Quatre R. Winner

This post brought to you by the letter "G".

Fri, 17 Aug 2007 20:46:51 GMT

GAY.

E-emo fic? :Db

Sun, 04 Feb 2007 07:56:08 GMT

Ha ha ha this is totally not my fault -- and if it is, then it's only a LITTLE bit my fault. I blame big_bang_theory. Also, if this doesn't make sense it is, again, Trowa's fault. ♥♥ Love you, baby. Basically, this came about because we were talking shop, and neither of us think Quatre and Trowa are exactly... compatible. That's oversimplifying it, but I'm good at that. ANYWAY, fic.

“Kamilah asked me while I was tucking her in if we’re fighting.”

Quatre stares up at the ceiling as he speaks, counting the ridges in the spackle, his eyes catching on the shadows from the spinning fan blades and the light leaking through the single window’s curtains. His hands are crossed over his chest, over the blankets, and he’s laid out straight, not touching the man in bed next to him at all — not even at the hip where they used to touch when they didn’t want to seem too attached, too close, but needed some sort of contact.

Trowa stares at the ceiling too, but he counts nothing and his eyes aren’t distracted by the dancing shadows. He’s thinking, and when he thinks it looks as though he’s staring off into nothing. His arms are to his sides, bunching the blankets around him in a way that Quatre knows is a way to make the bed seem like it’s two beds, not one — that they’re separated.

Quatre closes his eyes. “Are we fighting?”

The sound that falls from between Trowa’s lips isn’t a laugh, but that’s the only word that comes to Quatre’s mind when he hears it. Trowa jerks upright, and that’s how Quatre knows what Trowa thinks about the matter, because Trowa always moves gracefully unless he’s distracted by something else, normally by Quatre — and in a good way, Quatre used to think, but now knows better.

“What is it this time?” Quatre says to the ceiling, and Trowa, sitting up, pulls his knees to his chest and lays his arms across them and snorts under his breath.

“Nothing. What is it with you?”

“Don’t do that to me,” Quatre snaps, and he throws an arm across his eyes. “I want to sleep.”

Trowa shifts next to him, but Quatre can’t see what he’s doing. “You brought it up,” Trowa says after a few moments of mostly-silence, then, “If you didn’t think something was wrong, you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“The fact that our daughter thinks something is wrong is enough to bring it up,” Quatre responds, and his voice sounds suddenly brittle to his ears. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, slowly. “I don’t want to have this conversation before we go to bed. I have a meeting tomorrow—”

“Of course,” Trowa says, and Quatre feels suddenly, irrationally angry at him for that, for the way in which Trowa can pack so much resentment and frustration into two little words — as though it’s Quatre’s fault that he has meetings and business trips and they’ve had this argument before, and it’s nothing Quatre wants to get into at eleven on a weeknight.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, after dinner—”

“Kamilah’s recital is tomorrow night.”

Quatre’s arm comes off of his eyes and he stares at Trowa in a way that even he himself knows is accusing. “It’s next week,” he says, his mouth going dry, his heart thudding against his ribcage.

“It’s tomorrow night,” Trowa repeats, his mouth turning down into a little moue that Quatre knows he used to think was cute but only serves to irritate him right now, with Trowa looking at him as though it’s his fault he can’t keep dates straight sometimes and at eleven o’clock.

“I must have entered it into my schedule wrong,” Quatre sighs, and he rubs at his left temple. “I’ll call Rebecca and have her cancel the meeting with Cooper—”

“You said that we would have talked during that time,” Trowa interrupts, and Quatre glares at him.

“God, do you just want me to accept blame this time? The one time I’m not apologizing you see fit to make sure I’m the one—”

Quatre cuts off with a breathy squeak when Trowa leans over him, presses his shoulders to the bed with two strong, stiff hands. Trowa doesn’t say shut up, but Quatre can see it in his eyes, his expression, and Quatre reaches up and brushes Trowa’s bangs behind his ear. Trowa’s suddenly beautiful like this, at night with the shadows from the circling fan and the weak light from the thin curtains dancing across his face. He looks fifteen years younger.

Quatre thinks he might cry.

Trowa kisses him, and Quatre thinks about Kamilah’s pout when he tucked her into bed tonight — how her big brown eyes seemed to reach into his chest and poke and prod around a bit before asking what was wrong, if her dads were fighting again. Quatre wonders how long it will be until they decide they need time apart, before they realize that it’s not going to work again; and then how long it will be until they come barreling back towards each other, grasping at each other like they can’t breathe when they’re apart.

At the end of their two-minute-long kiss Quatre has mapped out the next five years of their relationship — the continued downward spiral, the dissolution, the loneliness and the eventual collision, and the repetition.

Quatre presses Trowa away, onto his back, and climbs on top of him, straddling his waist and bowing over his chest to trail kisses across his collarbone and down his sternum. He’s tired, and he should probably go to bed — they both should — but doing so seems like giving up and he doesn’t want to give up right now, not yet, not with Kamilah’s remembered stare stuck in his brain. It was easy to decide to let things dwindle, to take a break, when there wasn’t a little girl down the hall sleeping with her stuffed lion that she has named Phoebus because Trowa had told her lions deserved regal names and Quatre had read her stories about the Greeks. It was easy to push Trowa away and run off on another damned business trip to one of the outer colonies to look at some resource satellite when there were no recitals and no parent-teacher conferences and when he didn’t know how to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches without the crusts.

Trowa grabs his face, pulls him back to kiss him, and Quatre wonders if that’s why they wanted Kamilah — to make it harder to go their separate ways again, to give them a reason to persevere instead of giving up. It’s a disgusting thought, and Quatre hates himself for it, and he jerks Trowa off and mouths kisses against his shoulder.

Trowa comes with a soft cry and Quatre tumbles off of him, takes himself into a fist and orgasms on his side, his back to Trowa’s stilling body. Trowa shifts behind him and wraps an arm around his waist, takes Quatre’s dirty fingers and brings them back to his mouth, licks them clean. Quatre wants to feel fulfilled, and blissful, but the rush leaves him faster than it used to and he knows it’s not because he’s older.

Trowa’s arm returns to his waist, and Trowa presses up against his back — Quatre protests grumpily, because Trowa’s still a mess and Quatre’s sick of waking up itchy because Trowa’s a lazy ass — but Trowa holds firm and kisses the back of Quatre’s neck, and Quatre sighs.

“I love you,” Trowa breathes against his skin, and that spot is suddenly warm, warmer than any other part of Quatre’s body, and the heat must spread to his front and into his heart, because Quatre rolls over, throws an arm over Trowa’s hip and bumps his forehead against Trowa’s chin before settling just under his jaw.

“I love you,” Quatre echoes, and his hand moves up Trowa’s back and clutches his shoulder, and Trowa tightens his arms around him. “I love you,” he repeats, and he closes his eyes, and he listens to Trowa’s heartbeat.

Tomorrow morning over breakfast he will tell Kamilah that sometimes parents get into disagreements and need space to breathe — to be their own people — and he will call Duo and ask him if he and Hilde feel like taking Kamilah for a week or two. Duo will sound exasperated, but eventually relent; and that night Quatre and Trowa will watch their daughter at her recital, and then they will take her to stay with Uncle Duo and Aunt Hilde.

Quatre will head to his office because he’s used to late nights, and when he comes home Trowa will be gone. There won’t be a note, nor any kind of contact information, because they both know Quatre could find him if he wants to.

The longest time they’d remained apart after coming together was three and a half years; the shortest, two weeks. This will be the second time with Kamilah, who in all of her eight years seems to understand exactly what’s going on sometimes — and it is because of her that the shortest time Quatre and Trowa have spent apart is a measly two weeks. Quatre doesn’t know if two weeks will do it this time. He can ask one of his sisters to look after her after that if it is longer; because he doesn’t want to impose on his best friend’s hospitality, and because he doesn’t trust himself to have the time — or even know how — to take care of Kamilah without Trowa there.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Trowa says into his hair, and from experience Quatre knows that’s Trowa’s way of asking him what he’s thinking without being overt.

“I love you,” Quatre says a third time, because it’s true; and then because he’s being honest, he says, “I think we’re fighting.”

o rly.

Fri, 12 Jan 2007 08:47:36 GMT

((IC Post!))

Mon, 18 Dec 2006 03:16:16 GMT

[a Gundam pilot sits bathed in the light from several computer screens -- he's stolidly ignoring his lunch next to him, and is typing away madly at the keyboard before him. ... he may or may not be swearing in some dialect of Arabic]

sekrit santa orz

Mon, 11 Dec 2006 05:00:26 GMT

This is what I filled out for the thiny:
Fandoms you'd like written: Kyou Kara Maou, due South, Gundam Wing (most especially good Quatre/Trowa, wtf fandom why do you suck)... eh, I'm easy. I just like shiny things.
Medium(s) you would like to receive: paid accounts, writing, music, art, writing, whatever :D

+ Anything that is in any way Wolfram/Yuuri (whatever) and well-written/drawn, etc. Fluff kills me. Heck, anything kills me. I am easy.
+ Okay. Mary Sue fic? Do it. You know you want to. Tongue-in-cheek, happy-go-lucky human/mazoku girl that Wolfram falls head over heels for. Because that would be hilariously brilliant. And so very OOC. And just. Yes. Extra bonus points if it works, and if Yuuri gets jealous. WTF is wrong with me? Parody-fic IS GO.
+ Anything Quatre-related. If you're going for pairings, anything campwise is game, and if you're going for GW-wise and want to put in relationships (as gen is totally fine by me), I'm such a hardcore Quatre/Trowa shipper that it's so not funny. Extra bonus points for not turning Quatre into a girl. Bah. ... Though honestly Quatre/Duo and Quatre/Heero and Quatre/Heero/Trowa and Quatre/Trowa/Duo are also okay. ... Wufei does not go there. Ever. :O But Sally/Wufei is so hot unf. (But really. Good Q/T. So hard to find. Why is the fandom obsessed with 1x2? Why?)

Harry Potter:
Ron/Hermione
Snape/McGonagall
Sirius/Remus

Good Omens:
Aziraphale/Crowley
Horsepersons Fic
Anathema/Newt

FFVI/III:
Edgar/Terra
Sabin/Cyan ♥

Naruto:
Tsunade/Jiraiya
Lee/Sakura
Hinata/Kiba

HunterxHunter:
Leorio/Kurapika

Kyou Kara Maou:
Wolfram/Yuuri
Wolfram/Mary Sue -- heck yes.
Gunter het. Of any sort. No, really. That'd be beautiful, and even harder to do than Wolfram het.

+ As stated above, brother!fic. And by brother!fic I mean fic where the trio of idiotic, emotionally retarded brothers act like brothers in their own, stilted fashion. Long, short, deep and introspective, fluffy and light -- I care not. The relationships between these three very screwed up men is often overlooked, and it makes me saaaad. D:
+ I love getting new artists to listen to. I have fairly eclectic tastes, but despise (most) rap, death/hard metal, and country (except Garth Brooks ♥), so if you have something you think I might like, that'd be super! Even just the name and description of the band and a song or two that you think I might like would be awesome. :D

...

And if you think of anything else I'd like, that would be so amazingly cool. You could check my userinfo over at katmaxwell. Frankly, if I get NOTHING off of this list I will be squeeing with delight by the end of this thing because zomg, secret santa stuff! ... Yeah!

Mon, 11 Dec 2006 04:43:32 GMT

It's not simply a matter of Quatre not knowing his way around a kitchen. In fact, it could be argued that Quatre does know his way around a kitchen: Trowa points to the fridge and Quatre gets the butter, and the milk, and the carton of eggs; and without any sort of mishap he lines them up on the counter and smiles at the ingredients all laid out.

He knows his way around a kitchen, and this is why it's so surprising when Trowa leaves to find a rag to mop up the spilt milk from the floor and a shriek echoes down the hallway to where Trowa's standing in the laundry room.

He drops the rag and slides down the hall, skidding on the hardwood floors and grabbing ahold of the doorframe to stop himself at the kitchen; he pushes his bangs from his face and, wide-eyed, looks around the kitchen for the source of Quatre's dismay.

Quatre stands in front of the oven, holding the muffin tray in one oven-mitted hand. He's blinking rapidly, his eyes large as saucers -- and he drops the tray when it's too hot, even through the mitt.

He and Trowa watch it fall and clatter, chunks of uncooled blueberry muffin breaking off and bouncing along the floor.

"Are you all right?" Trowa asks simply, and Quatre nods and slips the oven mitt off, massaging his hand.

"They looked like they were bubbling over," Quatre explains, chagrined, and Trowa half-smiles at him. "It was probably just a blueberry," he continues, and pulls a piece off one of the more-unblemished muffins, blowing on it. He holds it out to Trowa and Trowa raises an eyebrow -- and Quatre smiles encouragingly, so Trowa lets himself be fed, closing his lips around two of Quatre's fingers.

"Is it still good?" Quatre asks, and Trowa is aware of how certain things Quatre says mean more than what they seem to mean; and Trowa nods.

Quatre beams at him, and reaches for more muffin.

The "What's Your Sexual Style?" Test!

Sat, 09 Dec 2006 23:52:38 GMT

TYPE D

You scored 45 imagination, 16 confidence, 66 dominance, and 70 generosity!

You are a TRADITIONAL, SHY, DOMINANT lover who prefers to RECEIVE than give.

This means that:

You like relatively no frills simple sex, that is basic rather than kinky. You're quite happy in bed without the need for any fetishes to spice things up, you're electric enough on your own. Who needs more than your naked body? Why put you in a Nurses outfit when they can see you in nothing? You might try the odd fantasy out, but overall you like sex at it's most raw, impulsive, and animalistic, rather than planned and turned into a complicated act.

You can be a little shy in bed, so maybe this means that you'd prefer to have sex in the dark, or maybe just that you have all sorts of naughty ideas bubbling under the surface but can't quite work up the confidence to speak about most of them. Sometimes it takes you a while to speak up about what you like, and you aren't very confident in your talents but I bet your lovers would say otherwise, I'm sure your sweet nature is far more welcome than egotistical boasting.

You tend to be dominant in bed, so you prefer to be the one giving the orders than taking them. Maybe you like the power, or just like controlling the pace, perhaps your partner likes to be dominanted, or maybe you get a kick out of the whole master/slave relationship, it could be something as small as liking to be on top during sex and tie up your lover to tease them, or it could be as kinky as them having to ask your permission to do anything at all. Either way, you are firm and you enjoy it!

You prefer to give than recieve. This makes you a very unselfish lover, devoted to the needs of your partner rather than your own. You get your pleasure from seeing them get theirs, you are a model sex partner. I'm sure plenty of people would love to have someone like you in bed with them! Remember though that if your partner gets pleasure from returning the favour it's okay to let them, they might love giving as much as you do!

WE SUGGEST YOU TRY:
Reading or writing erotic fiction. If you are a little shy writing your partner a sexy email or letter, or getting a saucy text from them can really heat things up, and reading erotic fiction will give you some ideas if you usually go with very simple, basic sex! If you see something there that you like, you can always tell your partner to act it out with you.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

You scored higher than 99% on imagination
You scored higher than 99% on confidence
You scored higher than 99% on dominance
You scored higher than 99% on generosity

Link: The What's your sexual style? Test written by lu-mina on OkCupid, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Thu, 07 Dec 2006 03:47:19 GMT

[Jenn|essay] Quatre, you're like a coffee pot of GAY.

Permission/Stats Meme!

Wed, 06 Dec 2006 11:17:12 GMT

Name: Quatre Raberba Winner
Age: 15
Height: 156 cm (about 5'1")
Eyes:Blue
Hair: Platinum Gold, so says the character book thing (wtf)

Medical Info: Space heart! No, I have no idea what it is/does either! I think it may just be a term for his being empathic/nearly telepathic, but I won't put it past GW making it actually something physical. Aside from that, he's your average boy.

Physical Traits: Quatre's the smallest of the Gundam pilots; not height-wise, but weight-wise and such. The guy's teeny. Granted, most of the characters in GW weigh less than someone their height should, but he weighs ninety pounds. I'm serious. I think I was in fifth grade when I weighed ninety pounds. So, yeah, Quatre's kind of small. (He needs to eat a burger.) Aside from that, he's just gosh darn adorable. Or pretty. Or whatever, because he's a main character in a shounen/shoujo anime.

The goggles are important to note because they were given to him by Rashid, the leader of the Maguanacs, and they represent Rashid and the Maguanacs' acknowledgement of Quatre as their "master". Do not hurt the goggles.

What's Okay to Mention: Anything and everything if your character would know it ICly. If you want to press emo buttons, go for it. Quatre is an emo case waiting to explode, honestly. Just note that he's extremely emotional and will emote. Most likely in tears form. Go go, Quatre.

Notes For the Psychics: There's a line Duo says in Endless Waltz that I think sums up a lot of Quatre's personality: "Oh, man, Quatre loves to blame himself for everything if you let him. Sooner or later, he'll start saying that there's no air in space because he didn't work on it hard enough." Quatre has some sort of bizarre conglomeration of a messiah complex, a martyr complex, and an inferiority complex. It's pretty much awesome.

...now I'm going to ramble. :Db

He has daddy issues. Up the wazoo. Quatre believes that he was born from a test tube: this is a problem because he is his father's thirtieth child. All of his sisters were test tube babies (due to the Winner family's weak genes and inability to conceive naturally without dire consequences), and from a young age Quatre feels his father engineered his sisters and finally himself as a sort of easy way to get employees. Quatre devalues himself because he thinks his father eventually decided he needed a son to inherit Winner Enterprises, and thus Quatre was "constructed". (This is untrue. Quatre was born to a woman named Quaterine/Katherine/various spellings who died in childbirth because, again, the Winner family fails at having children. Quatre does not know this. It would obviously be too easy for his dad to have told him and thus validated his existence.)

On top of this birth thing, Quatre and his father fell out because Quatre didn't believe in his family's stance of total pacifism. Quatre believed in order to enact change, they had to do something about it -- thus he joined up with Instructor H and helped with Sandrock/chose to be Sandrock's pilot. His father essentially disowned him for this. (I can't remember if he actually did, but I doubt it very much as Quatre is the sole heir to Winner Enterprises.) Quatre eventually meets back up with his father and they continue to disagree; the L4 colonies proceed to screw WE over and Quatre's father refuses to evacuate a resource satellite that the colonies' forces then blow up. W-way to go, Mr Winner.

To sum up, Quatre's father and he never resolve their differences and Quatre watches the colonies he's trying to protect kill his father, and possibly his sister, Iria (who protects Quatre; it's never stated whether or not she survives, but I tend to think she dies). Quatre goes off the deep end and constructs Wing Zero from plans left behind. He proceeds to blow up a colony (which was, most likely, not evacuated), and in attempting to destroy another colony he shoots Trowa out of the sky and "kills" him, as far as he's aware. Trowa's "death" brings him back to his senses, and he begs Heero to do anything he needs to to go and save him... but of course Heero doesn't.

What makes all of this worse is Quatre's "space heart", which allows him to feel the emotions of those he's close to. It also doesn't help that he's extremely emotional in the first place. ... Yeah. So to sum up, Quatre's screwed up. He will always present a happy face, but it's very, very easy to press his trauma buttons. And sometimes the results will not be pleasant. The ZERO system may be what "makes" him blow up the colony, but he put it together in the first place. I can't help but think he had revenge in mind from the beginning.

Abilities: Quatre's brilliant, and pretty decent with guns, swords, etc. I have no idea how he became competent with these things. lulz plotholes. He eventually masters the ZERO system and uses it to kick butt. This is one boy you don't want to mess with in a mecha battle. Physically, he'd be fairly easy to otherthrow. ... And I think I've previously mentioned his space heart. Yeah. You know as much as I do. Moving on.

Shapeshift/bodyswap/etc.: Am kind of finicky about them? But don't let that dissuade you! Ask away. :)

Hugging/Kissing: Go for it. Quatre's a physical, emotional guy. Casual touching is totally A-OK, and while he may be initially weirded out by anything past that, depending on who you are he'd probably be fine.

Fighting: I can't think of anything someone could do in order to make Quatre fight. Sparring is totally a go. As far as actually rough-and-tumble fighting, I. Yeah. I'm trying to imagine Quatre throwing a punch at someone. So unless you hurt one of his friends and that friend can't take care of it him/herself... yeah, you're really going to have to try hard. So just contact me on IRC or AIM or the like. :D

Killing: Ahahahahahhahahahaha do you really want to do this to yourself? I'm fine with it -- just give me a heads-up. If it's what's natural in the situation, seriously, I love it. I. I am an emo whore. But I really don't know if you want ~~the crazy mercenary clown~~ ~~the god of death~~ ~~Heero frickin' Yuy~~ his friends to take you out. :Db

Cooking: AHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA oh tell me another one you're hilarious. Quatre is pampered. He was raised pampered. I don't think he could boil water to save his life. Wait, no. He can probably make tea. And maybe toast. But. Yeah. He's used to being waited on. He'd never admit to failing in the kitchen, but you do not want him in there.

Sun, 03 Dec 2006 01:31:33 GMT

Voting post goes here! In with 80.3%!

Character: Quatre Raberba Winner
Series: Mobile Suit Gundam Wing
Character Age: 15
Canon: At first glance, Quatre Raberba Winner is your standard pretty boy: he is petit, blond, cute, heir to the highly successful (and thus rich) Winner Enterprises, and is a skilled violinist and strategist - but then somehow he is also Arabian, has 29 older sisters (many of whom he's never met), doesn't know he wasn't born from a test tube, and has something called a space heart. Aside from making him empathic, no, we don't know what the heck a space heart does or is either.

Quatre, codename 04, is pilot of the Gundam Sandrock. He is arguably the de facto leader of the Gundam pilots and is constantly stressing the importance of the pilots' working together. Like all good Gundam pilots, he has an emo back-story that involves his pacifist father disowning him; his father committing assisted-suicide-by-mobile-suit-laser-fire before they can reconcile; his going crazy and constructing Wing Zero, the Mary Sue of Gundams; and finally his blowing up a colony cluster and his boyfriend duet partner fellow Gundam pilot.

Psychotic outbursts aside, Quatre is kind-hearted, emotional, sensitive, refined, diplomatic, polite, patient, and merciful - this is the guy who asks his opponents to give up before he attacks them, and always apologizes for killing them. (And, contrary to much of fandom, he can too wear a pink shirt and still be manly.)

Sample Post:

[**.**.** log | encryption code: *****]

I have reached the destination point. My intelligence tells me that 01 and 02 have previously arrived and established holdings in a suspiciously heavily-populated area just south of my current location. Instructions dictate to accomplish the mission alone, but I trust that collaboration can only improve chances of success in this instance. My proposed course of action is to relocate to the aforementioned settlasfdjkAJ;AD'--=-sd./

[connection lost]

H-hey! I'm sorry, but I. Please don't, that's - that's my laptop, you see, and I need that to. If you would please just give it back oh my g -

- are you all right? I didn't think. I don't know my own strength. It just popped off. That's. You must let me help you: there's a camp just south of us and I'm sure they have the necessary technology to reattach. Um. You already have a general, ah, pallor and. Are you feeling all right? It's a chest cold, isn't it? You sound congested, and. Perhaps you're just difficult to understand because of the layers - I never thought wearing a keffiyah in this climate would be helpful!

Oh, where are my manners? My name is Quatre Raberba Winner, and I'm visiting friends in the settlement ahead. I'm rather new to the area, but I'm sure we can make it there together and find a doctor to fix you right up -

- it just goes back on right like that, does it? That's. Odd. I guess there's no need to rush then. Ah. Perhaps. . . you can tell me more about the area, as a way to pass the time! I grew up without a lot of vegetation and it's fascinating to see the trees and vines - what's that one called? 'Uggulg?' Or - oh, I apologize, I misunderstood you. That's your name, isn't it? Uggulg. Does it mean something? It sounds exotic and. You have a card? Oh, yes, thank you, I'd very much like to see it. . .

"Dear Mr. Winner, welcome to Camp -" There's really no need for that kind of language, is there? "- You Die. Uggulg, leader of the Attack Shriners, will be pleased to escort you wherever need be. Please enjoy your stay."

. . . I. Attack Shriners. I see, that's. That sounds splendid, or at least workable. Let's. Let's be off, then - I still think you should get that looked at. You look deathly ill.