Long time no see, y’all. I’m in a super big mental rut (trying to double major in biological anthropology and psychology rip), and I’ve got the tiniest amount of time before I start my next semester of coursework and probably disappear off the face of the planet again. I would also like to write something, but my current projects (*cough* I Spy *cough*) have gotten me burnt out. If anyone would like send me some oneshot prompts, I’d be very appreciative. In whatever you like (Hamilton, Sherlock, LoTF, Heathers, In the Heights, The Last of Us, Doctor Who, Torchwood, whatever you fancy honestly), but right now Connor from dbh has my whole entire heart. Bonus points if there’s angst.
After two car accidents in November we've been struggling to get by. Additional costs from needing to use Lyft to get back and forth to work in addition to already being behind on the necessities from purchasing the second car have only compounded the problem. Last week the furnace gave out so...
Okay, I don’t have super high hopes for this, but I’m gonna try anyway. My sister (who is disabled and confined to a wheelchair) and her wife were married in November, but hit a deer just a few days before they were supposed to have their wedding, and due to the costs of the damage, were forced to cancel the actual ceremony. A few weeks later, her wife was hit by a drunk driver speeding through a red light, totaling their car altogether. They’ve been relying on Lyft to get back and forth to jobs, and it has taken an enormous toll on their finances. On top of being behind on rent because of this, their furnace has also quit, leaving them with no heat in the middle of a Michigan winter. They’re about to be evicted, and they are desperate. They do have income and job options, and have an action plan, but first they just need to get some steady ground underneath their feet.
I plan on getting her some money as soon as I can, but I am a full time college student in another state, and don’t make all that much money myself. I won’t beg anyone to donate, but if you could at least reblog this so that someone might, it would be much appreciated. I just want to help my big sister. She deserves the whole fucking world.
i’m sure you’ll find great friendships soon ! keep your chin up !
You're so sweet!❤ I'm doing some theatre stuff next semester, so I'm hoping to meet some new people there (and hopefully someone befriends my painfully awkward ass lmao). But my significant other is finally coming home for Christmas tomorrow and I'm honestly doing great, putting my lack of college friends aside. 😊
Connor’s level of stress sometimes gets high all of a sudden, usually triggered by some bad memories or emotions. It’s almost like a panic attack. Although androids don’t need breathing, it can help them to concentrate and get distracted from stressful thoughts or situations. So Hank always reminds Connor to breathe properly and doesn’t listen to all that “Androids don’t need breathing”, they sure do if they are deviants.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
“…am I dying, Lieutenant?” Connor gritted out between another sob, followed by a sharp intake of air. He couldn’t stop the involuntary action, couldn’t override his own programming, and the more he tried, the more his chest burned. His face was wet.
--
Emotions are hard. Connor doesn't understand them. Hank helps.
The I Spy stuff was awesome to read and you wrote it really well, I'm gonna go cry now, thank you, if you continue that series I'll definitely read more
Well, I actually just posted a new chapter(finally) so you can go read more. I'm so glad you enjoyed I Spy so far!
Are you ever going to finish I Spy? I personally really enjoyed that series and I would be sad to see it go.
I surely hope so! Right now, I’m trying to finish the tedious task of getting enrolled into college, so that’s kinda taking all my patience at the moment. I’m super glad you enjoyed the series though!
Hating on m/f ships does not make you “progressive”.
Hating on people who ship boys and girls just because it’s not gay does not make you “better”.
If, let’s say, a boy character who showed interest in both boys and girls, ends up with a girl, it’s not called “hetero bullshit”.
If, let’s say, a trans woman character ends up with a guy, nobody has the right to say “this character does not belong in the community because she’s straight”.
Bi, pan, ace and trans people exist in the lgbt community.
The lgbt community is not a club for gay people only.
It’s possible to be gay and still be biphobic, panphobic, acephobic and transphobic.
This is appearently considered controversial by some people so please reblog if you agree!
Inspired by this post.
I hope y’all like it! I meant to stay true to the comic, but then I added extra dialogue and stuff b/c I’m terrible at following any plan ever.
Alex was so done.
He was exhausted, soaking wet, and he had to be up entirely way too early in the morning. And yet, he still had so much to do.
Make flashcards for microeconomics. Study for torts. Watch an online lecture.
He climbed the stairs to his dorm room, trying to ignore the way his hands were starting to shake. His textbook was soaked, probably ruined. Which he didn’t have time for. Or the money. Or the mental stability.
No time, no time, no time.
By the time Alex pushed his way through the door, the shaking had moved from his hands to his shoulders. They were started to tremble. He blamed it on the cold rather than the panic starting to unfurl in his stomach.
“Hey, Alex!” John was grinning from his desk. “You’re back late.”
Why was he so happy? How could he be so happy? Why was everyone happy and content, and Alex couldn’t seem to stay afloat? Why was he weak? Why was he even here?
Whywhywhy?
Alex was faintly aware that his face was heating up, going from a sickly undertone to a crimson red in the span of a few moments. He felt sick. He felt like he was going to faint, puke, or die. Maybe all three. Maybe he wanted that.
“…Alex?” John was talking, but everything sounded muffled to Alex, far away like he was underwater. His breathing picked up, got faster and intensified, but it wasn’t enough. Breathing hurt. Breathing suddenly made him feel like he had barbed wire wrapped around his chest and everyone else was just standing back to watch him suffocate.
You’re going to fail. You weren’t built for success, Alex. And you actually thought you could make college work? Hah! You’re gonna lose your scholarship, and then John and anyone else you care about will leave too. Serves you right.
He felt too exposed. He felt like his skin had been peeled back and every bad part of him was on display.
Study for torts. Paper for civil procedure. Study for property. Sign up for that online study group. You need to pass. You’re gonna fail. You’re gonna fail. You’re gonna-
Alex wasn’t even aware of himself when he brought his textbook up to cover his face. He was crumbling. He needed to hide, needed a place to go, but there was nowhere. His chest seized up and before he knew it, a harsh, dry sob was clawing its way up from the bottom of his throat.
“Hey, Alex. Alex, come on. You’re alright, man. We’re alright,” John was talking again. Had he been talking this whole time? Suddenly, there were warm hands on his shoulders and a towel being wrapped tight around his drenched frame. The pressure grounded him just slightly, just enough to kind of focus on what his roommate was trying to tell him.
John tried to pull the book away from his face, but Alex only shook his head and gripped it tighter. John didn’t need to see him. He didn’t need to see what kind of pathetic excuse for a human he was.
You’re a complete and utter failure, Alexander Hamilton.
Alex choked on another hysterical sob. For a few moments, he seriously considered bashing himself in the head with his textbook until his internal voice went away. He had so many things to do. He was so busy, and he had so much to do, and he was getting none of it done. He was wasting time snivelling like a child.
“You gotta breathe, Alex. You gotta breathe for me,” the hands squeezed his shoulders again.
“Uh uh,” Alex tried to make words, to explain that he couldn’t breathe, but all that came out was a strangled sound.
“Do you want me to distract you?”
Distract him? Didn’t John know that he couldn’t? Nothing could distract him. He didn’t have time to be distracted. Didn’t John know that he had so much work to do?
Except then his chest started to burn from the lack of oxygen, and Alex found himself desperately nodding anyway.
Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. Pleasegodjustmakeitstop.
There was some rustling around, and then Alex was being guided onto something(chair, floor, bed? He couldn’t tell anymore).
“Alright, we’re gonna try this..” Something hard and round was pressed against his ears, effectively muffling his hearing of anything else in the room.
Alex was about to cringe away in severe discomfort, but then he could suddenly hear something. The steady ba-dum of a heartbeat. The sound was calm and slow, nothing at all like the out of control racing of his own heart. It sounded like relief.
“You know that the average resting heart rate for an adult is sixty to one hundred beats per minute? The human body is super cool like that,” John spoke in a low, soothing tone that Alex could just make out over the heartbeat. “Mine’s usually around eighty. Yours is probably a lot higher right now, but that’s okay. That’s why we’re doing this.”
Eventually, the book fell away from his face as he became aware of how tired his arms had gotten. Now, Alex was aware of the hand on his back, the way John held the stethoscope to his own chest.
Paper. Study. Test. Failure.
Alex squeezed his eyes shut and listened.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
“Every minute, our hearts pump five quarts of blood through our blood vessels. Did you know that?”
John smelled good. He smelled like coffee and pencil lead and safety. Alex took a big, shuddering breath. And then another, and another. The barbed wire started to unravel and fall away. It left behind cuts and scrapes in its path, but he could breathe again.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
“That’s two thousand gallons of blood a day. It’s pretty impressive.”
Alex slumped against John’s side. His hair was still dripping wet and almost immediately started to soak into John’s clothes. However, if his roommate was uncomfortable, he didn’t say anything about it.
Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.
“You can do this anytime you want.”
Alex didn’t even have the energy to nod. The heaviness behind his eyes had been threatening to take over for days, and now it was simply far too strong for him to ignore. Before he knew it, he started to nod off on John’s shoulder.
“Oh, Alex. You gotta stop doing this to yourself.”
The dirt in the air was finally settling. The pops and crackles from their muskets had ceased. Instead, the sound was replaced by repugnant groans of wounded men from both sides of the war. The wet smell of rapidly developing infection was already heavy in the air. The fighting was over, for now at least.
Hamilton laid in the mud, a lethargic sort of energy coming over him. This was the first fight the General had allowed him to take action in. Unfortunately, it had ended with his own blood being spilt, but that was the price of war. If Hamilton were asked for his opinion, he wouldn’t regret a single second of the battle. It was exhilarating in a way that writing to Congress could never hope to be. The adrenaline of knowing that if he died that minute, then he would die for something. He would go into the history books as a hero.
In the Caribbean, he’d been laughed at and taunted for his longing to be a hero. He’d prove them all wrong.
The General was bent over him, pushing away crimson soaked layers of clothing and debris to get to the gunshot wound in Hamilton’s side. He gave a wet, choking groan when the older man pushed a firm hand against the jagged hole. The sudden sharp pain brought him back to the present a little. Not much, but enough to take notice of Washington above him.
Hamilton squinted. The General didn’t mend anyone’s wounds out in the open like this.
“S-” he coughed, “Sir?”
“Just a bad graze,” the General muttered, face pointed down, totally invested in his work, “A medic is on the way. You’ll be fine, Alexander.”
Alexander. The General didn’t ever call him by his first name during the day like this. Hamilton’s first name was reserved for late nights in his tent, where no other man might see their special kind of…acquaintance. Of course, those nights also involved plenty of touching that wasn’t appropriate for the daytime either.
If Hamilton were able to see anything other than dust and hazy dark blue sky, he’d see the General’s face twisted into something akin to agony. It was guilt, heartbreak, and pain all rolled up into one tense expression. There was no one else around to witness it. Every other man was either hurt or helping those hurt. It was a routine they had all fallen into after each and every battle.
The General tore away another layer of fabric and Hamilton hissed. Then, because he had always been particularly terrible at dealing with tragedy in a mature manner, he spoke the only thing that came to mind.
“If it took my being incapacitated for you to rip my clothes from me like this, I would have jumped in front of the enemy’s musket ages ago.”
Hamilton expected the General to smirk, to snap at him, something, but all he received was silence. He finally lifted his head and felt a whole new kind of stabbing pain at the sight before him.
It was a widely accepted fact that the General was a rock of a man, in the sense that he was unmoving. He did not give into the hardships of war like every other soldier inevitably did at some point or another. He dealt with the world head first with an unyielding demeanor. Hamilton had never witnessed him so much as stutter in the face of death before.
The man sitting in front of him almost wasn’t even recognizable. If Hamilton did not know any better, he’d call him an imposter.
The General’s eyes were squeezed shut and his hands fell limply away from Hamilton’s torso. The blood covering them - his own blood - shimmered when the light hit just right. He looked up, revealing two distinctive tear tracks down his worn face. Large shoulders started to shake and shudder. Hamilton’s eyes widened as he watched Washington fall apart in front of him.
“My boy,” Washington gasped after several moment of tense silence. He looked at Alexander, eyes shining with anguish. “I am never putting you in harm’s way again.”
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