#mysteriousfisherman

[thesorrowoflizards]

@pscentral​ event 15: favorite ship(s)

↳ gert's top three ships of 2023 (in no particular order)

malec, tedependent, mysteriousfisherman

[bi-demon-ium]

nicholas & milligan + describing each other to other people

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

names Nicholas and Milligan call each other, starting normal and then getting more unhinged:

love

sweetheart/sweetie

cutie

silly

their names but starting with different letters, like “picholas” and “shmilligan” 

milligan once accidentally ate the orange that nicholas was keeping for himself in the kitchen and for the rest of the time nicholas calls him “orange thief” when he’s in silly moods or pretending to be mad

nicholas calls milligan “flower” sometimes because of milligan liking to be outside and garden

milligan calls nicholas “curlicue” especially while he’s stroking his hair or scratching his scalp

nicholas would think of some absurdly long and formal name that involves like every single honorific possible like “sir lord duke mr. milligan wetherall the third junior”

[bi-demon-ium]

I Started Shipping It Ironically But Now It's Unironic And I Can't Stop: a happy(?) accident

I Didn’t Think I Shipped It But The Fic Writers for This Ship Really Brought Their A Game: a memoir.

[bi-demon-ium]

Nicholas calls his brother with a slightly odd request. Or: Nathaniel is a drama queen, Constance is a budding supervillain, Milligan is a calming presence, and where the FUCK did Number Two get that axe.

[bi-demon-ium]

[bi-demon-ium]

[bi-demon-ium]

it wouldn't have happened without you!!!!

not to take credit for gert spreading mysteriousfisherman throughout the mbs fandom but every time i see a random post abt them i know didn't come from the original tiny circle of mutuals im like hehe... butterfly effects of my enablement and contributions to the cause...

[bi-demon-ium]

[bi-demon-ium]

im sorry but i can just never get over the mental image of like. nicholas, scared or hurt or upset, like. the huge eyes clearly on the verge of tears look. and milligan just. big hands cupping both sides of his face. grounding him. nicholas's eyes fluttering closed and the tension draining, even if only a little bit, from his shoulders.

and like vice versa, milligan, tense and stoic and hurt, and nicholas gently cupping his face with his hand and softly saying something reassuring and kind and sweet, and milligan just. relaxing under the touch, but in his eyes there's a bit of horrifyingly sad like. shock and awe at being touched tenderly. but he, too, closes his eyes and relaxes.

like, they both lean into the touch. relax a bit. feel grounded, reassured, even when they're still hurt and upset or even actively crying. i just. im emo

[bi-demon-ium]

for @mvshortcut, based off this

"Hm," said Rhonda again.

She had hmmd in Milligan's general direction about six times now. Number Two had given up after three, and was now sipping her tea, looking rather perturbed.

Milligan calmly folded another shirt. He was doing laundry. He did not ask her what she was hmming about.

"Hmmmm," said Rhonda, drawing it out.

Milligan calmly folded another shirt.

"HM," shouted Number Two.

Milligan set the folded shirt down. "Would you like me to retrieve you some cough drops?" he asked gravely. "Or perhaps. some tea."

"...I have tea, thank you," Number Two said, voice a little hoarse.

"Ah," Milligan said. He calmly folded a pair of pants, placing them carefully and gently in the basket. "Water, then? For either of you?"

"We're fine," Rhonda said, innocently. "Why do you ask?"

Milligan slowly lifted his head to look at her. She smiled angelically.

He blinked, slow, like a lazy cat lounging in the sun. "No reason," he said, and went back to his laundry.

"This clearly isn't working," Rhonda said to Number Two, at normal volume, as if Milligan wasn't right there.

"Yes, I can see that," Number Two all but hissed.

"Do you need something?" Milligan asked, still calm. His lips were twitching a little, not that they had noticed. His question went unanswered.

"Should we just give up on the subtle approach?" Rhonda asked.

"Subtle?" Milligan asked the vest in his hands. "Huh."

"I think so," Number Two said. "Hey, Milligan?"

"Yes?" Milligan said, as if he hadn't been here the whole time.

"So," Number Two said. "You know how you're in love with Mr. Benedict?"

Milligan blinked at her. "Yes?" he said.

"Well, you a--what."

Milligan tilted his head as if he were confused. Number Two and Rhonda both stared at him.

At this exact moment, Mr. Benedict walked in, carrying a small plate of snacks. "Oh, I got s--whaaaaat is happening?"

Milligan turned to address him. "Number Two and Rhonda were just informing me that I'm in love with you," he said blandly.

Mr. Benedict's eyes went huge. "Uh," he said, sounding a little small. "What?"

"You know," Rhonda said. "I really thought we had timed this better."

"Good news!" Number Two said, turning to Mr. Benedict. "We were right! Bad news! We're really confused!"

"Hm," said Milligan, in a tone that immediately clocked to Number Two and Rhonda as downright dangerous. Not dangerous in the scary way, mind you--dangerous in the you have been fucking HAD way.

Then, almost conversationally--folding another goddamn shirt--he said, "Did you know that sound carries in the vents?"

"...hm?" Rhonda said.

"This is an old house," Milligan said. "You can hear all sorts of things. Thin walls. Echoing vents. Acoustics."

"...ah," said Mr. Benedict, getting it before the rest of them did. "If you'll all excuse me, I believe there is a small vial of non-lethal poison upstairs with my name on it."

"No tranquilizing yourself to get out of awkward conversations," Number Two said almost automatically, as if this happened often enough that she had memorized the reprimand.

"Got any good jokes?" Mr. Benedict asked Rhonda.

"I'm leaving," Rhonda announced. Having now effectively caused the chaos, she was happy to let it simmer. Far away from her.

"Yeah, that tracks," Mr. Benedict said.

They all stared for a moment longer. Rhonda abruptly turned on her heel and left.

"Shit," Number Two said. "I mean--heck--hecking. darn. Fuck. Okay, I'm going. Have fun."

And Milligan and Mr. Benedict were left alone.

"Hm," said Milligan.

"I," Mr. Benedict said, "Have been hmmd at. far too often this week."

"I can imagine," Milligan agreed.

Mr. Benedict stared down at the tray in his hands, which he was still, inexplicably, holding.

"...lemon bar?" he asked, holding it out.

Milligan gingerly took a lemon bar and took a delicate bite. "Hm," he said, looking down at the clean laundry below. "Crumbs."

"...ah," Mr. Benedict said.

Milligan took another bite. "Very sweet," he commented. "Thank you."

"Aaaaaanytime," Mr. Benedict said, rather awkwardly. "Er."

"You.... are. also. sweet," Milligan said, slightly stilted.

Mr. Benedict blinked. "Ah? Um. Thank you?"

"...anytime," Milligan said, looking like he wanted to strangle himself even as he said it.

"..............well," said Mr. Benedict. "That poison won't drink itself."

"Nicholas."

"I'm ki--wait, did you just call m--"

Mr. Benedict collapsed face first into the laundry, asleep.

"...hm," said Milligan, looking down at him. Then he quickly moved to help him into a more comfortable position.

"Wow," said Rhonda, two rooms away. "You really can hear sound through the vents."

"This is hopeless," Number Two said. "They're hopeless. I hate this."

"They'll figure it out eventually, eh?" Rhonda said, patting her shoulder sympathetically.

"You'd think so," said Number Two, who had been here longer. "You'd think fucking so."

[ao3.]

[opinionatedartopus]

This isn’t exactly the same but this reminded me of the drawing I did a while back...

Nicholas is still (understandably) distressed about finding out his brother is the Sender.

34 nicholas / milligan? Platonic or romantic, up to you :-)

34. good enough

The tent was... well, needless to say, Nicholas had severely misjudged its size. Putting it together had taken all of five minutes, and now it stood tall- or rather, very short- in front of them. Nicholas hummed and pressed a hand against his mouth in thought. It was much too late to go back down to the cabin and see about a different tent. They were stuck with this one.

"Are you sure..." Milligan said, "that we grabbed the right tent?"

'not even remotely,' he thought, then said, "Rhonda said to grab the yellow one, so, I must have." Now it was Milligan's turn to hum. The sun was going down now. The sky was smudged with hues of orange and yellow clashing together as the sun dipped below the horizon and the water became that transitional color between clear blue and murky black. There was no turning around now.

"Well," Milligan said, "It's good enough for now. I'm sure we won't be up here long enough to warrant something more... spacious." That was true enough. They were only there to scout, so comfort was the least of their concerns. But, it was going to be a tight fit.

And it was. They found, with some awkward shuffling, that they had to lay back to back. Nicholas couldn't find it in himself to actually mind. Maybe that was selfish, but even the press of Milligan's back against his had his heart aching. Part of him wanted to turn over and lay cradled against him. But he shook those thoughts away as quickly as they came. He wasn't going to risk disturbing Milligan, whose sleeping breath he could hear, faintly. He was fine where he was. It was good enough.

[bi-demon-ium]

"...Hm."

Mr. Benedict's head snapped to look at her. His gaze had been lingering on Milligan--who had just left--but now the soft, almost awed look in his eyes had sharpened to blatant suspicion.

"What?" he said defensively, almost sharp and far too quick.

"Oh, nothing," Rhonda said, exchanging a look with Number Two.

"You hmmd at me," Mr. Benedict said, waving a finger, "And that--stop exchanging looks, I can literally see you."

Number Two and Rhonda exchanged a look.

"I can see that."

"It's nothing," Number Two said. "Really."

"Hm," said Rhonda.

Mr. Benedict pointed at her. "You hmmd again!" he exclaimed. "What are you hmming at?"

"You seem paranoid," Number Two said.

"Oh, do not," Mr. Benedict said.

"Harsh," agreed Rhonda. "We were, in fact, hmming at him."

"Thank you!" Mr. Benedict exclaimed, then registered her last words. "Wait--"

"Really, it's nothing important," said Rhonda.

"Oh, we should just tell him," Number Two said. "I don't think he's going to notice on his own."

"I feel like I should be offended right now," Mr. Benedict said, and was soundly ignored.

"We don't know that," Rhonda said. "Maybe it's best to let things take their natural course, eh? Even if that's a slow course."

"I'm still here," Mr. Benedict said, unheard.

"Perhaps," Number Two said. "But look at him. You saw. Come on."

A beat. Mr. Benedict sighed and all but collapsed onto the couch, putting his head in his hands, apparently having given up.

"...fair," Rhonda said finally. Then she turned to address Mr. Benedict.

"Oh, am I part of the conversation now?" Mr. Benedict said, understandably a little snippily.

"Yes," said Number Two, without a trace of irony.

"So," Rhonda said, spreading her hands with the air of someone presenting the main show. "You're in love with Milligan."

Mr. Benedict, head raised from his hands, blinked at her.

There was a beat of silence as she waited for some sort of reaction. She was not given one.

"I think maybe you broke him?" Number Two said in a stage whisper. It was unclear if she realized Mr. Benedict could hear her or not.

"I... am not?" Mr. Benedict said, so baffled it almost sounded like a question.

"Oh, no, you are," Rhonda assured him. "Good news, we're pretty sure he's also into you?"

"Not completely sure, though," Number Two said, almost briskly. "He's harder to read. You're kind of an open book, though." Seeing the look on his face, she added, "Sorry."

Mr. Benedict's face--which was, indeed, expressive enough to essentially be an open book--said something along the lines of oh, come on, I kept a secret for ten years, I'm not that bad.

"Stop pouting, not telling us about Loser Dipshit Curtain was under mitigating circumstances," Number Two said.

Like every time she replaced the letters of his brother's current legal name with insulting words, a brief moment of intensely confused sorrow, guilt, and utterly hilarity spasmed across his expression, like he was trying not to laugh while also being sad at the general reminder of his brother's existence and current status.

He did find genuine amusement in her calling him names, she knew, but he also felt bad about it. It was her goal to make him not feel bad about it, because the man could stand to be called a dipshit more often.

"I--I. regardless. Why, exactly, do you think I'm." he struggled for words, or perhaps to say the next obvious words, and finally settled on "...for Milligan."

"That you're for Milligan?" Number Two repeated incredulously. "You do hear the words you speak, don't you?"

"You know what I mean."

"It's not that obvious," Rhonda said comfortingly.

"To people who don't know you," Number Two added, and Rhonda swatted at her shoulder without breaking her comforting look at Mr. Benedict.

"I--I am not in--in love with Milligan!" Mr. Benedict sputtered. "I--he's--he's my friend! So! I think he's! neat! That doesn't m--it's not like I lay awake at night thinking of him, okay?"

[ᴍᴀɴʏ ʜᴏᴜʀs ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ]

It's late. The room was dark. Mr. Benedict looked up at the ceiling, eyes wide and shadows under them deep.

"Shit," he said, with much feeling.

[ao3.]

[bi-demon-ium]

every day i think about milligan standing protectively over nicholas during the attack on the house in s1 so here's a brief snippet for some reason

(ao3.)

Milligan swings around the corner just in time to see the men carrying Mr. Benedict go down--flashlights? Had one of the children--no time.

When they get up, he is ready.

(Nicholas lies motionless on the floor, but he isn't asleep. Milligan has seen him asleep--both as a result of his narcolepsy, and the ordinary way--many, many times, and he can tell the difference.)

He punches the first one before he can use his shock watch.

(Nicholas is breathing, though, he's breathing, and Milligan--can't afford to keep thinking about this. He steps protectively over him, ready to fight back an army if he needs to.)

It feels like it moves in flashes--they attack, and he dodges, swats their blows aside and hits back harder, smashes one against a wall and kicks back and--

(Nicholas twitches a little, clearly in pain, barely managing to stir, and Milligan kicks one of them through several doorways. Away from him, away.)

They stumble back into each other, the one he'd just shoved stumbling to his feet and wiping blood from his lips with an angry glower.

(There's blood on Milligan's knuckles. His heart is pounding. He could fight a lion at this moment; he's practically a lion himself.)

Milligan glares back, protective, fists clenched, hair disheveled, ready to keep fighting. He'll win--no matter how many of them they are, no matter how outmatched he is, he'll win, because he has a reason to.

(Nicholas is lying at his feet, dazed and in pain, the one in immediate danger, but the others are somewhere in the house, and there are children, and this is their home--Milligan will protect them. Milligan will protect them all.)

They retreat, nursing their wounds, and Milligan lets them go. Even if he could pursue them--could do anything about it should he catch them--he has higher priorities right now. Once they're out of sight, he sinks to one knee at Mr. Benedict's side.

"Mr. Benedict?" he says, quiet but urgent. "Mr. Benedict, can you hear me?"

Mr. Benedict let out a quiet whine of pain, clearly involuntary, but he shudders a little and stirs, trying to push himself up. Conscious.

"Mr. Benedict?" he says again.

"Y--yes, yes," Mr. Benedict manages, voice thin, "I--I'm alright, I'm quite alrigh--aaaahh, ahh--I'm, I'm fine."

As he tries to struggle to his feet his voice gets higher, pitchy with his distress. He tries to mask it, hide the tremble, but he isn't doing a great job. His eyes widen as he looks over Milligan's shoulder.

Milligan glances, heart jumping, half expecting men in grey suits, but it's three of the children, looking at them with wide eyes.

The littlest one--the rude one that Nicholas had immediately taken a liking to--is not there. But Kate--the one who had thrown the flashlights, Milligan suspected--is, and she's flanked by the two others.

The boy in green--Reynie--looks mildly horrified.

"Mr. Benedict!" he says, and he sounds so young. "Are you alright?"

Mr. Benedict forces a smile--not entirely insincere, but thinly veiling the pain--and says, "Just--a little sting, Reynie. I'll be right as rain in a moment."

His voice is now remarkably steadier.

"We need to go get Rhonda," he begins, just as Rhonda comes in, also wincing, Number Two fluttering next to her as if ready to catch her if she faints, and looking distinctly irritated in her worry.

"Oh, good," Mr. Benedict says, still half-crumpled on the floor. There's a bruise peeking out from his sleeve, and another by his collar, and Milligan wonders how deep they go.

Mr. Benedict looks like he wants to say something else, but he glances at the kids--still watching with wide eyes--and thinks better of it. For later, then.

"We should--back to the study," he says.

Milligan goes to slip an arm under his and helps him up, and he hisses again--right. He'd been electrocuted there, on his shoulder.

He grimaces and withdraws, and then instead offers his arm. Nicholas smiles at him--weary and small, but a smile nonetheless--and takes it, leaning on Milligan as he pulls himself to his feet.

He's shaking a little, but he looks better (although whether that's because the kids are watching or because the sting is actually fading is. well. Milligan can guess) and he only leans on Milligan for a moment.

(Nicholas is always so trusting. Even blinking blearily up at him--at the man standing above him, fists raised, knuckles bloodied--he's all guileless and trusting, never once afraid of Milligan or his strength. Now he leans into Milligan--still disheveled and bloodied from the fight--and sighs softly, like he's reluctant to pull away.)

Mr. Benedict unsteadily gains his bearings--wobbling a little in the first step before righting himself--then beams at the children, clapping his hands together quietly. "Right!" he says brightly. "To the study. Milligan, dear, would you mind deactivating the security measures and ah, making sure it's all clear?"

Milligan nods--short and solemn--and tries not to linger.

He lets his eyes scan over Mr. Benedict one more time to make sure he's okay--trembling and exhausted but okay--and then glances over the others, to see that they, too, are safe, Rhonda wincing and rubbing her shoulder but alive, all of them alive and accounted for--and then slips around the corner and out of sight.

[bi-demon-ium]

the silly 'mr benedict drunkenly infodumping in a hideous hawaiian shirt' fic ft. miss perumal noticing mr benedict and milligan might be a little gay for each other

[bi-demon-ium]

once again thinking about that tiny fucking tent in s1.