have said that yesterday" and "maybe in another world" soooo I'll let you decide :)

Hmm... what about... both? :3 (Since you didn't specify which characters to write about I'm just doing Hiro and Ando; they seem like a safe bet where you and I are concerned)

For a person with superhuman abilities, particularly one who has taken it upon himself to be a hero, it's amazing how quickly life can change. One day, you're having fun, and the next...

On Sunday morning, which thanks to differing time zones was evening for their Americans friends, Hiro and Ando were invited out for drinks at a bar in New York. Hiro was initially unsure if it would be responsible, since they had work the next day, but Ando talked him into it more easily than he would have liked to admit. (Ironically, when it was revealed that it was a karaoke bar, Hiro's enthusiasm increased while Ando's diminished.) Still, both of them had a great time, especially after a couple of drinks. Hiro even managed to talk Ando into singing a duet with him.

"Ohh, you're the best friend that I've ever had!" Hiro swayed slightly on his feet as he sang. "I've been with you such a long time, you're my sunshine..."

He leaned forward, tripping over his feet in the process; without missing a beat, Ando caught him and set him back on his feet while singing the next line of the song.

"And I want you to know that my feelings are true," he crooned, holding Hiro's gaze over the top of the microphone. "I really love you~"

Hiro's cheeks, already flushed from the alcohol, grew a darker shade when Ando batted his eyes at him. Giggling, he gave a playful swat at his friend's head, like a kitten batting at a piece of string, then turned to face the other bar patrons and struck a dramatic pose as he and Ando sang out in chorus: "Ohh, you're my best friend!"

When it was creeping up on 4 AM in eastern daylight time and the bar was closing, they bode a cheerful goodbye to their friends (all of whom were in varying stages of drunkenness) and Hiro teleported them back home. Although it was only mid-afternoon in Tokyo, Hiro was exhausted after such a raucous outing, and the two glasses of cherry wine he'd gulped down were beginning to churn most unpleasantly in his stomach and dull his higher senses. Groaning, he flopped facefirst onto his bed without even taking his shoes or jacket off. He probably would have immediately fallen asleep were it not for the sensation of Ando poking him in the side.

"Oi, Hiro, this is your bedroom."

"Mm? Yeah, it is," Hiro mumbled around the fabric of his pillowcase. "So what?"

"So, take me back to my own apartment before you fall asleep."

Hiro rolled over onto his side to face Ando, who was standing over him with his arms crossed. His expression was a mixture of frustration and bemusement. Hiro gave him a sleepy, half-lidded smile.

"It's not a problem," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Just sleep here with me."

"What, like in your bed?" Ando shook his head. If he'd been thinking more clearly, Hiro might have better understood the strange look that came over his friend's face, or why he suddenly averted his eyes. "That's not happening."

"Don't sleep, then. Just go watch TV in the living room or something."

With that, Hiro rolled back over and closed his eyes. From behind him, he heard Ando sigh. A few seconds later, the weight of the bed shifted as Ando sat down next to him on the edge of the bed. He was silent for a moment before speaking up, his tone weary and almost vaguely wistful.

"That song we sang at karaoke tonight... apparently it's really about a married couple." For a moment, Hiro thought he felt something brush against his cheek, but when he opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder Ando had his hands folded in his lap and was fidgeting with them. "...Maybe in another world..."

"What?" Hiro asked, squinting in confusion. The cogs in his mind spun in an attempt to work out the meaning behind his friend's words, but those proverbial cogs were rusted from the alcohol in his system, and he had no idea what Ando was talking about. "You say strange things, Ando."

Ando laughed at that, and the bed's weight shifted again as he stood back up.

"Yeah, I guess I do," he said. "Good luck sleeping off the cherry wine, Hiro. I'll see you whenever you wake up."

The rest of Sunday afternoon and the following night passed in a haze. Hiro woke up at around 7 PM with a mild hangover and got up to make some instant ramen; he shared a bowl with Ando and they sat on the couch together watching reruns of an old shojo anime show until both of them fell back asleep.

When Monday morning rolled around, they were a little late getting into work. Hiro got into the shower first, and Ando yelled at him from outside to hurry up. They made each other turn around while they were getting dressed (Ando borrowed an outfit from Hiro, and it didn't fit him very well, but Hiro wasn't going to complain about the slight glimpse of midriff allowed by the hem of his top when Ando wore it). While heading out the door, Hiro stuffed a piece of toast into his mouth, and Ando joked that he looked just like the protagonist of the show they'd been watching the night before. They took the train across town to the office together, pressed snugly up against each other. With the alcohol out of his system and his mind clearer, Hiro was a bit flustered by their proximity, but somehow he found that he enjoyed it. There was something almost domestic about the whole situation, and for reasons he was currently unwilling to name, that brought him a thrill of excitement.

Kimiko arched an eyebrow at them when they arrived at Yamagato Industries, but she refrained from commenting. Hiro waved at his sister over his shoulder as he and Ando scurried down the halls to the Dial-A-Hero office. He let out a sigh of contentment as he slumped into the cushiony office chair at his desk. Ando pulled up his own office chair and took a glance at their answering machine to make sure they hadn't missed any calls before sitting down beside him.

"No calls?" Hiro asked, readying himself for the inevitable pang of disappointment that would be brought on by the response. As time went on, a few more people called to ask for their services, but they still only got one or two calls a day if they were lucky, and most of the jobs were small things that their clients just as easily could have called the fire department for.

"Actually, it looks like someone called us just a couple minutes ago," Ando said. He sounded surprised--understandable, considering the aforementioned rarity of people calling them. "But they didn't leave a message."

"Let's call them back," Hiro said, leaning eagerly across the desk to press the redial button on the answering machine. He lifted the phone off the hook and held it to his ear. It buzzed twice before someone picked up.

"Hello? Is this Dial-A-Hero? Oh, thank god you picked up!" The voice on the other end of the line sounded urgent; Hiro stiffened with alarm upon hearing shouting and what sounded like gunshots in the background. "Someone's robbing the bank! Quick, you have to stop them!"

"Who is it? What's happening?" Ando asked, leaning over to listen in on the conversation.

Hiro lowered the phone and put his hand over the mouthpiece to address his companion. "It's a bank robbery." Then, bringing the phone back up to his ear: "Where is the address? We'll be there in a moment!"

The person told them the address, and Hiro hung up the phone and grabbed his sword from where it was displayed on the wall. Putting his hand in Ando's, he squeezed his eyes shut and teleported them to the address their client had given.

Sure enough, there were three masked people standing in the middle of the bank, brandishing guns; two of them hung back while the third was aiming his weapon at the woman behind the bank counter. The other bank employees and customers were crouching down behind desks and teller machines, muttering anxiously amongst themselves. When Hiro and Ando appeared, gasps sprung up amongst the civilians; two of the robbers spun around to aim their weapons at them.

"Put down your guns and leave this building now," Hiro commanded, brandishing his sword with a stern glare. "Or my partner and I will--"

Before he could finish that thought, a rapid series of bangs rang out as the robbers fired their guns. The gasps and murmurs of the civilians broke into screams, and at his side, he heard Ando scream as well. Those sounds were abruptly cut off when Hiro froze time. Four bullets froze in midair, one of which was barely an inch away from Hiro's forehead. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of it; gulping, he lowered the bullet and then moved the other three out of his and Ando's way as well. He deposited the bullets into the trash can by the desk, where they found their place amidst a pile of crumpled receipts and candy wrappers. Then, brushing his hands off, he marched over to the robbers and pried the guns out of their hands. With the robbers unarmed, Hiro grabbed each of them in succession and teleported them to a police station, where he unfroze time and shoved the robbers toward the nearest officer.

"These men were robbing a bank," he said. "'Lock them up before they can hurt anybody else."

The police officer looked rather startled, as did the robbers, one of whom immediately spun around and tried to shoot Hiro with a gun that he no longer had. Hiro smirked, feeling quite pleased with himself as the officer looked the robbers up on their computer and announced that they had previously been charged for several counts of theft and attempted robbery. Leaving the police to take care of things, he teleported back to the bank to make sure everyone there was safe.

When he reappeared in the bank, he knew immediately that something was wrong, and it brought a sharp twisting sensation to his gut. The employees and customers who had previously been hiding were now clustered around the spot where Hiro and Ando had shown up, muttering things like "Oh my god" and "Is he going to be okay?!" Heart spiking with alarm, Hiro pushed past the gathered crowd to find Ando sprawled out on the ground, blood pooling around him. Hiro froze at the sight of his collapsed friend, blood running cold.

"Ando, what--what happened?!" he stammered, dropping to his knees and laying a hand atop the dark red stain on the front of his friend's borrowed shirt. "I stopped time before the bullets could hit us!"

"Before they could hit you," Ando corrected him, raising his head to meet Hiro's gaze. He spoke through gritted teeth, but he didn't sound angry so much as scared. "One of them had already hit me."

"What? No," Hiro whimpered, shaking his head.

It was a stupid thing to say, he knew, because the irrefutable evidence was laid out before his eyes, but... no! His mind refused to wrap itself around the fact that he, the master of time and space, had been too slow to stop the man he cared so deeply for from getting hurt. Ando must have understood that to some degree, because he didn't bother offering a retort. Sighing, he laid his head back down on the cold tile floor of the bank, while around them the civilians parted and he heard someone in the background talking about calling an ambulance.

Hands trembling, Hiro pushed up the bottom of Ando's shirt so he could see the injury. Sure enough, a bullet was embedded in his upper abdomen, exposing a grisly mess of blood and flesh that made Hiro gag. All the while, blood continued to pour from the wound, seeping between the tiles of the floor and soaking through Hiro's pant legs as he knelt beside his friend.

"You... you'll be okay," Hiro told him, and it came out sounding like a command. "You have to be okay!"

Ando began to open his mouth but then closed it again, as if changing his mind about what to say. He brought his hand up to lay it atop Hiro's, threading their fingers together, and gave him a sad smile.

"Hiro... I love you."

The words pierced through Hiro as though he were the one who'd just been shot. He understood the finality concealed behind that confession. And the worst part was that, now that he heard those words spoken aloud, only now could he put a name to the feelings that flared up in his heart whenever he was with Ando. The feelings he had harbored for years now. The feelings he had been too scared to acknowledge, for fear that they weren't reciprocated. And in that moment, when the palm of his hand was wet and sticky with Ando's slowly draining lifeblood, a jolt of misplaced anger surged through Hiro.

"You should have said that yesterday!" he blurted.

The melancholy expression on Ando's face didn't waver, even as a trickle of blood dribbled out the corner of his mouth. "What difference would it make?" he asked, words coming out slightly slurred as though it were still the day before and they were drunk and partying with their friends.

"Because if you told me then, I would have known what I felt, too," Hiro said, although he could barely choke the words out around the thick lump of emotion swelling in his throat. "And we could have taken today off so I could--I could kiss you, and--and we could date, and... and I never would have let you put yourself in danger again."

As he spoke, Ando's hand grew limp atop his own, and his skin gradually became cooler to the touch. That sad, regretful smile was still on his face when his eyes fell closed and his head lolled to the side. Cold, harsh dread clamped around Hiro's heart like the steel of a hunting trap closing around its prey, and he desperately grabbed his companion by the shoulders, lifting him off the ground.

"I love you, too!"

The confession was swallowed up by a sob that wracked Hiro's body, so he yelled it out again, and then over and over again as hot tears welled up in his eyes and poured down his cheeks.

"I love you, Ando. I've loved you for a long time. I should have told you... I love you, I love you, I love you!"

He rocked back and forth on his heels as he made his declarations, clutching his companion's unmoving body to his chest. But no matter how tightly he held Ando's body, no matter how passionately he cried out his feelings, Hiro knew it was too late. He had failed the man he loved, and now... and now...

Maybe in another world.

Ando's words from the previous day echoed in his mind, and now Hiro understood them. In another world--another timeline--if either of them had been bold enough to confess their love, they could have been together. Whether or not that would have changed the outcome of this day, Hiro didn't know. It didn't make a difference now anyway. In this world, he sat alone on a cold tiled floor, soaked through with the blood of the man he loved, with nothing to show for his love other than a lifeless body in his arms.

"I love you," he whispered through his tears one final time, just in case it would somehow make a difference or change what had happened.

It didn't.

#asks #jean--valswan #heroes #hey did you know that i write stuff sometimes?

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maythedreadwolftakeyou · 4 years

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1, 4, and 10! (Frankly, I'm interested in all of these, but I'll take these to start!)

Thank you! These are from this ask meme

1. What made you start writing fanfic?

Hmmm you know, I had read, I think, 3 fanfics ever (i’m lumping the 3 harry potter novel-length Neville POV pdfs a friend sent me in college once into one group tho), before 2015. And always only things friends had linked to me/I wasn’t seeking them out myself. I tried looking some up once to see what the hype was about but never got interested in anything, even when the writing was objectively good (I think some Marvel, some Dr Who, etc that friends posted and which crossed my dash).

Trying to be as brief as possible on the leadup details, after a very low period for all of 2014 and while I was between jobs/living with my parents, I started DA:I just after Christmas and put in 104 hours/beat the game within 8 days, one of which I did not play at all during. So! You can say the Obsession had kicked in as they are wont to do.

I had a job lined up for March onward but nothing to do for the rest of Jan/Feb, so I played the game another two times, joined the good ol Bioware Social Network/forums, followed a bunch of new people on tumblr, and joined an online chat group or two about Inquisition! Fanfic was popular with everyone else, and while at first I wasn’t as interested in it as I was in talking about game meta/lore, after reading a couple I realized I actually enjoyed videogame-based fanfic much more than the kinds I’d bounced off before. I’m pretty sure it’s because in the games you get to make your own character/choices, so you don’t always know what’s actually coming next, and there’s someone “new” you’re reading about even if the other characters are the same. There’s just a lot more room to develop characters and side storylines while not contradicting the main plot, since a lot of what happens in games is implied/off-screen conversation/skipped over time-wise. It was also a good outlet for the mess of emotions DAI left me with (as a solasmancer: :( :( :( ), and it was people I knew who were creating it, so it was a fun way to engage with the online communities that were at the time my only social outlet.

As someone who has written my own stories since childhood (I’d won NaNoWriMo that year with an original middle grade novel concept), it was pretty natural for me to transition over, about a month after I finished the game. My first couple attempts were very much figuring things out/playing with the genre, but I jumped in pretty fast. I wrote two short/messy one-shots, a few tumblr only drabbles ≤100 words, and then the third fic I ever started is Fallout From the Fade, my on-going longfic that is now the single longest story I’ve ever written and its been uuuhhhhh 5 years whoops. It’s been a long process but I’m the kind of person who jumps around between ideas but if I latch onto something it doesn’t really leave me (even the NaNo novel from 2007… i was 15… please i dont want you in my brain anymore) so even though sometimes life takes me away from stories for a long time I always have them in my head and intend to come back to them :)

The biggest thing for me though was tumblr prompts/prompt boards. Fanfiction was the first time EVER that I was actually writing for an audience instead of myself (I have entire original novels that no one’s ever read on my harddrive). I very quickly learned that I’m good at writing angst and oh boy it’s a rush to directly hear from people that they Felt Something because of what you wrote. So most of my story stars I get from the kinkmeme or asks because then I know, specifically, that I’m writing something someone else wants to read. It’s also interesting to me in the psychology that way–I will often read through peoples blogs to get an idea of what they’re into theme or headcanon wise, and incorporate those into my works. I am very interested in the reader/work relationship and having that extra element of control over it is something I like to play with.

Wow, giant answer. Stopping there.

4. Do you think your style has changed over time? How so?

I think I’ve gotten better at writing for the conventions of the genre. Fanfic is more about emotions than plot than original work, though both can play a role/stories can vary on how much of each they put in. But the more you write about a character the more you explore their backstory, personality, motivations, etc and I think the better you can understand them to write more. Really though, I go into each fic with a different style in mind though. Some are more economical, and I put a lot of work into show-vs-tell. Some I go past purple into ultraviolet with the prose, especially for shorter works. A lot of it is self-indulgent, but I’m pretty mindful about the tone I write in and what I want it to convey when paired with that specific plot.

10. What’s a theme that keeps coming up in your writing?

I have yet to meet someone as into the concept of meta-narrative as I am. I am constantly thinking about the relationship between the reader and what I’m writing, and how that will be affecting their reading experience. I’m big on using fic to create a sense of tension, leaving people on cliffhangers wanting more, and basically using things like paragraph length/repetition/clues/word choice to either keep the reader engaged or jolt them out of the story for a moment in order to wring as much emotion from them as possible. There’s definitely times I don’t get it right but I think I hit the mark a decent amount. This is one of those things that’s “invisible” to the reader though unless they’re directly looking for it, so, I don’t know that it’s something anyone would think of unless they’ve talked to me about writing–though if you have, you KNOW i go off about meta-narrative within my first three comments.

For more traditional themes, on the physical side: as a career botanist/geologist, I am always very aware of nature and setting. Sometimes maybe too much so. So a lot of my metaphors/allusions/breaks between plot or dialogue involve nature in some way, especially plants, water, and light. I’m being very indulgent in a current WIP and going on about the weather (I HATE that weather is a stereotypical “boring conversation” marker because i LOVE meteorology and its very important!!! esspecially if u spend all day running around outside!! as both I personally and my OCs do) but I try to tone that down normally.

On the figurative side: I write a lot about mental health while trying to keep it both realistic/non-glamorized but still as big as it really feels; I write about complicated relationships and not being fully aware of your own emotions/reactions (love me a flawed narrator); about things the character has lost like family/identiy/language; and I can’t keep away from stories about self-sacrifice, duty, transcendence, futility, and rage. I have yet to write a piece that can truly be described as fluff, I think.

Aaaand I’ve gone on FAR too much already, so I’ll end it there! Thanks so much for the q’s!

#replies #ramblings #loquaciousquark #my stuff #tumblr games #my writing #fanfiction #long post

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fat-acceptance-dropout · 4 years

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Do you have any advice for getting off my ass and actually making progress towards losing weight? I'm morbidly obese and I hate living like this, I binge eat all the time and I'm constantly terrified that I'm going to be stuck like this and I've done irreparably damage to my body/organs that will kill me. But I'm so terrified that I won't be able to lose the weight, I'll be hungry all the time, the weight I lose will all come back, I'll have tons of loose skin and look even worse, etc...

Hey anon!

Thanks for dropping by.

There’s really no one solution fits all for this kind of situation, but the first thing you need to keep in mind, the absolute most important, is that you’re not alone.

We’ve all been there.

It’s very easy to fall into that kind of thinking, you know? Whether you’re comfortable where you are right now or not, it’s your normal, it’s what you’re used to, and the prospect of giving up everything you’re used to can be pretty darn scary.

I get it.

The thing is, what works for me may not motivate you, and what motivates you may not motivate me, and on and on.

Weight loss is a very personal thing. After all, what leads us to eat to the point of obesity is personal too, and the fears we faced when we think about losing weight are also rooted in personal things, yanno?

So, what to do?

Well, the first thing you have to do is to have a chat with yourself. Sit down and think, openly and honestly, with no judgemment, about why you eat the way you do, why you feel like losing weight and what’s stopping you from losing weight.

For the last one, focus on the things you are doing that are keeping you from doing it. Not what you’ve heard from other people.

See, if I were to do this, I’d say something like:

Why do I eat the way I do?

- Because I grew up overeating.

- Because I eat way too fast and don’t feel sated immediately after eating.

- Because since it takes a while for the weight gain to show, it’s easy for me to pretend the food I’m eating won’t have any impact in the long run.

Why do I feel like losing weight?

- Because I know I can do it.

- Because I really don’t like my flabby arms.

- Because I want my hard-earned muscle to be visible.

- Because I want to arrive to my 30′s in good health.

What’s stopping me from losing weight?

- Though I’m still chubby, I’m at the thinnest I’ve been, so it’s hard for me to convince myself to lose more weight, even though I want to.

- I don’t want to put the work needed to lose weight at the moment. I just don’t wanna.

- I’m worried people will hit on me more.

So, those are my reasons. Those are the reasons why, though I’ve lost weight, I still haven’t hit my goal weight.

I’m too comfortable in my current situation, even though my current situation isn’t ideal.

What are your reasons?

Sit down, write them down, be as honest with yourself as possible, and keep those things in mind, because those things will keep popping up over and over again.

We all hit those walls at the beginning, during the middle, around the end, while maintaining, etc

There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s normal. We’ve all been there.

So.

Now that you know your motivation, weaknesses, etc, you can proceed.

Keeping in mind that you’re about to embark in a tremendous journey of self-discovery, and your fears, motivations, and whatnot will change with time, ask yourself the next question.

What can I easily change right now?

Believe it or not, weight loss really boils down to moving more and eating less.

It does.

There are a million and one things that makes us find it hard to eating less and moving more for long enough to lose weight, but the formula does boil down to that.

So.

Right now.

Right this moment, as you’re reading this.

Choose one thing that you can change starting this instant.

Maybe you can walk a little more

Maybe you can swap a food item for one with less calories. (Soda for flavored water.)

Maybe you can start working out in your living room twice a week.

Maybe you can skip dessert four times a week.

Maybe you can walk the dog a little longer.

I dunno, those are random ideas. Come up with one you can start doing right away and do it.

No need to go cold-turkey, no need to immediately cut calories, no need to join an insanity program, no need to transform into a gym bunny overnight. (Unless you feel like doing it.)

Just choose something you can start doing right away, and do it.

Starting every day, make yourself the promise that you’re going to stick to that one thing for the day and do it.

Do it until it becomes a habit.

Do it until you no longer have to think about it.

Do it until it becomes so natural you don’t have to think about it anymore.

And once that happens?

Choose another thing you can change, and change that one as well.

Maybe this time you’ll focus on reading about people who have lost weight loss permanently.

Maybe this time you’ll focus on counting calories, or meal planning.

Maybe this time you’ll focus on training for your first 5k.

Dunno, it’s up to you.

But the same principle applies.

Choose a new thing you want to change and focus on changing it.

I guarantee you that you’ll see changes, and that you’ll start losing weight in a way that works for you.

It won’t be fast, and it won’t be easy since you’re fighting against years and years of deeply ingrained habits, but you’ll be able to do it because you’ll be focused on this one small thing.

And when you focus on that one small thing, you don’t feel overwhelmed by everything else, you don’t feel like the goal is too far, you don’t feel like you’re demanding too much of yourself, you don’t feel like every little failure will set you back.

Again, if you want, you can go cold-turkey.

If you want, you can hire a nutritionist, a personal trainer and work your ass off to watch the weight melt off.

That’s a possibility.

You can do it.

But if it doesn’t appeal to you, there’s no problem.

Start small, start with something you can change right now and focus on changing that one thing until you do it, and then work on changing something else.

What that little thing will be is entirely up to you, but stick to it long enough, be honest with yourself throughout the process and little by little you’ll get there.

Patience, consistency, and honesty.

Those are the only three things that will get you where you want to go.

As long as you stick to those three from now on, you’ll manage.

It might not be fast, or glamorous, or easy, but you’ll make it.

We’ve all been there, we’ve all seen the changes, we’ve all seen it work.

Now’s your turn to see it for yourself.

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kreekey · 4 years

Text

Hey, You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away (Ch 2)

Chapter 1/?: Want to Hear a Secret?

Pairing: John Lennon & Paul McCartney (not romantic at all)

Genre: Drama, Angst

Words: 3461

Summary: It’s the morning, a time of day that’s already always been unsavoury for John. He’s realized the heaviness of the encounter the night before. He’s realized a bit more about himself. This is not the time to have someone visit. It is not the time to have a spat with your best friend. It is definitely not the time to find a mysteriously revealing letter. It’s just the luck of John.

(See the AO3 Post for author’s notes)

John whined from inside his hotel room. Something resembling “I’m coming, jus’ hold on!” rumbled out of his mouth as he struggled out of the sheets. It must be morning now, he thought to his dismay. He must’ve woken up. It’s good that he was disturbed, as John was too annoyed by that to remember the night before. Yet.

The glance at the mirror didn’t help to cheer his mood, but he didn’t bother to change or even ruffle his hair correctly before ripping the door open. It was Paul, already fitted in a modest jumper over a collared shirt. John peered at him, now a bit more conscious of his half-dressed state.

“Mornin’, then,” Paul scoffed in amusement after looking John up and down. He glanced behind him and pushed his way into the room, saying, “Fuckin’ hell, John. I don’t stay for a night and you leave it a mess. You didn’t remember I was coming over this afternoon so we could finish writing the album?”

Grumblings and the sound of a door slamming shut were ignored as Paul began to sort the papers on the writing desk. Various letters, drawings, ideas, and song notes were being put aside. John threw himself on the bed, face first. Right, the bed…

After an incessant series of pokes to his shoulder, John grumbled and flipped himself over. The shades of daylight peeking through the curtains were enough to blind him. Paul stood over him, shaking his head, “You’ve got to get up, John. We’ve got three days to write three songs, and we’ve got to get something done today if we ever want to finish on time.”

“‘m tired, Paul,” John droned.

“C'mon, I stayed at the party later than you, and I’m alright. You’ve got the blonde to soothe you to an early sleep last night, didn’t you?” Paul’s teasing tone gave John a sense of dread.

A sudden warmth spread on his cheeks. John buried his head in his pillow, forgetting the macho manliness he’d like to exhume. “…no. Nothing happened, Paulie,” he lied.

“Not with the charming John Lennon?” Paul headed back to the desk, not bothering to face the bed. John sat up and watched as Paul swayed and hummed one of their new melodies, busying himself with the task of organization. One end of the room was carefree and light. John’s eyes snapped down to the sheets he sat on. They were unmade, dirty, and caused a crude memory to float back into his brain.

“Aren’t I married now, McCartney?” John asked in a low voice, every word feeling stuck to his tongue. He made sure to keep his eyes down.

Without skipping a beat, Paul laughed, “I don’t remember you ever really caring about marriage 'n all the junk like that before. I mean, I know you love her, but when Lennon’s faced with a pretty bird… What, did all the love songs get to yer head?”

A slight scoff came out of John disguised as a laugh. He turned to where she had been on the bed last night, recounting their actions in his head with a thousand-yard stare.

“Are you coming to write with me or not?” Paul called, still occupied with rummaging through John’s desk. “You can worry about your homing bird later. In fact, once we’re done, I’ll walk with you to the office so you can post her this letter you’ve written personally.” He held up an unfamiliar envelope above his shoulder, waving it to catch John’s attention.

The letter was snatched from behind with a strange intensity, almost ripping the paper in the process. Neither had even realized John had leaped out of bed yet. The event didn’t especially surprise Paul, but the appearance of a letter he had no memory writing certainly surprised John.

“This isn’t my handwriting, ye git,” John jeered after taking a moment to turn the sealed envelope over in his hands. It was addressed with exact precision to Cynthia Powell Lennon at their flat back in England. Eppy had arranged the address so all the fans wouldn’t find them. It was their little hideaway, the few moments John could ever make it home. It was one of those things Cynthia could privately have as proof that, yes, she was rightfully John’s. And John was supposed to be her’s at the end of the day, too.

“Well, it isn’t mine. Did you get someone to transcribe for you? You’re illiterate, you know,” Paul answered casually. When another joke was ignored, Paul spun back to his friend, arms crossed, to watch him tear open the letter with his teeth. “Let me see it, then?”

John drew back from Paul’s reaching hands as he processed the written words. “Oh, for fucks sake…” he breathed, his eyes glued to the paper. “Tell me you wrote this, Paul? To fuck with me, right?”

Hearing Paul’s answer of “No, Johnny,” left John feeling the headache and sense of impending doom grow stronger. He went quiet, re-reading the page.

“What’s wrong, John?” Paul extended his hands, gentler this time. “Just lemme read it.”

John flicked his eyes back at his mate, wide and calculating for a split second. His mind turned to static. No need to weigh the options.

The paper was ripped into quarters and it’s bits left on the ground. John wiped his hands on his pyjamas as if he had committed a crime and said, “Forget it, Paul. Just… forget it, yeah?”

“Sure, John. Er, if you’d like. Of course.” Paul answered, feeling in the dark again. He kept his lips shut, watching as John paced up and down the short room and huffed. There was nothing on the bed, yet John would keep sneaking glances at it. Paul’s fingers wavered, and his eyes wandered down to the tattered papers.

“I'll… we’ll write after I go freshen up. Alright?” John murmured before stepping into the bathroom, leaving Paul standing alone in the middle of the room. It seemed barren without John’s muttering. Paul heard the distant sounds of a shower turning on.

John will be back in a minute. And in a minute, John will be calm again. Paul still felt a twinge of uneasiness as he reached down and picked the scraps up.

Paul took care with arranging the four quarters on the desk, wondering if he was missing something crucial. As the paper became readable, it became clear the handwriting was of a stranger. Neat and bold, not the familiar messy informality of John’s. Paul would have no way of knowing this, but it was the writing of a woman who wasn’t even from this time. A character who knew more about them than they knew about themselves.

The letter began,

Dear Cynthia Powell Lennon (or maybe soon it’ll just be Powell?)

I’m sure you’re well aware of this, or you’ve at least heard the rumours, but you won’t allow yourself to believe it. It’s a shame. You deserve better, don’t you know? And John knows this, too. But he can’t stop himself. And he loves you, he loves you. You must know that. You remember that Christmas letter back in '58… “I LOVE YOU CYN, YES YES YES”.

Strange. No explanation for John’s panic. Paul was too engrossed to notice that the shower had gone quiet.

Those were still the good years. Do you believe that it isn’t anymore? That the shaky period right now will soon pass? I advise you to leave before he breaks your heart. He’s already done it, though, hasn’t he? You just wanted to dance with Stu. Your friend, Stuart. His friend, too.

Outside of Paul’s knowledge, John had dried himself off and put on proper clothes.

It wasn’t until Stu spun you around that you noticed John against the wall, watching. That pretty pair, he thought. You excused yourself. He didn’t talk to you for the rest of the night. He didn’t say much when he found you down in the basement, alone, and forced you against a wall. The slap hurt. Your cheek burned for the rest of the night and you went home. You didn’t see him for months.

Paul remembered when, once, he had noticed that John didn’t have that blonde bird with him anymore. He didn’t know Cynthia then. John said that they had a silly spat. It was an empty lie.

Yet he begged for you to come back, and you did so gladly. You remembered the days when you had just met him. He had charmed you out of your engagement with the man in America just by asking you to dance. He sang you “Ain’t She Sweet.” He was yours. But you knew in the back of your mind even then, didn’t you? You knew there had to be something just underneath the surface…

It was hard to imagine John Lennon - the tuff ted who acted as a bad influence for all the good boys in Liverpool - as someone who could romance a girl like Cynthia. John Lennon, who had ridiculed all the lovey-dovey dull romantics, until one day he had found himself in love. One day, he found himself singing for her. One day, he found himself marrying her. That very man was currently stopped in his tracks, just outside the bathroom door, hair still dripping. Every thought turned into a scream as he caught Paul reading the fucking letter…

So, it wasn’t John’s thoughts that moved him to wrangle his friend’s hair in one hand, forcing Paul to snap out of thought. Paul swore he could feel the hair ripping right off his head. John was dragging him, screaming something unintelligible. Paul couldn’t tell what it was, he needed John to let go. So Paul yelped and thrashed and tried to land any hits he could. It was all futile, of course. It was like a little boy holding onto his father’s trouser legs and crying for him not to go. John threw Paul down to the floor. He turned into a trembling slump trying to pull himself up. Gasping for air, brow furrowed, Paul wanted to understand why.

John turned away from the boy on the ground, fuming, seeing red. He was rubbing his face, his eyes, making his hands move in any way that wouldn’t have him beating Paul into the ground. He took a shaky deep breath, wanting to drown out the ragged breathing from behind him.

Paul was on the floor, one arm propped up, red in the face and panting. The papers had flown about in the chaos. There was a pang of shame in Paul’s chest, but he ignored that. The sense of resentment came much easier. It seemed more obvious.

John paced back and forth, not daring to look at the boy who was still on the floor. Fervent, panicked sounds emanated from John, talking to himself. Paul didn’t move a muscle, but he bit, “The fucks wrong with you?”

Without warning, John tramped towards him and for a second Paul braced himself. But if John wanted to fight, Paul wouldn’t shy away. There was still a slight feeling of relief when John only swiped the papers, making a harsh crinkling sound in his clenched fist. His stature towered over Paul, whose face was too blurry to make out. There was nothing that could stop John from howling roughly, “I can’t stand the way you nose your way into my fuckin’ life, McCartney! I never want to see you worm your way into my business again! I’ll fuckin kill you! I can't stand you!”

What could be done but to wince? John stood tall, jaw tense, spitting these horrible things in his best mate’s face. Sometimes Paul forgot he could do this.

“Aren’t you going to fucking say something, you goddamned divvy?” John let his voice go hoarse. “Won’t you at least fucking… say something?” He noticed his voice go off, a decibel softer. “Say something, Macca. I…”

For a second, John looked helpless again. Paul just breathed, already controlling himself. Breathed it all in. John couldn’t stand how Paul could just breathe and not let it get any worse.

“I…” John wheezed. “…Did you read it?”. He clutched the papers harder in his hands, wishing he could make it disappear.

“…Yea, mate. A bit,” Paul responded in a cool voice, as much as he could manage.

“How far did you…?”

“Not much - ” he cut his explanation short. If he said almost nothing, maybe John would calm down.

Stopping to stare at the wall, John’s thoughts went quieter. “Forget it,” he said sharply.

“O-okay.”

“It’s just…” John sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You know what I get up to, don’t you? But, uhm, there are rumours. I think… I think it’s getting out. I get nervous every time Cyn opens the morning paper. Me and some bird snogging on the front page, you know?”

After Paul’s wordless answer, John stretched out his hand begrudgingly, eyes on the carpet but not on the man. They gripped each other’s forearms and Paul was pulled up. As soon as he was standing, Paul tried to shove his arm back to his side. John held on.

“You don’t think that Cynthia, erm, knows, does she?” John’s grip squeezed Paul’s arm, and suddenly they seemed close again.

“…what?” Paul spoke as soft as he could. If John would allow Paul to see him, see his eyes, maybe they’d understand each other. But he didn’t.

“Cynthia doesn’t know, does she? I mean, I love her. I just can’t help it when…” his voice trailed off. “C'mon, Paul, tell me.”

“John, I don't…”

“Just fuckin’ tell me. I mean, she knows I’m a Beatle, right? I can't… I didn't choose… I mean, I can’t help it. She’s the only one I’ve ever loved, Paul.”

“I - I don’t know, John. Honest.”

John paused. His grasp turned too tight for Paul’s ease of mind. “Did you tell her?”

Paul was left speechless by the very implication.

“You’re terribly nice to her, you know? Did you once let slip…?” he strained to say it.

“No!”

“Did you ever let anyone know at the party, though? The rumours spread quick and you know that, don’t you?”

“Course not! John, did you really think - ”

“Don’t you think she notices, though?” John’s eyes stuck to the floor. “How when we’d go to parties - you know, as normal people - that you’d always leave with Jane and I’d let Cyn go home early so she could get some rest… but of course, I never came home till morning, did I?

"She must notice that you… You’re so perfect, huh?” John gave a weak, weary chuckle.

'Johnny,“ Paul half-scoffed, believing none of this was happening. "You know that’s not true.” He stopped himself from slipping out we’re more alike than you think.

“Oh, shut up. Even your face… that’s why every girl wanted you, didn’t they? I thought I was used to that by now. You’re an angel, y'know that? When I stand next to you, even on stage, I just… I’m not as good, am I?” John’s voice almost seemed amused. Broken. “Everyone knows that. There’s a reason you’re the 'Cute Beatle’, Paul. I’m just the bad seed. A bad influence on McCartney’s kid, huh? Remember that?”

If John had braved to look at Paul’s face, he’d see one of concern. One of affection. The rest of Paul stood as stiff as John, not wanting to tell anything more than they meant to. Slowly, in a gentle voice, Paul soothed, “John, I never said…”

“You don’t have to,” John let go of Paul’s arm, pushing him away as he did so. Paul didn’t know why he was surprised when he caught John’s strong glare.

It was silent. What was to be said to help John see, to know that Paul wants him to be alright? There is no conspiracy. And Paul felt his chest twist in frustration because John was still acting like a child.

“I never said anything of the like, so why are you taking it up with me?” Paul said, words growing thick with disdain.

“C'mon, y'think I don’t notice the - the way you sneer at me?” John shook his head.

“Johnny - !”

“Get out,” John said lowly and his fingers began to twitch in his fist, reminded of the stupid piece of paper that started all this.

Paul let the silence hang there. It was suffocating.

“Get out!” John barked, harsher this time.“I can’t stand your bloody presence.”

“…I’m not leaving,” Paul croaked.

“What?”

Paul could see John’s expression clearly as he snapped his head up. It did not reassure him. Yet Paul didn’t waver from John’s fiery eyes, hissing, “You’re acting like a baby - ”

“You’re acting like a snob! A bleedin’ git! Because that’s what you are, McCartney! You’re some fucking idiot from Liverpool who made it to America because you’re the bass player in some dense band and you happen to have a pretty face!”

Paul looked blank, almost softened.

“You should’ve stayed in fucking Liverpool with Ol’ Jim McCartney. Have a happy little family because I think that’s what you always wanted.

"I don’t know why you followed me all the way through college and Hamburg and the fuckin’ Beatles. Like a puppy, infatuated with copying me - even my leather trousers. Picking fights with Stu just to get my bleeding approval, poor bastard. Y'know what? I think you’ll always be little goody McCartney’s kid. I don’t know how you ended up here!”

Paul scowled, “I’m yer partner! I did as much as you did to get here!”

“C'mon, Princess! You wrote some silly love songs and flash a smile and now you’re a king! But to be a Beatle… the people we were supposed to turn out to be… You’re not cut out for it, and you know it! Get back to the sweet little neighbourhood you came from, why don’t you? You don’t even like it here. You think I’m a bloody divvy, an idiot. Leave, then! Leave!”

These words echoed through their consciousness. Paul felt his throat hitch, and John’s eyes burned into his. The room got compact, every breath coming out hot and heavy. Every thought being pushed out by the need to make a mistake.

“Least I’m not fucking around on my own wife,” John heard, and it was like the walls came down. “You don’t even know your kid, Johnny.”

There was a small sense of victory when John’s eyes went helpless and lost. The fire went out for a split second before John realized who he was.

Before he could object, Paul was held up by his collar and knocked against the wall. Paul gasped, focused on John’s face, and neither said a word. Their stares killed each other. John’s lips were pulled into a thin line, and Paul hoped he’d second-guess himself. Still, Paul didn’t even struggle. He took the punch. The punch that was intended to knock a tooth out. It was solid, bony. Both felt the heavy thunk of Paul’s skull and the crack of his teeth. John watched it all unfold, ignoring the fact that he was doing this or that he was doing it to Paul. When Paul only inhaled a cool breath, wincing but keeping a strong face, John dropped him. He fell to the floor like a ragdoll and groaned. It was deep, gravely, and stubborn. Stubborn to make John feel like he just did something meaningless. Stubborn to tell John that it didn’t even matter.

John took control of his breathing again, staring down at the downtrodden Paul. He wished it never happened.

Paul looked up when the door slammed shut and he was alone again. He sat there, docile. If he stayed still, he hoped he could sink back into the ground and disappear. The sterile atmosphere tingled on his skin. His jaw began to get sore and he waited for his head to stop spinning so that maybe he could stand. Things were still fizzy. Anger settled in a pit somewhere in his stomach, not to be lashed out now. Sometime later. Later, perhaps. If the anger stayed. Sometimes it turned into a simple feeling of unfairness, of quiet bitterness. But somehow, right now, Paul worried about his attacker. No. His friend, his partner, who was stumbling through the streets and not thinking right. Who didn’t know what he was doing, who couldn’t control what he was doing. But it’s impossible to hold him back. John Lennon couldn’t help it. Paul felt a sharp pang of sadness for the lot of them.

#John Lennon #the beatles #Beatles #fanfic #drama #angst #beatles fanfiction #beatles fandom #john lennon angst #fanfiction #i dont know why i wrote this #Hey You've Got to Hide #writing #my work #my writing

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