#gwen pov

[fandomfaeofveryfewf4cks]

Long post. Fic under the dotted line. Or: ao3: What we are left with

Before the actual fic, here is a long post about why I wrote this fic. Disclaimer: heavy themes of grief.

I know this is a few days late, but I wanted to write something for the 15th Anniversary of the Merlin pilot episode, and it ended up needing a lot more time to get done than I thought.

I shouldn't be surprised though. Aside from most of my writings ending up longer than intended, Merlin is a show that's always meant a lot to me.

It was my introduction to the fandom world, for starters. Merthur was my first OTP and continues to be a favorite of mine. Katie McGrath was my first celebrity crush. There are Merlin fanfics and fanart that have touched my heart in a way not a lot of things have. (See my username). Fandom communities, in turn, helped me feel less alone, especially in a time where loneliness was weighing very heavily on me.

Merlin is also just magic, and capes, and swordfighting, and pretty dresses. Horseriding, dragons, unicorns, curses, poisons, plots, schemes, saving the day, and shenanigans.

Merlin is heartbreak, love, betrayal, violence, peace, oppression, secrets, friendship, hope, and bonds that can not be broken by death and tragedy. Bonds that will not fade in a thousand years.

My brother introduced me to Merlin when I was very young and I fell in love with it instantly. Partially because it meant more time spent with said brother. Episode three scared the shit out of me though, for some reason, and it would be a couple years before I started watching it again. Coincidentally, I started watching it again sometime around when my brother died. So, you can see how that adds a whole other layer of importance to this show for me, not to get too personal.

But, again, I shouldn't be surprised because everything about this show does ultimately feel personal to me. It's why I haven't done much writing or anything with it. I know I just won't really be able to stop. (Hence, how long this post is.)

Nonetheless, I wanted to write something for it. I debated doing a more merthur-based thing, but I ended up doing something mainly centered around Gwen's perspective in the first couple months after Arthur died. The first part is mainly about her. The second part... well, I can't let myself even think about all the grief this show's characters go through without getting dragged into Merlin's grief specifically. I'm not entirely sure why, though I have my theories.

Either way, the second half is more about a healing Gwen trying to help Merlin start healing as well. This is not a happy fic. This is not meant to be an angsty fic. It's really not meant to be anything other than self-indulgent for me. I'm probably subconsciously trying to help myself work through some of my own shit and, you know.. I'm tempted to maybe think that that's okay. I don't talk about grief enough, really.

Sometimes, I've felt like I was faking my grief and didn't deserve to be included in the group of people with "real" grief because I obviously wouldn't know what I was talking about.

I've felt like a ticking time bomb holding in all of my emotions, terrified of the day they explode and possibly hurt whoever is nearby.

I've cried and done everything I could to hide it, screamed with nobody around to hear it, and lied about being fine to people I Never want to lie to.

Merlin tried not to cry around people. Merlin screamed when no one was around to hear it. Merlin lied about being fine to people he Never wanted to lie to.

So did many other characters in Merlin.

I find so many of the characters in Merlin to be beyond relatable. I can scarcely find it funny.

I can't fully explain everything this show has done for me. I can explain that:

It starts with a young warlock making a journey to a place where no one knows him, and he quickly learns it's safer if no one ever knows him fully.

He makes friends anyway, including one who will fundamentally change everything Merlin knows about himself just by existing.

Merlin makes mistakes with consequences.

Everyone makes mistakes with consequences.

The show ends with multiple tragic deaths, a kingdom that is heartbroken (but moves on as they must), and an old warlock, who has spent hundreds of lifetimes being older than he looks and depressed, and who has spent barely a fraction of one lifetime being young and hopeful.

Merlin loses everyone he cares about, and yet, he still has hope. He still lives for Arthur. Now, I'm not expecting anyone to come back from the dead anytime soon. I don't think it's a good idea to want such a thing in real life, either. But if Merlin can hope and live after 1000+ years of loneliness and grief, then how can I not think it's possible for me to get through my equivalents of all that shit?

Oh, and don't get me started on the LGBTQ+ subtext and "magic users are oppressed and have to hide who they are to survive" comparison. That hit me like a goddam freight train even harder than realizing I liked Morgana before AND after she became evil.

Anyway, there's a fic if you want to read it. There's angst, Gwen POV, and everyone trying to get Merlin to eat something and go outside to prevent him developing a resistance to sunlight or something.

Enjoy...?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"What we are left with" or "A Love Letter to the Adventures of Merlin BBC"

The king is dead.

Arthur is dead.

Gwenevere sits on the throne as people ask her about all the things that need to be done in the kingdom. Camelot is under her rule... and her rule alone.

Plenty of people will talk about how "if me from ten years ago saw me now, I wouldn't believe it." Gwen felt like it was beyond understandable for her to feel this was most accurate for her life.

She was born a peasant; a blacksmith's daughter. It seems impossible that she sits on the throne now.

It wasn't long ago that it quite simply and entirely WAS impossible, in fact.

It was a huge change, not only for her, but for all of Camelot, and arguably, the world. It was inevitable that there would be challenges galore, and a number of severe ones at that.

She had known that Arthur was a popular target for people set on hurting Uther, taking over the kingdom, etc. etc.

She had known that being Queen would be far from easy.

But she also knew that Arthur needed her. According to him, Camelot also needed her. There isn't much that Gwen wouldn't do for the people she loves and it isn't like the burden of power doesn't come with upsides.

She lives in a palace with a large bed for her to sleep in and the grandest of rooms that she doesn't have to clean. Many of the things she used to do for herself, like bathing, dressing, and preparing meals, are all done for her now, even if she still has a habit of making the bed when her handmaidens aren't looking.

She doesn't have to wonder what kind of trouble Elyan is up to these days, because he is here, where she can keep a closer on eye on him and worry just a teensy bit less about him.

She has friends who are always there for her. Ones who respect her and defend her with their lives, but will still also laugh with her and give a shoulder to cry on when she needs it, as she still is for them after all these years.

All of these things are still true. Many of these people are still here, but she has never felt so alone.

Morgana betrayed her and the kingdom. She left her and eventually kidnapped her for the sake of warping her mind and manipulating her. They used to have a bond she had thought unbreakable. They had whispered secrets into each other's hair while holding each other after some of Morgana's nightmares. They had inside jokes and knew each other so well that they seemed to have an entire secret language between them that consisted solely of ticks and facial expressions. A crinkle of her nose when a suitor said something unclever or boarish. A raised eyebrow and a slight frown when Arthur was surprisingly (if only momentarily) gallant. A smile when Gwen said something she found amusing.

Gwen hadn't seen that smile in years. Any delusion of seeing it again was lost long ago. But apparently, she still had a sliver of hope left because hearing that she was dead, while in many ways was a relief, also hurt nearly as much as hearing the same fate had met Arthur.

That was both Gweneviere's greatest strength and greatest weakness; she was never really lacking in hope.

Even now, when her hope is arguably facing its biggest challenge yet, it's nowhere near gone.

She wishes she could say the same for Merlin's.

He's barely said a word. In fact, Gwen had hardly seen him at all. He had gone straight to Gaius, who somehow got an explanation out of him, and Merlin was presumably keeping to his room.

She couldn't blame him. If Gwen didn't have the responsibility of being queen, she might have done the same. And even then, she has still taken some time to shed her fair share of tears.

Gwen and Arthur's relationship was always an entirely different matter from Merlin and Arthur's relationship. All three of them knew this in some way. (Really, most of Camelot knew, to a point.)

Gwen and Arthur loved each other. That was never false, but there had been a time when they thought it was a different sort of love than it was. Once their relationship had become known, the people of Camelot thought they were essentially soulmates and destined to be one of the greatest love stories ever told. They weren't entirely wrong, but it wasn't the whole truth.

They could tell each other absolutely anything. Each of them had a great mind that worked well with the other, leading not only to an excellent partnership in rulers of the land, but also to an understanding that meant they could always rely on each other in any moment of need.

Gwen loved Arthur for his bravery and willingness to change himself and the things within his power for the betterness of all. She also loved him for his goofiness and his tragic past. She loved him for never passing personal judgement on her for her station or gender or race. She loved him for seeing her as the person she was, not the servant he was expected to see her as.

And that's exactly one of the reasons why he loved her. She didn't treat him like he was only a royal figure to worship and bend over backwards for. He wasn't just a king. He was her king. Just as she was his queen.

And to be a better king, Arthur needed people who would tell him when he was being conceited or small-minded...

Or a prat.

Merlin was there for Arthur just as much, if not far more so than Gwen was and that did not lessen the love between Gwen and Arthur even a little.

But Merlin had Arthur's heart from the moment they met.

And Arthur had Merlin's.

Many people would see and hear how Merlin blatantly insulted the KING and be baffled when his majesty would respond with Laughter. This servant could call King Arthur a dollophead, a clotpole, a prat, a cabbagehead, and so much more and face little to no repercussions. And this happened regularly. Many times a day, in fact. It was puzzling to many.

But Gwen knew why Arthur rarely, if ever, took offense to Merlin's ribbing and why Merlin would keep coming back only to be given endless chores and musings about his supposed lack of intelligence.

It wasn't because Merlin needed the job or had an obligation to the kingdom, at least not entirely. It wasn't because Arthur needed a servant or still felt he owed Merlin the job as part of a life debt, at least not entirely.

It was because they needed each other. And they both knew it in one way or another. That's why the words either didn't sting like it might seem they should or simply weren't enough to keep each other away. They knew they didn't truly mean it. They knew there was something far more important in their relationship than than there would be in any of their squabbles; even the serious ones.

"A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole."

Gwen would never describe it in those words alone. It's silly to say something so cryptic and simply stated and pretend it explains absolutely everything in complete clarity.

Besides, who could accurately put into words the strength of Arthur and Merlin's love for one another.

Gwen and Arthur were husband and wife. But they were friends first. And when they got married they did so knowing it was best for the kingdom, and not in the way Uther thought, but in the way Queen Gwenevere and King Arthur believed. They were going to prove that change could lead to great things.

Gwen had hoped she wouldn't have to do so alone.

And even if it wasn't fair to her friends to think that she was truly alone, it would be quite some time before she felt otherwise.

The king is dead.

Queen Gwenevere sits on a single throne with a crown on her head, facing her subjects who she would put everything she had, as well as all she'd remember Arthur to be, into leading her people into the time of peace and prosperity that she and Arthur had hoped to see one day.

Arthur is dead.

Nothing would ever be the same. There were going to be some major difficulties in the road ahead, perhaps even some failures. But that will not stop her from trying harder. Arthur's loss will not stop her from loving again or hoping still. Nothing will stop her from being there for her kingdom... and for her friends.

. . . . .

She walked down the halls one step at a time. She smiled at the passers by and thanked those who gave their condolences.

She stopped wearing black a few weeks ago, but there were still dreadful clouds over everyone's hearts, though most of them had found ways to keep going nonetheless.

Except for one heart, it would seem, whose clouds were still striking everything that moved with unforgiving lighting and drowned out every sound with its devastating downpour.

For about two weeks, he hadn't left his room. Then the knights and her had taken turns in visiting him to try and get him to eat something or get some fresh air at the very least.

When he had seen Gwen, he could scarcely do more than sob into her shoulder. And she let her own tears fall as they held each other. He couldn't talk. He didn't utter a single word and even his cries were choked down to the point she was concerned he start actually choking.

He was becoming increasingly unhealthy, but somehow, neither he nor Gaius seemed especially worried about him dying, as strange as it was. He grew frighteningly more skinny as he didn't eat. His skin was paler and dryer, but still he wouldn't move from his bed. He flinched away from any golden light they might try and let in through the window. The dullness that would take over his face when you so much as showed him a glass of water was all beyond worrisome. Yet Gaius would simply say to give him time. Gwen and the knights worried just how much time it would take and whether it would be before or after Merlin starved to death.

After about a month, Gaius had said he'd successfully convinced Merlin to have a few bites of stew and some water for his father figure's sake if not for his own. They all nearly tried to throw a party in celebration. He still wouldn't leave his room, though.

A month later had him out of bed and dressed. He even helped Gaius with his work as best he could, but would not leave the physician's chambers. He talked some, but very little, and hardly above the softest whisper. And he wouldn't stay out of his room for very long. This went on like this for months.

Gwen tried to visit more often, but couldn't stay for very long. There was so much to do. She had understood when Merlin didn't want to be part of the ceremony held in remembering of Arthur, especially since he had already said his goodbyes when it mattered.

But there was so much more to do. Gwen was facing a lot of pushback from the members of the council who didn't believe she had a right to sit on the throne. She was handling that. With plenty of people vouching for her, and her own actions proving to be helping Camelot more and more every day, as well as the majority of Camelot's people loving her and everything she stands for as well as her strength in the face of her husband's death, she's been able to handle it. There's a million other issues that have mostly gotten smaller and smaller as she worked at them and any new issues that came up.

But she still needed Merlin. She still needed her friend. Merlin was one of the few people closest to her that hadn't died or betrayed her. She wasn't going to let him hide himself away forever. And there were still a number of things they needed to talk about.

His magic for one.

So here she was, walking to the physician's chambers ready to get her best friend out in the world again if she had to drag him out.

She knew he'd likely never be the same or even fully happy again without Arthur, but she was determined to remind him that he was so much more than what he was for Arthur: His protector. His servant. His lover. His friend... His real soulmate.

All those things he was to Arthur made up and will always be a huge part of who Merlin is, but Gwen will not let him think he is nothing with Arthur gone.

So she knocks on Gaius' door.

Gaius looks worried when he opens the door, but also almost received as he let's her in and tells her Merlin is in his room.

They share a knowing look before she walks up the steps and carefully opens the door.

When she walks in, she sees Merlin sitting by the fire, holding Ygraine's sigil in his hands and watching the flames shape a person in armour interacting with a person in more common garb. It's almost like the fire is playing Merlin's memories back to him. Gwen only thinks this because she recognizes the scene. The day Arthur made some poor boy run around with knives getting thrown at him, and Merlin stood up to him, with no thought to station or the sorts of power one person could try and use against him.

Gwen knew Merlin had magic by now. Gaius and she had discussed it partially after she figured it out. She had suspected something of the like for a little while, now, in fact.

She had never seen him use magic blatantly and so closely before. She took a breath in surprise and the images in the flames flickered away as Merlin turned to look at her, his eyes still shining gold for just a second before turning back to blue. His face was wet.

Neither of them moved for a moment before Gwen made the choice to slowly walk over and sit beside him. The warlock. The love of her dead husband's life. One of her greatest friends.

"Merlin."

He hadn't broken eye contact with her at all since she came in, but with the sound of her voice, the clouded sheen across his eyes flickered to almost reveal what was behind them. He said nothing back.

"I know, we've been skirting around some very difficult talks these past couple months, and I don't plan to press you on what I'm fairly sure is the most painful one for you, seeing as it is also the most painful one for me." The cloudy sheen grew thicker. You once saw a deep blue when you looked at Merlin. Now it seemed more and more like a stormy gray.

Gwen resumed. "But there is one thing I think we need to talk about sooner rather than later: your magic." (This wasn't entirely true. There wasn't much of a time limit on this as even if they started taking down the anti-magic laws in the system, it would be a very long time before they started to see real change. Nonetheless, it does need to happen and it's a much better conversation to get Merlin out and about again than trying to talk about anything to do with Arthur specifically.)

Surprisingly, his expression stayed stone still. No surprise, no fear, no confusion, nothing. She had figured Gaius told him she knew and in some of her visits to Merlin, she had made implications and questionable comments to subtly let him know that she knew and was not going to have him executed over it. And avoiding addressing it directly for fear of him panicking or shutting down or doing something reckless. So she wasn't expecting him to be totally off-guard.

But to have absolutely no emotional reaction at all was not a good sign.

He continued to say nothing.

"Merlin, please. Nothing is easy anymore, I know. Not talking to your friends. Not getting out of bed. Not even breathing, at times. Believe me, I understand this. Obviously there are parts of what you're going through, that I don't understand, but that's never going to stop me from trying. And the same goes for Gaius, Elyan, Percival, and Leon. We are all here for you. That's what makes us friends is We are all here for each other."

He had looked away around when she talked about wanting to understand and had slowly drifted to looking back at the fire.

"Please look at me, Merlin. I need to know that you're hearing me." She grabbed his arm softly and his eyelids twitched. Slowly, so slowly, he started to move his lips like he was about to speak.

He struggles for a moment before his eyes glow gold and he lowers his head as the fire starts to dance again. This time, it shows a boy playing in the woods. He makes butterflies from nothing and they dance around him and Gwen can almost hear the joyous laughter as the boy plays with his magical creations.

Then another boy appears and the butterflies fly away. The first boy is very still. Then the second boy walks over and, after a moment, he hugs him tightly. The first boy hugs back.

The image shifts. There are two young men, young enough that to still be considered boys, working in fields of grain. The crop is not doing well and the boys look concerned. One of them starts to seem frustrated with the other and gestures to the crops. The other contemplates for a moment. He looks around to see if anyone is looking and then kneels down to get his hands in the dirt.

The figures the fire makes are not as detailed as the people they represent, but they are detailed enough that two spots where the figure's eyes would be glow brighter than the rest of him. The crops flourish and grow tall. The first boy is amazed at what his friend has done and is grabbing his arm excitedly. The second is concerned.

The scene changes again, and now the boys walk alone through a town with multiple figures looking at them and whispering amongst themselves. The boys reach a particular house where a woman waits for them. She brings them inside.

In the house, the woman is talking animatedly. The boys are clearly being scolded by a worried mother.

"They suspected Will was the sorcerer." A cracking voice says quietly next to Gwen.

She immediately looks over to Merlin, who is watching the flames sullenly; tiredly. She waited for him to continue.

He sighed shakily. "When the crops became healthier than would normal even in a good year overnight, that was the last straw for the other villagers. They had suspicions before, but this was undeniable. And Will and I were known to have been in the field during the time frame the crops changed."

"If I had stayed, my mother would've had to watch one or both of us get turned against by the whole village and it wouldn't have been safe for any of us. If someone left mysteriously, and all the suspiciously magical things stopped happening, then they'd be satisfied that the sorcerer wouldn't be bothering them again. It was Will or me, and really, I was the obvious choice."

The fire showed on of the boys with a pack on his back, hugging the woman, then hugging his friend before leaving his home.

"Even if I could've bared to watch Will leave, an outcast to his home, I wouldn't have been able to live without ever using magic again. The suspicions would pick up again sooner or later. So my mother sent me away to Gaius, believing he'd teach me better control of my magic and believing the business of the city would help keep eyes off of me."

The fire shows the boy appearing over a hill, approaching the unmistakable image of Camelot. It seems so bright and hopeful.

Then Merlin is in a cave talking to the Great dragon.

"From the beginning, Kilgarrah would tell me how my destiny was to help Arthur. To protect him and help him become the greatest king the land had ever known. He told me Arthur would unite the lands of Albion and magic would be free once more."

Gwen wasn't sure what to think of this. So she just kept listening.

"It's very difficult to turn away when someone tells you there's a future where you and people like you can be free from persecution and don't have to constantly fear for your life over something you can't help. It's a lot harder to feel like that's possible when you're just a kid from Ealdor, being told this future relies almost entirely on you. That all your power and all your gifts were given to you so that you would bring about a golden age of peace for everyone by keeping one stupid prat alive." He chuckles into a cut off sob at that.

The fire then shows Uther sentencing a warlock to death in front of the poor man's mother. It shows her disappearing in rage.

It shows her throwing a dagger at Arthur's heart just before Merlin slows time to pull Arthur away safely.

Arthur looks surprisingly blurry in the flames, but far more bright and golden than anything else in the scene.

The scenes change much more rapidly now. Merlin using magic to reveal Valiant's magical shield. Merlin using magic to destroy the monster that was poisoning the water. Merlin calling the Great Dragon and ordering him to stop terrorizing Camelot and leave for good. Merlin stopping bandits with falling branches and mysteriously thrown spears. Merlin facing off Cenred and refusing the chance to rule with him.

"I couldn't save everyone."

Merlin meeting a girl under the castle to bring her food and talk with her. That girl turning into a monster and being killed by Arthur. Merlin watching Will die with an arrow in his chest and a lie on his lips for the sake of protecting his friend from Arthur. Merlin stopping Arthur from going through the veil, but being beat to going through it himself by Lancelot. (That scene wasn't quite so detailed and Gwen reached for his shoulder in thanks for that. Whether it was more for her or himself.)

"Or I didn't try hard enough."

Mordred getting thrown in the dungeons with no way to save the love of his life and Merlin doing nothing about it.

Merlin poisoning Morgana.

Gwen had to take a breath for that one. The situation back then had eventually reached her ears and she had eventually forgiven Merlin, but that didn't make it any easier a truth to face. She took her hand away, but stayed close.

"Over time, protecting Arthur with my magic became less and less about bringing about a peaceful future and so much more about just-"

He couldn't finish that sentence, but the fire showed a king in full armour grasping the forearm of his servant. The two of them only seeing each other. Arthur was very clear to see now. You could make out the sharpness of his jaw and crinkles of his eyes. The fire changed colors so his hair and crown would shine gold, his cape deepened to Pendragon red, and his eyes shifting to a piercing blue.

Merlin's figure was much less bright and detailed, but the tinted red of his neckercheif and the faint blue of his eyes were bolder than before. After all, his mission in protecting Arthur may have changed him not always for the better, but his love for Arthur always brought out the best parts of Merlin.

Merlin had kept his face expressionless through most of the story, but not like he was trying to hide his emotions anymore. No, he simply couldn't bring himself to feel anything about the secret of his magic anymore. This secret he's had to keep from almost everyone in his life for so long. He didn't care about it anymore. It wasn't about the magic anymore.

The flames slowly started to fade back to a more expected sort of flickering and grew smaller as it did. Merlin stayed quiet again. Gwen reached out again.

"Did you get to tell him?" She asked oh so softly.

His eyes watered and he nodded. Then he started shaking his head no.

"Not the way I wanted to."

Gwen thought about how beautifully the fire had danced in telling Merlin's story. The way that every time Arthur was shown, he was shown as a golden figure of hope and love doing his best to protect and lead his kingdom. It was meant to be Merlin's story, but it was difficult to focus on much besides Arthur and the beauty Merlin painted him with. Even when he killed Freya, her beauty was far from hidden, and the tragedy was not shyed away from, but Arthur was not the villain of the story. He never would be the villain in Merlin's story. And he wanted Arthur to know that. He wanted time to get Arthur to sit down and hear his side of the story. This story full of lies and secrets and pain that some may hear and think it odd that Merlin, with all his power, wouldn't be fighting against Arthur in order to build the world he wanted himself. This story that is so clearly not one of heroes against villains, or rivalry, but above all, a love story. Merlin loves Arthur more than himself. More than magic. More than anything or anyone. That's what he wanted to show Arthur. That's what he wanted Arthur to know.

Merlin's tears fell more forcefully, and Gwen took him in her arms. She let her tears run freely as well.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He gasped through his cries. Gwen didn't need to ask what he was sorry about. Or who he was sorry to. They both knew.

"I'm sorry too." Gwen replied. Because in the end, there's not much else you can say but that.

Eventually, their emotions would settle, and they'd start talking about what to do next. Having magic would no longer be a crime, but there were so few magic users and beings of magic left that there would need to be a serious effort to avoid the extinction of such people and creatures in the long run.

Merlin wasn't sure he was up to that task. It didn't help that if it was revealed to the court that he, specifically, had magic and had been hiding it for years, it would be difficult for anyone to trust him.

But he also simply didn't have faith that he could keep all of magic from dying when he couldn't even keep Arthur from dying.

Gwen didn't want to put so much pressure on him, especially with few to no signs that it would go well. But she would lift the ban on magic. Gaius could help educate people on how magic really works, and they would spread the word that magic does not make something or someone evil. It simply does what all power does and gives people the opportunity to make choices. Sometimes, people just choose to hurt other people.

But some other times, people will instead choose to help people. That's what Gwen will do with her power. Help people. Help her friends. And with time and persistence in this, things will get better, at least in some ways.

Camelot may not last forever. Magic may die out. Their story may not become the greatest legend ever told. It may even be forgotten. But it will have happened. And, in the end, isn't it worth everything, just to say that it happened?

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

"Excuse us, He said 'No Pickles'."

[morganafayes]

hello

[swans-chirping-in-the-distance]

Love how casual people are about knowing THE King Arthur. Like yeah he's the great king of Camelot, destined to be the Once and Future King of Albion, an incredible and honorable fighter and a force to be reckoned with. But he's also a silly little guy who can't dress himself and like warm baths and cuddling his wife.

[imthursdaysyme]

arthur trying to order coffee when he knows nothing about coffee and thinks it’s gross but there’s a cute barista

[hikaaa-bi]

you tell her, lena

[iwasbored777]

Y'all since we already know that Gwen can and probably does look at Peter B being happy now and think how her Peter never got a chance for a better life cuz he died so young because she accidentally killed him now imagine she goes to Earth-42 and finds Miles-42 fatherless and she knows that she almost let that happen to this Miles. I get that we assume Miles will understand that she had her own problems and was forced to be in Spider Society and he would eventually forgive her but I'm saying that I don't think she will forgive herself, ever.

[moonmovies]

"His name is Miles Morales..."

[bisclavret]

i wish more people could accept being a hater in their hearts both because bbc merlin is a show that deserves to be dismantled and criticized piece by piece by its fans for the bigoted heap of british garbage that it is but also because it's so ripe with potential and interesting barely explored concepts that can only be truly tapped into once you acknowledge the myriad of flaws rooted in the show's entire premise. just about every single character is really likeable and compelling but also so completely and utterly mishandled by the writers that they all come off like hypocrites by the end which in competent hands could've been interesting to see play out (and there are such hands in the viewers! ive glimpsed them on here but they don't seem to want to stick around much because the loudest majority of this fanbase seems to want a merlin renaissance and yet mistrusts anyone new who has a critical approach to the show) but if people keep getting stuck on someone criticizing their fave character's actions or inconsistencies or how flawed and harmful the character's moral code is (while the show upholds it as if it's inherently right which sure does reflect the uk's political climate - especially in the early 2010s), they're missing out on a lot of the potential i mentioned earlier but also the freeing feeling of being like yes i love this character yes the writers sucked at writing them yes i can name their war crimes in chronological order yes they're still my fav <3 not trying to tell anyone how to enjoy a stupid show from the late aughts but by god do i wish the overall vibe of this fanbase was a bit more self-aware

[brighterdaysarebeforeus]

Soooooooo...basically a rewrite of Hobie's entire part in the movie? Except more awkward teenager and much, much more rambling. This does feel a bit all over the place so...enjoy, if you wanna.

Meeting Gwen for the first time wasn’t anything particularly memorable or anything like that, Hobie didn’t think. It was a simple thing, really; LYLA had found an anomaly, Miguel had reluctantly put Hobie on the case, Hobie had gone out of his way to ramble on about how he wasn’t a cog in Miguel’s system (man looked like he wanted to punt Hobie out of the office, and that just added more pleasure to his insubordination), and then Jess had sort of insisted that Gwen tag along to learn how to inter-dimensional travel and also how to deal with the anomalies as they occurred. Her exact words, if he remembered right, were “she needs to learn how to deal with these things in a team setting, and also maybe get some more friends her own age” or something similar that Gwen had immediately protested against.

He’d protested as well, as if it would change anything, as if these two would take him any serious. Hobie told them that he didn’t believe in teams, or in teamwork, and Jess put her hand on his shoulder, looked him in the eye, and told him very sternly to get over himself. Miguel was in the back, rubbing his hand over his face with one hand and waving the other at them in a motion that screamed ‘just go’. The mission itself was fine, easy job for a sole Spider let alone two Spider-People, but Gwen had been pricklier than he’d been expecting. He thought she was spunky, but particularly withdrawn for a Spider, and she’d snapped at him several times before the mission had ended. Afterwards, they’d gone their separate ways and he didn’t think too much about her, focusing on being the one and only Spider-Man (Spider-Punk, the newspaper headlines screamed, and he’d hated the name with a passion when he was younger, but found the title had grown on him over the years) in Camden.

Then they got paired together again. And again. And again. There’d been a genuine moment of concern that Miguel and Jess were punishing him for something, because they kept sticking him together with this small wisp of a child who looked like she wanted to bite his head off any time he asked her anything remotely personal, whether it be about her family or even her favorite kind of music. Hobie couldn’t even begin to figure her out, but decided that if he kept pushing, especially if they kept getting put on missions together, she’d have to crack eventually, right?

(It was worse when he realized she was actually older than him, even if it was only by three months. She held it over him for days, blocking his every question and prompt with “I don’t have to tell you anything, I’m older than you are.” Like a kid. Like a little kid, and how in the hell was she older than he was? It was unjust, it was.)

The sad part was, Hobie wasn’t even sure when things changed, with Gwen. Rather, he wasn’t quite sure why they had changed, though far be it from him to criticize someone’s changing of their mind. They’d gone on a mission, catching an inter-dimensional Doc Ock in some bizarre backwards universe made up of graffiti art that had her particularly subdued and snappish with him; she’d just given a thirty second rant that had cut Hobie deeper than he’d wanted to admit and they were swinging around searching for the Doc in a strained silence that had lasted until they’d found the fucker; at some point in the fight, the Doc had her pinned and Hobie’d yelled for her to cover her ears, and used his guitar to blast the scientist off of her at the last second, using his regular webs to yank her from where she’d been embedded in the ground; they’d, somehow, ended up victorious back at HQ and handed the Doc to Margo to send back to the proper dimension, went to Miguel and Jess to report their success. Hobie set his watch to his home dimension, the portal had opened up, and then —

“Hey, can I…” He’d half-turned to Gwen, eyes wide on his mask to showcase his paying attention as Gwen held her left arm tightly in her right hand, pointedly not looking at him and using the longer left side of her hair to cover her face. She’d taken off her mask, though Hobie had never really felt comfortable enough in the Spider Society to do so very often, and he could see the uncertainty in her face as she finally spit out, “can I…crash with you? For a bit?”

“Like, in my dimension?” Hobie’d asked, and she rolled her eyes so hard that her head followed the motion automatically. Something warm and pleased grew in his chest as she pushed past him roughly, muttering something sarcastic under her breath, and he didn’t even notice Jess watching them from behind as he nudged her shoulder playfully while they walked through the portal together.

Gwen started hanging around more after that, even when they had to keep moving from abandoned house to abandoned house in order to keep a roof over their head for the night. She didn’t stay over every night, but it was often enough to leave some of her shit laying around for him to trip over. He discovered she like playing drums and incorporated her into his band, more or less the only permanent member aside from him despite the inter-dimensional shenanigans. ‘Gwen’ became ‘Gwennifer’ (she threw her drumstick at him) which then became ‘Guinevere’ (he’d barely dodged the swing she leveled at him for that) became ‘Gwendolyn’ (she’d webbed his mouth shut) became ‘Gwendy’ (she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, but he’d caught the pleased look on her face for that one). Over time, she started opening up about her dad, her indefinitely on-hold Spider-Woman work in her home ‘verse, her Peter…

Miles.

The name lit up something at the back of his head, the first time she’d mentioned it, and Hobie couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. It wasn’t until she mentioned something about a particle collider that it came rushing to Hobie; he was Miguel’s “original anomaly”, the one who had apparently weakened the multiverse apart enough for the Spider Society to be kept busy damn near constantly. Hobie could respect a Spider who could throw the multiverse into chaos like that, even if was accidental and wasn’t even his fault to begin with. He tried prompting her, through trial and error, into talking about Miles damn near constantly; it worked better than he’d hoped, and for a hot minute all she would talk about was Miles. What he looked like, what he’d say, the way he’d stuck his hand to her hair when he’d first gotten his powers and she’d had to cut it off on the sides (“and you kept the hairstyle?” “Fuck off, Hobart — ” “Ew, no thanks mate, ‘o the fuck is Hobart — ”). She talked about him so much that Hobie felt like he knew the damn kid all on his own without ever having met him.

And then Gwen got herself assigned to a mission in his universe. Not only that, but she was allowing herself to miss her friend enough to stop off to visit when she went, though she had a brief moment of panic before she’d left and she’d called him for ‘moral support’ or whatever it was she’d hissed at him when she called. Hobie felt proud of her for that, even though he couldn’t find his chucks the day she left and he nearly brained himself tripping over her damn jumper when he headed to the bathroom.

It was her first mission on her own, officially, and Hobie was pulling out damn near every trick in the book to keep him from worrying. He was sitting at her drum set where they had it set up in a practice warehouse, listlessly banging on the cymbals when his watch went off a second time. Heart jumping up into his throat, Hobie answered the call and whipped his way into Mumbatten, which was exactly where Gwen was not supposed to be at this current moment. He’d barely even taken the time to suit up, nearly forgot to grab his damn guitar, and didn’t even pause to take in the situation before strumming the thing and bursting through what looked like a barrier. He’d heard Gwen and Pavitr shout, but he’d landed with his back to them and then he’d gotten rushed by Pav the second he caught his breath.

Then he’d turned fully, pushed Pav off of him, and nearly swallowed his tongue when he caught a good, solid look of him, dressed in his black suit with pops of red; it had to be Miles, the Spider-Man-Who-Wasn’t-Supposed-To-Exist-In-Earth-1610-Specifically, which for some reason both was a surprise and yet was completely expected.

“This the kid from 1610?” He asked first, like he wasn’t fully aware of who Miles was to begin with. Gwen’s head rolled, a sure sign she was rolling her eyes, and he’d glanced her way briefly before looking back at Miles, who was complaining to Gwen. He’d gotten close enough when Pav thanked him for destroying the barrier in time to hear him (“I weakened it!”) and shot a quick demonstration of “use your whole palm, mate, not just your fingertips”, complete with hand visuals. Miles looked, low-key through his mask, like he wanted to strangle him. Gwen looked away, but Hobie could tell her shoulders were shaking from held-back laughter.

He wanted to crawl into a small hole for a minute. For a hot second, Hobie debated the pros and cons of potentially just jumping back through the portal and going home, there were three Spiders to deal with the Dalmatian over there, he wasn’t really needed for this, was he? He was distracted for all of two seconds before remembering there was supposed to be a fight going on, and he was supposed to be helping, and that Miles was standing in front of him.

So, naturally, once he was back online and fully focused, he opened his mouth and immediately put his foot in it.

“What’s up with his suit, is he bleeding from the armpits?”

“Wha-Who even is this guy?” Gwen introduced them quickly, Hobie talking even faster as they prepared to fight the Dalmatian-looking dude in front of them, and though Miles looked slightly lost (“I thought you hated labels?”), Hobie had hope that they’d be able to get along swell.

Then he stuck his foot in it again.

“Gwendy, you left your jumper ‘round my place.”

“What’s a jumper?”

“It’s a sweater!”

“How many sweaters do you own?”

And, because he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut to save his own damn life even as Gwen clearly tried to salvage that mess, Hobie continued.

“And your toothbrush.” He kind of wanted to die. What was the deal with this spotty dude? Hobie wondered if the dude would shoot him into another dimension if he asked him nicely enough. He hated asking nice though, and it was pretty obvious this guy happened to be the villain of the week (as it were), so his best bet was staying here. Shame, that. He was really fucking things up right about now, and he just knew Gwen was gonna give him shit for it later too.

Things happened…weirdly fast after that. They fought the Dalmatian, they lost the Dalmatian, Mumbatten’s AlcheMax began crumbling and they had to save the people. Normal Spider stuff, and Hobie was glad for the distraction — well, not glad glad, he didn’t want Mumbatten to fall apart and Pav was far too little a Spider to be dealing with this kind of cosmic mess — just because Miles took off with Pavitr and left him and Gwen to hold the building up. Even better, Gwen was all the way over there, so she couldn’t even give him shit for how he’d been acting the fool in front of Miles.

God, he just hoped it wasn’t noticeable. To Miles, at least.

Then after the building collapsing was the bridge falling apart, and Miles diving to save the Inspector. Hobie had skid to a stop next to Gwen, the both of them staring down as Pav tried to save the bus and his girl, and Miles tried to save the Inspector. Gwen’s eyes were wide, taking up the entirety of her face as she held onto the railing in a death grip with one hand, the other still outstretched; she’d grabbed Miles then, right before Hobie had gotten there, and for a moment he wasn’t sure why she’d done it.

“He’ll be aces, yea?” Hobie said to her quietly, eyes still on the bridge.

“It’s a canon event. He’s interfering with it.” Gwen said somberly, and Hobie scoffed with a roll of his eyes — she sounded just like Miguel, there, for a hot moment, and he wondered if he should begin extracting them both before the man’s ideals managed to get in any deeper — but Gwen didn’t seem to notice him. When the bridge finished collapsing, she didn’t hesitate to jump over the rail, yelling for Miles as she did so. Hobie followed after her, beelining his way to Pav first to help him with the bus. Once it was on solid ground, relatively speaking, the passengers disembarking and Pavitr trying to smooth things over with his girl, Hobie turned on time to see Gwen lift a giant piece of rubble to reveal —

Miles. Holding a small child, with the Inspector right behind him. Both were fine, probably filled with adrenaline but relatively unharmed, and Pav’s girl was rushing past them all to embrace her father. Hobie followed her, not to the Inspector, but to Miles; Miles, who had been facing Gwen, who hadn’t heard him approach and therefore wasn’t anticipating it when Hobie grabbed his shoulders from behind and shook him eagerly.

“Miles, my guy!” He said cheerfully, and even the city cheered for them (and wasn’t that just novel, that’s never happened to Hobie before), and then —

There was a hole, big and black and looking similar to the spots on the Spot, sucking in pieces of Mumbatten. There was Jess, and her team of Spiders trying to keep it contained (points to Spider Society!) and her just blatantly blowing off Miles in a way that made Hobie’s hackles rise and ordering them all back to HQ to talk to Miguel (negative points for their diligent leaders!). Panic spiked at that, briefly, for Hobie; he leaned on Miles and tried to get him out of it, get them both out of it, but Miles shrugged him off in order to practically run into the belly of the beast with his fist in the air like he’d won something. Hobie dropped his face into his palm, but followed along anyway. Just to see what was going to happen.

Miles looked slightly awed when he took off his mask, which was kind of an ego boost, if Hobie was being honest; his whispered comment was met with one of his own comebacks (“how are you even cooler under the mask?” “I was this cool the whole time.”) that made Gwen press her lips together as she repressed her snort of laughter. Hobie glowered at her slightly, and she rolled her eyes in the opposite direction. Even Jess looked somewhat amused, and Hobie grunted softly at both of them.

He tried, honest to god, he tried so hard to keep Miles from meeting Miguel. Once he’d realized that Gwen had met with Miles and yet told him nothing about the Spider Society, told him nothing about how he fit into all of this as the supposed “original anomaly” (he had ThoughtsTM about Miguel’s thought process, is all, ThoughtsTM that he didn’t necessarily have time to delve into at this specific moment) — he couldn’t let him walk in blind. Miles didn’t deserve the way Miguel was gonna treat him on a normal day, short-tempered and blunt as the man was, let alone a day where a mission was fucked up bad enough that the BBG got away and another dimension was in peril of nonexistence. There was just no time to prepare him, not right at this moment, and he’d completely messed up his entrance to begin with so it wasn’t even like Miles would wanna even listen to anything Hobie had to say, let alone believe it, so…Hobie stalled.

Easily reaching out and grabbing anything potentially useful, Hobie distracted Miles as best he could. Bet this don’t even do anything. Why’d you wanna join up anyway? (The scoff Miles gave him when Hobie told him to make his own watch was not cute, Hobie did not find it endearing at all, and he was shit at lying to himself) What’s your set up — loving parents? (He was thankful Gwen was walking ahead of them for that one and not paying them any attention; the way he’d leaned on that unused portal more or less broadcasted his interest, especially combined with the way he’d fallen through it. He was also infinitely grateful Miles was too preoccupied to notice that blatant display). Hell, he even planted himself in front of the damn kid, sitting in the chair and stretching his legs out onto the table top so that Miles wouldn’t advance anymore, and felt his heart flutter in his chest when Miles simply pushed past him without even stopping.

Then it stopped when Miguel showed up, acting more Miguel-ish than usual. Miles greeted him brightly, holding up the empanada he’d gotten from the cafeteria, but Miguel was having none of it at the moment. Hobie glared at him out of the corner of his eye when he threw the empanada, then dipped out of sight in order to steal more tech that he needed; he lost track of what was happening all the way up to the loud crashing noise, and he’d popped his head back over to see Miguel yelling at both Gwen and Miles. Sniffing irritably, Hobie opened his mouth and was cut off immediately by Peter Parker from Earth 616 making his appearance. Miles was happy to see him, Hobie could hear it in his voice, and against his better judgement he went back to what he was doing.

When Miguel trapped Miles, way before literally trapping him in a cage, Hobie made his way to Miles’ side while keeping a small distance from him. He kept his eyes on him, watching how he ranted against Miguel’s idea of ‘keeping to the canon’, how he fought against the idea of letting one person die just to save others, how he argued that as Spider-Man they should be able to do both. Watched how he turned to his original allies, Peter 616 and Gwen and even Peni, and how they all couldn’t look him in the eye for longer than a few seconds. Encouraged him when it seemed like he needed it (“Here we go.” “Hobie, you’re not helping.” “Good.”). Miles realized it was a trap a second too late, and once Miguel had him caged, chaos began to descend upon them all. His friends were yelling at Miguel, who was yelling back, and Miles was panicking. He couldn’t break himself out, and Hobie’d had enough.

“Oi, Peter Pan.” Hobie hissed at him, and Miles stared at him with wide eyes. He didn’t touch the digital net, all too aware of the fact that it would draw attention from the others, but he spread his hands out just in front of it. Hobie repeated his advice from earlier, complete with visual demonstration, without speaking out loud. “Use your palms.” Miles seemed to take a breath at that, his shoulders lowering from around his ears as he pressed his hands fully against the barrier, palms and all. Since Hobie was the only one paying attention, he knew to brace himself when electricity started crackling up and down Miles’ arms; when the barrier exploded, he was the only one who wasn’t knocked over aside from Miles, who seemed to freeze for a sec when he realized he was free. He chuckled, smiling proudly when Miles’ wide brown eyes met his again, without the barrier this time.

Then Miles turned heel and booked it down the corridor, where the door was wide open and awaiting his exit. Hobie sort of regretted that breaking the door so it would stay open meant that the other Spiders also had easy access to go after Miles, but they were still trying to pick themselves up off the floor and that gave Miles a solid four second head start. It was the best Hobie could do for him, given the situation, along with one last thing.

Miguel yelled for everyone to go after Miles, and they complied. Hobie activated his watch, creating a portal to his home ‘verse. Sneering at all the Spiders rushing past him, Hobie shouted “for the record, I quit!” and threw his watch off once he was safely in the portal.

He crash landed towards the edge of the bed in the room, close enough to where he was aiming originally. Sighing heavily, Hobie sprawled out on the bed and listened to the drones flying overhead, watched as their lights illuminated the room he was staying in currently. Gwen’s jumper was still on the floor where she’d left it, her shoes dropped carelessly two feet beside it. (Seriously, her shoes were right there, did she really have to take his?) With a soft sigh and a quiet groan, he pulled himself back up, stretched, and started pulling shit out of his pockets. He’d actually grabbed a lot more things than he’d needed, courtesy of trying to hold the door for Miles, and he tossed aside the things he didn’t need in order to get started. Several other watches dropped out of his pocket as well, the ones he’d made before staying on him for safekeeping — one for him, one for Pav, one for Gwen.

Just because Miles didn’t want to make his own watch didn’t mean Hobie couldn’t make one for him.

[lordansketil]

Chapters: 23/? Fandom: Original Work, Napoleonic Era RPF, regency - Fandom, 19th Century CE RPF Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Prince Regent/Female OC Characters: George IV of the United Kingdom, Prinny, Original Female Character(s), Prince Regent, Beau Brummell, Frederick Duke of York and Albany, some eldritch things Additional Tags: Regency, George iv - Freeform, Prinny - Freeform, Belly Kink, Stuffing, Hand Feeding, Tentacles (sort of), Depression, Weight Gain, Fat Shaming, fat appreciation, mentions of politically motivated suicide, the corn laws, Slow Burn, lots of french cooking, 1816, The Year Without A Summer, Existential Angst, too much laudanum, with some eldritch things thrown in, they also like cake, reposted after my account was hacked, Panic Attacks Summary:

An aging, portly prince and a pretty baker’s cousin make a bet on which of them can make the other one fall in love first. Outwardly, everything appears to be in the bored prince’s favour but, unbeknownst to him, their meeting was no chance encounter and romance is the last thing on the young lady’s mind. When both of them begin to lose themselves in their wager, things take a darker turn... (Reposted after my account was hacked.)

[sunnysideprincess]

There is tension brewing in the right wing of science department. The rumours talk of Professor Stark being ridiculously reckless about his experiments again. But that's just hot air. MJ knows this. He's a meticulous person when it comes to them blowing things up in the lab. And a little too wire brained about his students' safety. He walks barefoot when working with heavy equipment. But he sent Harley to detention for handling glass tubes without his safety gloves.

It's a part of the package of Professor Stark's "science bros" experience and the few select of them have wholeheartedly committed themselves to it.

Well, there's also the other thing they've committed themselves to. And it must be why half the school is talking about the return of hot firemen trio.

"I hear the blond one is married to coach Carter?"

"Miss Sharon? Eugh! Aren't they like— related?"

"No! For the last time, Kate, they just look similar!"

"Still, ew. I heard he used to have hots for our principal."

"Okay, I did not know about that."

Foolish children, MJ snorts and opens the group chat.

"Who was it this time?"

Peter's reply is quick. She will forever be jealous of his ability to type without even looking at the screen. It is insanely unfair.

"Gwen."

MJ grins and ducks behind her book to avoid the questioning looks from her study group. But Kamala and Kate are too busy comparing the merits of Coach Sharon and Mister Blond Fireman. And Yelena is just snoring on the table with her hand stuck inside Kate's hoody.

Amateurs. Also, weirdoes.

"Miles says it was his turn though," Peter sends again, followed closely by Miles' ", IT WAS 😫".

Gwen just flips them all the bird, and then goes offline. To either plead for her innocence or keep a close eye on their job.

Nearly half an hour later, she sends them all a picture.

In it Professor Stark is standing with his arms crossed, looking smug about something. While the hot, blond fireman is adorably flushed and a little bit embarrassed.

"He bet that Tony couldn't state even one fire safety rule," she adds below the picture. Then adds a little smug grin and ", he listed ten".

"I call enemies to lovers."

Everyone sends Pav the side eye and MJ almost hits enter on "why do we need to put a genre on their romance" before deleting the entire sentence. She doesn't need a redo of Banner-Odinson drama in the group. Nobody does.

"Guys guys," Miles suddenly adds and MJ's eyes grow wide reading the next text.

"Sarge just tried to flirt with Tony and guess who got jealous," Hobie adds and—oh no.

"Hobie!!!!"

"Too slow, sorry 😎" Then he signs off on them.

"Wait," MJ asks, just to give Miles another chance. "Which one's Sarge?"

Miles sends a picture. In it, a beefy, long haired brunette is slouching next to Tony, a smarmy smile on his face while the hot blond is stoically staring at the wall.

"Isn't he the guy who's shacking up with our councellor?"

"Yep," Miles adds then. "🤔 Maybe he's inviting Tony for a three way?"

"Like a poly thingy," Pav asks and MJ can almost smell the incoming barrage of texts from him.

"Omg, guys 🫢

That would be so cute though! 💖

Professor would be like the small, adorable filling in their sandwich!"

"Erm."

"What even????"

"Pav, no."

"But what about Steve?"

"Wait..."

And then they all ask, simultaneously, because her friends are all idiots.

"Who's Steve?"

[jessread-s]

✩🎻🎼Review:

*Thanks to the publisher and the author for providing me with an ARC in exchange for an honest review*

I am so down bad for this book it’s not even funny!!!

“Not Another Love Song” follows Gwen Jackson and Xander Thorne,  two string players, as they fight their attraction for each other while competing for center stage.

From the moment Alex insulted Gwen’s form when she played the cello, I fell in love with them as characters and their dynamic. Gwen’s people pleasing tendencies struck a chord with me as someone who shares that same quality and enriched my understanding of her motivations for sticking with the Pops Orchestra when people were taking advantage of her. I enjoyed reading from her point-of-view and getting bits of Alex’s perspective throughout the novel. Soto is very intentional about her placement of chapters written from his perspective to add intrigue surrounding his past. 

Gwen and Alex’s romance is a perfectly paced, sizzling symphony and I was entranced by each movement: colleagues, rivals, duet partners, lovers. Their every interaction vibrated in my bones because their chemistry is that palpable! I adored Alex’s subtle gestures—like the way he made Gwen’s favorite drink for her, offered to buy her shampoo when she stayed with him, and attempted to make her pancakes—just as I adored Gwen for loving all of Alex and helping him become more in tune with himself. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the cello scene that is depicted on the cover. Julie Soto was not messing around when she wrote that scene! Her lyrical writing brought the music they made together to life and I could cut the sexual tension with a knife. It took my breath away. I didn’t want it to end because it hit so hard! This whole book does quite frankly. 

In conclusion, whatever Soto writes, I’m buying!!

Cross-posted to: Instagram | Amazon | Goodreads | StoryGraph

[brilliantfantasticgeronimo]

i think the other thing that makes this ep not quite "work" is it isn't... i don't know, it must be aware of this, but it feels like it isn't aware of The Metaphor the alien plot is doing / saying about our main characters, and it doesn't take a second to truly show that to them. It is showing the chuldur stealing people's identities and doing some good ol' ~disaster tourism~, it tells us what they are doing is wrong, we're expected to be shocked and appalled by what they've done to ruby. but then there's not really a beat about how the doctor and co do the same thing every day (going to other times and taking the piss out of other ppl's histories / lives, then going off). and in the end even the contemporary human ruby "befriends" turns out to be a chuldur as well. so there's not a single regular human character developed in this.

then there's the whole proposal scene where the doctor and rogue "act" as well during that whole thing, which don't get me wrong was fun as hell, was a thrill to see them play w/ their prejudices, and as I said in my post the dialogue was very meaty for their particular characters.... but on the area of *theme* for this *episode*.... they're just doing the same thing as the chuldur. it feels like no one cares about all the people that are being murdered around them (nor the writers, who don't develop them), just their own fun.

and like the thing with doctor who episodes is, it's not enough to have a high body count, for it to be shocking.... you have to actually give those characters you kill a bit of depth/humanity/relatability, for the death to actually mean anything. ex: in end of the world, bc they show us the blue plumber and rose connecting for 1 little scene, we do actually care about her being murdered by the mini-war of the worlds robots, and care about what cassandra is doing. like the episode says "isn't the chuldur horrific? they are taking actual human beings as set dressing for their fun / entertainment!!" but then... the writing does the same thing by not giving death any kind of gravity / weight.

basically it feels like this B plot of the aliens wasn't properly aligned with the A plot of the rogue and doctor romancing. it works on its own (mostly, tho I still feel there's an element of depth missing in rogue)... but not with all the other aspects. which sucks bc the episode had all the ingredients to truly Bring It Home.

[touchlikethesun]

i've just posted the first installment in what i'm calling my whirlwinds series, following different characters' experiences of the brazil fling. this one centers on oikawa and the end of the "fling."

[moonshine-nightlight]

Snapped - Part 4

Mech’s not sure why the aftermath of this mission is hitting him so hard, but he’s doing his best to calm down when Gwen’s presence shatters his control. Now it’s a count down to see if he can figure out how to put a stop to the instincts and hormones that are running wild inside him—before he does something they’ll both regret.

Science fiction, alien romance, male alien x female human, (4 / 4)

Story Status: COMPLETE

AO3: Snapped Chapter 4

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] Part 4 - NSFW

“Who else could it be? There’s no one—” He shakes his head and glares at her, unable to help himself. “There’s only you. Always you.”

Her eyes are wide as she looks at him, genuine shock evident. “Mech…”

The silence that echoes through the room is deafening, even the vents seem subdued in the wake of Mech’s most recent confession. 

It’s only broken when the synthesizer machine beeps, signaling that the compound has been mixed and is ready for use. Mech darts over to it with speed. It’s not going to do enough, he already knows that based on the limited ingredients he has on hand, but it should stabilize the reaction and ideally shorten the duration. 

He refuses to think about anything but the chemistry as he dully loads the dose into a syringe. Shame and fear has crystallized into a shield against the lust raging through his blood that’s proving surprisingly effective. How could he have told her how much he—the sharp prick of the needle as it enters his skin cuts into his train of thought and he lets it. He immediately sets the machine to rigging up another dose. He won’t be able to take it for twelve hours, but hopefully G—hopefully, it can be brought to him wherever he’s isolated.

The diagnostic machine buzzes next and he dutifully walks back over to where it’s been compiling a list of least dangerous medical concoctions to simply knock him out cold. Given how today has gone, he shouldn’t be surprised that nothing has a particularly high chance of either success or safety. As much as he hates this situation, he’s not quite at the level of self-destructive to truly consider taking most of these. Even if he wishes for nothing more than to stop thinking since the ground hasn’t managed to swallow him up.

Movement out of the corner of his eyes causes him to turn sharply. Gwen’s been silent since she said his name in that quietly devastated tone in reaction to his confession. Now he sees she’s taken a step closer for some gods forsaken reason out of her self imposed corner.

“Stay back,” he hisses even as she walks even closer. And gods, is this dose even doing anything? He swears her scent is heavier, more enticing—richer and more appealing in every way. It reaches him with no trouble despite the vents still pulling air out and away from him and her downwind. She looks even more beautiful, her eyes dark and her blue skirt fluttering around her enticingly. “I told you.”

“Hush,” she chides gently. She walks even closer, with a look in her eyes he can’t fathom. Her hair dances in the breeze too, looking thick and touchable, her figure inviting him to see how soft her skin likely is, to imagine it yielding to–

Frantically, he reaches for outrage or worry or anything other than arousal in reaction to her approach. Where is her sense of self-preservation? He backs up, spines hitting the door behind him. “Do you want to leave?” he asks, grasping at straws. Why wouldn’t she say so? They could find some way to shift around the room while maintaining proper distance. He’s told her what state of his mind is. She can’t expect him to understand what she wants from him when his instincts have such a strong hand on the controls of his imagination. He doesn’t understand what’s happening. 

“Do you want me?” she asks, her eyes intent as she takes another step closer. “Without all this,” she gestures with her delicate hand in a circle as if to encompass the room or his heightened state, “do you want to be with me?”

There’s no point beating around the bush anymore, is there? Even if he thought he’d been plenty clear before, he supposes she wants to hear it outright. “Yes,” Mech admits, hanging his head because now she knows it's his fault his instincts picked her. If he hadn’t already thought of her like this, when she saw him only as a friend, then maybe this, this break wouldn’t have happened. “For…” He shakes his head, unable to remember when his feelings became something other than platonic. “I don’t know why today pushed me over the edge, but I promise I can get back under control.” He can’t lose her, not from something so abrupt and uncontrollable. “I can,” he insists desperately.

Her face softens and she must feel some sympathy for him. Gwen’s one of the most compassionate people he’s ever met, surely she can forgive him for this. “Oh, Mech, you silly alien.” She steps even closer and before he can react, her hand lands on his cheek. It feels electric, each point of contact. His worry and frustration and shame all war with his hormones with her so close. His claws dig back into the wall, venom pools in his mouth, every nerve and muscle in his body straining for her held in check only by sheer force of will. “I don’t want you to.”

“W-” Her lips on his silence whatever protest he was going to attempt to utter. His whole brain skitters to a halt, unable to do anything except stay perfectly still and process what’s happening with every sense. Her lips are warm and soft, pressed with perfect pressure against his half-open mouth. Was he saying something? Her wonderful, delicious scent envelops him completely until there isn’t anything except Gwen. Her hand on his cheek is the comfort of home and hearth. The little stroke of her thumb on his cheek is everything he’s ever wanted.

This perfect moment is all his raging hormones need to take over. Mech has Gwen pushed up against the door within a second. He splays one hand around her hip, holding tight as his other hand laces with her free hand to pin it to the wall. He sucks her lower lip into his mouth as he presses every inch of his body he can manage to keep her there. The ache of his cock finally has some friction to satiate it. His whole body sings with relief, the itch and pull and desperation blissfully satisfied with the contact with his mate. Or rather, his soon to be mate. 

With that thought in mind, he skillfully takes control of the kiss, needing to show her exactly why she should choose him. Why he deserves her regard. He shall prove his worth as a kisser and therefore a lover so she’ll have no doubt in her mind that he should be hers. He can’t resist a more substantial taste of her regardless. Mech slides his tongue carefully and deliberately between her lips to slide against her own. He loses himself in the kiss, in giving and taking in as equal measure as well as he can handle when confronted with the reality of her hot, inviting mouth.

Mech distantly remembers humans' more limited lung capacity and pulls back to trail kisses down her neck, questing for where it meets her shoulder. His jaw opens, fangs dripping and scraping along her heaving body. Gwen whines and pants as he touches her and he never wants to be anywhere else doing anything else ever again. He can only think as far into the future as to picture her with his marks on her and his blood boils with desire.

“Mech…” It’s his own naked wonder at hearing Gwen moan his name that breaks through the haze of lust and hormones and instinct to remind him of exactly what situation they’re in. How nothing he’s ever done with his life would have granted him such bliss.

He wrenches his mouth from hers with all the self-control he likes to pretend he has. Panting, breathing in lungfuls of her scent with her still pressed tight to him nearly undoes that, but he holds fast. He can’t get himself to break from her further, but he just needs her to tell him, needs her to reset the boundaries before he goes too far, before he ruins her and himself in the process. 

A puff of fresh air from the vent above allows him to latch back on to his more rational objections. “I don’t need your pity,” he practically spits, doing his best to find something that can force him to back off and salvage their relationship before he’s doomed it with his rash actions and clouded judgment. Luckily, it is an almost sobering thought—the idea of being with Gwen only to have her reveal she put up with his advances solely in an attempt to help him. That would destroy him.

Instead of helping him, Gwen’s eyes flash with incandescent, fierce anger. She shifts in his grip, not letting go or trying to escape his grasp as might be sensible, but to maneuver him where she wants him. She hitches herself up and then grinds down against his thigh now between her legs. She practically growls in relief as the thin skirt she wears and even the thicker fabric of his trousers do nothing to disguise the heat and wetness he feels against him.

“Gwen,” he gasps in true shock even as his body quickly angles his thigh to an even more advantageous position. His instincts are hyper-focused, straining to satisfy his mate in any way she wants him to.

“Does that feel like pity?” she demands, groaning as he moves and tightening her grip on him. “I want you,” she says plainly and everything in him comes to a halt for the second time in a minute. His eyes faintly glowing red ones frantically meet her own. They’re dilated, black swallowing up brown, but her sincerity, the raw honesty in them is crystal clear. “I want you bad. Have done for a while now.”

“Fuck, Gwen,” is all he can manage to almost whine as his mind frantically tries to make sense of the impossible.

She smirks in response, head ducking close to manage a nip at his lower lip and a lick to one of his fangs. Her eyelids flutter at the taste of his venom as she breathes, “Yes, exactly. I need you.” 

He can’t help but give her what she asks, what she needs. Why in the universe that's an ornery, suspicious, antisocial bastard like him, he doesn’t know. But he’s lost the will to keep fighting her. He chases after her mouth, his chest an iron wall against her own slighter, softer one. She doesn’t seem to mind being caged in by his hand, still pinned as his thigh has her hips. She just grinds closer, releasing hitching little breaths and moans as his venom mixes with her saliva. 

His silvery venom is primarily deadly only on his planet, but plenty of other species have reactions to it. Some it numbs, some it hurts, and others it heals. Humanity seems most varied in their reaction, but his understanding is that it tends to fizzle, to buzz. After all, theirs is a race that poisons itself recreationally, sought out toxic plants for the sting to add to their diet, and regularly ingests powerful drugs most races take in only the smallest of doses. However Gwen’s personal chemistry might feel about it, at least it's nothing terrible enough to break their kiss.

In fact, their kiss only breaks when she runs out of air and tips her head back to breathe. He lets go of her pinned hand, an absent minded extra push before he does to tell her to leave it there, and skims his hand down her flank, strokes across the swell of her stomach. She’s so plush and warm under his fingerpads especially through the cutouts of her dress. His claws snag in the material that does cover her. He can’t retract them. He resists the urge to cut through the fabric still keeping the rest of her lovely skin from him, resists the urge to dig his claws in enough to leave a lasting mark, showing any who might look upon her that she had allowed him the luxurious indulgence of touching her.

It reminds him he still might lose sight of his strength, of everything until it was too late. And Gwen doesn’t deserve this, rutting against the medbay wall while he’s out of his mind. She deserves to be courted and treated and to be laid down reverently in a bed of silk. He should be able to touch her without worrying his darker impulses will overtake him and hurt her. “Not in a sane state of mind to do this right,” he growls out in frustration. His head nuzzles into the crook of her shoulder as even in his irritation he can’t resist the allure of the comfort Gwen offers his soul so effortlessly.

“It's you and me,” Gwen replies, her voice sure, “‘course this is right.” She pulls his face out from where he’s hiding so she can meet his gaze. “You think I don’t know what I’m asking for?” her voice is cajoling and challenging, “I dreamed of you, pressed against me just, like, this.” She punctuates each word with a roll of her hips.

He tries to claw back a hold on his senses. He knows he should, knows no matter her words, Gwen doesn’t know. But she’s intent on wrecking him. “Need you to fuck me now, Mech.”

He snaps his teeth together, baring his fangs as his whole body tenses with the urge to do just that. “Gwen,” his voice is strangled. “For graviels, you don’t know what mating—”

“But I do,” she insists. 

“No,” he shakes his head. “You don’t.” He tries desperately to find the words to explain, but there’s only Gwen. His hands clench tighter in the fabric of her dress and he dares not look down for the tears that have to have accompanied the ripping sound. The fabric is no longer covering her well, but hopefully it’s still enough to keep his claws and venom away from her skin. His eyes track a bead of sweat that drips down her neck. He longs to stop it with his tongue. He longs to sink his teeth into where it pools on the curve of her shoulder.

“Yeah, I do.” Gwen finally sounds serious. “I looked it up.” His eyes snap to her own. She raises an eyebrow. “You think I’ve wanted you this long and not investigated what it would be like?” No, he hadn’t. He’d never even thought she might feel the same, might want this too. Had she really done so? He can almost picture her in her bunk, hair twirled around one finger as she scrolls through articles and stories about the rare couplings of human and graviel. He knows they’re out there because he checked too. “How compatible we might be? I want you and all you come with, no matter the scars. Want you so damn much.”

“Gwen.” There’s awe in his voice he can’t control. Even when humans aren’t put off by the venom and how it feels, many are at how it factors into graviel mating. How it seals over the scratches and bites and marks his kind like to leave on their mates, not too deep, but guaranteed to leave permanent marks. 

Her only reply is to grind against the thigh still between her legs. His tail winds itself up her leg to stroke her upper thigh before adjusting her to an even more advantageous position. There is a fearsome look on her face, as if she feels like she’s made more than enough allowances for his anxieties and fears. Like she’s done waiting. “Gonna fuck me, Mech?” Her smirk is wicked, the look in her eyes even more so. Her hair is spread in a messy halo around her head, her skin starting to sparkle with sweat, her body never ceasing its movement, its gentle undulation against his own. He’s never seen her eyes look so dark or so appealing. She looks edible. She arches with the motion of her grind  and one of her hands reaches blindly behind her, finds the doorpad. “Or do I need to find someone else to?”

Something inside him roars at her direct challenge. Maybe it was more than an internal roar because she shudders in response. There’s triumph in her eyes at his reaction. If she’s aware enough to provoke him… The last piece clicks into place and he finally takes her at her word, That she wants him. He’s got no resistance left. 

All he has is a need to make her his in any way he can. In every way he can. 

“Mine,” he growls as he takes her mouth in a ferocious kiss, hands already ripping her dress to shreds and stripping her of it. He barely notices her own hands scrambling at his shirt except that the feeling of her hand splayed over his stomach is nearly as euphoric as his hand closing around her breast. 

“Wanna mark you,” Mech warns. The urge to properly mark his mate as taken, as his is pure instinct. To leave physical evidence of everything boiling over inside him on her skin is overwhelming.

Gwen’s rucked his shirt up high enough that she can reach up, set her nails to his shoulder blades, and rake her nails down his back. The sharp pressure, the surprising sting of her nails, and lingering feeling of her touch send if possible even more blood rushing to his throbbing cock. He groans, arching into her claim. “Yes. Long as I can mark you too.”

“Perfect,” he says reverently into the skin of her neck where he presses a kiss and sucks a mark. “How are you so—”

Her moan of approval as he begins to knead to soft flesh of her breast under his hand is muffled by his lips back where they belong on hers. He grinds his palm down on her nipple and before long his eyes are fixed on where the claws of that hand just barely scrape against her skin. It becomes pink and sensitive as she squirms under his attention.

His claw finally breaks the skin right over where her heart pounds furiously. A short red scratch that he traces back over, venom running into it. She trembles in his arms with a whine as the cut seals shut, the line a subtle white against her skin. A glance in her eyes, fogged over in pleasure, is all the reassurance he needs. He latches onto her other breast with his mouth, allowing his venom to encase her nipple as he sucks. He twists his grip, claws scraping and healing as he does so around her other breat. Gwen practically screams her pleasure to the ceiling, to the whole damn ship if he’s lucky.

Mech wants everyone to know Gwen is getting the pleasure she deserves nearly as much as he wants them to know he’s the one giving it to her. He brings his fangs down to bear, gazing and abrading her soft soft skin. Gwen whimpers. He’d be concerned if the sound wasn’t also accompanied by the wet slick against his thigh increasing. 

Her hands scrabble at his back and her head thunks against the door as she arches, pressing her chest into him with another gasp of his name.

The sound galvanizes him. Somehow finally giving into his desires has helped the fog in his brain caused by this hormonal snap clear. The door isn’t going to let him ravish her the way he craves. He doesn’t want to be distracted by keeping her held up against it when there are far better things he could be focusing on.

He reluctantly lets go of her breast to grip at her hips again with both hands. She whines when he lets go of her tender nipple with his mouth to trail up to her shoulder. Her whole body tenses when the threat of his fangs are brought to bare, like she’s holding her breath. Still she doesn’t do anything more than whimper when he removes his damp thigh from between her legs, hanging pliantly in his firm hold. 

Gwen’s fingers wind their way into his hair, firm but not tugging in protest—yet. Before she can ask about the sudden stop to the way she’d been grinding herself to some sort of peek, he pulls her off the wall with a grunt. Lifting his head to remind himself of what exactly he’s working with in the medbay, he strides over to the bed in the center of the room where Gwen had been sitting only twenty minutes ago, distracting him while he tried in vain to solve this problem any other way than through.

He’ll bring her to his rooms once they’ve mated here, maybe more than once depending on their stamina and his hunger. This’ll do fine for now. She looks gorgeous, Mech thinks as he lays her out. He pulls the remaining scraps of her dress off. His eyes trace the goosebumps that spring up after he backs off with fascination as he methodically begins to strip himself. Gwen seems more than understanding and is eagerly removing the last of her clothing—her panties—with a quickness that betrays her own need. The scent that flows out of her is nearly enough to bring him to his knees. But there’ll be time for that later.

Gwen props herself up on her elbows to watch him with half-lidded, ravenous eyes. His eyes keep straying to her chest, already bearing the red and white marks from his fangs and his claws. He’s never been more proud of anything in his life than that she let him mark her as such. He’s never giving her up.

“I don’t share,” Mech says bluntly as he places a hand next to her hip. He isn’t arguing or retreating or trying to back out anymore. This is at worst a warning, at most a promise.  “This can’t be a one-time thing. I won’t change my mind, not about you. I’ll keep you all to myself.”

“Yes,” Gwen agrees easily. She lays back down while reaching for him, the invitation in the lines of her body obvious. Her fingers wrap around his forearm, the black spines that line it, and there’s no give to her hold. “Mine.”

He vaults onto the bed, over her, without thought and she welcomes him. Her hands map every inch of his skin she can reach, no fear at the way his black spines lining back and arms are standing at attention. Gwen’s touch starts off light as he arranges himself over her, but once he brings their lips together for another mind-melting kiss, she increases the pressure. Mech can feel each point of contact, each finger tip, as she digs them in and drags her nails connecting th black splotches that litter his red skin. 

Mech pictures his skin turning from red to pink, lightning from the force she’s exerting to try to mark him and he grows harder if at all possible. He ruts against her upper thigh with greater intent, getting impatient. All the relief from this much contact finally not enough to satiate his hunger for his mate. His Gwen.  

She must notice because she hums with smug satisfaction into the kiss and those same fingers start to migrate from his back to rest low on his hips. “Gwen,” he groans, pulling back from her lips just far enough to pant her name against her lips. 

Her fingers brush his cock in a deliberate tease, one he’s past having patience for. His hips chase those fingers for a more purposeful grip. Luckily, she seems unwilling to play this game any longer either. Her fingers wrap around him. “Yeah?” her voice is rough with desire and every nerve in his body sings at the sound, at her touch. She strokes down, from root to tip, seemingly not put off by the black ridges and bumps his red cock has that he knows humans don’t. She must really have done her—Mech’s thoughts scatter when she twists her fingers, lubricated by pre-cum the same silver as his venom which leaks from his erection. She grinds the palm of her hand against the sensitive head and he arches his back with a moan that feels like it's pulled straight from the depths of him.

“Fuck, Mech,” Gwen pants, eyes darting from his face to his cock and everywhere in between, clearly unable to decide where to look while Mech just tries to keep his eyes open so he doesn’t miss a second of his wildest dreams coming true right underneath him. “You’re gonna feel so good inside me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Mech hisses even as he presses down on her shoulder, moving up to position himself for just that. “Need to be inside you now.”

“Yeah,” Gwen agrees, lining him up with perfect precision. “Now, now, fuck, n—”

Her words are cut off when she moans as he sinks into her welcoming wet heat. She gasps as he pulls her legs open further with his tail, lifting her ass off the bed to angle his thrust home best. He can’t think about anything except how good she feels, how hot and snug and perfect she is. He thinks he babbles some of that aloud as he pushes in. “So wet, so soft. Fuck, Gwen.”

“Ye-es,” she replies back, eyes closed to better savor the feeling of him filling her in one long inexorable movement. She hooks her leg around his for better stability and he takes advantage immediately. Pushing that much further in, massaging her ass with the hand he has on it, letting his claws dig in to her yielding flesh. She groans at the pinpricks of sensation from his claws and venom, from him finally hilting deep within her.

There’s a split second where there’s nothing but the sound of their labored breathing and the whoosh of the vents. The calm before the storm. Everything outside of them ceases to exist as every hormone is his body cries out in triumph. Mech’s eyes meet hers and he ignites once more. He pulls out halfway, but he can’t seem to exist outside of her anymore and quickly thrusts back in, adding a grind to the end that makes Gwen moan deeply. Her hands land on his shoulders as she pushes against him, matching his movements with a synchronicity he never should have doubted she was capable of.

Her palms push on his own chest for leverage and he gasps at how it feels against his nipples. Gwen picks up on his reaction immediately, her focus zeroing in on her new target. Mech bows his head, overwhelmed by all the sensation his touch-starved body isn’t used to. That of course brings his mouth within range of her delectable neck, all that lovely skin and sweat and scent, all uniquely Gwen. He laves his tongue along her collarbone, fangs grazing and mouth sucking in a random, hazy, instinctual pattern that seems to drive her wild if the way she clenches around him is anything to go by.

“So close, so close, so close,” Gwen chants, her hands moving to his spines, holding on tight to ride out how roughly he’s fucking her with his pistoning cock. The ache of her grip is sweet enough his next thrust has an extra swivel of his hips behind it. “Mech! Mech, please. Please.”

He knows exactly what she’s begging for and he’d rather die than let her go unsatisfied. His tail finds and grinds against her clit with unerring accuracy despite the  desperate motion of their coupling. Her reaction nearly throws him over the edge, the throbbing of her walls around his cock exquisite in their increased intensity. Mech preserves through the sensation, determined to make Gwen come before he does.

Luckily, it only takes a few more strokes and making a calculated tug on her clit for her to call out, “Yes! Me-ch!” The final strands of his self-control snap and he comes on the next thrust, his cock and fangs buried deep in his claimed mate. The ensuing euphoria blanks his mind from anything other than pleasure and he slumps against Gwen, satisfaction flowing through his veins.

Mech eventually comes to and finds himself carefully lapping at the bite mark he made on her shoulder, his venom already having closed the wounds, but leaving them sensitive if Gwen’s hums and twitches of pleasure are any indication. Her hands are running absently up and down his arms and limp spines, sending ripples of residual pleasure through him.

He’s never felt this content before, wrapped around this wonderful woman, still buried in her. He can still feel the unusual lust swimming through his body, but it's more than manageable at the moment. All he wants to do is enjoy this culmination of everything he never thought he would get to have.

Of course, that gratification and laziness only lasts so long. Gwen starts to stir more coherently beneath him and that insatiable desire begins to make itself known once more. 

“Are you hard again?” Gwen’s voice breaks the stillness, bewildered and still sounding a little orgasm-drunk.

“Yes,” he acknowledges, pressing a sheepish kiss to her neck.

She shifts, muscles clenching and relaxing. Mech fights the urge to whimper as she asks, more curiously than anything, “Is that a graviel thing or a mating frenzy thing?”

“I can’t remember,” he admits as a few seconds contemplation where all he can think of is how good she feels and what other marks he wants to leave on her. “Might just be a sex-with-you thing.”

“Hm, good answer.” Gwen rolls her hips, mouth nipping at his neck with a promise that sends anticipatory shivers down his spines as they stand at attention once more. “You’ve got five seconds to roll us over so I don’t knock us to the floor. I wanna be on top this time.”

“Whatever you want, my mate.”