#and it turned out so satisfyingly close to how i envisioned it~

[r4bbitdragon]

🌟🌟 FOUR OF PENTACLES 🌟🌟 [ Control, security, possession. ]

~A tarot inspired watercolor piece I did as part of This Project :3c

[elletromil]

elle’s self rec list

So I did one of those about two years ago and I decided why not do another one! Some fics from the old one will probably be repeated here, but who cares, it’s my list, I get to make the rules :D

There's Something About Us - T, Hartwin, Merlin/Roxy, Percilot, AU,  Words: 49,369

Roxy had her eyes closed, twirling her drum sticks expertly but unnecessarily between beats, unbothered by the strands of brown hair that had gotten loose from her ponytail. Merlin had shuffled closer to her drumset, as he often did, his feet keeping her rhythm, eyes closed as if in concentration. Percival was half hunched over his keyboard, looking at the crowd without seeing it, his voice having taken that far-away edge that only added to the ethereal of their song.

Without shame, he started swaying to their music, letting it wash over everything else so that only their harmony stayed.

In which Eggsy, Roxy, Merlin and Percival are a famous alien music band, Harry is a hero of the Galactic Patrol and Valentine and Gazelle are evil humans.

This one is my longest fic to date and quite frankly, I am insanely proud of it. It’s heavily based on the Interstella 5555 movie Daft Punk did for their Discovery album, but you don’t need to be familiar with it to read this. It took me four years to finish this and probably closer to five years to write it all since I started writing a while before I started posted it. But oh man, am I proud of this story.

Of Flowers, Thunderstorm and Tranquility - M, Hartwin, AU,  Words: 9,702

The fresh snow crinkles satisfyingly under his feet as Harry slowly makes his rounds of his part of the Forest. He is seconds away from humming when a whimpering sound from a bush nearby gives him pause.

Harry carefully makes his way towards the sound, on his guard. He gasps in surprise when he parts the foliage. He doesn’t know what he expected, but one thing is certain, it wasn’t the unconscious Summer Child curled up around himself.

This one is quite probably the one I will forever think as my masterpiece. The idea pounced on me and wouldn’t let me go until I had written it all. It is also on of the very few stories I ever wrote that goes higher than a T rating.

of flowers and fireflies - cowritten by @insanereddragon - M, Merwin, AU,  Words: 43,882

“You're trying to tell me that you're my dog?”

“Well, yes. Though I’d rather you say familiar if you don’t mind.”

“That’s… That’s impossible. The spell didn’t work.”

--

Eggsy is a familiar. For many human lifetimes, familiars live waiting for a call from one of the populations magic users. During their time of waiting, they seek out magical sanctuaries for their kind. Eggsy and Lee are on their way to one such place when tragedy strikes, and only Eggsy makes it to his new home at the Hart estate sanctuary.

Merlin is a magic user. After the death of his family, Merlin is taken in by the Hart family on their estate. It’s there, growing up beside Harry, that he first learns of his magical abilities and struggles with growing up without the support of a magical family.

Even though their paths cross while growing up on the estate, it isn’t until many years later when Merlin performs a summoning for a familiar that they connect. A friendship grows to something more while the two learn to navigate their newly formed bond.

So there are two reasons why I absolutely love this story/verse. The first one is that I got to write it with Red. Back then when we decided that ‘hey, we only need 10k for a mini bang, let’s do this, 5k each will be a walk in the park’ we were just starting our friendship. Fastforward a few years later and I can’t envision my life with Red in it. Also we were very dumb and both have no chill because the easy 10k mini-bang we thought this story would be ended up being  a 43k proper big bang

Only love can hurt like this - T, Eggsy/Tilde, Hartwin, Eggsy/Harry/Tilde,  Words: 8,001

He’s not stupid, his life isn’t a fairy tale, he’s not going to marry the princess now that he’s saved the world. Heck, if his life was a fairy tale, he would rather be the princess marrying the Knight.

Harry is dead, Eggsy has picked up his mantle as a spy and Tilde doing her job as a princess and helping to lead her country in the trying times after V-Day. But even busy as they are, Tilde and Eggsy both kept in contact and what develops between them is more than simple friendship.

All in all, life isn't that bad.

Except Harry isn't as dead as they all thought he was.

I started writing this before the sequel was out and my only regret is that the movie treated Tilde’s character do terribly. There are so many different ways they could have handled it so that Tilde would still end up being Eggsy’s motivation for really wanting the antidote and well... They really didn’t go that way, did they? Anyone, concerning Tilde, I am mostly in fanon-land where it concerns her or whatever @solrosan ​ comes up with because Rosa is an amazing writer and one of the very few I will accept angst from. But I digress. Consider this as a fix-it that instead of ignoring Tilde completely, goes the route I prefer when I see love triangle and transforms the situation into a healthy triad. Because I can.

I Get a Little Bit… - G, Merlahad, Ghenghis Khan video AU, Words: 6,062

Merlin is putting his two children to bed when his phone starts ringing with a too familiar alert. He curses under his breath, thankful that Roxy is already fast asleep and won’t reprimand him on his language.

Or the Genghis Khan Merlahad au everyone wanted but nobody was writing.

The summary is pretty self-explanatory here I think.

Nous n’avons rien à faire, rien que d’être heureux  - T, Merlahad, Merhartwin, AU,  Words: 5,982

“Harry, Merlin, I present you the first gift of my courtship. It is my intent, if you accept, to show you that I can not only provide for you a home and protection, but cherish you.”

Harry and Merlin have been in a relationship for decades. Many a siren have proposed them over the years, but Eggsy is the first one they're willing to give a chance.

And Eggsy isn't about to let it go to waste.

So I was insanely lucky during the last reverse-bang and managed to lay claim on a couple of @paxdracona ​ artwork (I love Pax and all of her art too, it’s so inspiring and wonderful and gorgeous and yeah, go stare at it you won’t regret it). This story is what I came up with for it and I must say I am quite proud of it. Who doesn’t love a good courting fic after all?

Don’t be scared of what you don’t already know - G, Hartwin, AU,  Words: 14,601

“I wouldn’t mind the company for one more day.” Harry smiles sheepishly and Eggsy spies a glimmer of something raw in his warm brown eye.

It’s all he needed to be convinced. It’s not really selfish if he suspects Harry is just lonely as he is, right?

“Okay, yeah. I can totally wait another day.”

After he's been chased out of his commune by his dick stepfather, a surprisingly kind dragon invites Eggsy to stay at his place for the night. Or well, it's supposed to be just for one night, but Harry doesn't seem to mind when Eggsy's stay keeps getting longer and longer.

That’s one of the other reverse-bang I wrote and the other artwork I got to claim from @paxdracona​ which made me insanely happy at the time because well, I had already written a few ficlets about her dragon!Harry and magpie!Eggsy and I really wanted to write a longer one.

Room for Three (Not Only You and Me) - G, Merhartwin, Words: 6,797

The first time it happens Merlin honestly doesn’t know.

Though, in Merlin’s defense there is nothing indicating that this is any different than usual.

Wherein Merlin date-crashes Harry and Eggsy’s dates without realising it at first. Except, when Merlin tries to give them some space, they don’t seem to be happy about it.

Writing oblivious characters is always fun especially when you wouldn’t expect this character to be so clueless most of the time. Also, well this is the fic that made me meet Red so of course Imma forever recs this.

Stay - T, Hartwin,  Words: 2,765

They nearly walk by without seeing the other, the only reason they do in the end is because Eggsy has to suddenly sidestep a wandering child and would have tripped on his own feet if it wasn’t for the hand shooting out and righting him at the last moment.

He turns around to thank the stranger only to realise that a stranger the man is not, even if he’s barely recognizable from the last memory he has of him.

After Poppygeddon, Eggsy stayed a Kingsman agent but Harry decided it was time for him to retire. Which also meant going halfway across the world and cutting all ties with his previous life. They never thought they would meet again.

Of course they do.

I wrote this as a gift to @honey-bee-britt and while the series is still not completed, it can still be read as a stand-alone. I am so proud of this one fic too. It’s some of my best work I think.

If I only could make a deal with God -  T, Hartwin,  Words: 5,089

He's not even sure he wants to be a part of Kingsman anymore. The Knights might accept him now that he's saved the world from Valentine's madness, but there's only one position to fill. And he doesn't know how to feel about taking up Galahad’s mantle. Not sure how he feels about replacing Harry.

The night after Harry has been killed by Valentine and Eggsy has saved the world from the madman, a familiar fox appears to him and leads him to the Underworld.

If luck is on his side, Eggsy might just sway the God of Death into returning Harry's soul to the living.

Who wants a Hartwin retelling of the Orpheus and Eurydice legend? Because this is what it is. Because this is me and of course I will write as many mythology au or fics with mythology references that I possibly can.

[artificialqueens]

A Long December (Shalaska) - jazz

Summary: A story about how Sharon and Alaska (probably) met, inspired by this old quote from Alaska:

“We met almost four years ago. We were both drag queens and knew each other from Myspace. We’d comment on each other’s pictures and check each other out that way, but it wasn’t until I came back [to Pittsburgh] from L.A. to visit for Christmas that I met him out of drag. I was just like, “This person is so fun and so funny… and he has a really nice ass.” That was it. So I went back to L.A. to close up all my affairs and I moved into his house in Pittsburgh and never left.”

A/N: So, this is pretty canon. Getting back to my roots with 4.k words of some non-AU Shalaska! Many thanks to Rosie for reassuring me that I did their meeting story justice <3

The thing Alaska loved most about the holidays was the Christmas lights.

He loved the sheer abundance of them: loved them when they sparkled, loved how they illuminated his neighbors’ front yards, loved even the ones that were so hideously ugly they hurt his eyeballs.

It reminded him of home, of dragging the worn cardboard box up from the basement as a child and attempting for hours to untangle the mess of rainbow string lights that’d been collecting dust for nearly a year. He’d cry when one of the little bulbs went out, as if there weren’t hundreds of other twinkling bulbs to make up for it.

He used to drive around aimlessly for hours just to look at them, not that there was much else to do in northwestern Pennsylvania.

Los Angeles winters – less glittery, distinctly lonelier, and a hell of a lot more chintzy – just didn’t have the same appeal. So, with Christmas quickly approaching, Alaska packed his bags and hopped on a connecting flight back home to Erie, away from the blown auditions and the callbacks that never came, the late rent checks and the overpriced headshots that he couldn’t reallyafford.

But Alaska wasn’t about to worry about any of that tonight. Tonight, he’d made the short two-hour drive from Erie to Pittsburgh. He had some old friends that lived in the city, and they’d gotten him an invite to a house party that a certain someone was rumored to attend.

Alaska smiled in spite of himself. Sharon Needles.

He kept a mental catalogue of all the things he knew about Sharon so far.

He did drag, first of all, something that he and Sharon had bonded over almost instantly. Sharon’s drag was edgy and hideous and horrifying and beautiful, and Alaska was in awe of it. He thought that Sharon might be the smartest person he knew, probably.

He was from middle-of-nowhere, meth-addled Iowa. Alaska had never been to the Midwest, but he’d heard that there was a lot of corn there. Alaska shook his head. Yeah, no, don’t talk about corn tonight, he chided himself.

Besides, Sharon was a total Pittsburgher now, adopting the city’s strange dialect and practically bleeding its colors, black and gold. It suited him well, Alaska thought.

He knew that Sharon had blue eyes – sky blue, he could make out from his profile photos and their select Skype conversations – and a tattoo of Tammy Faye Baker on his upper arm, and that he was perfect, potentially.

Alaska knew better than to get his hopes up, though. Sharon might not even be interested. They’d been exchanging messages online for a few weeks now, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Alaska cringed at the possibility.

It meant something on his end, at least.

Alaska trudged on down the sidewalk, a thin layer of packed snow crunching satisfyingly underneath his feet. He was getting ahead of himself. First, he’d have to show up to the party – a half hour late, obviously, so he didn’t seem over-eager. He’d have a drink – or two or three – to calm his nerves a bit.

Then, he’d ask around for Sharon, all buzzed and aloof, and they’d embrace, and it’d be magical. Or something like that.

He clutched onto the brown-paper-bagged bottle of whiskey he’d decided to buy last-minute.  Bringing a gift felt like the polite thing to do, but now he just felt clumsy and awkward as he approached the small house, alcohol in one hand and a dumb Santa hat in the other.

Alaska wiped his boots on the doormat, mentally preparing himself for the night ahead, before letting himself in.

The place smelled strongly of burnt sugar cookies and hard liquor, and he didn’t recognize many faces. Someone was singing along to a Mariah Carey cover in the other room, and Alaska found himself wishing he were already a little tipsy.

He made his way through the throngs of guests, all clad in varying shades of red and green, and tossed his winter jacket onto a nearby armchair. His heart sank at the possibility that maybe Sharon had decided to skip the party altogether.

Alaska was about to question why Sharon’s attendance even mattered to him at all when he spotted him from across the room, in an oversized Christmas sweater that had definitely seen better days, cigarette burns garnishing the sleeves he’d cuffed twice around his wrists.

Suddenly, Alaska couldn’t have cared less about his surroundings.

His chest expanded as Sharon’s eyes locked with his own, an expression of pleasant surprise washing over his features, before striding over to Alaska purposefully. Alaska watched him approach in slow motion, his vision tunneling in to focus only on Sharon.

“For me? You shouldn’t have, Alaska.” Sharon smiled, his dimple on full display, as he grabbed the bottle of whiskey from Alaska’s hand and took an emphatic swig.

Alaska’s jaw dropped, his breath catching at the way Sharon said his name, how it rolled off his tongue with ease. “I, uh… you’re welcome, I guess?”

It was hardly the reception Alaska had envisioned for their first meeting. He racked his brain for a proper conversation-starter, something that said, I can be super fun and flirty, but also interesting and smart, and I think you’re really great, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he found himself staring at Sharon’s ass, forgetting why he’d cared so much about talking in the first place.

Sharon turned on his heel to walk away then, a signal that, to Alaska, meant their interaction was over. He frowned, until Sharon looked back and extended his free hand.

“You coming, or not?” he asked, lips pursed. “Let’s get you a beverage.”

Alaska placed his hand in Sharon’s without thinking, felt his universe crumbling and rebuilding itself in that instant.

He let Sharon lead him into the kitchen, too-small and dark, bumping his hip awkwardly against the counter in the process. His fingers were tingling and Sharon’s hand was cool against his own and he hoped Sharon wouldn’t let go any time soon.  

“Oh, by the way,” Sharon said flatly, “don’t drink the eggnog.” He made a face over his shoulder.

“Noted,” Alaska laughed.

Sharon disappeared into the refrigerator for a moment, allowing Alaska just enough time to try to compose himself, unsuccessfully. If Sharon backed up a few inches, he’d be pressed right against him, and Alaska felt dizzy at the thought. He hopped up to sit on the counter behind him for something to do, shimmying backwards so that his legs didn’t touch the ground.

“Here.” Sharon turned and handed Alaska a plastic cup half-full of red liquid, eyes wandering over Alaska as he inspected the concoction. “I’m not gonna poison you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“How romantic,” Alaska deadpanned, the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

“I can be.”

Sharon lowered his voice, taking a step closer toward Alaska and parking himself in between his legs. His tone was playful, but Alaska couldn’t be sure – not when he could practically feel Sharon’s body heat radiating off of him in waves, sending the butterflies in his stomach into a frenzy. Alaska brought the cup to his lips in an effort to distract himself.

“So you’re liking Pittsburgh?” Alaska asked abruptly, hating how his first instinct was to make small talk, and how Sharon’s eyes glinted at it, like he thrived on Alaska’s jitters and nervous energy.

“America’s filthiest-kept secret,” Sharon said with a flourish of his hand. “You’re out in L.A., yeah?”

“Yeah, but…” Alaska trailed off. “I dunno, it’s not really working out for me there.”

He was conscious of Sharon’s middle finger tracing the rim of his cup that he held in his lap, his eyes flicking up to meet Alaska’s when he noticed him watching.

“Noted,” Sharon repeated, smiling slightly.

“What?” Alaska drawled, blushing. “What’s that face for?”

“You’re cuter in person, is all.”

Alaska grinned into his drink.

Guests filtered in and out of the kitchen as they chatted, and Alaska hardly noticed any of them, too caught up in how easy it was to talk to Sharon. He told Alaska that he’d been following his drag career out in California for a while now, that Alaska’s style of drag impressed him and reminded him a bit of his own, and when it got too crowded for their liking, Sharon pulled Alaska outside onto the patio that connected to the kitchen.

Sharon lowered himself onto a bench and grabbed a cigarette from his pocket, let it hang from his lips as he brought a lighter to the butt end. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asked.

“Oh, no – not at all,” Alaska sputtered.

“Some people don’t like the smell of it,” Sharon said, taking a long, contemplative drag. “But not me.”

Alaska stared at him, watched the smoke leave his lips and dance above his head, forming a carbon monoxide halo around his mop of bleached blonde hair, sticking up in every which direction. His nose was pink from the cold and Alaska wanted to kiss it, just once.

“Addiction’s a funny thing, y’know,” Sharon mused.

Alaska nodded solemnly. He had a feeling he’d agree to just about anything that came out of Sharon’s mouth, if he were being honest.

“What’re you addicted to, Alaska?”

The question hung in the air, cool and heavy.

You, his heart was screaming, threatening to burst right out of his chest. I’m addicted to you.

Alaska gulped down the rest of his drink to avoid Sharon’s intense gaze, felt the liquid travel through his body and warm his limbs almost instantly.  

“Should we head back in soon, see what everyone else is up to?” Alaska tried. “It’s getting kinda cold out here.”

“Sit with me, then.” Sharon patted the cushioned spot next to him on the bench, and Alaska’s pulse quickened. He didn’t know how much longer he could handle being that close to Sharon without doing something dumb and impulsive, breathing in his smell and scanning his face and hearing his voice – not behind a computer screen, but right here, close enough to touch.

And Alaska wanted to touch him, badly.Sharon was so real that it hurt, and Alaska’s bones ached from it.

He thought that, maybe, Sharon was the realest thing he’d ever known in his life. When Sharon looked at him, it was inquisitive and sharp, and Alaska felt fully seen, like Sharon had him all figured out without saying a word. Alaska didn’t know what to do with that, wasn’t used to feeling so exposed.

He gravitated toward Sharon, settling into the space under the arm that he’d draped casually over the top of the bench. They sat there like that, in comfortable silence, for what felt like minutes.

“I like you, Alaska,” Sharon said, matter-of-fact, snubbing his cigarette out on an ashtray. “A lot, actually.”

His boldness caught Alaska off guard, and he half-considered that maybe the nicotine, or the alcohol, or some combination of the two, had damaged Sharon’s better judgment.

“You’re special, I think,” he continued.

“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” Alaska drawled. He hiccupped, likely from chugging the remains of his drink too quickly, and giggled nervously at the possibility that Sharon really meant it.

—–

Over the course of the night, Alaska learned that Sharon was nothing like he’d expected – but somehow, even better than he’d hoped.

He was fun, and he was hilarious, and, when Alaska caught himself staring at him for far too long as Sharon danced to a pop remix of “Last Christmas” on top of an old couch, mouthing all the words at Alaska like he was singing it just for him, Alaska knew he needed a moment to collect his racing thoughts.

He shot Sharon an apologetic smile as he ducked away and disappeared into the sea of partygoers, darting toward the staircase in hopes that it might be a little quieter upstairs, that he could freshen up and maybe get it together.

He wandered into the room at the end of the carpeted hallway, expecting a bathroom but instead finding a spare bedroom. He sighed, dragging his hands over his face. Alaska was in too deep, he could feel it, didn’t know whether he wanted to be sick or if he wanted to run straight into Sharon’s arms.

It’s just a crush, Alaska told himself, unconvincingly. He pictured the way Sharon’s lips had closed around his bottle of whiskey, how delicate his hands had looked as he balanced a cigarette between his fingers, and wondered how those same lips and hands might feel running over his own body tonight, and tomorrow, and maybe the next day after that.

“What, I didn’t scare you away down there, did I?” Sharon asked.

Alaska jumped, spinning around at hearing Sharon’s voice from behind him. He looked almost sheepish, arms hanging at his sides, and Alaska could see his veins from where he’d pushed up his sleeves.

“Oh, no, this is just… a lot,” Alaska tried, licking his lips absentmindedly. “It’s a lot.”

Somehow, Sharon seemed to understand. He closed the door, traveled the rest of the distance between them and took Alaska’s hands in his own. “Look at me,” he said.

Alaska hesitantly locked eyes with him, fully aware of how close they were standing now, how alone they were, and his heartbeat thudded in his ears.

Sharon reached up and tucked a finger underneath Alaska’s chin, made sure he couldn’t look away. “You feel this, too, right?” Sharon asked, quietly.

Alaska wasn’t breathing. He thought he gave a small nod, but his knees were shaking and he knew that if he leaned in, right now, he’d be done.

Luckily for him, Sharon was the first to fall.

He shoved Alaska against the dresser, hands cradling his face as he kissed him, hard and impatient. Alaska was putty underneath Sharon’s grip, and it took a moment for his brain to catch up with his body.

Sharon was kissing him.

Sharon was kissing him firmly like he’d been starving, and Alaska was his remedy – and maybe he was, as Alaska instinctively wrapped his own hands around Sharon’s thin wrists, willed with his tongue for Sharon to understand that he felt it, too.

It wasn’t long before kissing wasn’t enough. Sharon had a thigh rutted between Alaska’s bowed legs and he pressed down on it greedily. Alaska moved his fingers to coil in Sharon’s blonde hair, and when he tugged gently, he felt Sharon audibly whimper into his mouth, the sound shooting straight to his abdomen.  

Alaska had been with plenty of guys before, but not like this – Sharon was clinging to him like he was afraid Alaska might slip through his fingers otherwise.

“Sharon, I…” Alaska began, and then trailed off, lips ghosting over Sharon’s cheek, his nose. He realized all at once that he didn’t have the words to articulate what exactly was taking place, just that it felt distinctly important.

“Yeah,” Sharon breathed, in between kisses. “Me too.”

Alaska sunk to his knees at that, shoving Sharon’s jeans down to his ankles as he went. Sharon’s pupils were blown out black as he watched Alaska, who was palming Sharon’s already-hard cock over the fabric of his underwear. Alaska didn’t think about what he was doing, not really – didn’t dwell on the fact that he wanted to please Sharon more than he’d wanted to please anybody, or that he’d been semi-hard, seeing stars as soon as Sharon’s lips touched his.

He just hollowed his cheeks, tried to take as much of Sharon as he possibly could into his mouth.

Sharon clutched onto the edge of the dresser for support, lips parted. Alaska developed a steady rhythm, used one hand to move in tandem with his tongue as he bobbed his head to suck at Sharon’s hardness.

When Alaska moaned, so did Sharon.

Alaska flattened his tongue against the underside of Sharon’s length, hummed around him. Sharon began to rock his hips forward, hitting the back of Alaska’s throat with each thrust, before abruptly pulling out.

He tugged Alaska back to his feet, smattering kisses along the curve of his neck. “Wanna make this last,” Sharon explained hoarsely.

Alaska could tell that Sharon was leaving marks, and was glad for it: he wanted to wake up tomorrow and remember where Sharon had been, see and feel where he’d paid special attention.

And then Sharon was spinning him around and maneuvering him towards the bed, yanking Alaska’s shirt up and over his head impatiently as Alaska kicked off his own pants, a clumsy dance of flying fabric and tangled limbs. Alaska’s hands flew to Sharon’s bare shoulder blades, his chest, warm and soft underneath his fingertips.  

It felt surreal, that they were doing this – and yet, it didn’t surprise Alaska in the slightest. He felt surprisingly comfortable, safe, even as Sharon pushed him backward onto the bed, pinning him underneath his body.

Sharon hovered over Alaska for a few moments, scanning him with those eyes again, before Alaska pulled him down by the back of the neck, cocks rutting together as Alaska’s tongue traced the shell of Sharon’s ear.

“Please,” Alaska begged, breathless. “Sharon, fuck – I need you. I really, really need you.”

Sharon closed his eyes and let out a huge breath, like the sound of Alaska’s voice, whiny and broken, did things to him. Alaska looked up at him, his hair falling into his face, tried to scoot his hips closer towards Sharon’s lap.

Sharon didn’t need much more encouragement than that.

He flipped Alaska onto his stomach, and Alaska wiggled his ass out for Sharon, who soothed his hands over the smooth skin. He felt delirious, how badly he wanted Sharon to fill him up, make him muffle his screams into the pillow.

And he knew that Sharon would be good to him – he could tell from the way Sharon made sure to kiss every notch on his spine, open-mouthed and careful. Alaska frantically reached over to the bedside table, ransacking two separate drawers before finding a small bottle of lube and a box of condoms, and he said a silent prayer.

Sharon’s hands were trembling as he slicked up his fingers, uttering a hoarse, “You sure, Lasky?”

Alaska had never been more sure of anything, nodding feverishly at the headboard, trying to remember how to breathe.

He didn’t know what any of this might mean moving forward for him and Sharon – if there even was such a thing as a “him and Sharon” – but he refused to worry about that now, not when Sharon eased one finger into him and then two, reducing Alaska to a moaning mess as he arched his back at the contact.

Sharon bowed his head and pressed his lips to Alaska’s shoulder blade, and when he finally entered him, it was with a slow roll of his hips, breath still dancing on Alaska’s back.

Alaska’s jaw went slack, his mouth falling open in a silent scream.

Then Sharon began to move: small and shallow thrusts at first, clearly restraining himself. “Oh, shit, Lasky, you feel so… so good.”

“Sharon, I need… move, Shar, please…”

“W-wait, hold on,” Sharon said, pulling out of Alaska decidedly. Alaska whined at the loss, until Sharon turned him over, scanned his face. “I wanna see you.”

Sharon appraised Alaska’s features: his cheeks, flushed pink, and his kiss-swollen lips, which Sharon leaned down to kiss again, quick and sloppy. Alaska drew his knees up, reaching down to guide Sharon back inside him.

Alaska watched as Sharon’s forehead crinkled, lips parted to let out a breathy exhale. Alaska couldn’t keep from staring, from committing his facial expression to memory – until Sharon shifted his hips the tiniest bit, reminding Alaska of his own throbbing cock, the desire welling up in the pit of his stomach.

He tilted his head back and moaned, exposing his throat for Sharon to nip at as he slammed into him, skin slapping against skin.

Alaska fell apart beneath him, grabbing Sharon’s ass to urge him on, lifting his legs so Sharon could go deeper, harder – a frenzy of clawing hands and salty kisses, more lips brushing against lips than anything else. When Sharon reached for Alaska’s neglected cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, Alaska spilled into his hand, sobbing Sharon’s name almost incoherently, over and over again, the only word that mattered.

Sharon followed suit, shuddering into Alaska before letting his head drop to Alaska’s collarbone.

“God,” was all he murmured, and it was as good as I love you.

“I know,” Alaska breathed.

Alaska slid out of bed on shaky legs after Sharon cleaned them both up, bent down to grab the first article of clothing he could find on the floor – Sharon’s Christmas sweater. He tugged it over his head, smiling at the feeling of Sharon’s eyes glued to him, his body.

“You’re so pretty, baby.”

Alaska giggled, crawling back into bed with Sharon eagerly, nuzzling against him like they’d done this countless times before. In some ways, it felt like they had.

“Tell me how much you like me again,” Alaska purred.

“More than I know what to do with,” Sharon replied, and the honesty in his voice was jarring. “Probably too much.”

Alaska stared at the adjacent wall in silence, considering the full weight of Sharon’s words, realizing all at once that he felt the same way – and remembering suddenly that they lived on opposite sides of the country. It hit him like a punch in the gut.

“I don’t think I can do long-distance right now,” Alaska choked out. “I just can’t.”

Sharon rolled onto his side to face Alaska, propping his head up with his hand. “I wasn’t expecting you to, Lasky,” he said, his voice quiet.

Alaska squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel himself ruining the moment, and wished he could’ve just left good enough alone. Sharon probably thought that he was clingy beyond belief, and embarrassment burned hot in his cheeks.

“So what now, then?” Alaska asked, bracing himself for what was sure to be a letdown.

There was a pregnant pause before Sharon replied.

“So, move in with me.”

“What?” Alaska stammered, rolling over hurriedly and getting tangled in the sheets. He searched Sharon’s face, looked for any sign that he might be kidding, but instead only found a set of blue eyes, locked with his own.

“It could be like this, all the time,” Sharon said softly.

“You… you hardly know me.”

“I know enough.”

Alaska swallowed the lump in his throat, fought the urge to smatter kisses all over Sharon’s dumb face, which was sporting a small, hopeful smile now.

Alaska wanted it – he wanted all of it. He wanted to share a closet and take up too much space in the bathroom, wanted to wake up on Christmas morning next to Sharon and watch Bette Davis documentaries in bed. He wanted to feel Sharon pressed against him when he fell asleep at night, wouldn’t even care if Sharon ran hot or snored lightly into his neck. He’d let Sharon show him around town, too; they’d go out and make fools of themselves on stage and Sharon would take Alaska home at the end of their gigs, fuck him hard into the mattress and kiss him on the lips afterward.

Alaska knew he’d say yes before the words were even out of his mouth. This was right. This felt right.

He threw his body on top of Sharon’s, bare legs straddling his torso, and repeated yes against his lips until he was forced to come up for air, Sharon’s eyes twinkling like the Christmas lights lining the snow-covered street outside.

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

💜🐥🌄

This is probably gonna become a series, too, because I have TONS of ideas for this verse, so expect more to come! (also on ao3!)

When Dean moved out of his tiny little garret of an apartment and into a cozy, fully furnished farmhouse on the rural outskirts of town he thought he was in store for a more peaceful, laid-back life. And he would have been right if his neighbor's chickens would shut the hell up for once.

After nearly a decade in his too-small, too-expensive apartment, Dean finally decided that a change of scenery was in order but he sure as hell wasn't going to move out of Lawrence anytime soon. It was his home.

From the river where he, Sam, and their dad would go fishing on the weekends, catching pike and catfish to the bar where Dean had his first legal drink, a shot of Jack Daniel's followed by a few beers with his dad. From the tattoo parlor where he and Sam had gotten matching tattoos on Sam's eighteenth birthday to their uncle Bobby's junkyard where they learned all they would ever need to know about cars.

From the University of Kansas where Dean had gotten his automotive technology degree to the Roadhouse where Ellen had given him a job bartending and helping out in the kitchen. From the back roads where he liked to drive over the speed limit when no one else was around, seeing just how fast his baby could go, to the graveyard where his grandparents were buried together.

Besides, his parents would have thrown a fit. Well, his mom would have anyway. His dad was more stoic, at least on the surface since beneath all of his bluster and bravado he was a big ol' teddy bear, something that Dean had inherited from his old man.

He knew that if for some crazy, stupid reason he decided that he wanted to leave Lawrence, his mother would have been almost too supportive. She would have made him promise that he would take care of himself and call whenever he got the chance. She would probably send him off with a homemade goodbye pie, probably apple or pecan, maybe cherry.

Meanwhile, his dad would just complain about Mary making too big of a deal about the whole thing, reminding her that Dean was a grown man. But he would be fighting back tears like the day Dean had started at KU or the morning Sam got accepted into Stanford.

Speaking of Sam, he would make a huge scene himself, the drama queen. One straight out of those chick flicks that Dean hated with a passion but secretly binged whenever he was alone.

Jess, Sam's fiancee, would probably get a little teary eyed, too. But that was just her way. Dean could forgive that because she made ridiculously awesome brownies. Sure, it wasn't pie but it was the next best thing.

But as it was, Dean decided to move out of his apartment and purchase a quaint house and a nice plot of land in the more rural part of town. The timing was perfect. His business, the garage he had opened with his dad and his best friend Benny, was thriving and he has nearing the ripe old age of thirty six in January.

It was about time he got a house of his own, settled down and found someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. So while some of his family and friends had been skeptical of the somewhat sudden decision, Dean had known all along that it was the best choice for him.

The farmhouse was decent sized, two stories with four bedrooms and three bathrooms, all of which were rather spacious. It was painted a pristine white, both inside and out, meaning he got to pick out what colors to paint the walls which excited him for some reason he didn't understand.

The gray shutters matched the front door and complemented the dark stain on the big wrap-around porch that boasted a few rocking chairs and a porch swing. A big oak tree stood in the front yard, a tire swing hanging from one of the thick branches.

The backyard was huge, perfect for a dog and maybe even some kids one day. There were a few trees in the backyard, too, providing some nice shade and a great place for a hammock.

The appliances were practically brand new, stainless steel that had never been used before, the dark metal standing in stark contrast to the light marble countertops and wood kitchen table. He could definitely see himself making Thanksgiving dinners there, filling the spacious house with family and friends.

As nice as the living room was, with two big couches and a few armchairs arranged a rather large TV, the setup making him envision amazing Super Bowl Sundays. But as much as he liked the living room, it was far from his favorite room in the house.

No, that honor belonged to the master bedroom.

Almost as big as his old apartment, the master bedroom was on the second story with a few dressers, a closet, a couple shelves mounted on the wall, and an en suite master bathroom. But most importantly, he had a king sized bed with a memory foam mattress that was so unbelievably comfortable it felt like he was sleeping on a cloud.

All in all, his new house was pretty damn awesome. And he couldn't wait to live there for years to come.

He quickly fell into a routine in his new home once he finished getting settled in. In the mornings, he woke up, brushed his teeth, showered, got dressed, ate breakfast, then went off to work at the garage. In the evenings after work, he got home, showered, pulled on some pajamas, ate dinner, stayed up to watch some TV or listen to his records for awhile, and finally went to bed.

He adjusted to living in his new home, and neighborhood, rather well. He had struck up a few friendly conversations with a woman who lived down the street and even found a pie on his doorstep the day he moved in, the baked housewarming gift accompanied by an unsigned note declaring 'Welcome to the neighbor!'

He already had a new favorite coffee shop that he usually stopped at before getting to work and he had even started looking into adopting a dog. It would have been perfect if it hadn't been for his neighbor's god damn chickens.

The first full day that Dean had spent in his new home was devoted to lugging all of his boxes of things into the house to start the long process of unpacking. While setting down a few boxes of clothes in his bedroom, he had taken a glance out of one of the bedroom windows, finding that he had a view into his neighbor's backyard.

His neighbor's house, and therefore his yard, was smaller than Dean's, more of a cottage than the farmhouse style of Dean's house. It was a deep blue with white trim and a brick chimney, only one story high which made it look even smaller in comparison.

Earlier, when he had pulled up to his house he had noticed a car parked in front of his neighbor's house, a 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V in Jubilee gold. It immediately made Dean wonder if his new neighbor was a pimp.

Curiously peering into his neighbor's backyard, the first thing he had noticed was the large, light brown chicken coop surrounded by a bright, flourishing garden and a small grove of apple trees. A flock of hens, in a few different shades of brown, were mulling around the yard, pecking and preening in the warm sunshine.

He hadn't given it much thought, simply shrugging and carrying on with his task, assuming his neighbor either liked having a fresh supply of eggs or just had eccentric pets. He had been too busy unloading boxes from the back of Benny's pickup truck to think about chickens.

As it turned out, he really should have been worried about the damn chickens because at four o'clock sharp the next morning, three and a half hours before Dean had to get up to be at the garage in time to open at eight, he was startled awake by the caw of a rooster.

It was a long, trumpeting caw, too, as the rooster heralded the sun that had yet to rise. It went on long enough that Dean was certain the damn thing's lungs were going to collapse.

So surprised was Dean, who had been having a wonderful dream about Dr. Sexy and all the fun things he could do with the spurs on his cowboy boots, he had actually fallen out of bed. Muttering curses under his breath, he had stood up and stomped over to the window that overlooked his neighbor's backyard, promptly slamming it shut with a satisfyingly loud sound.

He had plopped back down on his bed and buried his face in his pillow with a groan. Fortunately, he was able to fall back asleep, assuring himself that it was an aberration and the chickens would be on their best behavior the next morning. They weren't.

The next morning, it happened again, the horrendous sound of a rooster rousing Dean from a deep sleep. He repeated his action from the previous morning, closing his window with a liberal amount of swearing before climbing back into bed.

The next morning, the cycle was repeated. Just as it was the next morning.

On the fifth morning, Dean had to close both of his windows, the rooster was so loud. When he could still hear the feathered fiend through the thick panes of glass, he clutched his pillow over his ears and let out a frustrated groan.

On the sixth morning, Dean wrenched open his bedroom window to scream right back at the rooster that had been ruining his peaceful life. But before he could utter one single curse, someone rushed out of the little house, a man in a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants.

Dean had narrowed his eyes as the man scooped up the offending rooster, a fluffy white one that immediately quieted once he was in the man's arms. He strained to hear what his neighbor was cooing, only picking up a snippet of soft murmurs in a gravelly voice, "Shhh... Shhh... We have neighbors, now. You cannot continue on like this."

The man, who had dark hair that was ridiculously disheveled Dean noted, gently rocked the chicken, swaying side to side like he was trying to soothe a crying baby. It was oddly endearing, how much his neighbor clearly cared about his chickens even if they were little assholes that crowed hours before dawn.

Dean wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry when he heard the man start singing as he held the rooster. Believe It Or Not had never sounded so serious, less lighthearted in the man's deep voice, but it still brought Dean back to afternoons as a kid watching the Greatest American Hero and Magnum PI.

Eventually, his neighbor set the chicken back down in the area enclosed by chicken wire, stroking his hand over the chicken's head and down its back. With a mumbled goodbye and what sounded like a muffled yawn, he turned and meandered back into his house, his face obscured by the hand he dragged over his face.

Shaking himself, Dean had returned to his bed, satisfied that the rooster wouldn't be making any more noise for at least a few hours. He fell back asleep thinking about a deep, raspy voice singing in his ear.

Unfortunately, the rooster did not listen to his owner's stern reprimand seeing as how the next morning it again woke Dean up prematurely. This time, Dean couldn't fall back asleep, thus giving birth to a new facet of his daily routine: waking up at four a.m. and drowning himself in a full pot of coffee to make sure he didn't fall asleep while working on an engine.

Things finally came to a head on Dean's first day off in months. He had plans to just laze around all day and do absolutely nothing other than eating, drinking a few beers, and catching up on the latest season of Dr. Sexy. Then, later, he had a date with that huge bathtub in his master bathroom and a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

Dr. Sexy was already queued up on Netflix and his favorite bathrobe was calling his name from where it hung on the back of his bedroom door. He had one of those fancy bath bombs that his friend Charlie had gotten him a while back that he was pretty eager to try and his freezer was stocked with three different Ben and Jerry's flavors.

He figured maybe he could text up Sam or Charlie to see what they were up to, just to keep in touch since he had been slacking in that department lately. Buying a house, running a business, and dealing with timely challenged roosters took a lot out of a guy.

Speaking of which, Dean's hopes for a stress-free day of rest and relaxation were all shot to hell when he was rudely awakened at four a.m. by the shrill cry of a rooster. Trying to maintain his optimism, Dean had slammed his windows shut and buried his head under his pillows that he held over his ears.

But it was no use. His neighbor's rooster proceeded to screech for nearly an hour straight with only brief periods of quiet that Dean used the rooster used to catch its breath before screaming again.

Finally, Dean had enough of the constant carrying on and decided to do something about it once and for all. He rolled out of bed and stomped downstairs right out the back door, completely ignoring the fact that he was only wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs.

He marched over to the tall wooden fence that separated his backyard from his neighbor's but did nothing to mute the growing of the rooster. Peering over the top of the fence at the fluffy white rooster that was standing outside of the coop with its head thrown back, Dean growled, "Shut the hell up, damn it!"

Of course, at that exact moment, his neighbor rushed out of his own back door. He paused for a moment at the sight of Dean looking over the fence, giving him the chance to realize how unfairly hot his new neighbor was.

His narrowed eyes were an angelic blue, making Dean think of cloudless morning skies. His lips, pink and slightly chapped, were parted as he tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy.

His raven black hair was beyond disheveled, the worst case of bedhead Dean had ever seen and he had seen Sam first thing in the morning with his mane of hair all tousled. Stubble darkened his cheeks and jaw, thicker than five o'clock shadow as though he had not shaved in a few weeks.

He was wearing an oversized light blue button up and a pair of dark gray sweatpants but Dean could still see the definition in his arms and chest. It wasn't the kind that came with lifting weights in a gym, rather it was the kind that came from hours of hard work outside, building chicken coops or chopping firewood.

He was downright gorgeous. And he was hurrying over to open the gate to the fenced in area, scolding, "Cyrano!"

The sound of his voice, rough from sleep, seemed to rouse the other chickens as the moment he swung open the gate, a flock of chickens swarmed around his ankles. They pecked impatiently at his toes with indignant little clucks, flapping their wings a bit.

"I'll feed you in a minute," he hissed at them, bending over to gently push the gaggle of hens away with a light touch of his hand on their backsides. Straightening up as the other chickens went on their way, he jogged over to the coop, reaching up to pluck the fluffy white rooster off the roof.

He sighed heavily as the rooster quieted and settled in his arms. Squeezing his eyes shut, he mumbled, "We talked about this."

After stroking his hand down the rooster's back a few times, running his thumb over the back of its neck, he seemed to realize that Dean was still there. Raising his head, he looked back up at Dean, his eyes now wide as he apologized, "I'm so sorry. I've tried getting him to stop crowing so early but he's rather stubborn."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, taking a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose. He felt like an asshole. For god's sake, he just yelled at his neighbor's rooster right in front of him.

This was the guy who he would have to live next to for years, would have to see at the mailbox or over the top of their shared backyard fence in the summer. He couldn't afford to piss him off. The fact that his neighbor was ridiculously good-looking may or may not have made him feel even worse.

"Yeah, well I might've overreacted a bit," Dean admitted, dropping his hand in favor of resting his forearm on the top of the fence. Flashing what he hoped was a charming grin, he explained, "Just a little tired, y'know?—" the grin fell off his face as he pointed at the entrance of the chicken coop "—What the hell is that?!"

Emerging from the chicken coop was a huge mass of white, an ominously deep clucking accompanying it. After a few seconds of abject horror, Dean saw that the huge white creature was actually a chicken, the great beast flapping its wings a few times as it paced around outside the coop.

It was twice as big as the brown chickens and was rather intimidating with its broad chest and livid red wattle and comb. Its beak, a bright yellow. It had silver feathers that darkened to a pitch black around its neck and black tail feathers in stark contrast to its pristine white feathers.

It had feathers down the length of its legs which ended in four toes complete with sharp talons. Dean belatedly realized that the thunderous clucking was coming from the monster sized chicken.

Seemingly unfazed by the leviathan of a chicken prowling around his yard, Dean's neighbor just said, "Oh, that's Balthazar."

"Balthazar," Dean repeated incredulously, blinking a few times. Gesturing at the huge chicken, he asked, "You named your chicken Balthazar. Like the wise man?"

"No, of course not," his neighbor responded, shaking his head like it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. "I named him after my brother."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean drawled, holding his hand up. "You have a brother named Balthazar?"

"Yes. It's a long story," the other man replied, absent-mindedly petting the chicken still in his arms. "If you're not busy, I could tell you about it. I think I owe you a beer or two for how much Cyrano has been tormenting you."

"Sure. Just lemme put some pants on," Dean agreed, laughing under his breath at the pure craziness that was his life. He paused as he turned, looking over his shoulder at his neighbor. "Uh, I never got your name."

A smile lifted the corners of the dark haired man's mouth. "I'm Castiel."

"Alrighty then, Cas, I'll be there in a sec," Dean promised, throwing in a wink for the hell of it. Maybe he would get to take that bath later, ideally with his hot neighbor.

He just hoped the chickens would stay quiet.

Send me random emojis for a Destiel fic!