#no matter how hard you ship them michael ships them harder

[theangelssing]

Real - Midam

prompt: It’s been like this for months now, Adam wanting a real kiss from Michael, not a vision. So Michael tries everything to make his human happy, even asking Sam Winchester for a little help.

Midam, Adam x Michael, third POV, 1574 words

warnings: soft fluffy imagine but slight mention of anxiety and overprotection, physical touch like hugs & kisses (romantic way), physical affection (friendly hand on shoulder)

a/n: this imagine takes place after last season, forgetting almost everything from the last season tbh (Dean, Crowley, Castiel, Gabriel, etc aren’t dead)

don't hesitate to send request for every character & ship you want (:

masterlist - inbox

“I wish we could kiss,” said Adam with a small sad smile. Michael projected a kiss in Adam’s mind, trying his best to make it feel as real as possible. Adam shook his head, erasing the sweet image.

“Not like this. I mean a real kiss, your mouth on mine… y’know?”

Michael didn’t answer. What could he? A real kiss wasn’t easy, near impossible, without possessing another body. And even when possessing another body, the kiss never felt right. The vessel was different each time, making Adam uncomfortable – almost as if he was cheating on his boyfriend even if Michael were the same no matter his vessel.

So when Adam asks for a real kiss, Michael says nothing. When Adam is asleep or when Michael is fully controlling their shared body, the archangel would try to work on his powers to become stronger, to make the illusion of the kisses and hugs even more real without leaving his body. But it was harder than he thought and he had no one to ask advice to. He feared his own brothers would pity or shame him and he didn’t want this – or more like he didn’t want them to joke about it in front of Adam. He thought about asking Castiel but Cas isn’t strong enough to know this kind of power. Hell, he even thought asking Crowley or Rowena! but he didn’t want to be involved with black magic or demon.

Hence why he was knocking on Sam’s door. Entering the bunker wasn’t easy and he feared Dean wouldn’t let him entered if Adam wasn’t there but the oldest Winchester seemed to have softened and let him in. After having answered vaguely Dean’s questions, he walked straight to Sam’s bedroom. He opened quickly, as if he was waiting for Michael to come, making him feel weird.

“Hi Michael, what can I do for you?” asked Sam almost immediately.

Michael looked at him from head to toe. Disoriented. Uncomfortable.

“How?…” he couldn’t even finish his sentence, Sam answering already.

“When Adam knocks, it’s soft and I always almost don’t hear it. You’re knocking on the door as if your life depends on it. And Dean sent me a message. So, what can I do for you?”

Michael winced. Of course the answer was as simple as that. He sighed, entering Sam’s room and closing behind him.

“Well it is rather… embarrassing. Know that I hate asking you for this but I am here for Adam.”

“Go on.”

Sam sat on his bed, showing the desk’s chair to Michael, feeling this conversation would be a long one. Michael hesitated but finally sat on the chair, looking at Sam. God, it was so hard to talk about something as private as this.

“Dude, if it’s for Adam I won’t judge you so go on.”

The younger Winchester had something kind and generous in him. Michael thought for a second, before finally saying to himself that he made the right decision. Michael started to talk, to share things to Sam while the boy was listening carefully, nodding his head from time to time. He even reached for Michael’s shoulder to pat it, to give him comfort and confidence in his revelation. Sam wasn’t judging the archangel not feeling pity – as Michael feared – he was silently supporting and maybe even trying to search for a solution already.

“But I can’t. It doesn’t work and I didn’t know who to ask for help. So I thought you were the one who could help me without judging us or shaming Adam for being with me.”

Sam said nothing, he just stared at Michael and the archangel suddenly felt as if he said something dumb or wrong. But Sam only smiled softly then raising on his feet.

“Michael, man, nobody will judge Adam for loving you. You spent 1080 years in Hell together!”

“So… you’ll help me? Without saying anything to the others?”

“Right,” Sam sighed. “If you wish to not say anything, I won’t.”

Michael almost jumped from his chair.

“Thank you, Sam Winchester.”

“Woah, calm down with the family name. I’m just helping, I didn’t say it’ll work. Why don’t you ask Jack by the way? He’s God now.”

“Because he’s a kid.”

“Yeah but the most powerful one. Anyway, gotta start reading some books. Be ready for your training, I’ll call you when I find something.”

Sam winked at Michael and made him leave his room, then heading straight to the bunker’s library. Michael stayed there, helpless and unable to say anything, just leaving the bunker after having say goodbye to Dean. He returned at home and was so perturbed that he let Adam take the control again.

When Sam called, it was late during the night. Adam was asleep, Michael wide awake, champing at the bit, afraid Sam called someone and told everything. But when the phone rang, Michael jumped on it and answered straight away. Sam chuckled.

“Alright. I think I found something. I’ll come over, you won’t achieve anything in the bunker.”

And with this single message, the Winchester stopped the call and was with Michael twenty minutes later. A chance nobody was on the road, Sam said. Michael didn’t dare to ask how far above the speed limit he was. Sam exposed his books, showing Michael everything he found about the urgent matter.

Michael didn’t have the time to read, urging Sam to explain what he had to do. The younger brother laughed but told him, explaining everything he found. So the archangel tried. And retried. Again. And again. Until he said stopped. It was almost dawn and Sam didn’t sleep. Michael could tell he was exhausted to watch a grown archangel, the oldest one, not even reaching a small part of his goal. He knew Sam felt as if he was failing him. Michael wanted to say that he did his best helping him and that he should go home and rest but Sam didn’t want to. He wanted to continue, to find a solution, to make Adam happy and Michael feeling better about their relationship.

“Michael, you have to feel what you’re wishing for, what you wanna make Adam feel, otherwise it can’t work.”

“I’m trying Sam, but it doesn’t work! Go home, I can’t do that.”

“No. You have to understand how to be vulnerable. This power works only if you’re as vulnerable as Adam, if you feel the same things as Adam. Nothing can happen, so try again, make you vulnerable.”

“How? I have to protect him, Sam, I am an archangel and…”

“You’re Adam’s boyfriend right now, you have to make sure he’s happy and you have to love him. Love sure is a feeling of vulnerability so you have to break the walls you created around you. Go on, please, man. You can do it. Just… let your feelings take over.”

“If something happens, you’ll protect us?”

“Dude I’m a hunter, of course. Now shut up and try already!”

The archangel never felt this, a strange feeling, as he was trying to become like Adam. He suddenly felt lighter, enveloped by Adam’s love, feeling his own love enveloping and embracing him – he saw them kissing, hugging, he felt and saw it and wished for it to be true, wishing so hard that he forgot everything and only thought about Adam and felt even more in love and he tried to redirect his affection towards Adam and in no time he felt an answer to his kiss. The archangel closes his eyes, leaning in the kiss, in the new embrace. He didn’t ask himself what was happening – for the first time he was enjoying Adam and himself only, without anything coming in between them. Sam, from the outside, saw Adam and Michael’s shared body leaning in the soft mattress and pillows. He saw all the anxiety and blood pressure of Michael leaving the body, almost as if Adam took control again. But it was still the archangel, powerfully dominating his feelings and Adam.

That is when Michael felt the urge to press himself against Adam that the human woke up, in the tightest hug and most loving kiss he ever had. He was submerged by Michael’s love, surprised even. But most of all, he was happy, serene, calm. He was enjoying everything his archangel was giving him at the moment and what a moment! It felt as if they were doing it for years but Adam would never want to stop. It felt too right, too perfect to break it. But the archangel couldn’t stay like this for too long, leaving his human eager for more. Yet Adam was still feeling the link between them, he could almost see it and even though he was left without being warned.

No one dared to speak, Michael too surprised by himself, Adam too shocked and happy, and Sam couldn’t resign himself from stopping this quite private moment. The archangel only looked at the Winchester and only moved his lips in a “thank you”. Sam, without making a sound, left them. Michael was still hugging Adam, clenching at him. Adam was still feeling everything, almost painting after this mouthful kiss. A kiss that prevented a lot more, now that the archangel knew how to be even more powerful to fulfill his human’s desires.

“How did this kiss felt so real?”

“Because I made myself stronger for you.”

[o-sachi]

─── A Letter for @strawchocoberry ✦

If you have received this, it means you signed up for Sachi's Selfship Event !

Thank you for requesting, ml. Thank you for hyping me up and the silly stuff that I write. YOU ARE THE BEST! I love you and your amazing brain. Mindy lore goes hard by the way. My ship. I hope I do your ship justice mehehe.

✉️ Attachment: ABCs with Michael Kaiser

[C] Comfort Honestly, he's a bit lost with how to comfort you at first. But he knows first hand how it feels to be down and not have someone there to support him. So he does his best; he asks you what you want and what you need. If you want space, an ear to listen, or comforting words; Mihya will try his hardest to give you exactly that. Although, most of the time he'll comfort you through physical touch rather than words. Oh, and he leaves a lot of surprise gifts for you to find so that he can see that smile on your face again.

[D] Dates He takes you out on dates as if it's always your first; Mihya always strives to impress you after all. One for theatrics, he usually takes you out on fancy dinner dates or shopping sprees. But if you insist on a more "toned down" kind of date, he won't mind either. BUT, he will always find a way to spice it up. Movie date? He has a big ass projector rented for the two of you. That or maybe he takes you to one of those drive thru movie screenings (the old fashioned kind). He will ALWAYS give you princess treatment.

[G] Gifts Like I said, one of his love languages is gift giving. He was definitely deprived of this kind of love as a child, so he makes sure you'd never feel the same as he did when he was younger. He has the thinking of, "money can be earned again," so he's not shy about splurging on you. He also likes receiving things from you—doesn't matter if it's a small or huge gift. Mihya only cares that it came from you and you thought about it with him in mind. A gift he has given you before is a shiny golden locket with a picture of a blue rose inside. And a gift he likes receiving from you are the baked goods that you make every week. He finds it extra thoughtful.

[I] Intimacy You form a deeper connection because he finds himself drawn to your genuine personality. He was fully expecting you to fall for him at first because he was a famous football star and he had good looks. So imagine his surprise when he found out that you weren't that simple. You may have fallen first, but he fell harder. And it was all thanks to the support and presence you had in his life. You were the thing he never knew he needed. However, he's quite aggressive with romance—wanting everything to be fast paced. But that's mostly because he feels safe and secure with you. He's just that sure of you.

[J] Jealousy Normally he'd be on high alert if he knows someone is trying to get into his territory. But you've reassured him enough to a point that he feels fine most of the time. Just don't do it on purpose or tease him about it because he'll begin to overthink (poor guy). But if he does get jealous, he's the type to confront the other person directly. There is no beating the bush with this man, especially when it comes to you. Although, I feel like you'd be the more jealous one with the relationship... y'know, having to deal with the massive Kaiser fan club. But he tells you time and time again that you're the only one for him.

[N] Nicknames So shameless that he calls you darling and sweetheart right off the bat. Even when you were doing your research on him and his team—he'd call you those names behind the scenes. It pissed you off at first, honestly. But as you two got into a relationship and things got serious, Mihya started calling you petnames in German like Schatz and Liebe. To him, those feel more meaningful, thus you deserve them. He doesn't mind any name that you call him... just don't call him by his actual name or he'll start pouting.

[T] Time Apart You think that you have it worse because, of course, he's always the one away for football, right? He'll even tease you about being so "clingy" whenever you'd hop on a call together. But, deep down, he is suffering more than you are. He'll try to laugh it off though. Mihya also buys you plushies that you can have on your bed. He says it might help you remind you of him (he also spritzes a bit of his cologne on them before giving it to you because he's sneaky like that). He'll definitely send you a shit ton of pictures of him and the places he has been going to. Be sure to send some back or else he will bug you for them!

[W] Wildcard He actually likes listening to you yap about whatever it is you're currently reading or writing at the moment. He'll look at you the entire time and nod along. You know he's actually listening because he asks questions. Random thought, but you two have definitely done the ribbon-bicep trend before.

[X] XOXO I feel like he enjoys reading in his free time hence the reading glasses. Sometimes, when you're settled in and reading something, he'll sit down beside you and read along with his own book. You two just sit there together—appreciating each other's presence silently. Yeah, he has started reading A LOT more because of this. He really just wants you to feel that he's into the things you're into.

[Y] Yin & Yang You two are kind of opposites? Like I said, he's very aggressive when it comes to love while you're softer and more gentle. But it works out because you balance each other—leading the relationship at a moderate pace. However, you complement each other based on your "maintenance." You like getting princess treatment and he would happily fulfill that for you. But you also like to give the same energy back. And for Mihya, someone who has lived for most of his life with below the bare minimum, your love was something that blew him away. That's what got him hooked on you tbh.

Thank you for participating. I hope you like it :3

Want to participate? Give this a read.

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[away-ward]

Someone asked you how do you think the boys would react if the girls died but I wonder how do you think the girls would act if the boys died (idk if you already answered this or not)

Much the same way. I think the vibe that I enjoy most in my ships is the feeling of these two people are two halves of one.

In DN, I wouldn’t call it soulmates. But they are true partners. So, if you take one away, the other feels lost, and wants nothing more than to join them. They’ll never get back to who they were before. They grow around the grief, but it’s never gone. And it’s always evident to those who know them well, no matter how they try to hide it.

In general, I think the women would be slightly better than the guys? Maybe it’s because we know how crazy the guys actually are, but the women seem to handle disappointment and loss better?

Just as I think Will would be hit hard, Winter would be hit even harder if something happened to Damon. She’d be completely lost without him. However, she knows how he felt about Christane’s behavior after her husband died. She’d do her best not to fall into and be consumed by her grief. Though, even years later, she’ll have bad weeks or even months when the grief feels unmanageable. She’ll learn she can pour it all into her dancing.

She’ll never wear anything with black feathers. Only white feathers, for him. She wouldn’t remarry. Her sons would continue to look after her as she grew older.

Rika, after losing her father, would be devastated to lose Michael. The feelings of abandonment would resurface, and I think she’d struggle to find reasons to carry on at first, but would have Michael’s voice in her head pushing her; punishing her, even, if she didn’t own her life. He also hated how weak her mother was and wouldn’t stand for Rika to have that same attitude.

(though we know now there was a lot going on with Christane that wasn’t just her husband dying.)

Rika might remarry a nice man when she’s older, like her mother. But similar to Michael, she’d be settling, and it would be obvious, though less so. She might actually be open to love again once enough time has passed. He would be nothing like Michael, and maybe more like her friend from school? The one that saved her from Anderson and is never mentioned again? Yeah…. soft and benign like him.

Banks… is a toughie. Because she’s never been more destroyed than she would be if anything happened to Kai. He promised the only thing that would take him away from her was death. She didn’t actually think it would happen, not while they were young.

But she has his parents, and she has her brother, and she will carry on. She’ll raise children Kai would be proud of, and she’ll carry on the legacy of Sensou, she’ll be the Senator she was groomed into, and won’t ever let anyone see her miss a step or lose it.

She would never remarry. Wouldn’t even humor the thought (though, it’s suggested plenty. Looks better politically if she has a husband.)

And Emory. Sweet Emory. So used to death and losing her favorite people. Some may think another loss would take her under – especially Will’s. But Emory knows Will just wants her to live and be happy, and after all she’s been through and all she’s suffered, she will continue to live - thinking of him every day. She’ll try to be happy - for him. She wouldn’t let the darkness swallow her again. After all, this time she has Micah and Rory, and her friends, and her children, and so many good things to experience.

She’ll let the grief run its course. She knows trying to control it would only be putting off the pain. But eventually, she’ll find ways to laugh again. Will brought so many good things to her life that everyday she can find something that reminds her of him, and it makes her smile.

Maybe it’s my willemmy heart, but I don’t want to say she’d ever remarry. I just don’t want to see it.

Realistically, I think it’s likely that, like what I said about Kai, she’d find a more permanent partner to share her life with later, and potentially could remarry if the circumstances were right. Emmy is full of love and kindness, and I don’t see her closing herself off again when she fought so hard to get to where she is.

I'm interested in hearing other opinions, though. Who do you guys think would deal with it best or worst? Who remarries?

These are interesting questions that I haven't really thought of before, so I hope they're coming across okay...

take care, everyone!

-Ko

[quietwings-fics]

Paternity Test

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: N/A Fandom: Supernatural Ship: Gen (Gabriel & Lucifer, Jack & Lucifer) Additional Tags: Lucifer is Jack Kline's Parent, Post-Canon Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Happy, Gabriel and Lucifer are Siblings (Supernatural), The ArchAngels Discord Drabble Weekly Challenge (Supernatural), Child Jack Kline Wordcount: 1259 Podfic Length: 10:31 Summary:

Definition: 1. A test of the child to figure out who the father is. 2. A test of the father to figure out if he's ready to be in the child's life.

"He doesn't look much like me," Lucifer says. He's quiet enough that Gabriel second-guesses what he heard and doesn't bother to respond, up until the silence gets to Lucifer and he pushes, "does he?" Gabriel opens his eyes. He's sprawled out over the back of the picnic bench, and without turning, he can see Lucifer's shoulder and the back of his head. The sky takes up most of his vision. It's strikingly blue, barely a wisp of a cloud cutting through the middle of it. The sun is a warm, bright reassurance of freedom, and, not for the first time, Gabriel wonders if Lucifer feels the same way about it. He was stuck in Hell for a lot longer. Gabriel still doesn't answer for another minute, letting his thoughts collect into something more coherent than the lazy mess they've become, but he makes a noise so that Lucifer knows he's thinking about it. Lucifer leans back, resting one arm on the table.

Gabriel's exhausted. He must be getting old, or maybe no one's immune to being run ragged by their baby nephew, not even archangels. It's Raphael's turn with Jack, now. They're teaching him to fly.

Michael wanted to be here. Lucifer almost allowed it.

They'll have time to figure that out later.

Gabriel's a little surprised he's allowed around Jack. Maybe he and Lucifer have finally hurt each other enough that it evened out. He knows that can't be the case (or else, wouldn't Michael fall into the same category?) Still, there's a certain satisfaction in the idea that they each took their licks and can let bygones be bygones.

(He envies Raphael sometimes, for getting out of the game before it got worse, but then he remembers how the Empty felt, how it-

No one won. Except Dad. Until he didn't. Really should have paid attention to how the rest of them went down and realized that you don't fuck with the Winchesters, no matter how big you are, because they make sure you fall harder.)

"He's blond. Darker than you, but close enough to count," Gabriel says, finally. He runs his tongue over his lip, feels the minute indentations of the skin. It's soothing, so long as he doesn't think too hard about why that is. "You have the same smile," he adds.

"I wasn't talking about my vessel." Gabriel shifts and rests his hands over his stomach. One very brave mosquito buzzes up to his ear. Gabriel flicks his head, once, twice, but the little daredevil doesn't scare easy. He sits up, crossing his legs under him.

"I know you weren't," Gabriel says, waving the mosquito away. "Shoo. I taste bad."

"What?" Lucifer turns to look at him. The mosquito drifts towards his neck, and Gabriel swats at the air beside it. It finally catches the hint and flies away.

"Not talking to you." Gabriel can actually see Jack and Raphael now. He'd like to say that Jack's a natural, but he's far from it.

Michael used to tell stories about Lucifer as a fledgling and about how awkward of a flier he was for decades. Gabriel was never able to square that with the older brother he knew, he was so graceful, so beautiful, so perfect. Now, he looks at Jack, and he thinks he can see it in every mismatched flap of his wings.

"Weren't you in a different one, anyway?" he asks. He knows bits and pieces of the story. The funny parts.

"I don't want to talk about it." Lucifer's tone turns sharp and upset, and Gabriel stows the taunt he has on the tip of his tongue about Lucifer slutting his way through prospective vessels. Above them, Jack tumbles, one wing beating slower than the other and sending him into a nosedive as he frantically tries to correct himself. Lucifer jumps up, watching Jack. Gabriel reaches out to grab his wrist and stop him. His eyes are on Raphael, who plummets faster than Jack and spreads their wings below him to cushion his fall. Jack lands against one, rolls back against the third pair, and by the time he hits the ground, his momentum has been broken. Gabriel and Lucifer can both hear him laugh as Raphael settles on the grass beside him. Gabriel catches the hint of a smile on their sibling's face, and he's reminded that it's not just him who missed taking care of the younger angels. Gabriel relaxes his grip, and Lucifer sits back down.

"It doesn't matter. You were throwing grace into the mix, not DNA."

"But he doesn't-" Lucifer cuts himself off. Gabriel eyes him.

"Are you doubting he's yours? You need Maury to announce to the world that you're the father?" Lucifer chuckles, which catches Gabriel off-guard.

"I know he's mine." Lucifer's voice is soft, affectionate. Familiar to a part of Gabriel that's centuries out of use. "He's perfect."

Gabriel would beg to differ. The kid was raised by Winchesters, killed a couple people, declared himself God, the works.

"He's good," Lucifer whispers. "He's nothing like me."

Oh, Gabriel thinks. It takes less than a minute for his pity to twist into a scowl on his face. Jack's right there, and Gabriel can see it on his face that he wants something with Lucifer. There's a place in his life for Lucifer to be his father, and Lucifer, instead of taking it, is sitting back and watching from afar. He's so scared of corrupting Jack by getting close to him that he's going to make the kid wonder what he's done wrong when Lucifer is willing to make amends with his brothers, but not with his own son.

"Lucky for you, you come by being a deadbeat dad honestly," Gabriel snaps. He expects Lucifer to get angry with him for that comment, not to stare at Gabriel like he's stuck a knife in his back. Some of that pity stirs up to soften Gabriel's blows. "What do you want more, Luci? To put him on a pedestal so high you can't see him, or for him to hug you whenever you come around?" Lucifer watches Raphael help Jack to his feet, their wings brushing against his as they run their hands over the arch like they're making sure he isn't hurt. Of course he isn't. Raphael would never let that happen.

"I want him to be happy." Gabriel nods his head at Jack.

"Then, look. He's happy," he says, "and if you spend time with him, I promise, he's not going to hate you and become miserable." Lucifer doesn't move, and Gabriel loads his final argument and aims where he knows he'll hit hardest. "Besides, what a way to stick it to Dad." Lucifer looks back at him, and he smiles. Gabriel wasn't lying about the family resemblance there. Raphael and Jack take to the sky again, and after a moment of watching them go, Lucifer stands. Even their wings could have been perfect mirrors once, but Lucifer's are more scars and hellfire now than the shiny pearl coloring of Jack's feathers. Lucifer follows them, cutting a jagged path through the air, not the awkward fledgling that Michael remembered nor the graceful older brother Gabriel looked up to. If Gabriel told Jack about those old ghosts, he wonders if Jack would believe that Lucifer was ever like that. If he could square who he was once with who he is now.

Gabriel pushes himself off the bench and spreads his wings. They groan protest. He really is getting old.

He flies after Lucifer.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[jamesbuchananxsteviegrant]

She Who Shan't Be Named - Part 1 | Sugar Lips (Tony x Reader, Clint x Reader, ??? x Reader)

Category: Smut (Mandatory) Age: 18+ Trigger Warnings: Explicit language, oral sex (male receiving), suggestive language, alcohol, drunk sexual actions, casual sexual actions, flirting with a lot of people Ship: Tony x Reader, Clint x Reader, ??? x Reader Summary: Tony lets his life-long friend crash at the Avengers HQ while she has nowhere else to go. What could go wrong with so many attractive individuals living in the same home? Word Count: 1.7k Masterlist: LINK

(hmu if you want adding to the tag-list for this series)

---

“I, unfortunately, have someone I want to introduce you all to.” Tony begins as he’s gathered everyone in the living quarters.

“Unfortunately? Well, that always sounds like a good start, Stark.” Natasha jokes, sitting alongside Bucky and Sam on one of the couches.

Tony rolls his eyes and shrugs.

“Yeah, well,” He trails off. “This is (Y/N) (L/N).” He gestures, pointing to the woman leaning against a pillar in the back corner of the room.

She makes an effort to stand upright and walk further into the room.

“Well, hello. It’s nice to finally meet you all in person.”

To say everyone in the room falls speechless with their eyes wide and jaws dropped is an understatement.

“Oh my God, you lot are insatiable.” Tony groans, rolling his eyes once more.

(Y/N) can only smirk and wink at just about everyone in the room.

“You’re welcome, Starky Boy.”

“Put a sock in it, sugar-lips.”

“Sugar-lips?” Rhodey quizzes, amusement dripping from his voice.

Tony and (Y/N) can only stare at one another and grin as they remember where that nickname came from.

*** flashback ***

“One more for the road?” Tony suggests to the very, very drunk (Y/N) beside him.

It’s three-thirty-AM, they’re both at their favourite bar in Manhattan, enjoying a belated birthday weekend of (Y/N)’s which he regretfully missed due to Avenger work.

“You know how to tempt me, Starky-boy.” She teases with a wink, waving her hand up to catch the attention of the bartender, Harrison, who they’ve grown acquainted with over the years of drinking at his bar.

Tony falls into a comfortable silence as he simply stares at the woman he’s been friends with since he was a teen at Phillips Academy.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” The woman’s sarcastic comment pushes him over the edge. Within a second, his hands are grabbing her head and pulling her in for a harsh, desperate, passion-fueled kiss.

Harrison smirks as he sits their drinks down, watching how the pair have had ridiculous amounts of sexual tension coursing through them since they first started coming to the bar over ten years ago.

“What, the fuck?” (Y/N) manages to breathe between kisses.

“Stop talking.” Tony murmurs in response, only intensifying the kiss more and more.

“Tony,” She attempts but makes no effort to stop the man. No. Absolutely not.

She’s gotten herself off to the thought of this man too many times for her to want to stop.

Her hands are grasping at the black shirt that adorns his torso, his own hands moving down to grab her hips, itching to have her closer and closer.

“Jesus Christ.” The woman gasps as best she can. “Anthony!”

The man pulls back at the use of his full name but doesn’t let go of her hips.

“Tell me you haven’t wanted to do that?” He asks, voice deep. Low. Husky.

“Of course I wanted to fucking do it, you imbecile!”

His hand jumps up to grasp at her throat, a gasp escaping her lips.

“Watch your mouth.”

“Guys, you’re gonna make my customers leave; the back lounge is empty.” Harrison interrupts. Tony continues to make no effort to stop his actions. They’re both too drunk to care.

Not that he’d care anymore so when he’s sober.

The billionaire practically drags the woman off of their barstools, (Y/N) frantically grabbing their drinks, spilling half of them on the floor - to which she gives Harrison an apologetic look but he simply rolls his eyes with a grin.

A small shriek escapes the woman’s lips as Tony throws her into the room, her hands managing to sit the, now half-empty, drinks on the coffee table.

“On your knees.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” She grins, obeying the man’s order whilst quickly throwing her hair into a messy ponytail.

“Always knew you were a slut.” The man growls, unbuckling his belt and zipper on his smart trousers.

“You know me best, Starky Boy.”

She wastes no time in taking the man’s solid cock into her mouth, moaning at the feeling and taste, Tony groaning in satisfaction.

“Look how desperate you are for it.” He condescends yet continues to thrust into her mouth, fucking the back of her throat.

No words can be formed to give the man a reply. She’s too busy focusing on taking his impressive shaft down her throat, making sure her lips are touching his pelvis.

“Christ!”

He can’t help himself. His hands are in her hair, grabbing it and yanking her closer to his body, not thinking about anything other than the noise of her gagging.

“FUCK! You filthy fucking slut.”

She moans at that, working his cock more and more.

It’s not too long later before the man is releasing all over the woman’s face, her sticking her tongue out and taking as much of it as she can.

“This was a brand new blouse, Stark.” She complains, jokingly, as she licks her white lips. “Ugh, salty.”

“Don’t lie, you know it’s sweeter than sugar.” Tony laughs, re-doing his trousers.

“It definitely fucking isn’t.” (Y/N) groans, standing up and licking the rest of the mess off of her mouth.

“Whatever you say, sugar-lips.”

“TONY!”

*** flashback end ***

“A nickname I gave her once upon a time.” Tony vaguely explains, (Y/N) chuckling.

“Okay. So why’s she here?” Bucky asks, not taking his eyes off the most attractive woman he’s ever seen in his life.

“She has a name.” (Y/N) comments, quirking a flirtatious brow at the man.

The super soldier raises his brows but smirks.

“Why’re you here, doll?”

Now, that does something to her core.

“Starky Boy told me that y’all need a babysitter, so here I am!” She boasts, evidently joking but it makes everyone grin and not ask anymore questions.

“I’ve known her since I was in my teens, she’s a family friend.” Tony adds, reassuring everyone that she’s not someone to be cautious of.

“Pft, family friend? Don’t compliment yourself, Stark.” (Y/N) jokes, everyone laughing with her. “Anyway, in all seriousness, hello, I’m (Y/N). I’m temporarily chilling here if you’re all alright with it since I got nowhere else to be.”

“A pleasure, (Y/N). Steve Rogers.” Captain America begins, stepping forward and shaking the woman’s hand.

“Pleasure’s all mine, Captain.” She winks, the man smirking at her antics which will be refreshing around the compound.

“Bucky.” The Winter Soldier greets, nodding his head at the woman from his seat on the couch.

“Romanoff.” Black Widow follows, (Y/N) biting her lip at the red-head. “Natasha Romanoff.”

“Alright, James Bond.” Sam jokes, everyone laughing.

“Tony, I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve given me the opportunity to meet the Natasha Romanoff.” (Y/N) beams, winking at the woman who returns the gesture with a smug smile.

“Christ.” Tony groans, face-palming harder than ever.

“Sam Wilson.” The man smirks, reaching out to shake the woman’s hand from his position on the couch.

“Bird Boy.”

He gives a hearty laugh at that.

“Sure.”

“James Rhodes, but call me Rhodey.”

“So you’re the Transformer’s identical twin, right?” The woman quizzes, rhetorically, shaking the man’s hand.

Another round of laughter.

“Something like that.”

“Bruce. Bruce Banner.”

“The guy I don’t wanna piss off; got it.” (Y/N) smiles, watching the brunet give her an anxious smile and chuckle. “Or maybe I do.” She adds with a wink, basking in the entertainment that comes from his embarrassed expression.

“(Y/N).” Tony groans, semi-threateningly.

“Yes, Anthony?” She asks, smiling at him like an innocent child who’s never done wrong.

“Good day to you, beautiful mortal. I am Thor of Asgard.”

“Wowee…” The woman widens her eyes as the God leans down to kiss her cheeks. “The one and only.”

“That would be I.” He smiles, throwing her a wink also. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Stop hogging the limelight already.” A voice complains from beside the God of Thunder.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the God of Mischief.”

“Well, well, well, a beautiful lady such as yourself knows who I am, huh?” Loki greets, taking her hand and leans down to press a kiss to her knuckles, Tony continuing to grunt and groan in the background.

“Hard not to when you get off on destroying New York.” (Y/N) grins, a chorus of laughter filling the room yet again.

“Stop hogging the limelight.” A female voice mimics Loki's previous words.

“Well if it isn’t the Scarlet Witch!”

“That is I.” Wanda grins. “Wanda.” She adds, holding her hand out for (Y/N) to shake, which she accepts graciously.

“Tony, do you know how pissed I am that you’ve not introduced me to these people until now?”

“Oh my God, I’m literally going to kick you out.” The billionaire responds, pouring himself a whisky from the bar at the back of the living quarters.

“Yeah, yeah.” (Y/N) retorts, winking at Wanda before turning to the couch beside her which a certain Archer is leisurely laid across. “Barton.”

“(L/N).”

“Long time no see.”

“Ya think?” Clint quirks a brow, jokingly.

“How’s Laura? How’re the kids?”

“Not bad, not bad. How’s Michael?”

“Dead if I had any say in the matter.” The woman casually threatens as the brunet mentions her ex-boyfriend.

He breathes out a laugh.

“Commitment issues as good as ever then?”

“You know me, Robin.” She jokes, using the nickname she gave me when he came on a night out with Tony and her many moons ago.

“You two know each other?” Wanda questions.

They both shrug.

“Somewhat.” Clint answers, (Y/N) giving him a playful slap on the shoulder.

“You love me!”

He grins and sits up before standing.

“You know I do, come ‘ere.” The man chuckles, pulling the woman in for a tight embrace.

“Missed you, Robin.”

“You too, Marian.” He responds, using the fairytale nicknames from Robin Hood.

“Those two have definitely banged.” Sam snarks from across the room, Natasha agreeing.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Wilson.” Clint teases, flashing a wink his way.

“Now, now, boys.” The woman settles, turning to the young gentleman on the other couch, staring at her with some much awe in his eyes. “Who’s the kid?” She asks, staring at him directly yet directing her question at Tony.

“Uh, hi, I’m Peter. Peter Parker.” He stumbles, standing upright and holding out his hand for her to shake.

She giggles.

“Corruptible.”

“(L/N)!” Tony yells, the woman only laughing as she shakes the young man’s hand.

“A pleasure, spider-boy.”

Peter’s eyes widen at her knowing.

“Right, are we done? That was exhausting.” Tony complains for the nth time.

“Oh, grow a pair, Stark.” (Y/N) retorts.

“I will literally kick you out of this building.”

“You ain’t got the nerve.”

Downing a swig of his whisky, Tony takes a deep breath but smiles at the woman.

“It’ll be nice to have you around, sugar-lips.”

“I bet.” She winks, everyone chuckling again.

And that’s just the beginning of her relationships with everyone at the Avengers HQ.

---

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[wannaliveattheholidayinn]

Ok, But Seriously, I Have Thoughts

I have... really mixed feelings about this episode, so I'm gonna talk about those feelings. And if my feelings about zep as a show and this season come out during that... so be it. (Seriously, this got long. I'd apologize, but I'm not sorry). Also spoilers for the new ep below the cut, but y'all should've been able to guess that

- I... Zimon seriously deserves just so much better. We saw them as a couple together for three episodes, and they honestly weren't explored enough. Zimon... and this is a very personal opinion, but they really do strike me as a couple who never fully leave the honeymoon phase... like ever. Like, of course, they'll fight and disagree on a lot of things, but they also can have adult children, and just kind of act like newlyweds even if they've been married for over twenty years. And again, I know that's a very personal opinion, but I mean... we all knew c/arkeman was gonna be endgame, and it just feels like zimon was never given an actual chance.

- However, I do very much appreciate that their breakup was not messy, there's still clearly a ton of respect for the other on both of their sides, and that Simon is okay.

- "We didn't belong together." No, you fucking did.

- I am not going to stop writing Zimon fanfic either. In fact, this might spur me to write more and work harder on writing Zimon fanfic.

- Rose. Fucking. Deserves. Better. I'm not even gonna elaborate on this one. We all know it.

- Despite the fact that I fucking hate c/arkeman and that it was very, very rushed... I'm giving acting and singing props to Jane. I Melt With You is a song that's extremely personal to me. It helped get me through a point in my life where... I was constantly feeling at war with others, myself, and even felt unsafe in my own home (something I still feel today, no matter how irrational I know it is). I just generally feel a strong connection to every version of the song bc of that, whether it's the original or the Bowling for Soup cover (that was in Sky High!), and... Jane just has a way of making me feel safe when she sings. So, I really, really loved her cover.

- Um... yeah, I'm gonna be real, I don't like the idea of Max having powers. I don't know, I just think it kinda changes the whole original concept of the show, and I'm not a big fan of that...

- Simon! Simon working on changing SPRQ Point!!!!

- I do not really like how they handled Simon's racial bias/systemic racism in coding storyline *after* episode six (aka it only really being mentioned in passing, not being further explored, etc.), but,,, credits due where it's due I guess? I like how they handled him going to Danny Michael Davis, and how DMD listened.

- Sidenote, I kinda find it weird we as a fandom don't refer to him as Danny... it's Danny Michael Davis, DMD, or fucking Willy Wonka jokes. Makes sense I guess.

- Um... the writing was just... so lazy. Yeah. It's... really sad, I think that the show would've benefitted from even one less ep. But on the other hand... lazy writing is lazy writing.

- I think it would've been better - honestly - if Zoey's feelings of loss hadn't been connected to Max in a romantic way, but in a platonic/familial way. We didn't see a ton of their friendship, and yeah,, I hate Max, but there are a few moments there where you can see a legitimate friendship that's really sweet. I also think if they had maybe explored Zoey's fear of losing Simon as well as Max and centered the finale more on Zoey telling Simon about her power, it would've just been a lot better.

- But... honestly, after I just aired out all my issues with this episode (and the season too kinda),,, I honestly liked it. I hate that Zimon broke up and I just generally hate cl*arkeman but... this ep had some really great moments. Zoey and Mitch were beautiful to see again. Mctobin, Davidemily, and Mo x Perry were all absolutely my favorite parts of the episode. Hell, I'll even admit I... well I don't wanna say laughed considering I was so close to crying, but I let out a weird, breathy noise resembling a laugh when Zoey just blurted out she and Simon had broken up.

I don't want to say it was a bad episode, because I did honestly, enjoy ~parts~ of it... but... it wasn't even that cl/arkeman happened, I knew it would, but how it did... it just honestly (my g.od i need to stop writing that word) seemed like they were trying to kill off or like... fucking quash *any* hope Zimon shippers may have had,,, and the writing was just so fucking lazy, I just...

I started the show after dance one night because my teacher showed us the Help! number bc he was an extra in it. And I had already been intrigued by the few ads I had seen for it. So, my mom and I watched it, and we loved it. So we kept watching. And it was good! It was really good! Sure it could be cheesy, but... that didn't matter. I latched on...

I don't know if, ZEP is gonna get renewed, and if it is, I don't know if I'll watch it if/when it does. I latch on to shows really fucking hard when I do latch on. It's why I keep rewatching The Good Place and why I'll never forgive Freeform/Disney/Marvel for canceling Cloak and Dagger. The way I latch onto things is probably a bit unhealthy. And the fact of the matter is, despite everything, my overwhelming feelings about ZEP are positive. And I latched on. I'd honestly do it all over again.

I have a lot of feelings about this fandom and this show, both positive and negative. Still, I love it. Unconditionally. Ultimately, I don't care if Zoey ends up with Max or Simon (though, seriously, she and Simon are made for each other). It's a good fucking show, ships shouldn't be everything that matters.

I began lurking in this fandom when I was fifteen. I began posting fanfic for it when I was sixteen. I'm almost seventeen now. I was planning to get Tumblr when I was seventeen. I also knew I wouldn't forgive myself if I hadn't made my presence here known if it didn't get renewed.

I want to thank @simon-haynes because, uh, holy fuck, I adore you. Running a blog for fandom is something I couldn't even fathom, especially when a large portion of the fandom doesn't like your ship. I legitimately can't believe you followed me.

Thank you to @jennakang. You are, honestly, one of the best writers I've ever read from. You were so incredibly supportive of my writing on ao3, despite the fact you didn't know who I was, and that really meant the world to me. Thank you so much for your contributions to the fandom. Also, uh, fun fact, I was the anon who, after you expressed the want to write the quarantined Zimon fic, sent in that ask that was like "please do!" and also "hope I'm not being pushy about this". I don't know if you remember that at all, but your response meant the world to me.

And uh, lastly @myheartissetinmotion. Um, wow. I know we barely know each other, but I can honestly say, you have been my anchor for this whole show. I love both your Tori content on TikTok as well as just zep content you do on there, and how you wrote her into zep on ao3. I personally like to think of you as the pioneer of Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist Tok. You were pretty unbiased when it came to ships on there, and that made me feel safe in a place where there were virtually no zimon shippers. Your content was funny, and I always found myself laughing or screaming "accurate" at it. I know, I'm the nuisance who every few months DMs you about something zep related, but I hope you know, you made me feel both seen and somewhat appreciated in this fandom. I cannot thank you enough, Isabella 💗

I know Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist may not be ending. But this still oddly feels like the end of an era. I'm not leaving the fandom, I plan to keep posting fanfic for it and everything. I just want everyone who may be reading this to know I love this fandom and I would not take any moment here back.

Also, this is me formally asking for a link to a Discord group chat since I know it exists but I'm too scared to actually ask any of you for it directly.

[spaceskam]

For Title Tuesday, can I request 2 for Malex? Thank you!

!!!! <3

title tuesday instructions

tags/warnings: the lost decade, angst, negative references to Michael’s Behavior in s2 but no explicit details of things that happened, happy ending

2. the bad years [ao3]

Michael tapped his foot on the ground loudly.

“Stop,” Alex snapped, his hand going to his knee and squeezing. The pressure helped. He started wondering if he could ask Alex to lay on him, but that was probably a bad idea considering they were in the middle of an airport.

Instead, he layered his hand on top of Alex’s and squeezed.

“I don’t have any money or a credit score, but I’ll find a way to take out a loan just to pay you to stay,” Michael told him. However, when Alex looked at him, he had a hurt look in his eye and his eyebrows were drawn together like Michael had just insulted him. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to go. But I’m sorry.”

“It’s not like I want to leave,” Alex said, “I have to. You know I have to.”

“Yeah,” Michael breathed, squeezing his hand and sighing softly, “When are you coming back?”

“I don’t know yet, probably around a year.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

“Yeah.”

Michael stayed there, squeezing his hand until his got cramps. Alex never complained. They waited until Alex had to go to his flight because it was about to board. They stood and Alex hugged him tight, but didn’t give him a kiss. Not here, not in public. And then he was gone.

Michael sat in the airport for another hour, trying to remember how his legs worked.

-

“Are you mad at me?”

“Michael,” Alex said softly, reaching out to touch his cheek. Michael stayed on his knees between Alex’s spread legs, hands gripping his ankles as his mind flooded with thoughts he didn’t want. Such bad timing too. He was always, always, always hit at the worst times. 

“I know, like, objectively you’re not mad at me, but also…”

“Hey,” Alex said, leaning forward until all Michael could see was his face. It was a nice view. “Let’s promise that if we’re ever mad at each other or if there’s anything wrong, we’ll say it. That way there’s no question, how’s that sound?”

“So you do get mad at me sometimes?” Michael clarified. Alex huffed a laugh and bumped his nose against Michael’s softly.

“Everyone gets mad at everyone if they spend enough time together. And I want to spend so much time with you that the bad times pale in comparison, okay?” Alex said. Michael stared at him, trying to breath and stay calm to the best of his ability. It was hard.

“We’re still in the bad times. You’re still going to be shipped off to fuck knows where and I’m still here,” Michael said. Alex slid off the bed and right into Michael’s lap on the floor. He grabbed Michael’s head in his hands and stared at him.

The airstream was too small for this but Michael didn’t want to leave.

“I’m here right now. Three more years and I’ll be here for good.”

Michael swallowed his complaints and nodded, putting his head in the crook of Alex’s neck.

-

“Damn. It’s dusty.”

“Here’s a broom.”

“Oh, so you brought me here to be your maid, I see,” Michael scoffed, accepting the broom anyway, “If I had a head’s up, maybe I would’ve dressed the part.”

“Shut up and sweep,” Alex said, trying his best to smile and failing. Michael accepted it for the joke it was anyway and started sweeping. “God, I can’t believe he left the cabin to me. I wasn’t even his kid.”

“I’m sure he left Kyle somethin’ good. Or maybe not. That’d be funny,” Michael said. Alex rolled his eyes and slowly walked around the couch. Michael didn’t argue when he wrapped his arms around him from behind and effectively made it impossible to sweep. He layered his hand over Alex’s. “He loved you, Alex. That’s what mattered.”

“Yeah, but… A whole cabin?”

“You really find it that hard to believe?” Michael asked. Alex didn’t answer which was enough of an answer in itself. “Now you have somewhere to go that isn’t my airstream.”

“What if I want to just go to your airstream?”

“I’m not gonna kick you out.”

“Good.”

After a little persuasion, Alex took a much needed nap and Michael got to cleaning.

-

“Okay, don’t freak out.”

“Don’t freak out?! You’re calling me and telling me that Alex‒ That he‒”

“He is alive and breathing and that’s all that matters,” Greg said methodically. Michael recognized the tone of voice. The one that Alex did when it was the only thing holding him together. Out of respect for the second most decent member of the Manes family tree, Michael didn’t call him out on it.

“And he’s gonna be okay? Like… after.”

“The surgery went well and he should be able to get a prosthetic leg. There’s always a chance that it’ll hurt him too much or that his nerves will be too sensitive for it or whatever, but, for right now, that’s the route we’re going,” Greg explained.

“But, like, mentally, I mean. Is he gonna be okay?” Michael said. His hand was gripping his leg so tight that when he finally moved it, he had little crescents that his fingernails had left. They looked deep enough to bruise. 

“He’ll be in therapy, but I don’t know past that. Everyone’s different,” Greg said, “But Alex is strong.”

Michael swallowed and took a deep breath. “Yeah. He is. Fuck, I wish I could be there.”

“It’s okay. I’ll let him know you called and tell him that you love him.”

“I didn’t say that,” Michael argued weakly. He hadn’t even said those words to Alex’s face, how fucked would it be if his brother told him that first?

“Okay, fine, I’ll tell him it seemed like you love him. And I’ll text you the address to the nearest florist so you can buy him flowers,” Greg said.

“You’re such a dick.”

“And I’ll send you how to request them in German.”

“Fuck you,” Michael said, sniffling and trying to rub the indents out of his leg, “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

-

“I know you loved me. At one point, I know you did.”

Michael felt sick, but he stayed still as Alex kept his eyes on his computer. It was intentional and Michael could tell.

“I still love you.”

“But you did stop.”

“No! No, I didn’t.”

“Then why haven’t you apologized to me?” Alex asked, voice monotone in the same way it was when he was keeping it together. He started typing in code effortlessly as if this conversation didn’t phase him. Thankfully, Michael was fully aware that it did phase him or he probably would’ve lost it. “Every time you’ve apologized to me in my life was over things that didn’t require an apology. Now I want one because you hurt me‒intentionally, as far as I can tell‒and you won’t even say sorry.”

“I am sorry. I was just confused and overwhelmed and I thought it would be better if I‒” 

“I did buy that at one point, but I’m not so sure anymore,” Alex said, sighing and tilting his head to one shoulder and then the other to stretch his neck, “Because you repeatedly showed interest in me when it was convenient for you and then went right back to your girlfriend. That wasn’t fair. I don’t believe that you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I’m sorry, Alex. I fucked up and I know sorry doesn’t fix it, but I want to be with you and I want to make up for it,” Michael said, trying his best to copy him and keep his composure.

He was never as good at it as Alex was.

“Prove it to me then. Show me.”

And that was a challenge Michael was ready to take on.

-

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Wow, you need to expand your vocabulary.”

“You need to get your cold foot out of my pants,” Michael groaned, trying to wiggle away and failing. Alex just snickered to himself like it was the funniest thing.

“My foot is cold and you’re so warm,” Alex said.

“Yeah, but down my pants?” Michael asked.

“Your thighs are, like, the warmest part of you. Trust me, I’ve spent a lot of time there,” Alex laughed, scooting towards him. His hand snaked around and pressed against Michael’s abdomen which just made him hiss again.

“Why are you so cold everywhere?!”

“Because it’s cold outside and you’re a blanket hog,” Alex answered easily, his mouth pressing to the back of his neck. That, at least, was warm. “Warm me up.”

Michael laid there for a few seconds, trying to wake up enough to do just that. He focused on the feeling of his lips on his neck and then turned around, yanking him in all the way. Surprised laughter rang out of Alex’s body and through the air and Michael kissed him harder.

This. This was worth everything.

[queen-of-my-goofball-army]

Ouran High HCs

For the fifteenth birthday of one of my favorite romantic comedies, and the day that I started watching said romantic comedy with my boyfriend who is relatively new to anime it got me thinking about these characters and how wonderfully diverse their personalities are. The show has 100% chaotic energy and I love it so much. I wanted to look at every major character in the host club (Haruhi, Tamaki, Kyoya, Hikaru, my favorite twin Kaoru, Honey-senpai, and of course Mori-senpai.) using all their personalities and make some head-canons for favorite group of crazies!

Haruhi:

- She/they icon, we stan

- Always preferred to wear more masculine clothes growing up, they were less expensive than the feminine ones. Plus she felt more comfortable in a pair of shorts as opposed to a dress.

- A very active child, she was always running around her neighborhood, going to the park and doing things with her dad.

- Her dad taught her everything that she needed to know about makeup once she became a member of the host club.

- She worked a part time job in order to help her dad pay the bills and to get food money.

- She thought that she was arosexual before joining the host club. Despite the confessions that she got in junior high they either went entirely over her head or she told them that she was too focused on her studies for romance at that time. Of course all that changed when she met our favorite blonde haired himbo goofball.

- She did wind up taking the conversational French with the twins and often times they'll slip into it for practice. Of course, Tamaki always understands when they talk shit about him so they just do it to mess with him.

Tamaki (my favorite):

- Bisexual king, honestly I love that for him out here living his best life.

- He didn't have much of a childhood between constantly needing to be there for his mom and make sure that she was healthy and okay. It's why he made the host club in the first place to live out his childhood that he was robbed of.

- Is actually way smarter academically than most people might think. If you were to look at the class grades he's always right behind Kyoya. He dedicates a lot of his free time to studying. He's not inherently stupid, just naive.

- His mom was the one that got him into cosplay by introducing him to the various kinds of fabrics. It stemmed into a personal interest that he could lose himself in and distract himself from the loneliness.

- He practiced flirting on Kyoya back in middle school for the future host club once he had his heart set on it.

Kyoya:

- In the words of the great immortal J Michael Tatum "Kyoya is probably gay". It was something that didn't even occur to me until I watched him do an Ouran panel and then I was like holy shit the king makes a good point.

- While Tamaki was his gay crisis, he quickly realized that he would spend forever pining after him and eventually shelved his feelings. Tamaki was his best friend and that was more important to him than his feelings.

- Kyoya has always been a really keen observer of people's true intentions. He's excellent at reading people and knowing what they want from him. The only people he has never been able to read perfectly are Tamaki, Kaoru, and Haruhi.

- He originally didn't want to be a doctor but he eventually wanted to prove himself so badly that he told his father that he would surpass his expectations no matter how high they were.

- Doing background checks on people is fascinating to him. It's not just for blackmail purposes but he likes learning people's weaknesses. He's also an excellent chess player.

Hikaru:

- The definitive over protective sibling. Anybody hurts Kaoru they will wish that they were dead. Kaoru is the most important person in his life and he would do anything to protect him.

- His tsundere tendencies come from a place of wanting to protect those he loves not out of anger.

- While he is begrudgingly worse at letting in other people once you fight your way through his walls he's actually a really amazing friend and s/o.

- His love of the fashion industry stems more from the model side of things than anything else. He can't design anything of his own to save his life.

- He never cared about any girls in his life before Haruhi came into his. Even though he didn't know how to deal with his feelings she was the first person who ever really showed that she cared about him.

Kaoru (my preferred Hitachiin sib):

- One big gay disaster that is absolutely crushing on Kyoya (I just learned about this ship today and it has stolen my life juice.) To blush when he's working with Hikaru to please the ladies all he has to do is think of Kyoya in his brother's spot.

- Is the far superior designer that can actually make really beautiful clothes. Most of the costumes that are worn by the club are designed by Kaoru.

- His hair is a lot softer than Hikaru's even though it's the same style, hair product and everything. I think that his would be more poofy and Hikaru's more spikey.

- Kaoru has always felt like he had to work harder to be like his brother that when you spend time with him alone at first it will be almost like you're talking to a replica of Hikaru and not a separate entity. At first it's a little bit awkward but once you get him out of his shell you find what a sweet and amazing person he is.

- Kaoru is an incredible skateboarder. He loves the feeling that he gets from the wind in his hair and designed his own skateboard. A lot of his hobbies outside of the club are athletic related causing him to have a more defined body than his brother since Hikaru is basically a cat.

Honey-senpai: - If this boi could make cakes and pastries for a living without the threat of eating them all he would make the best sweets. He knows when something is just the right amount of sweet and when something is too sweet.

- He learned martial arts to be stronger because he knew that people would try to take advantage of him due to his childlike nature.

- Honey had a fight with his grandmother before she passed away over something completely selfish. That is why he is so attached to Usa-chan.

- Him and Mori were always really close, even as children and understand each other better than anybody.

- His constant animosity between him and his younger brother is because he feels like he is constantly being babied due to his personality.

Mori-senpai:

- Mori has autism. He is also selectively mute. I'm sorry I don't make the rules, the show itself gives them to me.

- Looks like a tough guy but in actuality would give the best hugs. I want a Mori hug. Haruhi probably gets the most Mori hugs because he is immensely protective over her.

- Aro-ace baby but gives the best platonic cuddles to any of the club members that are having parental issues.

- While he prefers spicy over sweet he does have a sweet tooth at random times of the day. Has been sighted at a local Cold Stone five minutes before closing in the dead of winter, while it's snowing outside by Kaoru and Kyoya while they were trying to find a place to get warm while out on a date.

- He actually didn't start his athletic endeavors with kendo, he started with ballet and gymnastics when he was really young.

And that's all my head-canons for the day! Happy anniversary to my favorite ridiculous throw everything against the wall and see what sticks to it romantic comedy. I hope that one day we will either get a season two or at this point it would be better to just do a hard reboot. Hoping that one day we will see our boys animated in high definition, even though I feel like an HD Tamaki would definitely kill me.

[gellavonhamster]

ghost of a lady in furs

Frontier || characters: Elizabeth Carruthers, Douglas Brown, Josephette DaCosta, Malcolm Brown, Michael Smyth; ships: Elizabeth Carruthers/Douglas Brown || AU after 2x05, rated M (?)

ao3 link eng || ao3 link rus

It’s a long way back from the dead.

At first, Elizabeth stays in bed all day – just as for weeks before, only now conscious. It hurts to speak, it’s hard to look at bright light, it’s necessary to lie down as soon as possible after each meal – liquid, as if already chewed by someone else, for her jaw still aches – because staying seated for a long time, even in a bastion of pillows, is hard too. Josephette tries to visit her as often as she can, to keep her up to date on all news pertaining to the company and not only. Sometimes she brushes Elizabeth’s hair or helps her wash herself. Sometimes Elizabeth allows herself to rest her head on her friend’s shoulder, close her eyes, and not think of anything for a while.

Not to think of what happened to her, not to try to remember how exactly it happened – all that took place after her arrival at Grant’s mansion and the arrest of Pond is covered by fog.  

Not to think of the fact that Samuel Grant presently must be sure that he’s won.

Not to think of the fact that if the one who beat her – Pond or anyone else, or Grant himself, which, however, is hard to believe – hit her harder or a couple more times, maybe just once more, he really would have won.

Douglas also spends a lot of time with her. Evenings, when he comes home from the factory, they dine together. Not in the dining room, of course – she in bed, he in an armchair beside it. Occasionally, when Elizabeth wakes up, she finds him drowsing in that very armchair. His presence in her bedroom strangely doesn’t bother her. Most of the time when they’re not discussing the affairs of Carruthers and Co. or Elizabeth’s health is spent in awkward silence; Elizabeth feels it physically that he has an urge to tell her something important, or maybe to touch her, only he doesn’t dare to. She cannot figure out if his hesitance is making her angry or, quite the opposite, glad that it gives her time to contemplate. Perhaps it is rather the second; what happened wasn’t simply not provided for in their marriage contract, it is something of the in-sickness-and-in-health kind, and so on, and so forth. She wasn’t ready for this, and she doesn’t know what to make of it.      

Besides, she has much more pressing problems now, and she’d rather ponder over them.

“I am going to destroy Samuel Grant,” she announces to Josephette and Douglas one evening when both of them come to check up on her. By that point her jaw has ceased to ache so much, which means she is able to speak in longer sentences. She’s been looking forward to this.

Her friend and her husband exchange glances.

“Elizabeth…” Douglas begins.

“Yes, I know,” she cuts him short. The day she almost died is only fragmentary in her memory, as a series of disjointed images; one of them is him by her writing desk, naked, frowning at the freshly signed confession in his hands. She’s aware that he has warned her, but she would still prefer him not to remind her of it. “I underestimated him. I hadn’t second-guessed what he might go for when scared. Every time I think a man cannot sink even lower, I am proven wrong.”

Douglas wisely chooses not to comment in any way on her pronouncement about men.

“Then what is going to stop him from trying to kill you again since he’s already crossed that line?” he asks instead.

Josephette takes her hand.

“Elizabeth,” she says carefully. “You are still in no condition to confront him.”

Elizabeth heaves an exasperated sigh.

“I can see that both of you have become too keen on fussing over me,” she says, displeased, but doesn’t take her hand away. “Well, I am grateful. But do both of you really think me as stupid as to go the same way? I am going to act behind his back. And you are going to help me.”  

Douglas looks like he’s going to object, but Josephette, who has known Elizabeth for a longer time and better – and who knows that she cannot be persuaded to step back from a desired goal – is quicker to answer.  

“Tell us what you have in mind,” she says.

 ***

 Elizabeth Carruthers becomes a ghost.

After so many weeks in bed, she can’t and she won’t make herself lie down. At night, she waits impatiently for sleep to take over, so as not to be aware that once again she is in the same bed in which she has spent more than a month. For days on end, she keeps wandering back and forth through the house, leaning on the walls, wandering and wandering until the inevitable dizziness sets in. The servants flinch reflexively now and again when she emerges towards them from a scantily lit hallway.    

Only thing she’s missing are some shackles to rattle.

Her excuse is doctor’s orders – she has to move to stir her muscles, weakened and numb due to the time spent bedridden. Yet this is just part of the truth – not even half of it, a third at best. The lion’s share of the truth is that there’s an unappeasable rage inside her, howling, growling, thrashing around, and this rage wouldn’t even let her sit at the table for a long time – she studies the company’s documents standing or perched on an armrest, she reads books as she walks around in the living room. She is a cage where a wolf is pacing in circles, and she herself is caged in that house, far from noise, meetings, deals, negotiations, life.

A couple of times, soon after she regained consciousness and became strong enough to sit in bed and even get up sometimes for a while, she let the wolf out. A couple of times were enough – she wouldn’t break down anymore. No, she couldn’t care less about the dishes, all the more about the ridiculous statuette of a shepherdess that was a gift to her and her first husband from – whom? Doesn’t matter in any case. It brought much more joy when it shattered than when it was collecting dust on the mantelpiece. Still, each such outburst is a display of weakness, which only makes Elizabeth angry at herself later. She has spent far too much time proving to the world that she is sensible, rational, and cool-headed. The world – replete with disdain, superficial, and annoyingly male – refused to believe her: she is a woman, after all, and what should one expect from women but hysterics and tears? And even if those living in this house or visiting it have seen her even weaker, they haven’t seen her pathetic – and they won’t. Not the servants, though they won’t utter a word for fear of losing their jobs, not Josephette, though she wouldn’t judge, not Douglas, who might think whatever but wouldn’t judge her openly either. If she loses her temper in front of them, it will be more difficult to keep it in check in front of the others.            

She couldn’t hold back the desire to gloat when she went to mock Grant in person, and look what came of it.  

And so she keeps her rage locked. Or rather remolds it, reforges it, and uses it wisely. Instead of wasting time and energy on yelling and breaking the china, she’d rather put more effort into planning her revenge on Grant – and to bringing these plans to fruition.  

If he isn’t afraid of ghosts, soon he will be.

 ***

 Few people know she’s awake. Many people don’t even know if she’s alive. By a fortunate coincidence, the passerby who found her used to work on Carruthers and Co. He went straight to Josephette, who paid him handsomely for his help and for keeping his mouth shut about his discovery. The onlookers never got a chance to amass, but someone must still have seen her, because rumours started spreading in Montreal that Elizabeth Carruthers was found dead in a ditch. No, not dead, but beaten up. No, not beaten up, just drunk. The latter in particular made her blood boil; even at the dreariest moments of her confinement, when the wolf inside urged her to lunge at the walls and at anyone who comes her way, she didn’t get drunk, not even once. A sip of brandy at dinner, and that’s all. The memories of what Peter was like when plastered are too fresh. He was pathetic when sober and so much the more when inebriated. She grimaces as she remembers. She doesn’t want to resemble him in any way.            

One of the few upsides of marriage to Peter was meeting Josephette, who proves herself indispensable once again.

Few people know she’s awake. Yet Josephette, who has perfect knowledge of the factory and everyone who works there, selects some trustworthy and discreet girls among the workers, girls who own some debt of gratitude to her or to Elizabeth, and lets them into this secret. These girls sometimes enlist the help of their fiancés or brothers, just as trustworthy and discreet. And so acquaintances begin to be struck up between them and the workers from Grant’s company, so begin the casual inquiries about what it’s like to work there and what the news are, and the passing mentions of how it’s pretty good to work for Widow Carruthers (she may have got married for the second time, but most of them still think of her as of Widow Carruthers). Sometimes they spice it up with a bit or two of gossip that might make one doubt just how fair Grant is with his men. Sometimes these seeds take root. Sometimes they don’t. No one is forcing anything on anyone – just offering food for thought.

All the obtained intelligence goes to Josephette, who then passes it to Elizabeth, and together they figure out how to use it. Most of it is not too valuable – one must give the devil his due, Grant’s employees don’t complain much. However, sometimes they get to learn which suppliers have voiced dissatisfaction with the terms of bargains lately, or which potential buyers have visited the factory. Those are approached by Douglas, who offers them better terms and makes them believe that Carruthers and Co. has exactly what they need. First by playing along and then by twisting their words, he convinces Grant’s partners that it is they who want what is offered to them.    

He used to be the face of the company while Elizabeth was its true head, and Josephette was the secret power unknown even to those aware that the company was run by the wife, not by the husband. Now Elizabeth herself has receded into the shadows even deeper than Josephette. Behind Douglas Brown, the figurehead of Carruthers and Co., is a Black former servant, and behind her, there is a ghost.  

Perhaps Samuel Grant’s enterprise is haunted as well, since workers and suppliers start leaving it slowly but surely.      

 ***

 “Miss Dolan came by the factory today,” Douglas tells her one evening as they’re having dinner together – not in the bedroom, now that Elizabeth, thankfully, is feeling much better, but in the dining room. It takes some time for Elizabeth to remember who he is referring to: right, the Irish girl. The little traitor. In fairness, Elizabeth can see that the girl is just trying to survive, but she still cannot think of her without dislike.  

“And what was she after? Surely she didn’t come to visit her former workmates?”  

“Well, first of all, she wanted to return the hat you gave her.”

“I hope you told her she is free to choke on it.”

“I told her you would’ve preferred her to keep it.” Douglas fumbles with his glass that still has some brandy in it. They’re sitting at the opposite sides of the table, like a king and a queen in an empty castle – a haunted one, naturally. One day, as she was lying in bed and obsessively thinking out her vengeance on Grant, it occurred to her that she was turning into a sort of Lady Macbeth, plotting and scheming and slowly going insane. The next thought amused her: how fitting of her to have married a Scotsman. “She asked after your health, for she remembers how kind you were to her…”  

Elizabeth snorts.

“…and she also asked in passing if it’s true that Deschamps and Moreau are now supplying their goods to us. Said she couldn’t help wonderin’ because she’d seen them at Grant’s before.”  

“How observant of her.”  

“You understand what that means, right? They suspect something, Elizabeth. And they won’t leave it like that.”  

Elizabeth slams her glass on the table.

“If you are going to say that it’s time to stop, save your breath,” she tells him, voice ringing with indignation. “Because it’s too late to stop. Afraid, Mr. Brown, aren’t you?”

Douglas sighs, takes off his glasses, sighs again, and puts them back. In the light of the melting candles he looks older than he is, and very tired.

“A wee bit,” he admits. “But not for myself.”

His words produce a strange feeling in her chest, as if a ruffled bird is stirring underneath her ribs.  

Elizabeth gets up and approaches him at a swift pace, and he rises too, eyes fixed on her. She rests one hand on the table – she shouldn’t have stood up so briskly, her head still spins a little at times – and tries to figure out what to say to a man who dared to care about her.  

He’s waiting, and only the cracking of the firewood disturbs the silence.

“I can take care of myself,” Elizabeth finally says. “I’ve told you before: I won’t go the same way. I won’t make myself an easy target. You won’t have to nurse me back to health again, don’t worry.”

“I would’ve done it again if I had to. I’d rather it wasn’t necessary, though.”  

For a change, Elizabeth Carruthers doesn’t know what to say, so she just kisses him.  

When Douglas pulls away, he’s looking at her with a mixture of longing and wariness.  

“I thought you didn’t remember this either,” he says quietly.

“I would’ve done it again if I didn’t,” replies Elizabeth. She doesn’t want to decipher what she means by these words. She made him marry her so that Carruthers and Co. had a representative that these small-minded pigs who don’t trust a businesswoman would agree to deal with. She slept with him, and it felt good. He took care of her while she was unconscious, and then was tactful enough during her recovery not to make her feel humiliated by his help. All of it adds up to something, but she prefers not to reflect on it. She doesn’t want to decipher what she means by these words – but she knows she’s speaking from her heart. “Otherwise I’d have to wait till doomsday for you to be done suffering in silence.”

“Frankly speaking, I… wasn’t sure that back then it didn’t happen because you wanted me to sign that bloody confession.”  

“Well, I wanted you to sign it. I also wanted you. These two were not related,” shrugs Elizabeth. She cannot blame him for the lack of trust: she did use him, and he, in turn, planned together with Malcolm to go against her – what kind of trust could there be? “If you thought I was playing you, why didn’t you leave while I was as good as dead? Why did you stay?”  

He responds by kissing her – not on the lips, but on the cheek right under the scar, very carefully. Again, a little higher. Again, moving along the outline of the scar but not touching her skin where it recently was too new and delicate. His moustache is tickling her face; the bird underneath her ribs is picking at her heart. And she’s mad at him because she’s addled and defenseless in the face of this unbearable tenderness, and she’s mad at herself because she is starting to suspect in horror that she might cry if he touches her like this again, this was not in their marriage contract, this was not in her scheme of things, and how dare he…  

She grabs him by his curls, pushes him lower, makes him press his lips to hers – makes him do something she can comprehend. The urge to tear up subsides. She pulls him closer, one hand still in his hair, the other on the lapel of his waistcoat. Then she lets go for a moment to move the dinnerware aside without even looking (one glass must have fallen – to hell with it, to hell with everything) before sitting down on the edge of the table.  

“The servants might come in,” Douglas reminds her when she runs her hand over his shoulder, his hip, his crotch, like she owns him, but his voice is husky and hot, and his hands are peeling off her dressing gown.  

“So what?” she breaths out. “They are my servants. This is my house. Everything here is mine. And if I want my husband to fuck me on my table in my dining room… I don’t see what must be stopping me.”  

When he lifts her nightdress and kneels between her spread legs, she doesn’t feel like a ghost.  

***

 One of the factory girls who were being friendly with Grant’s workers on Josephette’s orders is found with her throat cut. There is no purse with earnings on her, so it might have been just a robbery. A coincidence. Or maybe not.  

That night Elizabeth sees Grant’s face hanging over her, his eyes wide with terror as he keeps delivering blow after blow to her head with something heavy.

“I’m a good man,” she hears his frantic voice. “I’m a good man.”  

Upon another blow she wakes, and sits up in bed with a jerk. Something that is neither a sob nor a cry escapes her throat – a shrill animal sound. She cannot catch her breath. She cannot believe she can breathe.

“Elizabeth,” Douglas says worriedly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Some part of her mind that has either already calmed down or never had time to get scared tells her that she must have elbowed him in the face when she jerked up. “Elizabeth, what’s the matter?”  

“It was Grant,” she whispers. She’s shaking, and even Douglas’s comforting warmth by her side doesn’t help. Pathetic, she’s so pathetic now. “It was Grant who beat me up. I remembered.”  

“Elizabeth, it might’ve been just a dream…”

“And I am telling you I remembered!” snaps Elizabeth. She put her hand to her forehead and wipes off the sweat. “I take it you know better than I what’s happening in my head, don’t you?”  

“I mean, it is quite possible that after the news about that poor lass…”

“No. No, no, no,” she frees herself from his embrace and climbs off the bed. It is his bedroom, not hers, and the unusual surroundings are disorienting: the window is too small, the door is on the wrong side. Perhaps she’d calm down sooner if she lay down again, but presently she doesn’t want to have anything in common with the unmoving body on the floor of Samuel Grant’s mansion.  

She tenses up when Douglas approaches her, but he doesn’t try to persuade her to go back to bed, just throws a shawl over her shoulders.  

She closes her eyes and thinks. And thinks, and thinks, and thinks.

“You know,” she finally says, “I cannot believe I am proposing this myself, but I’m going to need to chat with your brother.”

 ***

 This time, instead of Declan Harp, Malcolm brings her some disheveled boy.

“Michael Smyth of the Black Wolf Company… ma’am,” he announces, indicating the guest with a nod. “Michael, let me introduce you to Mrs. Elizabeth Carruthers.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” says Smyth. The beard and the overall rough-hewn appearance of a seasoned hunter are unable to conceal how young he is. He reminds Elizabeth of a small animal – a ferret or a raccoon – that has somehow managed to sneak into her house from the forest.  

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Smyth,” Elizabeth replies coldly, not bothering to stand up and offer her hand to him. “Although, in truth, I would’ve been much more pleased if Mr. Brown did what I asked and organized me a meeting with Mr. Harp, not with his errand boy. Who is also to blame, as far as I know, for the supply that I’ve arranged with Mr. Harp going down the drain.”  

Malcolm opens his mouth, but Michael Smyth beats him to it.

“Declan Harp is in Scotland now,” he says calmer than could be expected after her remark; well done. “As to the supply, I had no other choice. Your people didn’t come to collect the pelts. Cobbs Pond told me you’re…”  

“Dead? As you can see, it is unwise to believe everything Cobbs Pond says,” even the name of that man seems to taste rotten. Elizabeth cannot help screwing up her face as she pronounces it. “But I admit: my people didn’t come indeed – they were too busy keeping me alive.”  

“Well, I was busy keeping my people alive,” retorts Smyth. “We had to dispose of the pelts before the redcoats caught up with us. Pond was there, and he had the silver. I am sure, Mrs. Carruthers, that you would’ve done the same if you were in my place.”

“Sureness is a fine thing. The trick is not to overdo it. Trust me, Mr. Smyth, I am speaking from my own bitter experience,” Elizabeth replies with a sweet smile. The boy is staring hard at her, waiting for what she’s going to say next. Malcolm, hands in pockets, is observing their one-on-one leaning against the door frame. “Anyway, enough of the past. This is not why I asked my most kind brother-in-law,” she makes a pause, which Malcolm fills with a loud sneering chuckle, “to bring me a representative of the Black Wolf Company.”  

“Then why, Mrs. Carruthers?”

Elizabeth leans back in her chair. Today, for the first time after a month and a half in nightdresses and dressing gowns, she is wearing a proper dress – one of her best – which makes her feel splendid. As if nothing had changed. As if Michael Smyth, her first visitor in a long time who isn’t one of her household, doctors, or family (regrettably, the latter technically includes Malcolm), isn’t currently making every effort not to look inadvertently at the right side of her face – the ugly prominent scars, the greenish yellow of her bruises. And he’s making it; she can feel it.  

“Your company has already stolen for me once, Mr. Smyth,” she says. “I didn’t get to have the results, but still. I need you to do it again.”

“You want us to steal the furs of the HBC?”

Elizabeth cannot hold back a vicious smile.

“I want you to steal the furs of Samuel Grant”.

 ***

 “All right, that was not quite what I required of you, Mr. Brown,” she tells Malcolm after Smyth leaves, “but thank you just the same.”

Malcolm makes a helpless gesture dramatically.

“Well, sorry for not havin’ enough damn time to dart off to Scotland and back.”  

“What business does Harp even have in Scotland?”

“Michael didn’t go into detail, so I guess it must be either something really important or something really personal.”

“Or both,” Elizabeth says thoughtfully. It wouldn’t hurt to learn what it is all about: you never know what information may turn out useful. “Let’s hope this… young man can be trusted.”

“He’s a thief. You need a thief. I don’t see why not,” shrugs Malcolm. “Besides, I warned him that you’re a witch, so if anything goes wrong, you’ll turn him into a mouse and eat him like it’s nothing.”

“Why a mouse, Mr. Brown? That’s not much to eat. Why not into a nice, fat goose, for example?”  

“Not enough meat for a goose in that one,” Malcolm grins, and Elizabeth cannot help grinning back. This nonsense must be the first time in history when something resembling a friendly conversation is happening between them.  

So, she used to be a ghost, and now she’s become a witch.

Or has always been one, as many people certainly wouldn’t fail to point out.

 ***

Josephette makes her a patch that covers half her face. The broad band of black velvet is covered in tiny embroidery – leaves, stems, bees. It looks unusual, but it matches most of Elizabeth’s dresses, and looks a little bit like a carnival mask. Someone uninitiated, upon seeing her wearing this strange accessory, might well conclude she’s going to attend a masked ball.  

“If it’s too tight, it can be fastened by another hook. Or altered altogether,” says Josephette. Elizabeth looks at Josephette’s face in the mirror behind her shoulder, and shakes her head.  

“It’s perfect. Really, you didn’t have to…”

Josephette gestures her to stop.

“I did,” she says. Her face, always so reserved, lights up. “Consider it a gift on the occasion of your return to the world of the living.”

Elizabeth turns around and takes Josephette’s hands in hers.

‘Thank you,” she tells her, meaning much more than just the patch, and she can read it in her friend’s gaze that she understands.

Together they descend the stairs – the queen and her éminence grise. Douglas is waiting for them below, by the door.  

“Very… elegant,” he remarks, taking a look at his wife’s half-concealed face.

“Oh, I intend to bring it into fashion. Soon all ladies in Montreal will be wearing this. I’d love to look at Miss Dolan in it,” Elizabeth says with a sinister smile, and passes her arm through his. “Shall we?”

She can’t wait to return to the factory. To check personally if everything is in order, to examine the equipment, to hear how things are going in the workers’ own words. But first she has to visit the market, the very beating heart of the town. Let people see that she is back. As she passes the stalls of vendors and craftsmen, she can feel the prying eyes on her. Some start whispering as soon as they see her, some elbow their companions to draw their attention, some greet her awkwardly – those she honours with a regal nod.  

She hopes to run into a certain man – and she does.

Samuel Grant is alone today, without the loyal Pond at his side. He’s talking to a couple of trappers whom Elizabeth hasn’t met before, and when he catches sight of her, he almost drops the beaver pelt he was inspecting.

Elizabeth stops and meets his gaze.

The whole market – possibly the whole world – seems to have stopped with them.

She feels ill at ease in his presence. She would never admit that – not even to Josephette, not even to Douglas – but the sight of the man who almost smashed her skull makes some sort of a cold well open inside her. But when he looks at her, he’s dumbfounded too, even scared. She is the witness of his crime. The witness of him being far from “a good man”, as he kept saying back then, trying in vain to make himself believe it.  

Yet another blow, just after a large parcel of furs he was to receive was dragged into the night by black wolves.

Elizabeth forces a smile.

“Mr. Grant,” she says loudly and cordially. She is the first to break the silence, and it feels like a victory. Which is silly, of course: the real victory is a long way off. The real war has just begun. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It’s a long way back from the dead, but she’s made it.

[lunavadash-creates]

The real pleasure

Warning: NSFW, explicit, first time Also all my works can be found on    AO3  "Lass, have you ever been with a man?"

Shay's question was hanging in the air as you looked at him completely stunned. The sudden silence that surrounded both of you was awkward and you felt like every beat of your heart was as loud as thunder. You had no idea how your friendly, funny conversation became this weird.

Shay was your best friend, a fellow member of the Templar Order, one of your favourite people out there. You could rely on him, trust him and you thought you had no secrets from each other. Yet now you felt embarrassed. You had never expected to hear a question like this from his mouth.

For a second you wanted to turn it all into a joke like you usually did. But after one look at his handsome, worried face, you have changed your mind. One deep breath later you decided to simply answer his question.

"Yes, I have been with men before. Few times but I..." You stopped, biting your lower lip as you searched in your head for an appropriate word. "I have never truly enjoyed it. And to forestall your next question, no. I have never reached an orgasm with a man."

You reached for the glass of wine and took a sip, enjoying the taste. You had stolen the entire box of authentic Italian wine from the ship of the assassin you had been hunting together. It wasn't a big reward but definitely a sweet one.  

After a moment of

silence during which Shay never took his eyes off you, he asked another question, one that made you choke on your wine.

"And with women?"

"Oh god, Shay!" your face blanched as though you had just seen a ghost. How could he read you so effortlessly?  

"I don't know..." Shay rose his eyebrow, giving you a nod, encouraging you to continue. "I was with a woman once. I was completely drunk then, and I don't remember anything after the moment my ass hit the bed. I only remember that I was so fricking wet the next morning and both my head and throat hurt like a bitch. How about you?"

"If you are asking about my sex life then I haven't been with any men, but I know how to pleasure women."

He spoke with a purr, looking at you as a hunter would at his prey. A promise of divine pleasure was hidden in the twinkle of his eyes as he focused on your lips, redden from the way you had been biting them.

There was no denying it - Shay was a man made of dreams; he was as sweet as poison, as tempting as the most promising lie and as handsome like the work of art, a sculpture made by Michael Angelo himself. Everything about him was irresistible, from his dark hair, a scar on his face, his voice, his eyes, his lips, body, muscles, even his outfit.

You swallowed hard. It felt like something large was lodged in your throat, making you unable to speak. Was it a proposition? Suggestion maybe? Did he really want... or was it just a joke?

You waited for a second to see if Shay would burst out laughing, but it never came.

"Shay, do you want to have sex with me?" you choked out a question, still worried that you’d fallen for his trick like a novice, but once again, his eyes were expressing more than thousands of words. He reached for his wine, emptying the glass and wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

"I’m asking if you would let me show you the real pleasure. You deserve more than those useless bastards who don’t have a first clue on how to pleasure a lady." He paused, his eyes boring into yours. "Especially when she’s as remarkable as you"

Once again, you ended up stunned and speechless. You wanted to say yes, but you had so many doubts right now. Perhaps it wasn't about those men? Maybe it was you and your body? You never really doubted your look or features. You were healthy and strong, well-trained and you definitely had an appearance that earned you look from envious women and lustful men. Yet you had doubts. Maybe you were silent for too long as Shay let a sigh and shook his head.

"Forgot I asked. I'm sorry, Y/N. I never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable. Probably it's just...

"I want it Shay," you interject, suddenly coming back to reality. You couldn't waste that opportunity, especially since you had feelings for Shay. You hid them, of course. Your lives were far too dangerous, to ruin you relationship with love would be silly.

Bur if he wanted too…

"I just... I'm nervous. I haven't done it in such a long time, and I don't know if it's not just me being terrible at it."

"Shh," Shay was at your side in a blink of an eye. He gently stroked your cheek, looking straight into your eyes, before he leaned down to gently kiss your temple.

"I will take good care of you. I promise Y/N."

Before you knew it, he simply lifted you from the chair and carried you to his room. You were spending the evening at his home in New York – he’d proposed you stay with him instead of looking for an inn. And now, for the first time, you were in his bedroom. You have always been curious about it but never had the opportunity to sneak in, especially since you respected his privacy. And now, when you finally managed to find your way in, you had no time to look around as his lips were soon on yours.

Oh god, his lips were so much better than you imagined. Despite the first impression they were soft and warm, gentle even. He kissed you for the first time as though he were afraid he could hurt you. He held you so close, slowly devouring your mouth. You moaned silently, feeling the wave of heat spreading inside your body and cumulating between your legs. He broke the kiss for a second, resting his forehead against yours.

"I wanted to kiss you for so long y/n. You are far sweeter than the best wine."

Before you could answer he kissed you again, his tongue brushing against your lips, asking for entrance. You granted it gladly and in no time your tongues immersed in a dance of dominance and passion until you both ended up breathless.

With shaky hands, you reached for his coat to start to unbutton it and for the first time, you wondered, why he needed so many layers. At the same time, he reached for your coat, it was easy to open, you only had a few simple black buttons and a belt in the middle, so it was on the floor in no time. Shay took your hands away from his coat and kissed every single of your fingers, giving you a wink before he focused on undressing you again. Your shirt, trousers and boots soon joined your coat on the floor, and you laid back on the bed dressed only in your dusty punk slip and marching drawers.

Shay licked his suddenly dry lips and took the hem of your slip to get it off your body and then a loud gasp escaped his lips as he saw your beautiful, perfect body. He loved everything about it, your breasts, already protruding nipples, your skin and...

"I had no idea you had a tattoo."

You made it a long time ago to hide a particularly ugly scar. In its place was a tattoo of an Yggdrasil tree. Shay smiled and took off your panties before he started to undress himself. The floor was covered in clothes now, belts, coats, boots, underwear. And finally, you could see Shay naked and as beautiful as ever.

That man was perfect and that thin line of his black hair starting under his navel and reaching up to his cock that was already semi-hard made you gasp. You reached out to touch his body; you wanted to feel muscles of his stomach under your palm, to trace your fingers over his scars, especially that one on his stomach and under the collar bone. You knew the story behind those two, the wounds inflicted by his friends from the Brotherhood. He twitched when you touched one of those scars, but he didn't move away to begin with.

"Wait. Aren’t I supposed to take care of you? Be a good girl and lay still for me."

You did. You laid your hand on the cover and let Shay kiss you again. This time it was a short kiss, he soon moved on your neck to kiss and suck it gently. His hot tongue was tracing complicated patterns on your skin as he moved down until your collarbone where he left a little red bitemark. You inhaled sharply, letting out a moan as you moved your legs, trying to gain some stimulation with the wetness accumulating between them.

The next thing you felt were those warm lips closing around your left nipple. This time you moaned shamelessly. He sucked on it hard, licking the hardened nub, enjoying how resistant it seemed against his tongue, once he even bit on it. His free hand was in the meantime taking care of your other nipple, caressing it with his fingers, pinching it, twisting, pulling. You tried to cover your mouth to silence all those sounds you were making but he groaned, taking your hand away.

"Don't. I want to hear everything."

As he said that, he started to suck on your other nipple, making you squirm and wiggle on the bed. The pleasure was more intense than you have ever imagined. You felt jolts of pleasure spreading in your body, weird, almost unknown heat accumulating between your legs. His hand pinched on your nipple harder than before and you bent over the bed with a loud cry, that soon turned into a moan when he started to move his nail on the very top of your wet and hard nipple, now swollen from all the attention it received. You had never played with your nipples before, so it was such an alien feeling that made you all horny.

"Shay, God..." you moaned again as you felt his hand wandering lower, in between your legs. He just moved his fingers up and down your sex, and a wide grin appeared on his face. His raised his hand, and you could see his fingers wet and glossy from your juices, and that made you blush harder than ever in your life. But what made you almost faint was when he licked his fingers, giving you the most sensual purr, you have ever heard.

"So, wet for me. And so sweet. You won't deny me such a dessert, will you?"

You could only nod in response. In a matter of seconds, Shay positioned himself between your thighs and gave you a long lick before he closed his mouth around you. He sucked firmly on your clit while his fingers were caressing the insides of your thighs. You dug your fingers into bedding, squirming uncontrollably. You couldn't stop all the sounds escaping your throat as he was pleasuring you in ways you could never imagine. He moved his lips slightly to suck on your labia, then dug his hot tongue inside you.

In the beginning, he simply wanted to simply make you wet and well prepared for more. But then he heard your moans and screams, the moment he saw your face in pure bliss, he decided that this night would be unforgettable. He wanted you to cum for him and because of him. More than once.

He moved back to your clit and after a few more licks, the heat that was accumulating in your body for the past few minutes exploded. You back arched hard, screaming and digging your heels into the bed as he led you through your orgasm. You fell on the bed almost breathless and saw his face with a smirk plastered on it. His lips were still wet as he looked into your eyes.

"Hey lass, it's just a little foreplay. Don't tell me that’s all you can take." He was clearly mocking you, and you wanted to say something, but then he kissed you again. You could feel your own taste on his lips. His hand reached lower and he pinched your clit, making you jerk and moan again.

"Relax."

He disappeared between your legs again and you felt his fingers moving between your labia, gathering your juices and saliva before he slipped one finger into you. He moaned, feeling how tight you were. Your insides were clenching around his finger and he wanted to bury himself whole into you. But now he knew he needed to prepare you and he didn't hesitate for a second.

He started to suck you again, moving his tongue around your over-sensitive nub, while his finger was moving inside. But suddenly he stepped back and caught your hips to turn you on your stomach with a quick move.

"Shay?!"

"A little bit of trust," he muttered and lifted your hips higher. Soon his fingers were once again inside of you at his tongue danced around your most private area, making your breath harder than before. After the strongest orgasm of your life, you had trouble with formulating words, but Shay didn't mind. Your body was telling him everything about your pleasure, and that made him proud.

He slid inside you his second finger, searching for your sweet spot. You felt stretched and weird, penetration always made you feel uncertain, but somehow Shay was making it bearable. It wasn't the best feeling in the world at least until another shock shook your body. You moaned, rocking your hips as you wanted him to do this again. He brushed something inside you, making your muscles twitch. Another jolt of pleasure spread in your body, and this time you felt it even in your nipples.

"Do it again, please do it again!" you moaned, unable to resist the urge to feel it again and again. You heard Shay's chuckle as he added a third finger and brushed that spot again. His tongue returned to your clit and he started moving his fingers fast and hard, spreading and flexing them inside. He found that a little thickened and rough spot inside you and pressed it with all his fingers, at the same time biting in your clit.

The pleasure that overwhelmed your body was divine and your orgasm powerful and sudden, and your scream was so loud it could wake up all the dead in the city. Shay once again led you through it and you simply collapsed on the bed, your body trembling and twitching in post-orgasmic shock. You could heard Shay laugh and then the smacking sound as he licked his fingers clean once again.

"You are beautiful when you cum. And your voice could lure sailors at the sea into the doom. But that was only two... I wonder if you can take one more?" he purred, lying next to you. He gently ran his fingers over your spine, making you shiver. You turned around to face him, your breathing was still hard and you felt like your thoughts were shattered but you didn't mind at all. you looked at his beautiful body and then noticed his hard cock, waiting for more. You realised that all this time he was delaying his own pleasure and orgasm only to satisfy you and now... now you had to return the favour. You sat up and with a reassuring smile, you helped him sit. You wanted a different position as he already did so much to you. Now he will be the one moaning...

"Lean against the wall," you ordered and moved between his legs.

Actually, you had never sucked a penis in your life but you wanted to moisten him beforehand. You licked your lips and took his hot cock in your hand, stroking it gently a few times before giving a little lick on the tip. Shay's hips jolted in anticipation and you looked at him with a grin. You gathered all your courage and started to suck him. At first, it was very gentle and focused around the tip, but soon you started to be more confident with all Shay's moans and grunts. You dipped your tongue into the slit of his penis, while your hand was playing with his balls. Then you tried to make your way down, swallow as much of you as you could but he was just too big for you and soon you choked a little as you hit back of your throat.

"y/n don't overdo it. Use your tongue more. You can suck harder and by the gods, don't use your teeth." the last part came a bit shaky from his throat as you sucked hard on his head and wrapped your tongue around his hot shaft. In the same moment, he put the hand on your head, gently controlling your movements. You could feel the precum leaking from the tip, it was salty and weird but somehow it made you excited for more. You eagerly played with his shaft and balls, making him nice and wet. You even tried once more to take him deeper but then he stopped you. You left a disappointed moan, as a child that lost its favourite toy, but Shay just gave a smile and wiped the saliva from your chin. You had no idea you had made such a mess and immediately your cheeks became red, making Shay laugh.

"Don't be shy. There is nothing sexier than seeing your swollen lips wrapped around my dick."

 "Is that so?" you asked mockingly, moving closer to him. You kissed him hard, grabbing his dick and directing him into you. You lowered yourself, impaling himself on his cock. You both left moans of pure pleasure as he filled you up so perfectly. You needed a second to adjust to the feeling of being so stretched before you started to move. Slowly at first but with every thrust, your movement became faster and stronger. You needed to lean against a wall as you work your hips hard. This time it was Shay moans that filled the room. He grabbed your breast, sucking on your nipple while his other hand was holding your hip. It was messy sex, fast and furious, but you both needed it.

Suddenly Shay slipped out of you and put you on all fours on the bed, making it clear in what position he wanted fuck you.

He entered you, grabbing your hip firmly and start moving, now hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. He was slipping out to the hilt and slamming back in you so hard that the whole bed started to move, hitting the wall with a metal bed frame.

His grunts became louder as he was getting closer and your screams were shameless now. You didn't care if the whole New York heard you. Now you were in your personal, sexy and rough heaven, reaching your third orgasm that night. And as you did you clenched around his cock so hard and he barely made it out of you before cumming all over your ass.

His breath was heavy and hard as he nearly immediately collapsed on you. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your body was devoided of all tension, you lost your name, your purpose, words and everything. The only thing you could feel on that moment was his warm body, his heart beating as hard as yours, his breath on your neck.

He moved off you with a moan and laid on his back, grabbing you and moving you to his side. You complied, wrapping an arm around his stomach. But then you felt something weird digging into your arm so you moved slightly to grab this thing. Surprisingly you found a piece of a wall. You both looked at it shocked and looked at the wall. In the place where the frame was hitting it, there was a whole reaching to the bricks. And on that moment you both burst out with laughter that filled the room.

"Now you can say that only one man made you cum," he said when both of you calmed down.

"The very best man I  dare say. It was... my God. Shay, it was... divine."

"Well... If you wish we can do this more often. You are so beautiful Y/N. And you have no idea how long I've been dreaming about holding you in my arms. I wish to be the only one who can see you like this."

"I won't complain Shay. I wanted you for so long but I was too afraid to admit it."

He grinned like crazy and kissed you hard and passionately like he wanted to fill you with all emotions he has been hiding from you. He took your hand, rested it on his chest and smiled.

"Now I'm yours, y/n."

"And I'm yours, Shay."

"And I'm never again staying in this house with the two of you" Haytham entered the room, looking at you both with disappointment. He threw a damp cloth at Shay

"Clean yourselves. I expect you both well-rested, we have work to do."

As soon as Haytham left the room they both exploded in laughter once again.  Well, it was so easy to forget about Haytham’s presence in this house...

[jaysworlds]

fuck you jonny sims michael deserved better

Gertrude is planning something. More specifically, Gertrude is planning something which she has neglected to inform Gerry about.

She’s always planning something, but she always tells Gerry about it, even if only to give him strict instructions to keep his nose out of her business.

This time, though, she hasn’t told him a thing. In fact, she’s lied to him, and told him that she isn’t planning anything at all, and are you sure you didn’t open that last Leitner?

(He hadn’t, of course. He’s not stupid).

In any case, Gertrude is treating him like he is, and whatever she’s planning, she’s keeping it from him on purpose.

His first thought is that it somehow involves him, but she should know by now that he would help her willingly, even if there was a chance that it would get him killed. He’s never exactly had much of a self-preservation instinct.

He can’t think of anything else that would lead to her lying to him, though. He might not always agree with her methods, but he would never go out of his way to sabotage her.

Unless someone he cared about was going to get hurt.

Unless…

Michael.

Shit.

Gerry doesn’t want to believe it, of course, but he can’t think of anything else that would make Gertrude straight up lie to him.

He needs to know exactly what it is she’s planning. He needs to stop her.

She can’t hurt Michael. He’s so … so good. Certainly the only person who’s ever bothered to cared about Gerry, and Gerry may or may not be harbouring a little crush on him.

He’s difficult not to crush on, really.

God. He won’t let Gertrude sacrifice him, no matter what. Surely there’s someone else, surely whatever she’s planning could use Gerry instead, if she has to sacrifice someone.

It’s almost an accident that he finds out what she’s planning, or part of it. The Spiral is planning a ritual, The Great Twisting, and once Gerry knows that it’s not difficult to guess that Gertrude intends to stop it.

Stopping rituals is important, of course. But not so important that Gerry will just let her go about her business, uninterrupted. There has to be another way.

Any further information proves very, very difficult to get hold of. He finds out from Michael that she’s booked two tickets on a boat, and that she plans to leave in two weeks, but what the boat is called and where it’s headed remains a mystery.

The information is there, of course. He can feel it, sitting in the back of his mind. He could just Know, if he really wanted to. If he was really desperate.

But he’s not. Not yet. He can get the information he needs through normal means, without giving himself over to the Beholding.

Except he can’t. He goes through Gertrude’s desk, her handbag, even her apartment, but there’s nothing to indicate where she’s going.

It scares him, honestly. He tells himself he’s not scared, that everything’s going to be fine, but he’s running out of time and the information he needs doesn’t seem to exist anywhere.

Michael doesn’t know either. He just knows that Gertrude’s asked him to go on a work trip with her, and the worst part is that he seems so excited, so pleased that Gertrude is trusting him with this, and Gerry doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

Not yet, anyway. He doesn’t have proof, and he doesn’t want Michael to be scared.

It’s almost too late when he finally gives in, reaching for the information that he knows is there, giving a little more of himself to the Beholding. He wouldn’t, not if he had the choice, but it’s to save Michael, and so it will always be worth it.

It has to be.

The first thing he Knows is that they’ve already left. He’s too late to stop them, to try and reason with either of them, even if he leaves right now.

More importantly, though, he knows where they’re going and how they’re getting there, and that’s enough. The ship is the Tundra, owned by one Peter Lukas, and Gerry knows well enough that he won’t make it onto that ship without Lukas finding out, even if he made it before the ship departed, but in the few minutes after he calms down he realises that he still has time.

He has enough money to book a flight, and it will take the ship a few weeks to get to Russia, to its final destination, and he can easily make it there before they can.

Getting to Sannikov land will be a little harder, given that the island doesn’t technically exist, but he’s confident he can make it. He has to.

He leaves immediately, although he knows he’ll have to spend a couple of weeks in Russia, waiting for the island to actually appear. He Knows when it’s going to appear, which is a useful piece of knowledge, but it worries him, just a little. He hadn’t actively tried to Know that, it had just … appeared.

Still, he has bigger problems.

The weeks in Russia are very unpleasant. He wouldn’t go so far as to say they’re the worst of his life, but they’re certainly up there. The worst part is probably the worry, the fear that he’s going to be too late.

The second worst part is probably the Knowing.

It’s just … happening, now. Not often, only once or twice, but that’s far more than he wants it to be happening (namely, not at all).

Perhaps he’s opened a gate that he never should have touched, but if he hadn’t opened it then he wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be able to save Michael.

Maybe it will turn out for the best, in the end.

But probably not. He’s not that lucky.

He Knows as soon as Sannikov land appears above the waves, and he starts trying to charter a boat to take him there. It’s hard, given that the locals don’t believe it’s a real island at all (and they’re right, to an extent), and it’s hours before he can find someone willing to take a crazy Englishman out onto the sea in search of an island that isn’t there.

He doesn’t speak much on the journey out. He’s trying very hard not to Know things, though it’s so difficult when there are so many things he wants to know. How long the journey is, for starters. If he’s going to make it in time.

The Tundra is already there when he arrives, and he barely has time to pay the poor confused fisherman who brought him out here before he’s running across the snow in his too-heavy boots, praying he’s not too late.

He’s too late. When he gets there there’s no sign of Michael, just Gertrude standing silently by an out-of-place yellow door.

Gerry feels sick.

“Where is he?” he snarls, as though he doesn’t know.

Gertrude doesn’t even seem surprised to see him. “You’re a little too late,” she says, as though they’re talking about the weather. “I’m sorry, Gerard. Really.”

No. He’s not too late, not as long as the door is still here. Michael is in there somewhere, and Gerry won’t just leave him to die alone.

He can at least try.

“Fuck you,” he says, and pulls the door open. The corridors beyond are infinite, bending in impossible ways, and Gerry knows he won’t be able to Know anything once he’s in there, even if he wanted to.

“Gerard,” Gertrude says, sharply. “Wait.”

“Fuck you,” he says again, and walks through the door before he can overthink it.

It slams shut behind him, cutting off whatever Gertrude would have said and leaving him alone in the passageways.

He starts feeling sick almost immediately, but he won’t let that stop him. He starts walking into the corridors, picking directions at random. He doesn’t know where he’s going, just that he needs to find Michael.

Gertrude had said a little too late. Michael can’t have been in here too long. He can’t have gone far.

“Michael!” Gerry calls, and the endless twisting corridors eat his words, spitting them back at him as a distorted echo.

“Oh, fuck you,” he snaps, and kicks a wall. “Give him back, you bastard.”

The Spiral doesn’t seem to like that. The passages constrict, an entrance Gerry had been sure he could see disappearing.

“Alright,” he says. Apparently pissing off the entity he’s walking through is a bad idea. “I’m sorry, Jesus. But you’re not having him.”

That doesn’t seem to pacify it, but it doesn’t constrict any further, so he just keeps walking into the unknown, the unknowable.

He doesn’t know how long he walks for. Time doesn’t exactly exist in here, and nor does space, but still, he’s sure he’s making ground.

He’s probably moving faster than Michael. He’ll be scared, lost, barely knowing what he’s got himself into, and Gerry at least has the element of knowledge on his side, not to mention pure determination.

He wonders vaguely what Gertrude had told Michael before she sent him in here. Some pretty lie, perhaps, about how he was going to save the world. Maybe she told him that she’d be waiting for him when he got out.

Maybe she even told him the truth. Told him that she was sending him in here to die, but that his sacrifice was necessary.

Or maybe she didn’t tell him anything at all. Just shoved him through the door and slammed it shut behind him, trapping him in here forever.

No, not forever. Not if Gerry has anything to say about it.

The Spiral doesn’t like his presence, he can tell. He isn’t sure why, if it’s because he’s too connected to the Beholding, or if it’s just cross he told it to fuck off. Maybe it doesn’t have a reason at all, but whatever it is, he’s not welcome here.

More than once he feels like giving up, like curling up in a corner and letting madness overcome him, but he thinks of poor, innocent Michael, Michael who had thrown himself into the Lonely to rescue Gerry without a second thought, without expecting anything back, and he can’t give up.

Michael needs him. And honestly, he needs Michael.

The Beholding presses at the back of his mind, and he can guess that he could use it to get out of here, if he needed to. The Spiral does not like to be perceived, and perhaps if Gerry tried his best to Know it it would just … spit him out.

But he can’t risk it, can’t risk leaving Michael in here alone, and more than that, he doesn’t want to use the Beholding’s powers. He wants to get out of here on his own terms, like he’s lived his life up until now.

Maybe it’s just pure stubbornness, but stubbornness is all he has right now.

He calls out for Michael over and over and over again, until his voice is hoarse with something akin to pain, and every time his own words are just thrown back at him by the endless corridors, and there’s no reply.

There are other people in here, he thinks, though he only sees … impressions of them, reflections in the mirrors. He would help them if he could, but they’re too far gone to save, and he doesn’t have the energy, anyway.

The Spiral is messing with his mind, he can feel it. He keeps slipping up, losing track of what he’s doing here, and he cannot afford to forget, to lose himself here.

How must Michael, already so much closer to the Spiral, be feeling?

Not good. Gerry needs to find him as soon as he can.

He isn’t sure what leads him to Michael, in the end. It’s a … feeling, almost like a gentle tugging on one of his fingers, and he follows it, curious, though some part of him suspects it’s a bad idea.

Still, it’s not like he has anything better.

He begins to be able to see it, almost, after he’s been walking for some time, like a gossamer thread floating on the breeze. It’s … odd. He doesn’t know how to feel about it.

It reminds him vaguely of the story of Ariadne and her string. He hopes to God that this one won’t lead him to a monster.

It’s very quickly pushed to the back of his mind when he finally, finally finds Michael, curled up on the ground in a parka which may have once been blue, and was now a horrible, eye burning greenish colour.

The colour of the parka doesn’t matter for more than a moment, and Gerry forgets about the string as he runs over to put his hand on Michael’s shoulder, to turn him over and try to find out if he’s okay, if he’s alive.

His eyes are closed, but he’s still breathing under the heavy parka, and Gerry pulls it off his shoulders without a second thought. It’s not exactly cold here, after all. It’s not exactly anything.

“Hey,” he breathes, shaking Michael’s shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”

And he does, blearily. His eyes, which had been so blue last time Gerry had seen him, are now mismatched, one a pale blue and the other sickly yellow.

It doesn’t matter. If he gets out of here with nothing more than mismatched eyes he will have been very, very lucky.

“Gerry?” Michael asks, trying his best to sit up. “What … are you really here?”

“Yeah,” Gerry says, helping him into a more upright position and checking his pulse. It’s a little faster than usual, but not too irregular. “I’m here. I’m so sorry I didn’t get here faster.”

Michael just stares at him for a moment. “Did Mrs. Robinson send you to fetch me?”

Something in Gerry’s gut twists. “No,” he says shortly. “She had no intention of you making it out of here alive.”

Michael frowns. “That … she wouldn’t do that.”

Gerry doesn’t have the energy to argue with him right now, nor to explain exactly what Gertrude did. “Let’s just get out of here,” he says, instead, and stands up, scooping Michael up in his arms.

Michael’s several inches taller than him, but he’s built like a beanpole and weighs almost nothing, and Gerry has no trouble carrying him.

Usually he would protest to that, insist that he can walk perfectly fine on his own, but for now he just settles against Gerry’s chest, closing his eyes again. “I’m glad you came,�� he says, quietly. “I was a little scared, you know. Don’t tell Mrs. Robinson, though.”

Gerry just pushes down the anger that rises in his chest. No point being angry now. “I won’t,” he says, keeping his voice level. “I wouldn’t leave you here, don’t worry.”

“I know,” Michael says, and he sounds so sure of himself.

It’s a few minutes before the euphoria of finding Michael wears off and Gerry realises that they still need to get out of here. Maybe they’re less likely to succumb to madness if they’re together, but it will still happen eventually.

For a while he’s optimistic that maybe he’ll just stumble upon the exit, or that the odd string will return to lead him to a door, but as Michael’s mumblings slowly become less and less coherent he starts to realise that he’s going to have to force his way out.

Fine. Let the Beholding have him; at least it means Michael will be okay.

He isn’t quite sure where to start, but he pulls at the well of power he can feel in the back of his mind and just. Looks.

For a moment nothing changes, and he wonders if maybe he is going mad, trying to win a staring contest with the physical incarnation of madness.

And then the corridors start thrashing, twisting wildly and throwing the two of them back and forth, slamming them into walls and ceilings and floors and mirrors that all blur together. Gerry just keeps his eyes open and tries his best to shield Michael with his body, protecting him from the worst of it.

He doesn’t know how long it goes on, but he can feel the pressure building as the corridors thrash more and more wildly, and then something snaps, and the next wall he slams into gives way, flinging him out of the corridors with Michael still held tight in his arms.

He has no idea where they are. They’re just laying in a warm, muddy field still tanged up in each other, but right now location doesn’t matter.

Except. He does know. South of France, not far from Toulouse. He didn’t even have to try.

Oh well. Problem for later. Right now he just feels very bruised, and more than anything he wants to make sure that Michael is okay.

He’s awake, at least, trying his best to sit up. His eyes are still different colours and his hair seems … tangled, to say the least, but other than that he seems fine.

At least on the outside.

“Gerry?” he says again, questioning. “You saved me.”

Something akin to pride bubbles up in Gerry’s chest, though it doesn’t completely chase out the anger there. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

Michael smiles brightly and wraps his arms around Gerry’s neck. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Gerry mumbles, feeling almost embarrassed. “You would’ve done the same for me.”

“Still,” Michael says, and presses a soft kiss to Gerry’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Gerry just doesn’t know what to say to that. His mind has blue-screened, which seems very ironic considering he just escaped losing his mind.

Michael, of course, takes it as a rejection. “Oh,” he starts, pulling away a little. “I just … I thought … I’m sorry, I overstepped.”

“No,” Gerry says quickly, as soon as his brain is back online. “No, you didn’t. I don’t mind. Really.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Michael smiles, soft and shy, and this time when he leans in Gerry meets him in the middle, and then they’re kissing.

There are still a hundred things wrong. Gerry needs to have a serious conversation with Michael about trusting Gertrude, and they need to make sure they’re both still sane, although he feels sane. There’s also the slight issue of the fact that he may or may not be on his way to becoming a Beholding avatar.

Still, none of that seems important right now. They’re alive, the sun is shining, and they’re together.

That’s what matters.

[prouvaireafterdark]

Hi friend! Same anon who suggested the thigh riding fic here (still not over it, iconic). A change of pace - and if you’re comfortable writing about this subject matter - Alex and Michael getting super stoned. Michael brings a joint over to Alex’s, they haven’t smoked together since high school and lazily rub off against each other (too much cotton mouth to give head and not enough coordination to fuck) and it brings back a rush of warm and fond memories of doing the same when they were kids.

Hope you like! 😘

Also on AO3!

***

“Guess what I’ve got,” Michael says excitedly as he enters the kitchen and tosses his keys on the table.

He walks up to where Alex is leaning back against the counter, sipping on a half-empty glass of red wine, and drops a kiss on his cheek in greeting. It’s so sweet and domestic that Alex almost forgets why he’s supposed to be mad. Almost.

“An excuse for why you’re an hour late to dinner?” Alex asks when Michael pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” Michael cringes, deflating a little. “Liz needed some last minute help with an experiment, I got here as soon as I could.”

“Everything okay?” Alex asks, standing up a little straighter.

“Yeah, only minor explosions this time,” Michael jokes.

Alex sighs and shakes his head, but he can’t keep the smile off his face.

“Text me next time, okay?” Alex asks, tugging Michael close by the edge of his fleece-lined jacket. “I worry about you.”

“I will, promise,” Michael concedes, kissing the corner of his mouth this time. When he pulls away there’s a mischievous look in his eye. “So, you gonna guess?”

“Thought I already did,” Alex says, raising an eyebrow.

“Fair enough,” Michael concedes and reaches into his pocket.

He pulls out a small ziplock baggie with a joint inside.

“Guerin,” Alex says, a little disapprovingly. “I thought we weren’t breaking the law anymore.”

“Relax, I didn’t buy it,” Michael defends himself with a roll of his eyes. “I liberated it from Rosa.“

“She’s using again?” Alex asks, worry etching its way onto his face.

“Nah, she found it in an old book she had in her room and wanted to get rid of it.”

“Good,” Alex says, relieved. “That’s good.”

“So, you wanna?” Michael asks after a second, shaking the baggie in front of Alex’s face.

Alex gives the joint, and Michael, a dubious look.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Michael pouts. “I used to get my weed from you in high school.”

Alex laughs and shakes his head.

“It’s not that,” Alex insists. “It’s just—that thing’s a decade old, it’s gonna taste terrible.”

“So did the cheap shit we used to smoke in the back of my truck,” Michael argues with a shrug. “Come on, it’ll be just like old times.”

He has a point, Alex must admit, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little seduced by the idea of revisiting the rebellious days of their youth.

“Dinner first,” Alex decides. “And we’re doing it outside. I don’t want our bedroom to smell like a dispensary.”

Michael grins at him and leans in to steal a kiss.

“Whatever you say, baby.”

Later, Alex watches Michael’s cheeks hollow as he takes a long drag off the joint where they sit in their backyard, side by side in front of the unlit fire pit. A few seconds later, a large cloud of smoke billows out of his mouth.

“Eugh,” Michael says, making a sour face as he hands the joint to Alex. “Okay. You were right.”

Alex laughs at him, but accepts it anyway. No going back now—if he’s gotta smell it, he might as well get something out of it.

He takes a hit and, yeah, it tastes like shit, but he can’t help feeling a little nostalgic at the gentle burn in his chest. It takes him back to those cool summer nights spent curled up with Michael in the bed of his truck, far enough away from Roswell that it didn’t matter who Alex’s dad was or where he was shipping off to—all he’d needed to think about was the way Michael made him feel when he straddled his thighs and shotgunned smoke into his mouth.

The thought sends tendrils of heat snaking through Alex’s belly that have little to do with the smoke in his lungs. Michael extends his hand toward Alex to take the joint back, but Alex has a better idea.

“Come here,” Alex says, locking eyes with Michael and patting his thigh.

Michael visibly swallows as he stands up and walks over to him. At Alex’s gentle prodding, Michael climbs into his lap and arranges himself across his thighs just so to keep most of his weight off Alex’s bad leg. Alex rests his left hand against his hip to keep him there.

Alex takes another drag off the joint and holds the smoke in his lungs as he leans into Michael’s space. He watches Michael’s eyes flutter closed as he brings their lips together, feels them soft and warm and wet against his own as he exhales slowly into Michael’s mouth. Alex flicks his tongue out against Michael’s full bottom lip once his lungs are empty, the taste of Michael’s skin much more pleasant than the acrid smoke curling around them.

“Fuck,” Michael whispers into the space between them as he exhales.

“Just like old times, right?” Alex asks, his lips quirking up into a smug smile.

“Mhmm,” Michael hums and presses a proper kiss to Alex’s lips before he leans back and takes the joint delicately from between Alex’s fingers. “My turn.”

They smoke a few minutes longer, trading kisses between hits. Alex isn’t sure if it’s Michael or the weed or some combination of the two making him feel like he’s floating, but he happily sinks into that warm buzz until Michael gasps softly against his mouth.

“What?” Alex asks, eyes half-lidded as he pulls back to look at Michael’s face.

“We have ice cream.”

Which is how they end up in bed approximately twenty minutes later, stripped down to their underwear with matching bowls of melting chocolate peanut butter ice cream in their laps as they watch Mythbusters reruns.

Michael is enraptured, spoon frozen halfway to his open mouth as he watches the team succeed in driving a motorcycle over the liquid surface of a lake.

Alex, on the other hand, is struck with the sudden, terrible realization that Jamie Hyneman’s mustache kind of makes him look like a walrus and promptly loses his fucking mind.

“What?” Michael asks, glancing down to where Alex has sunk into the bed and is rolling onto his side to smother his laughter against Michael’s hip.

Alex opens his mouth to speak, but he only giggles harder when he looks up at Michael’s face and sees a fresh smear of ice cream on his chin.

“You’re so fucking stoned, babe,” Michael laughs, reaching down to thread his fingers through Alex’s hair.

Alex is laughing too hard to disagree.

Michael puts his and Alex’s bowls on the bedside table before he lies down next to him. He pillows his head on his arm and watches him with an amused smile, evidently finding him much more interesting to watch than his favorite childhood TV show. If it wasn’t for how obviously bloodshot Michael’s eyes are, Alex would wonder if he was the only one feeling the joint they split right now.

“You have ice cream on your face,” Alex tells him, wiping the tears streaming from his eyes once he’s settled down.

“Where?”

“Here,” Alex answers, and instead of swiping at it with his finger, he leans in to lick it off his chin. The chocolate is sweet, but the soft moan Michael makes as Alex drags his tongue across his stubble is sweeter, and Alex finds himself chasing that sound right into Michael’s mouth.

Alex loses all sense of time as Michael kisses him—it could be seconds, minutes, or hours that he lies there, consumed by the softness of Michael’s mouth against his. He feels so hyperaware of him, so connected, that just the brush of Michael’s fingers against his cheek has pleasure buzzing through his whole body.

They trade slow kisses like that until Alex feels something hard against his hip. He pulls away, smoothing a palm down Michael’s bare chest to keep the distance between them, and looks down to see the thick outline of Michael’s cock straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs.

“You’re hard,” Alex points out before looking up at him again.

Michael follows his line of sight, as if he hasn’t noticed, and Alex bites off a moan a second later when he feels Michael’s warm hand cupping his cock.

“So’re you,” Michael says, palming him gently through his underwear. Alex’s hips twitch involuntarily into Michael’s touch as he asks, “Want me to blow you?”

Alex shakes his head. He remembers all too well what a mood killer it is to try to  suck cock with cottonmouth.

Instead, Alex reaches down to pull Michael’s cock out of his underwear, pushing the waistband under his balls. He gives him a few strokes, delighting in the way he jumps against his fingers. Michael slips his hand into Alex’s underwear to wrap around him in turn, but Alex lets go of Michael’s cock and takes him by the wrist, drawing his hand away from him. Michael’s brow furrows in confusion as he watches Alex free his own cock, but understanding clicks into place as Alex grabs hold of Michael’s knee and hikes it up over his hip, slotting his right thigh into the space he makes between Michael’s legs. Alex presses close until he can feel both of their cocks trapped hot and hard between them.

“Like we used to,” Alex says, grinding his hips encouragingly against Michael. “Remember?”

Michael lets out a shuddering breath and nods, drawing his leg tighter around the back of Alex’s body.

They move against each other lazily, sweat and pre-come slicking the way, and Alex can’t help but think of that summer before he shipped off to basic again, when his life was a series of moments stolen in the back of Michael’s truck.

He remembers lying on a pile of blankets and sleeping bags, the smell of rain and cannabis thick in the air around them as they rut against each other until they came at least twice, Michael gasping into his mouth each time he fell over the edge, unwilling to spend a single second not kissing him.

There was no need for words then, their bodies speaking to each other in a way that transcended language, and Alex finds it’s no different now—he can feel how much Michael wants him in the way his cock weeps against his belly with every rock of their hips, he can hear how much he needs him in the soft, desperate whimpers he smothers against his mouth, and he swears he can even taste how much he loves him on the very tip of his tongue as it slips passed his lips.

Time slows to a crawl even as one minute bleeds into the next. Michael’s heated skin is heaven beneath his fingers, every sigh, every moan, every gasp hitting his ears sweeter than any music he’s ever heard. In the midst of a symphony of sensations, Alex barely notices when his pleasure crests and he spills hot and wet between them.

A second and a lifetime pass before Michael does the same, burying a moan into Alex’s neck as he comes. Alex holds him close as he trembles with the force of it, all the while thinking, yes, this is just like it was when they were kids.

Except it’s better, Alex decides as he settles against Michael’s chest after haphazardly cleaning up, sleep slowly pulling him under.

It’s better because they’re in their own bed, in their own home, with their own TV playing softly in the background.

It’s better because this moment isn’t stolen at all.

[deniigi]

@puffins-studio is my Selkie Verse enabler.

We were chatting about where Mike would fit in the Selkie Verse and then this AU of an AU happened lol

Title: twin hearts twin coats

Summary: Mike’s an unruly little seal who wants nothing more than to give Jack high blood pressure and he is on a crusade not to make a single friend in Ireland. Unless they’re Matty’s friends. In which case, he needs to steal them.

Context: Matt and Mike are born as rare twin seal pups. This bit assumes that Mike was there for all of Whispering Seas but then fades out of view for a bit as he does his own thing until Matt gets his coat back.

-------

For as long as the two been walking, Jack had been missing a twin.

Usually, it was Mike.

Usually, Mike was trying to sink his sharp little teeth into something he knew Dad did not want him too.

Usually, whatever he was trying to swallow whole would result in a call to poison control and Jack would be on the line for half an hour, reading through ingredients with a patient but stern woman while Mike beamed up at him, proud of his latest accomplishments.

After Matt’s year of hell with foster care, however, Mike had been traumatized. And had taken to keeping Matt within sight at all times.

You would have thought that that would have prevented Mike from being the missing twin these days.

But no.

No, now Jack wasn’t missing one twin.

He was missing two.

Constantly.

Both of his children were un-findable at practically all times.

Grace did not have these problem with the boys. Grace simply made a sound in her throat that Mike called back to immediately, regardless of where he was.

Jack did not have this power.

Over Mike, anyways. Jack had more power over Matty because Matty had a deep-ingrained instinct to only want Daddy when he was upset. But that shit didn’t exactly have range, now did it?

Grace told him he should simply learn how to make the throat-noise, which was easy for her to say: as if Jack could make seal noises.

Jack could barely speak a form of English that folks around here understood. He wasn’t makin’ any damn seal noises. He’d just figure out how to find his kids, thanks.

He was good at it, anyways.

His boys were eight.

They were on the way to being geniuses and criminal masterminds, but they were not there yet, so Jack had a good 76% chance of finding them in the first place he looked.

The bathtub.

He always looked in the bathtub. And, like he said, 76% of the time, there they were. Both of them. Looking guilty as hell—big liquid seal eyes or not.

Matty usually got quiet and scared of punishment around then and would make sad tiny seal noises at Jack and let himself be hauled out of the water and rubbed down with a towel.

Matty was the good twin.

The extremely traumatized twin. Jack didn’t like to think too much about how compliant he became in the face of a stern tone. It was enough that he was home again and that he was healing. Slowly. Very shyly.

It was enough. Matty was allowed to be a little fragile.

Now Michael had no shame and, true to character over the last eight years, refused to feel anything about his disobedience but ‘caught.’

Jack loved Mikey, the little shit, with his whole heart, but that big smile and those baby blues did not work on him anymore.

Up you go, monster-child. And into towel-hell—yeah, yeah, whine all you want. Look how nicely your brother did it.

As soon as towel-hell was over, Mike went tearing out of the bathroom, turning back only to hiss at Jack and then run into the door. Jack watched him vanish out of sight and then sighed. Matty pawed at his side, making those little throat-sounds.

“You’re okay, baby,” Jack said. “No one’s in trouble.”

Matt clung to him and hid his face in Jack’s belly.

Really, he was the one who should have been trouble. He was the one who Jack should have been chasing after to grab the hand of—to be keeping a constant vigilance over to prevent him from falling off cliffs and getting too far out into the surf.

But no.

That would be Mike.

That would always be Mike.

A pot banged and clattered in the kitchen.

Matt covered his ears and made even more urgent sad chirps.

Jack sighed harder.

“Come on, let’s go make lunch before your brother destroys the whole lighthouse,” he said.

 ----

 Matty had Foggy and thank fuck he had Foggy because that gave Jack time to go pry Michael out of whatever deathtrap he threw himself into after school.

Jack didn’t understand what this kid wanted from all the dark places he crawled into.

Was it adventure?

Was it the bugs?

Was he trying to fish?

Mike was more seal-like than Matt. Grace noted this with approval. He jumped into the water and swam deep and ate fish whole and let Mags groom him with minimal fuss while Matt wailed and whined like all those things were a death sentence.

He was simply more human, Grace said. The seal behavior didn’t come as naturally to him, so he was resistant.

Jack thought it was more like Matty had enough sense in him to not want to be suffocated by pelts and people prodding and prodding and dragging his fuzzy little coat this way and that.

Matty was a sensible child.

Foggy was slightly less sensible, but he had the right spirit. He was a good friend for Matty.

Mikey refused to make friends.

“They’re boring and human,” he told Jack. “I want a friend with more style.”

Mikey was a New Yorker through and fuckin’ through and he talked like a fuckin’ Newsie no matter how hard Jack tried to get him to imitate his mama’s cadence.

That accent would serve him no decent purpose when he was older, whereas something more Irish would at least make him come off as friendly. Jack knew—boy, Jack knew.

“Why don’t you try making friends with Foggy, too?” Jack offered, once the Trouble Twin had been dumped in the boat. Mike popped up and immediately tried to jump ship. Jack pushed the boat further away from the dock with his foot and got a face of pure betrayal.

“I don’t want a friend like him,” Mike snapped. “He’s gooey. I ain’t got time for some fruit snack.”

For fuck’s sake, child.

“Just because Foggy doesn’t wanna steal footballs with you, doesn’t mean he’s not a good friend,” Jack said. “He don’t like the church, Mikey. It’s not you, it’s the church, son. I told you this a thousand times.”

“If he’s scared of the church, he’s gonna be scared of shenanigans, Dad,” Mike said. “I live for shenanigans. No, we just ain’t compatible, Father.”

For.

Fuck’s.

Sake.

Jack wasn’t letting this one watch any more tv. No more Guys & Dolls. It was bad for everyone.

“Michael,” Jack said.

“Jonathan,” Mike shot back, haughty as hell with his arms crossed and back straight as a board.

“Son, you need to make friends,” Jack said.

“I got loads of friends at home,” Mike said. “And we’ll be home in no time. I don’t need any more ‘til then.”

Mike hated Ireland.

Jack could not understand this.

There were rocks to climb and there was sand to dig in, there were clams to bang against each other, bricks to throw, a local witch to antagonize—this was Mikey paradise. Or it should have been.

But no.

Mike had learned the word ‘cosmopolitan’ and, even though he thought it meant ‘good enough to be in a magazine,’ he’d declared Ireland not that and had set out on a crusade against being happy with it.

Grace said he was too much of a city boy was all. She said that he’d realize after some time that he was lonely and he’d do what he’d always do, which was charm half the girls at his school and become a popular kid within days.

It had been months now, though, and Mikey was still refusing to budge.

It was exhausting.

“Boy, you’re givin’ me heartburn,” Jack told him.

“Well, you’re givin’ me Lupus,” Mike said.

God.

No more House either.

 ---

 Matty came home around four thirty, which Jack could tell made Mike green with jealousy. Mike wanted to stay out like him, but he didn’t want to be associated with Foggy or his sister.

They weren’t cool enough, apparently. Or tough enough.

Jack didn’t know what that meant. Foggy had helped them relocate Mike’s brother. That was plenty bad-ass to Jack, but what the fuck did he know about kids?

Clearly nothing, since Mike had outsmarted him again and somehow managed to watch a whole three Emergency Vets reruns while he wasn’t looking.

This child wanted to give himself nightmares.

“What did you and Foggy do, hm?” Mike nagged as Matt struggled with his shoelaces. Matt sat down to go at them better and Mike flopped down next to him.

“Hm?” he pressed.

“Made homes for ants,” Matt said. “They live in hills. So we made some for them. Put leaves on top to make sure they stay dry ‘nd stuff, you know?”

No. Mike did not know.

“Ants bite you,” Mike said.

“Only if you’re mean,” Matt said.

“No, they got grains of sand for brains,” Mike said. “They’ll bite you.”

“Well, they got a home now, bitey or no,” Matt said.

“Hey, let’s make a cave—”

“I want a snack.”

“Cave then snack.”

Matt tried to work through that order of events and Jack sighed before he agreed.

“Boys,” he said. “Close the front door. It’s gonna storm. No caves for now.”

Mike turned back to him mutinously.

 ---

 After an hour of shooing the babes away from windows and then telling them that it was time to settle down and do indoor activities or listen to a book on tape, the house had gotten quiet.

That was trouble.

Jack put a lid on the pot on the stove and began the Hunt.

The kids were not in the tub. They were in their room.

They’d made a blanket fort.

It wasn’t a good one—they didn’t have that many blankets, but they had some pillows and Mike had a flashlight. They’d cuddled up in the middle of the room with a pile of pillows from the couch and the spare duvet and were nestled up against each other in their coats.

Mike hissed when Jack parted the sheet curtain they’d gerry-rigged around the perimeter of the nest. Matty turned his way and made a happy throat-sound.

“You two getting into trouble?” Jack asked, folding himself into a pretzel to join them on the duvet. Matt immediately wriggled up to climb into his lap, which Mike scowled at.

Mike was of the opinion that this was ‘baby’ behavior. He was highly concerned that his sibling was still exhibiting it, as if Mike didn’t immediately bury himself into Grace’s side when she came up to take the two of them out for a swim.

Jack pulled Matt into his arms more comfortably and reached over to snag his coat to drop over him.

“Are we telling ghost stories?” he asked the boys.

Matt said yes. Mike told him they weren’t ‘doin’ nothin’’ which meant ‘yes, I am trying to give my brother dreams about banshees again and your presence is destroying all of my hopes and life goals.’

“I have a ghost story,” Jack told them.

“Lana’s not dead, Dad,” Mike said. “You can’t tell ghost stories about ladies who aren’t dead.”

“You ain’t gotta be dead to haunt stuff, son,” Jack told him. “Lana will haunt the blue apartment long after we’re all gone.”

“Nuh-uh,” Mike said. “Me and Matty are gonna live forever. Selkies live for hundreds of years.”

Oh really, now?

“Come here, oh ancient one, then,” Jack said, holding out a hand. “Come indulge a poor, aging human.”

Mike huffed but allowed himself and his coat to be dragged over to join Matty in Jack’s lap.

“A long, long time ago,” Jack told them, “There was a guy trying to raise two squirmy little kids.”

Mike rolled his eyes by rolling his whole head into Matt’s so that he’d giggle.

“Was he a boxer, Dad?” Mike asked.

No, oldest child.

He was a lighthouseman.

Mike sighed harder than ever.

Damn, everyone’s a critic, huh?

“One day, the lighthouseman’s two squirmy kids went out to play on the beach in a storm,” Jack said. “They transformed into seals. But the sea was strong and the tide rose high and it swept them away from shore. They went all the way out to sea, far from their home. And they were lost and scared. But soon they decided that being scared wasn’t any help anymore, and they picked a direction to swim for shore. They went from island to island, asking the people there if they’d seen the lighthouseman because the kids were worried you know? Because their old man was just human, unlike them, and the sea back home had been so strong and the tide so high that it might have crashed against the lighthouse and taken the lighthouseman away. But no one had even heard of a such a guy.”

Matt dug fingers into his sleeve and made a soft distressed sound.

“One day,” Jack said, kissing the top of his head. “The kids came across a load of swans in the middle of the ocean. So they asked the swans, ‘have you seen our dad? He’s kinda tall with a busted up nose.’ And they said, ‘no, we lost our dad, too. Maybe we can help each other find them?’”

“Did they?” Mike asked reluctantly.

“Of course they did,” Jack said. “The swans were secretly the children of Lir. They knew what it was like to be separated from their father, but, unlike those kids, they knew their father wouldn’t recognize them. So they flew up and the kids swam after them all the way back to Ireland, so that they wouldn’t end up like the Children of Lir, waiting hundreds of years for their dad to bring them home.”

Matt did not like this story.

Matt had had plenty of bird people in his life. He wanted no more. He wrapped himself around Jack’s neck and made grumpy sounds to indicate that he was done with this whole story business.

Mike’s little brow stayed furrowed.

“You’d recognize us right away,” he said. “We wouldn’t be like the Children of Lir, Dad, first off, ‘cause we wouldn’t ever leave you by yourself. Second off, because Mum’s carryin’ your soul for forever, so even when you’re old and dead, we’ll still have ya. And third off, ‘cause you’re a hero. We could find you just by sniffin’.”

Matt made louder grumpy noises to remind everyone that he didn’t like this conversation.

Jack hummed and rubbed Matt’s back and used the other hand to smooth down Mike’s hair.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “But that don’t mean that I don’t miss you guys while you’re paddlin’ around in the sea without me.”

“TUNA,” Matt snapped.

Jack was startled.

“Tuna?” he asked.

“I’m hungry,” Matt said. “Let’s eat tuna.”

“You hate tuna,” Mike reminded him. “I’m the one who likes tuna.”

“Well I hate tuna less than I hate stories,” Matt snapped. “So I wanna eat tuna.”

Ah.

Bless him.

Okay, tuna it was.

 ---

 Grace told Jack to stop telling the kids that he was going to die. She said it was making them cry out in the sea. She reminded him that she didn’t take the damn kids to the sea to cry. She took them to fish. And they were still both shit at fishing.

Jack apologized.

But he didn’t feel too bad.

The fae in the woods told him he didn’t have too much longer in human form. He didn’t want the boys to be surprised.

Lord knew that they’d already been surprised enough over the last few years.

 ---

 Mike decided that he wanted to learn how to sail and, in lieu of him finding children his age to play with, Jack set to teaching him how to row. It was a good start. Grace approved. She even went out and found a little tub with a set of oars for Mike to play around in.

He immediately nearly drowned by taking it out into the bay.

Jack set him on the other side of the sandbar by the lighthouse and he did better. He was closer to where Matt and Foggy liked to play too, so if something went wrong again, the other kids would start shouting.

After a whole afternoon of no shouting, Jack went out to collect the munchkins and found Foggy out in the bay chatting with Mike with hands on the edge of the tub.

That was surprising.

What was not was the fact that Matt and Candace were digging a fuckin’ hole in the sand. Again.

Foggy must have gotten bored of them.

Jack watched as Mike took ahold of his wrist and heaved hard and brought Fogs over the end of the little tub. They both tumbled down into it.

Then Foggy popped up and leapt right back out into the water. Mike nearly followed him, shaking his oar after him.

Jack couldn’t help but snicker. He left them to it for another ten minutes before calling the boys in.

 ---

 It was hilarious.

It was adorable.

It was the cutest fucking thing Jack had ever heard, indignant as Matty was, standing on his toes, all puffed up and agitated.

“Mikey’s got a crush on Foggy and he won’t clear off,” he’d told Jack.

He didn’t appreciate Jack’s giggling.

“Foggy’s my friend,” Matt told him. “Mike can play with Candace.”

Uh-huh.

Sure, son. That was gonna go down real well.

“Daddy.”

Jack forced himself to stop laughing. He cleared his throat.

“That’s not how these things work, bud,” he said. “Why don’t you talk it over with Mikey?”

“I did,” Matt said. “An’ he told me to bug off.”

Ah, you poor child.

That was older brothers for you. Jack knew the feeling intimately.

“He’s rude,” Matt complained. “An’ he’s stealin’ my friends. He’s already stolen my identity, Dad. Tell him to stop.”

It would never not be funny that these kids thought that people confused them out of spite.

“You can both be friends with Foggy,” Jack told him. “Unless Foggy only wants to be friends with one of you.”

Matt puffed up and then deflated.

“Mikey’s got loads of friends at home,” he mumbled. “Why do I gotta share my one friend when he doesn’t share any of his?”

Oh, baby. No, it wasn’t like that.

It was just that Mike was outgoing, that was all. He just had that special knack for being around people. Jack didn’t know where he’d gotten it from, both he and Grace were not people-people. Matty was the natural extension of their mutual social awkwardness. Mike was more like Jack’s own brothers, actually. Smooth, suave, and oh-so likable.

Dangerous shit, that was.

He would be unstoppable after 14 years old.

“Here, come here, you,” Jack said. “Having friends isn’t about the number of ‘em. It’s about having fun. You have fun with your brother all the time, don’t you? And Foggy brings Candace along with you two all the time. Why don’t you guys try to be friends as a group of four, huh?”

Matt didn’t love this idea, but he relented.

“Only if Mike stops tryin’ to be a pirate,” he said. “He keeps hittin’ me with that stick.”

Ah. Okay. Well, that Jack could do something about.

 ---

 “But I am a pirate, Dad. I’m stealin’ Matty’s friends.”

For.

Fuck’s.

Sake.

Jack could not with this boy. He simply could not.

“Son,” he said. Then paused.

No. Mike wouldn’t hear anything he said.

This was a job for Grace.

 ---

 “Is that what Jesus would do?” Grace snapped.

Mike sulked.

“No, Mum,” he groaned.

“Then why’re you doing it to your brother?” Grace demanded.

“Cain didn’t like his brother,” Mike mumbled.

“Michael. You are named for a saint.”

Mike groaned with his whole body somehow.

“I’m sorry God,” he said.

Grace vibrated.

Jack didn’t know who to protect here.

“I just wanna be a pirate,” Mike explained. “And pirates steal things. They gotta, Mum. It’s how they make a livin’.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed.

 ---

 Grace did this occasionally.

She kidnapped one of the twins for some personal time with them. Jack was grateful for it because that twin was usually Mike and he usually came back looking guilty as hell.

It wasn’t that Jack didn’t love his kid. It was just that Mike didn’t really show much regard for his authority.

Affection? Oh, sure. Both boys wanted nothing more than to show Jack everything they’d ever done or made. They wanted to be cuddled and tossed around and tickled. It had been ages before they understood why Dad didn’t come out swimming with them anymore—they couldn’t show him their cool seal tricks that way.

But authority? For Mike?

Nope. This kid was on the path towards trouble, and he’d probably already be there if his mama didn’t routinely take him under her flipper and remind him that he needed to think about other peoples’ feelings.

Matty, of course, had decided early on that personal time with Mum was a punishment, however.

When Jack came home without Mike, in full awareness that Mags was probably just gonna throw him in the water and tire him out until he was pliable and open to suggestion, Matt sniffed all around him and came up in tears.

It took a good ten minutes to convince him that Mike would be coming home.

What helped were some cheerios and letting Matt smell the tuna that was to go into the tuna salad sandwich that his brother was currently obsessed with. Jack reminded him that he wouldn’t be making two different kinds of sandwiches for dinner if there wasn’t gonna be someone there to eat them.

Matt played with the dry cheerios in the bowl Jack had given him and quietly asked him if Mike would be mad if he learned that Matty wanted to be a human hero like Jack.

Jack’s heart melted.

Grace had told him that Matt had told her this. But Matty hadn’t said it to him directly and he sure as hell hadn’t told Mike.

That was fair—the second bit. Mike, like most other selkies, tended to see humans as replaceable things. Kinda boring. Kinda selfish. Not overly worth his investment unless they were investing in him.

Jack thought that Mike might change his tune if he realized that his twin thought humans were kind of grand.

Or maybe not. Who knew what Mike would think.

“I think that if you tell him, he might be really confused for a while,” Jack said.

Matt dropped his handful of cereal back into the bowl and squirmed all the way back in the chair.

“’M not hungry,” he said.

Aw.

It’s okay, little one. Things will get easier with time.

 ---

 Objectively speaking, it wasn’t long after that that Jack died.

It was what it was.

His kids were ten. They were safe. Mags tried to wrangle them.

Jack went to sleep.

Five years, he slept.

He woke up to Matty having a breakdown and Mike nowhere to be found and it was another three years before Jack managed to have enough awareness and mobility in the afterlife to get both of them to not fuckin’ do that shit.

Then it was another four years before Mike reappeared out of thin air and announced he was stayin’ in the city and where the fuck was his evil twin, which coincided with Matt showing back up from orientation at law school to shriek at Jack that Foggy was there! Foggy was back! Foggy was studying law with him and staying in his dorm and OH MY GOD, DAD, IT’S FOGGY.

Kid was love-fucking-sick.

Grace told him to watch his mouth. Matty didn’t know yet. They needed to let him figure it out on his own.

Jack thought that it had already taken Matty a good 16 years to realize that the reason he hated his brother crushing on Fogs was because he was crushing on Fogs. He was not the most self-aware of people. He deserved a little help.

Grace told him that he would speak to their younger son only upon pain of being stuffed into her flute.

Jack did not like the flute.

So he kept mum. But only in Matt’s presence.

This did not include Mike’s presence. Because Mike had other problems which looked like him trying to join a local mob, deciding that they weren’t cool enough for him, and then bouncing off to go join a pod of selkies, making enemies of all of the guys in it and then coming back to New York from a trip to Florida in the arms of a pixie who was actively trying to kill him in his sleep.

Mike was, predictably, a hot mess.

And he loved it.

God help this boy. He required all of Jack’s energy.

“Michael,” Jack reminded him exhaustedly when he stopped in the street as a gal with butterfly wings glanced over her shoulder at him. “You’ve got one at home and she’s mad enough to spit.”

“Uh-huh,” Mike said without listening.

This fucking kid.

“Hey, pops, why don’t you go be someone else’s angel for like, twenty seconds over there, huh?”

Hm. No, you’re right, what a great idea—AHAHA. No. Nice try. Jack wasn’t born yesterday.

It was his new purpose in death trying to keep this one on the straight and narrow. He’d been assigned the mission by a nun. It was now a holy quest.

“You can’t say that about everything Mom tells you to do,” Mike scowled.

He did not, however, pursue Ms. Butterfly wings.

“Where’s Matty, anyways? None of you will tell me where Matty is,” Mike pouted.

Matty was, according to Grace, being heartsick because Foggy had gone home for the holidays.

“Mass,” Jack said.

Mike rolled his eyes.

“I’m not goin’,” he said. “I’ve got a job, Dad. Tell Matt to get one, too.”

A job, huh?

What a job. Sluggin’ people on behalf of other humans.

“I can feel your disappointment and—oh, wait? It’s my life? I can do what I want? I am allowed to sustain myself with offerings however they come? Oh my god, Father. What sense you speak. You’ve turned over a new leaf, truly.”

This?

This was a Grace problem.

 ---

 Jack didn’t expect Matt to be the one who came home with a secret violent identity.

Then he didn’t expect Mike to be the one to break down Matt’s door and stand over him and ask him what the fuck he was thinking.

Then he didn’t expect Mike to be the one to bodily drag Matt out to sea in an attempt to bring him back to his roots.

Mike nearly drowned his brother.

It was certainly one way to get everyone back on the same page. Jack wasn’t about to lie and say it was the best way, but it was definitely a way.

Mike came to church and accused him and Grace of keeping Matt’s secrets from him. Not just the devil, but the coat situation and Foggy.

Mike was justifiably upset, but Grace pointed out that Mike’s current approach to humanity did not exactly jive with his brother’s existence, and not even Mike could argue with that. Although he did try. Let it be known that he tried.

He kept cutting himself off though, saying that Matt was different from other humans. Matt wasn’t like them. He was better than them. Which was exactly what Matt took issue with. And unfortunately for Mike, his brother had supersenses, and that included super hearing.

Grace asked Jack out to go calm Matty down.

He was pretty upset.

He tucked himself into Jack when Jack got to his hiding place on the roof of his loft and asked him why Jack had told Mike about the coat to begin with.

But Jack hadn’t told Mike about the coat. No one had. Mike found out these things on his own. He was clever like that.

“He’s always treated me different,” Matt said. “I thought it was ‘cause I’m blind, but it’s always been ‘cause I’m more human, hasn’t it?”

Horrible things to hear your kids say to each other.

Also untrue.

“Mike doesn’t treat you different because you’re blind or you’re human, bud,” Jack told him. “He treats you different because you’re his brother and he’s protective of you. That’s where this is coming from. It’s nothing you did.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Matt said.

Well, no.

It probably didn’t.

 ---

 Mike came around. And he came around by encountering the Hell’s Beast that little baby Franklin Nelson had become.

Foggy, to put it kindly, was one hell of a selkie.

He was huge, to start with. He’d grown from a chubby, pale little glow worm to a good three hundred pounds of enormous, white seal. He was staunchly traditional, if flexible, in his dealings with other fae, and he had zero patience for humanity while somehow acting entirely in their favor.

Foggy was a selkie in a textbook somewhere. He had to be. He was paranoid and untrusting of humans, but he would throw himself in the line of fire to protect anyone who he dealt with. And Mike, who’s relationship with humans tended to be more on the Trickster spectrum than the whole Noble Being one was a smidge intimidated.

At first.

Then he was violently jealous.

And let’s just play this record once more, shall we? Take it from the top.

He nagged Matt to bits, asking him to give up his bond with Fogs and to entrust his human soul to Mike.

We’re twins, Mike argued, it’s only right that I guard your soul.

Matt told him he’d lived his mortal life in plenty of dumpsters, thanks. He was looking for a change in the afterlife.

Mike told him he’d get him the nicest dumpster blood money could buy.

Matt told him to try to take the question to Fogs and see what would happen.

Mike took that to heart.

Grace asked Jack what they’d done wrong to end up with a stubborn devil-child and a vulture selkie.

Jack thought it was probably the tugboat.

Foggy, however, thought that it was the fact that Mike had zero impulse control, manners that only came out when he didn’t have the upper hand in a situation, no respect for boundaries, and shit fashion sense—not to mention a lack of interest in fae hierarchies, a fondness for antagonizing people, and, in Foggy’s opinion, a brain that didn’t properly register pain chemicals or empathy.

He told Mike that Matt’s soul was his and that if he wanted, he could fight him for it and Mike decided that that was a vow good enough for his little brother.

He switched tact and began trying to court Foggy instead and, to his credit, it sure as hell de-escalated the situation.

 ---

 Grace told Mike that Matt was going to get his coat back, but they didn’t hear from him. Jack wasn’t sure what to do, but Grace said that they didn’t have time to wait.

When they got home and Matty was trying to relearn how to swim and struggling like a zebra on a tightrope despite having both Grace and Fogs there to keep him from sinking, Mike reappeared in a pew at the church.

Jack found him and settled in next to him.

Mike asked him if Matty was okay.

He’d gotten the message only a few days ago. His hands were a little shaky when Jack smoothed his hair back and told him that he was just fine.

And not only was he fine. But he was very recognizable now. Or he should be, to Mike more than anyone else in the world.

Mike asked if Matt was still angry with him. If Foggy was still hellbent on chasing him off.

Jack thought that maybe, what Matty really needed right then wasn’t his mama or his bondmate, but his brother. His twin.

It had been a long time since Mike wanted a hug.

He told Jack that he was sorry for being a dick all these years.

Jack told him that he wasn’t a dick. He was fiercely independent and even if Jack didn’t always agree with him, he was still proud of him and proud of that drive and that passion.

He asked him if he was ready to go make up with his brother and Mike nodded instead of saying yes out loud.

 ---

 Matty’s new coat was white for the time being and Mike would not and could not drop that. He cooed at Matt and told him he was too fluffy to swim. Grace had to break them up before they got to neck-slamming.

But at the end of the day, Mikey was right.

Matt’s new coat was a baby’s coat. And Matt was a good 14 years out of swimming practice. His muscles had forgotten how to work as a seal. He was angry about it, which was endearing, but not especially helpful.

He explained to Mike that he’d made a deal with Fisk and Mike went dead quiet before exploding at him and once they’d mutually worked through that argument, the intensity of the swimming lessons rocketed up. Grace stood back and pulled Foggy back with her and they watched on as Mike harassed Matty back into fighting shape.

After the third night of Matt’s refresher course, Jack went to go check on them and found them piled together in their coats on Matt’s couch.

You couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended and to Jack, it felt like home.

He found threw a blanket over them both and took the time to kiss both foreheads before turning off the light and letting the purples and pinks of the billboard outside wash over them.

It was its own kind of rippling sea.

---

[litwitlady]

Note: None of these have been edited. Not even a little bit.

Michael was born to the stars. And to the stars he shall one day return. Michael was born to war. And to war he shall one day return. These are the simple truths of his life. The harder truths are what happened in the middle.

Civil war erupted and a spaceship was filled with refugees. The curly-haired boy tucked safely inside a stasis pod and sent spinning to some unknown backwater planet in an entirely different solar system. But he had his mother, so he didn’t cry.

A crash landing. And then fifty years passed.

The curly-haired boy crawled from his pod on a late spring evening. Two others emerged with him – a brother and a sister. In name only. Holding hands, they walked into the inky desert night and whatever fate awaited them.

For Michael, that fate was unkind. And unfair. Humanity nothing but a battered home and too many bruises to count.

But then he met a boy. A beautiful boy who wanted nothing more than to keep him warm. They both got a lot more than they bargained for. And the next twelve years flew by leaving them scarred and stripped bare. Pain and anguish riding alongside the greatest love either would ever know.

You already know that part, though. Here’s the part you don’t know.

Michael’s thirtieth birthday arrives on a cool June night – the stars above twinkling same as always. He’s paying them no mind because all his attention is on Alex.

Everyone is gathered at the junkyard. Bonfire lit and burning bright. Perfectly catered BBQ and beer thanks to Isobel and Maria. Who over the past year have developed a sort of familial understanding. Much to everyone’s relief.

No one is surprised to hear that Michael gives not a single fuck about his birthday. But what he does care about is Alex’s honorable discharge. He’s free of the Air Force and the weight off Michael’s chest is immeasurable.  

The future Michael has always dreamed – at least since landing on this miserable planet – finally feels within reach. He’s the happiest he has ever been.

Unfortunately, that feeling won’t last into the next hour.

The group sings happy birthday to the three siblings and throws back several shots to honor Alex’s newfound freedom. Everyone is very pleasantly tipsy when the spaceship blazes through the atmosphere above.

Only Kyle notices the flaming comet hurdling towards them at breakneck speeds. He starts jumping up and down, pointing and shouting. But they all just laugh at him as if he’s playing some hectic game of charades. Michael heckles him, tossing his empty beer bottle accidentally too close to his head.

Then a bang. A whizzing whimper. And the earth shaking beneath their feet.

Rosa screams. Liz steps in front of her wondering where the danger is coming from. The rest of them closing into a tight circle around the two sisters. Alex presses into Michael’s side and points to a glowing light in the distance, faint and blinking.

‘What do you think it is?’ he asks as Michael threads their fingers together. Technically, they are just friends. Although Michael has spent more than one night in Alex’s bed recently. Both of them hoping to finally have a very serious talk once the others had all passed out or gone home.

‘A ship. My god, it’s a ship, Alex.’ Both of their hearts begin to race at the implications.

Three figures walk towards them. Sluggish – like they are swimming through Earth’s gravity. Michael, Isobel, and Max all step forward at the same time. ‘They’re talking to us.’ Isobel looks back at the others. ‘They’re from our home.’

Michael tilts his head, listening. Alex’s hand still held tight in his own. ‘They say they need our help.’

‘Help with what?’ Alex moves in closer to Michael as the figures grow larger against the horizon.

‘Saving our planet,’ Max answers, heading out to greet them. Always the unspoken leader.

Michael turns and gives Alex a smile. ‘Wait here.’ He follows Isobel as they tread after Max.

The rest of them huddle together and watch as their three friends meet the other aliens just beyond the junkyard. None of them speak. Kyle continues to sip at his beer and Maria looks on, straining as if maybe she can hear something if she tries hard enough. Rosa and Liz lean against each other. And Alex keeps his eyes trained on Michael’s back.

An hour passes and they get restless. ‘Maybe we should go see if everything’s okay.’ Liz stands and stretches, turns to look back at them. ‘We don’t know what’s happening out there. Maybe they’re being mind controlled or something worse.’

‘If they are being mind controlled - or something worse - what exactly do you plan to do about it?’ Kyle smirks at her. 

She has no answer and sits back down. Alex is almost ready to agree with Liz and take off into the desert when the six aliens begin walking towards them. Everyone stands and waits, heartbeats racing.

The three new aliens look normal. Two women and one man. White cotton shirts and pants. Nothing out of the ordinary except that they do not talk. Liz steps forward and into Max’s arms. Alex desperately wants to do the same - push himself into MIchael’s arms - but he forces himself to stand still instead. 

One of the women takes a few steps towards Alex and Michael shoves his way in front of her, blocking her path. ‘No.’ His fists clench at his side and Alex instantly moves to his side, fingers wrapping around his bicep.

‘What’s wrong, Guerin?’ Everyone turns their eyes to Michael. 

Michael’s lips flatten and the lines on his forehead deepen. ‘They say they need our help. That the remaining population on our planet is dying and there’s only one cure.’ He looks at Alex. ‘But they don’t have proof. So they can go fuck themselves.’

‘Michael.’ Isobel cuts her eyes to him, but he ignores her, grabbing Alex’s hand and tugging him inside the airstream.

Slamming the door shut, Michael turns to Alex and exhales loudly. ‘They said your blood might be the cure.’

Alex frowns in confusion and sits on the edge of Michael’s bed. ‘My blood? But I’m human. How do they even know about me?’

‘Tripp and my mom.’ Michael sits beside him, shoulders pressed together. ‘There’s more to their story than Tripp’s journal let on. My guess is he didn’t want the information to fall into the wrong hands.’ He stares down at his hands and remains quiet for a long time. Alex squeezes his knee, silently urging him to continue.

‘Tripp was murdered because he injected Jesse with an antidote.’ Alex just gapes at him so Michael decides to rip the bandaid off and keeps going. ‘Since Jesse is dead, they hope that the bloodcure got passed down to one of his sons. You, mostly. Because you have a fondness for our species and should be easier to convince.’

‘Well, that doesn’t sound so bad. If they need a sample of my blood, that’s fine, Guerin. They literally came all the way to Earth - it’s the least we can offer them.’ 

But Michael shakes his head and stands up, putting distance between them. ‘There’s a big fucking catch.’ He takes a deep shuddering breath and diverts his gaze over Alex’s shoulder. ‘They can’t take the sample here because Earth’s atmosphere will destroy it. You’d have to travel back with them.’

They lock eyes again, but neither of them speaks. Alex pushes off the bed and goes to Michael. Hands landing on his chest, their foreheads meeting in the middle. Michael tugs Alex closer. ‘I always thought it’d be me who left this planet.’

Alex twists his fists in the collar of Michael’s flannel shirt and shakes his forehead against Michael’s. ‘I’m not leaving this planet without you, Guerin. We don’t even know if my blood will work.’ He leans back to look Michael in the eye. ‘We’ll just slow down and make the right decision together.’

‘No. They say they have to leave tonight or it won’t matter - it’ll be too late. They’re prepared to test your blood right now. And they’ll only take you. It’s apparently too dangerous for Max, Isobel, and me to return to their planet.’ He stumbles over the words ‘their planet’ but it’s closest to the truth. Earth is Michael’s home. Alex is Michael’s home.

‘Well, I’m not fucking going. I don’t know these people. They could be lying.’ Panic speeds up his breathing.

[blackberryjqm]

Can you name your Top5 ST characters and ships?

sorry it took me so long to get back to you, i really had to think about this one!

characters

will byers - i feel like i relate to will the most, out of the wide range of characters we are introduced to during the three seasons. he’s a little odd, on the outside at school and is generally sad. also, his fear of things changing and everyone moving forward without him? we are practically the same person (but i don’t have a bowl cut). i find him a fascinating character, through his experiences with the mindflayer and the upside down, and how those event affect the way he interacts with people. i’m really looking forward to seeing how his character progresses in the seasons to come. notable scenes: “the demogorgon. it got me.”, the whole of season two, “can we play d&d now?”, “is it early, michael?”

max mayfield - i really liked the way max was written, in both seasons (especially season 3) and really respect her feminist, the very best kind of friend, taking-none-of-mike-wheeler’s-shit attitude. she’s a strong, independent woman, and i really like her interactions with lucas. notable scenes: picking the lock to get into the av club, every time she sticks her finger up at billy, “well, it’s this legal term, called divorce.”, “boyfriends lie, all the damn time”, the entire shopping sequence, all of the el & max moments.

el - the way they wrote her very first interaction with max makes me want to curl up and die, but overall, el is independent, strong, and most importantly, a badass. even through rewatched, when i know what’s going to happen, i still get a thrill every time she saves the gang from an imminent threat. notable scenes: her facial expressions when mike tries to put the makeup on her, all her scenes with joyce, her season 2 haircut and overalls, “yeah, am i your little pet?”, literally getting a knife in her leg and walking on it later in the scene, every time she breathes

lucas sinclair - in my opinion, lucas is a really underrated character. he uses his wits, is realistic, and really cares for his friends. his skepticism of el, in the first season really shows how hard his grip on reality is, rather than mike who trusts her blindly. notable scenes: when he gives his whole spiel about el in season one and it’s kind of on a beat as if he was rapping, his insistence to befriend max, “is that a new zit?”, every time he fights with erica, his firework plan.

erica sinclair - listen, i know erica is mainly used for comedic relief, but i found her character really refreshing. along with having some of the most iconic lines of the series, she’s smart and alert and knows more about capitalism than i ever will. notable scenes: fighting with her brother almost every scene, “just the facts”, “you can’t spell america without erica,”, “plan child endangerment”, “i’m ten, you bald bastard!”

ships (i found this one a lot harder to come up with!)

max/lucas - as stated above, the interactions between max and lucas are funny and heartfelt, and i find them really sweet. i really enjoy their relationship dynamic. notable scenes: their talk at the junkyard in season 2, the snowball, the “is that a new zit?” scene, the very implication that they have broken up five times.

joyce/hopper - the will-they-won’t-they, fighting one minute, friends the next, just really want to protect my kid(s) kinda relationship. notable scenes: every single interaction between them, sharing cigarettes, enzos, “yes, every man i talk to from now on has to be my boyfriend”

nancy/jonathon - they went through so much together, fighting the demogorgon, exorcising will, even getting a job at the same place. even though they fight, i think their personality types just fit really well together. notable scenes: hunting the demogorgon together, visiting murray’s + the pullout joke, “sorry, i had a late night with fagin and the gang”, the entire hospital scene, every single time they’re in a car together.

mike/will - okay, sue me, i’m partial to a little byler. it would be interesting to see it represented in canon, but no matter how much subtext can be found between them, i doubt that the duffer brothers would scrap the relationship they’ve been building between mike/el for the last three seasons, no matter how iffy it came across last season. still, a girl can dream. notable scenes: mike’s determination to find him during season one, all of season two, “what if you want to join another party?”

dustin/susie - it had to be said, the running joke that susie doesn’t exist, only for her existence to be proven in the most inconvenient way, has got to be one of the best moments of season three. notable moments: the never ending story

thanks for the question, anon! i really enjoyed answering it!

[shebeafancyflapjack]

Deal

My brain was buzzing with too much angst that I couldn’t sleep so I had to write this out quick. It’s the equivalent of me screaming into a pillow except the pillow is my ship.

Yes, I stole the whole ‘bring them back via time travel’ bit from Twelve x Clara.

TW: Angst, grief, major character ‘death’, Michael takes words way too literal, sad one-sided Hellstrop, cute but problematic Cheleanor.

"You sure you wanna do this?" Gen asks, very little reluctance in her tone, detached as she is from real emotions.

Even other immortals are specks of dust to her. Maybe having an impartial sociopath in charge of the Universe isn't the best idea. Oh well. It's the best they've got.

Michael nods, resolute; "I'm sure. Just...explain to me how it will work again."

*

It's been almost a month since she left her house. He just wants her to get some air.

"If I agree to go to lunch, will you find a way to bring him back?" Eleanor sniffs, wearing one of Chidi's shirts.

He sighs for the billionth time.

"You know I can't..." he tries to stroke her hair.

She slaps his hand away.

"Then what is the forking point of you?!"

"Eleanor-"

"Big Boss of Heaven and you can't bring back one person?! The one guy I need to be happy here?!"

He takes a step back. He knows she's just lashing out because she's in pain. He can't imagine the pain she's going through. He only suspects it will be what he'll endure when it's her time to walk through.

All he wants to do is help her until then. He wants to see her smile.

This was everything he feared would happen when Chidi left. He isn't enough.

"It's not a place, really. It's just time. Time with the ones you love." Eleanor wipes her nose on his sleeve; "So if the ones I love are gone then this isn't really the Good Place, is it? It's just...Place. Not even Bad or Medium, just...nothing."

It's getting harder to ignore how deep her words cut.

"Is there anything I can do?" He almost begs, voice barely above a whisper.

He would try to hug her again if he didn't expect another slap.

Eleanor turns back towards the sunset at her window.

"Aside from giving me my boyfriend back? Yeah..."

He waits, ready for whatever it is.

"You can leave me the fork alone."

*

Gen rolls her eyes at having to explain it again. She summons a virtual graph with a line to show him.

"I pluck Chidi out of a previous timeline before he had his 'feeling' and bring him here. He's still content to stay around, him and Blondie can get back to getting it on and I get some peace and quiet." She tells him, "But I can't say how long it will be till he has that feeling again. It might hit him the same amount of time or maybe years later."

Michael waves that detail off; "He'll see how much she needs him and he'll stay. He shouldn't have left in the first place. Fork, I regret inventing the damn thing. What matters is Eleanor is happy."

"Oh I ain't doing this for Blondie, I wouldn't do it for anyone but that sweet bootie she's with. The Universe shouldn’t be without him."

And because she owes Michael a favor for saving humanity. That's why she's breaking the rules.

And Michael is breaking a thousand ethical ones.

It's all worth it if it means she'll smile again.

*

She hasn't showered in a long time. She should probably get on that.

Michael will nag her about it the next time he barges in. Maybe she should consider getting a lock. Who does he think he is? She's totally handling this.

Handling losing the man who made her feel complete.

How else is she supposed to handle it other than staying on their balcony, in his shirt, stuffing her face with shrimp while clutching her copy of Scanlon's stupid book?

Maybe she'll go for a walk after her shower. Maybe she'll-

"Hey, babe. You okay?"

Fork. Oh, fork.

Now she's seeing things. Things such as her boyfriend exiting the shower, that buff chest of his on full display above his towel covered waist.

Eleanor freezes. This. This can't be...

"Babe? You're starting to freak me out..." Chidi frowns, looking down as her fingers gently prod his chest; "...You didn't suddenly go blind, right?"

Her eyes water as she feels up his skin, his neck, to touch his cheeks.

"You're here?! You're real?!"

"I...Is this an existential thing? Have you been reading Descartes because, trust me, that's not the best idea before bed-."

Eleanor pulls him in for the most desperate kiss of her life, savoring the taste of his mouth, the feel of his lips on hers, in case it's the last time. Again. Fork, it feels real.

She pulls back a little, looking deep into his eyes.

"Are you gonna leave me again?" She has to know before she lets herself fall too deep for this.

Chidi looks confused as There; "Of course not...I keep expecting you to be the first one ready to leave me. I love you, Eleanor, you know I wanna be with you for as long as we can."

That's all she needs to hear. She's not sure how but...the son of a bench did it. This is her Chidi. It's not a suit or a simulation. If it is then she's grief-stricken enough to fall for it.

Just a bit more time. That's all she wanted. She wraps her arms tight around his neck.

"I love you too, babe. I just had the most forked up dream."

That's all he needs to know. It may as well be that for all she cares.

*

"One last time. You're prepared to pay the price?"

Michael looks at the familiar pin in his palm.

Everything you've ever wanted.

"You need a great surge of energy in order to manipulate time streams in parallel dimensions." He repeats her earlier words; "What better use of fuel than a demon's essence?"

"You sure you wouldn't rather toss me one of your old enemies from the Bad Place?"

He shakes his head.

If they're going to do this...This completely unethical and unnatural scheme...It has to be him. Anything for her. She asked for two things he could do to make her happy. Now she gets both.

"I see now why you marbelised Janet." Gen remarks; "No way she'd have let you go through with it. It won't be as painful as retirement but...It's just as final, pal. So long as that past Chidi is here, I’ll need your goo to be simmering away in that vortex...even after he goes through the Door. Time isn’t to be messed with easy, even for me."

He knows. But if the alternative is Eleanor alone, depressed and hating him then what does he have to lose? The afterlife council is pointless now. Tahani and Vicky are doing more than he could attempt to contribute anymore. His friends are gone...or no longer need him...or want him.

This is the closest he will come to finding his Door.

"You'll restore Janet once it's done? And explain why I had to?"

Gen sighs; "She won't be happy about it. Usually I'd feel confident handling a Janet but...She's something else."

He gives a small, proud smile.

"Yeah. She is."

He looks at the pin again, focusing on what good this will bring back rather than the horrifying thought of what awaits him.

It's worth it for her. Always for her.

"I'm ready."

He wishes he got to see her smile one last time.

*

She's still kissing a damp and topless Chidi when there's a familiar bing sound.

"Janet! Hey." She beams, not as stunned or off put as her blushing soul mate.

"Y'know what, I'm gonna get dressed. So glad we allow our friends free access to our house."

Eleanor gives that ash a pat as he goes off. She turns to Janet, grinning from ear to ear.

"Can you believe it?! It's really him, isn't it?" Eleanor grabs her wrists, seeing Janet's face bowed; "Who knows what Michael did but I need to see him now! I’ve been pretty crabby to him lately, ‘cause it’s been so hard coping with all this, but he’s made it all right now."

Her not robot friend is silent.

Damn. The little voice is back in the corner of her mind. Hello, old frenemy. 

"Okay, I know Chidi said he wanted to go and I agreed to let him go but neither of us knew it would hurt me so much. And this Chidi doesn't wanna go yet so it's all good, right? Whatever Michael did..."

She spots the tear run down Janet's cheek.

Eleanor's senses slowly make a comeback as the high of her wonderful shock evaporates, leaving her with realistic dread.

"...What did Michael do?"

Janet sighs, followed by the smallest sob. She presses something into Eleanor’s palm.

She feels the circular piece of metal. Her heart sinks before she even looks down at the engraved thumb pointing downward.

"He gave you everything you wanted..."