#he has been rotating in my head like a michael wave

[master-kohga-dating-sim]

follow up :3 here is Sakiru, the seized construct in @bugger-loz's dungeon boss AU

lore dump below cut

While Rauru was king and Mineru was the construct builder, there was a third zonai sibling named Sakiru, the alchemist. Sakiru was obsessed with the idea of immortality, much to his sibling's chagrin. He took Zelda's appearance from the future as a sign and construct pieces started disappearing from Mineru's workspace. They broke into Sakiru's laboratory and found out that he gave himself a new pair of arms with them.

Slowly, Sakiru added more to himself as the days went on. Things didn't get any better once Ganondorf surrendered and swore loyalty, as the two of them got along and started conspiring with each other. Sakiru ended up having a big argument with Mineru, saying "I thought you'd understand my endeavor, Mineru! Bodies turn to dirt, but zonaite is forever! You know that, you create the vessels! Why won't you listen to me!?"

At this point, he was starting to cut off his own limbs and replace them with construct pieces. Once Ganondorf killed Sonia and became the Demon King, Sakiru was able to use some of his power to complete the final step: severing his head from his body and placing it into a jar full of liquid. When Rauru and Mineru saw what became of their sibling, they knew he was too far gone.

Sakiru worked for the Demon King up until he was sealed away by Rauru, causing the alchemist to take shelter in the old Spirit Temple. There he remained for thousands of years, his head slowly degrading into a skull in the jar, yet his improvements not letting him die. Up until one day, when a mysterious man in a black robe discovered him and introduced him to four people: a goron, a gerudo, a rito, and a zora, along with their infant children.

[peachyvhy]

!! mildly suggestive content, michael myers x fem!reader

my first time ever writing a drabble ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

michael sensed the unfamiliar vehicle come down the driveway long before it had appeared into view. the old thing sputtered and clanked, taking its sweet time to pull up to the front of the dilapidated house.

he watched from the windows as a feminine figure stepped out of the backseat and closed the car door, waving goodbye to the driver as they sped off, most likely spooked after witnessing such a house in the middle of the countryside. he tilted his head at the good natured wave that stiffly came down and heard an annoyed huff.

his dark eyes followed your frame as you stepped up the stairs to the front door, and as quickly and quietly as he could, he retreated back into the shadows of the house. the door creaked open after a few seconds of a key wrangling in the lock, the evening sun pouring in, and in his view came your heels, followed by your entirety.

a gulp was caught in his throat as he was able to observe your frame in a better light than this morning. your frantic muttering and careless sprays of perfume had indicated the rush you were in to head into the town—meaning that he had no say in the fact that your outfit had stirred something in his chest, and in his trousers. this was an issue he has yet to address.

as you fully turned around from the door and patted away the dust from your black silk skirt, you looked up and allowed your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the house you shared with your peculiar suitor. you could never compromise with michael for more lighting in the house, but at least he allowed for candles to be lit where need be. you wouldn’t admit it, but it gave the house such a sleepy, yet sultry, vibe on certain nights.

you didn’t have much time to give your outfit a once-over this morning, but given the amount of stares and compliments from the ladies in town, you gave yourself a triumphant huff as you looked into the scuffed mirror that hung against the wall.

the cream wool off-the-shoulder top you wore complimented the pearls that decorated your neck—an expensive “gift” that michael had left on your nightstand a few weeks prior. you had accepted it gracefully, but only wore it after scrubbing the pearls clean. who knows what happened to the victim that these pearls belonged to, but that was water under the bridge.

it seemed as though your housemate has been rubbing off on you, in more ways than one.

feeling a pair of eyes on you, you orchestrated a way to bring michael out of his usual hiding spot to welcome you home properly. old slasher habits die hard it seems.

as you cleared your throat to hide the smile that tugged your lips, you brought a hand up to your shoulder and rotated your arm a few times—thoroughly selling the notion that you were very sore from a long day in town. from experience, you could always tell when michael was peeved from the way you overexerted your body. his eyes seemed to question if having such a huge man in your presence was futile, seeing as though you never let him assist you with your heavy work. what a hypocrite, like he hasn’t left you sore and in a worse state than before.

“michael, my love?” you called out after a beat. “are you there?”

immediately after the words left your mouth, he of course trudged out into the hallway, given the huge puppy that he was. you had quickly concluded that michael became more mellow and obedient the further away samhain was, and given that it was the beginning of the summer, you found that the sweltering heat didn’t dispel his habit of sticking to your side.

michael stood before your shorter frame, just inches shy of your warmth but not too far that he couldn’t breathe in the intoxicating scent that lingered on your skin. the summer sweat had mingled with your perfume, a scent so sweet and heady—he had to wipe his hands on his trousers to prevent himself from doing anything you wouldn’t like.

he had you backed up against the dresser that was next to the front door.

he took in your smile as you looked up at him and let your hands fall to your sides, his own coming up to your chin to raise it up further. “sorry i took so long to come back, i was having trouble with the cab driver.” his hand stiffened and he tilted your face side to side, as if checking for any damage. you placed your hand on his arm, laughing at his antics.

“nothing happened to me, love. a few nasty comments wouldn’t do me over so easily,” you reassured him. from beyond his mask, you can tell he hasn’t eased. it was as though you can see his veins tick against his forehead. quickly, you changed the subject.

“i’m beat, i’m not going into town for the next month. you’d think that being the town coroner i wouldn’t have to be present at so many funerals in one day. who would want that?”

your words were met with a huff behind his mask, a particular huff that you categorized as him playfully agreeing with you. smiling harder, you brought your hand up to caress his masked cheek. “could you do me a favor, michael?”

he looked at you expectantly—you’re not the type to ask for things willy-nilly. the hand on his cheek left it’s warmth behind as he watched your hand lightly massage the junction between your neck and your shoulder. the sliver of skin that you allowed to be showcased did things to his gut that he fought vehemently to be pushed down. “if you could help me reach this part on my back, that would be lovely.”

his mouth dried as you turned around, your graceful fingers pulling back your loose hair over your shoulder, revealing the open back of your top. your fingers pressed into the lower part of your neck, releasing a sigh from your lips.

“it’s somewhere around here, would you be a dear and—“ your words had caught on your tongue as soon as his calloused fingers lightly dug into the knot that tormented you the entire day. a low keen emitted from your throat as you craned your neck to the side, finally finding relief after such a day.

his other hand found it’s place on your hip as you let another one of those delicious sounds slip from your lips. “you’re way too good at this michael,” you sucked in a breath as he pressed harder into your skin. “i should ask you to do this more often.”

as entranced as you were in the tender moment you thought was carefully orchestrated, michael had his own thoughts in disarray. it became harder to focus on the task at hand when your neck was bare to him, with only the dainty pearl necklace he had stolen found for you dangling so perfectly still.

his eyes took in your back that was hidden from view with your hair just moments ago. he was pleased that it was so well hidden—who knows what other people would have thought of you once they had the opportunity to peek.

his mind rambled on and on about you, a clever ruse to hide the fact that the straining in his trousers had gotten worse the longer he stood here and caressed your soft skin.

something needed to be done to relieve him of this tension, and he preferred your help over his own hands.

“michael?” the sound of his name dripping from your lips brought him back to reality. you had been calling him for awhile now. “is something the matter? if this is uncomfortable, i can—“ your words halted as his hand covered your mouth. gently, his hand made its way down to your throat, just above your necklace. the amount of pressure he used was comfortable enough for you to still breathe, but your heart sped up nonetheless.

he grunted into your neck and you stilled, puzzled by his actions, but not afraid. his hand on your hip was gripping with a little more force now, and you placed your hands on the dresser in front of you as you lightly arched into his touch. he stilled your movements as soon as your body met with his front, and you felt his mask give away on your neck as his breath fanned over your skin.

you waited with bated breath for him to continue what he had started, but contrary to your wishes and his actions, he only placed a light kiss on your exposed skin.

“wh-what?” you questioned as soon as his fingers left your throat. those fingers found that spot on your lower neck once again and you sighed once more.

did he change his mind to instead cater to my needs? you thought to yourself, smiling softly when his hand on your hip traced light circles that eased your mind further. it was evident that you were beyond tired, but if he wanted, he could always have his way with you—since you never say otherwise. plus, you never had the chance to properly thank him for your new jewelry.

[gumnut-logic]

Callisto (Part 8 - Recovery)

Prologue 1. Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 2. Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 3. Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 4. Arrival - Bit 1 | Bit 2 5. Orientation 6. Rescue Site 7. Investigation 8. Recovery

This one is over 4600 words to the point I considered cutting it in half. But lots happens so I’ve posted it whole. Now I just need to play catch up because I had a crappy couple of weeks and now I’m only about 500 words ahead of this. I have a few days off coming up, so wish me luck :D

As always, many thanks to the amazing @janetm74​ @scribbles97​ @tsarinatorment​ @vegetacide​ and science officer @onereyofstarlight​ You guys have helped me make this what it is. I so hope you are enjoying it.

For the first time in this story, I’ve slightly gone off plan and have had to add in a chapter because of it. Here’s hoping I can keep this going. We are now at 35,000 words which is approximately halfway.

Warnings: some whump.

Thank you for all your support with this fic. I doubt I could do it without all the cheerleading and support. You guys are just amazing ::hugs you so much::

Enjoy!

-o-o-o-

Jeff Tracy was a man of action and drive. Eight years in the depths of space had eroded the edges of his impatience, but hadn’t eliminated it.

So, sitting in Callisto Base watching his family work and not having anything much to do wasn’t in the best interests of his mental health.

But what could he do?

He had set up a kind of mobile control despite not being in control of anything. John had linked him into everything and he and Lee had pretty much taken over one of the command centres of the Base.

Grae hovered the entire time.

Jeff watched the well-oiled machine that was International Rescue with no small amount of pride. He watched them track down the lifesigns, survey the site, drill extra access, deploy Thunderbird Four and-

“Gordon!”

“Guys, get out of there! Now!”

The holographic image of the lake swelled and swept his sons away.

Jeff was on his feet without thinking.

Three of the five life signs on the strategy map darted erratically, one coming to an abrupt stop against the cavern wall, while the two others travelled some distance up the main tunnel before stopping suddenly.

“Thunderbird Five!”

“Please hold.”

Jeff’s eyes widened. “John!”

Data was suddenly thrown at his terminal. His sons’ vitals sprung up and he was relieved to find them all strong. A sitrep appeared a moment later tracking where the wave had come from, probabilities of a recurrence, a site safety scan and a feed from the Dragonfly Pod.

Its lights were still on, one shining at an angle across the tunnel it had landed in, the other reflected back a glare of white and a blue as beautiful as an Earth sky in the early evening.

The first one explained why.

One of the Dragonfly’s legs was sticking up out of a solidified white mass.

Of ice.

The math added up in his head very abruptly and he was suddenly moving.

It was a sign that Lee and he still had that unspoken communication as the engineer didn’t even ask and just moved with him, following his mad run to the hangar without a word.

Alan and Gordon had left the second Dragonfly pod at the Base and Jeff was ever so grateful.

“What’s…where are you going?” Grae’s eyes were wide as they all skidded to the side of the pod.

“Three of my sons are buried in ice. Where do you think I’m going?”

He didn’t bother to wait for an answer, climbing up into the cockpit with a leap of agility he hadn’t felt for years. With a nod from Lee, he snapped the hatch shut and grabbed controls he hadn’t used outside of a simulator in over a decade.

It was like returning home.

The Dragonfly took off for the airlock far above as the doors began their opening sequence without request.

-o-o-o-

John reacted the way he always reacted.

Without thought. There was no time for thought.

Hands moving across his console dragged as much information as he could from the static-fouled scans.

He blinked as the interference cleared somewhat.

A worried plea from his father John had no time for. A flick of his wrist and he mirrored his sources to his father’s terminal.

All three of his brothers had come to a halt. Gordon was still in the cavern, Four slammed up against a wall. Scott and Virgil were in the tunnel. Vital signs were still good, but there was no response from any of them.

No matter how much he yelled into comms.

One of the beacons had been swept away, causing the interference to intensify in that area, but the readings he had added up to a scenario that echoed past hell.

His father was already moving.

“John?” Alan’s voice was professional but sported an edge of terror.

“I’m coming down, Thunderbird Three.” He grabbed his helmet. “Dad is on his way out there. Do we have enough parts for a third Dragonfly?”

His brother’s voice solidified with the plan of action. “Yeah, Virg overcompensated as always. He packed stuff in as if he was planning to stay out here for a couple of years.”

John didn’t answer that. “Assemble another pod. I’ll see you down there asap.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.”

“Eos, align the Excel with the danger zone. Initiate elevator deployment.” He flung himself through his ‘bird. “I need as much information as you can give me. Relay on descent.”

“Yes, John. It appears that the water volume of the lake increased dramatically before the incident, but has now returned to its previous status.”

John slipped through the airlock to the elevator. He hit his comms. “Michael, there has been an incident. I am going down to the surface. You have the Excel.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Five. I will monitor.”

“Liaise with Eos.” He killed the connection as he entered the cockpit, his seat rotating towards him in welcome. “Eos, be nice.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Too bad. We need him.”

She grumbled in a way reminiscent of Virgil before coffee.

Maybe she had been taking notes.

He ignored it. “Send all information to my terminal here.” The elevator shuddered as it disengaged from Five and began its descent. The cockpit lit up with holograms.

He eyed the replay of the static-riddled scan as the lake swelled and overcame his brothers.

Four had been swept out of the water and washed ashore violently. Scott and Virgil, standing on that shore, hadn’t stood a chance.

One gloved hand reached up to poke the playback, pause and rewind. There had been a local seismic disturbance just before, epicentre to the north-east by a few hundred metres. Minor on an Earth scale, but since Callisto supposedly hadn’t had any major crustal movements in eons, it was unusual in the extreme.

“Eos, pull the Base seismic records. Have they detected anything like this before?”

The elevator’s thrusters fired as it hit the faint atmospheric boundary.

“Their system has recorded several incidents, but nothing of this magnitude.” Eos’ voice shifted to one of concern. “Incidents have been increasing recently. There have been three in the past month. John, one was recorded by the Base system the same day as the five members of their crew disappeared.”

“What? Why wasn’t that mentioned?”

“Unknown.”

He stared at the scan. “Do we have any source for more water to reach the lake?” It hurt his physics sensibilities. Water should not exist as a fluid in this environment at all.

“None within sensor range.”

Damnit. He was used to being able to see everything.

“Deploy a net of probes. I want everything in a ten thousand kilometre radius as crystal clear as you can get it.” If there was a pun in there, he refused to acknowledge it.

“Yes, John. That will cover the entire surface of the moon.”

“Exactly.” Something weird was happening here and he wanted to know what. If he had to throw everything Thunderbird Five had at it, he would.

The elevator thrusters fired again and the moon appeared around his windows, followed by the striking red of Three.

“Alan, are you ready?”

“Pod assembled, Thunderbird Five. Awaiting your orders.” There was no tremble in his brother’s voice, but there was an anxious impatience.

The elevator touched down with a soft thud. Eos’ control was perfect. “Thank you, Eos.”

“You are welcome, John.” A pause. “Be safe.”

His lips tightened a little. “FAB, Thunderbird Five.”

She didn’t answer as he stepped out onto the moon.

-o-o-o-

Alan didn’t remember his mother, but he had four brothers who did and he knew far too well the pain of what had happened when she was taken from them.

The fact that three of those brothers were now buried in the space-ice equivalent of an avalanche was absolutely terrifying.

The water had managed to travel some distance before solidifying and trapping everything. As far as Alan could tell, his brothers were encased in ice.

If they had been on Earth their lives would be in peril. In space, they were at least wearing their spacesuits. But spacesuits could be damaged.

He didn’t let himself follow that train of thought. He couldn’t afford it right now. Instead, he followed procedure.

That was what procedure was for.

It was a matter of minutes before John was stepping off the space elevator, his tall brother as confident and professional as ever.

Part of Alan was still surprised when John directed him to take control of the pod. Perhaps it was because Alan was used to the control freak habits of his two eldest brothers?

“Get us down there Alan.” John was distracted, glaring at his wrist projector.

He didn’t need to be told twice. With John secure in the backseat, Alan threw them down the gaping hole his ‘bird had dug, through the mole’s extension and into the dry cavern below.

The dragonfly latched onto the beacons and they darted down the correct tunnel, glittering rock streaking past them as their twin beams of bright light hit everything.

Including the mass of white that that suddenly swelled up on one side of the tunnel.

It wasn’t quite a wave, more a slosh of water, frozen in motion.

“What the hell?”

“Edge down the tunnel a little further, Scott is...” But they were already there and the flash of blue and red was obvious.

His eldest brother was embedded in the ice halfway up the wall. Alan only had breath as he yanked the dragonfly to an abrupt halt, her claws leaving gouges in the ice. “Scott!”

He was out of the pod as fast humanly possible.

One of his brother’s arms was dangling free and Alan reached for it. “Scott?”

Limp, gloved fingers.

John already had a hand laser out and the red of its beam was cutting ice in a loose silhouette of their brother’s body. As they worked him free, bits of ice fell away to the floor. It was fragmentary. Somewhere between solid and hard packed snow. The water had obviously frozen so quickly, it was aerated enough to stiffen fully.

Fortunately, because Alan had the sudden realisation that spacesuits or no, if his brothers couldn’t expand their ribcages, they couldn’t breathe regardless. The sudden relief sprouted new terror.

John helped Alan lower their big brother to the floor.

“Sc…Scott?”

For a second, Alan thought it was John speaking, but his astronaut brother answered, voice urgent. “Virgil?”

No response.

“Thunderbird Two, status!” John was moving, long legs leaping in the low gravity, propelling him back to the pod. He reached inside and pulled out a large torch. “Alan, attend to Scott.” And then his brother was running further down the tunnel, light bouncing ahead of him, holographic map hovering over his wrist.

A further spark of terror was smothered in Alan’s brain as he turned back to his prone and unconscious eldest brother and began chipping and melting ice to free him.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was lying flat on his back staring at white lit up by his helmet lights.

It took him a few solid minutes to realise exactly what he was looking at. His brain felt sluggish and was hurting like hell. He really needed more painkillers.

He automatically tried to calculate how long it was since his last dose and came up blank. There was time missing.

This realisation was quickly followed by the discovery that he wasn’t able to move.

God, his brain was slow. The first thought that came to mind was that yet another building had fallen on him. It happened far more often than he was willing to admit.

But then where was his exosuit?

He blinked slowly.

One arm was caught at an awkward angle and was protesting its position. His legs seemed to be splayed out evenly, though and his other arm seemed happy enough. Hell, there wasn’t really even much weight on him. He had definitely had worse.

But his chest was tight and breathing shallow. Something had him in its grip and he had to force down the visuals that came with that.

Not being able to move always sucked.

He really wished his head would stop hurting.

“Sc..Scott?” It was instinctual. In trouble, call for his big brother.

Need a hand.

“Virgil?” John’s voice. Johnny had the power to call Scotty, to get him help.

He opened his mouth to answer, but something shifted in the ice...ice...it was ice! Memories slammed into him of ice and snow and trapped and oh god...his sluggish brain couldn’t handle it.

“Thunderbird Two, status!”

John’s voice shook him.

Um, um…his heart was beating a mile a minute. He fought for control.

“Virgil? Son?”

Dad.

His father’s voice set off both relief and fear. Relief because of a deep-seated trust in his own father.

Fear because where was Scott? Scott should be here.

But Scott had been with him when the whatever had hit him.

Had hit him.

Water.

Space.

Callisto.

Sparkling crystal flickered in his mind’s eye.

“Scott?”

“Your brother is in good hands.”

Even his sluggish brain could see that as a non-answer. “Dad?”

“We’re digging you out.”

Oh.

As if to emphasize that statement there was a red flash and the world around him hissed. He closed his eyes as the light stabbed into his hurting head.

“Dad? Gordon?”

“Nearly there, son.”

Virgil’s heart clenched.

They uncovered his head first and Virgil teared up at the sight of his father’s worried expression above him. John was there as well, darting in and out of sight, obviously the source of the laser light.

“Johnny…”

There was a crack in the ice.

Ice.

His mind blanked in terror again.

Too many memories.

Far too many.

“Virgil! Look at me!” Dad’s voice held command and he had no choice but to obey. “You are safe.” His hand was being held and Virgil realised it had been cut from the ice. He tried to move his other arm, every heavy-lifting muscle he had straining against its restriction.

Another crack of stressed ice, a yelp from John and Virgil’s arm was suddenly free, ice fragments raining down on him.

Encouraged, he began working on his feet.

“Virgil, stay still just a moment longer.” John’s voice was strained.

Virgil wanted out.

“Virgil.” His Dad grabbed his flailing hand forced him to look at him, grey eyes reflecting the white ice. “Hold still, John is cutting you out.”

Yes, John was cutting him out. Red flickered amongst the white. Virgil swallowed and attempted to get the panic under control and found that he was trembling.

Damn.

He was a rescue operative. He should be calm.

The remaining weight on his belly was removed and he was finally able to take a deep breath.

It helped ever so much.

He closed his eyes and sought his centre.

And fell back on procedure.

If Scott was down, International Rescue was now his responsibility. He needed to be in control.

In control.

By the time John lifted the remaining ice off his legs, Virgil had found himself again. He clambered out of the ice as fast as he possibly could and shot to his feet.

And nearly fell flat on his face for the effort.

His father grabbed him and prevented his fall. “Virgil, sit down.”

There was a flicker of a medscanner, but Virgil was too busy assessing the situation to care. “Scott?”

“With Alan. Unconscious, but safe.”

“Gordon?”

“Still in the cave. Thunderbird Four is silent. I sent Lee. John is following him down.”

Damn. Virgil shook the last of the ice stuck to his uniform, straightened his baldric and took a step towards the direction of the cave, but was halted by a firm grip on his arm.

“You’re not going down there.”

Virgil spun on one foot and the world in all its glittering glory spun with him. “Gordon is down there.”

“John and Lee have him. You were buried in ice, Virgil.”

To his ultimate shame, Virgil shuddered at the concept.

But Gordon...

That grip on his arm tightened. “You’re coming with me.”

Virgil straightened, forcing steel into his spine. “With Scott unconscious, I am in command. I need to be down there.”

“No, you don’t.” His father took a step back up the tunnel, obviously intending to drag Virgil if he had to.

Virgil was no longer the scrappy kid who wanted to play with his paints instead of cleaning his room, and he stood fast.

His father had been in space a long time and his strength had paid the price.

There was no competition.

Buried in ice or not.

“Dad, I am going down to help with Gordon. Scott needs you. I’ll meet you up there the moment Gordon is safe.”

The need to be in two places at once, or more correctly four places, at least, was a common feeling Virgil had to ignore.

Gordon was the priority.

“I need an analysis of what happened. There was a wave. Why? See to Scott and Alan.” He reached up and gently peeled his father’s grip of his arm. “Thank you for helping me. Now I have to go help my brothers.” Turning he hit his comms, asked John for a sit rep and hurried down the tunnel.

He did not look back.

-o-o-o-

Scott had a headache.

That was the first hint of reality and not a new one in his life. He often woke with headaches, the only remaining question was what caused it this time.

“Hey, Scott, are you with us?”

Alan.

Several factors hit home at once. He was wearing his helmet, hence his uniform and Alan, only Alan, had said his name.

Mission.

He was sitting up before his brain had filled him in on the fact he was millions of miles away from home and gravity was a whole different thing on Callisto.

“Whoa!” Hands grabbed him. Hands that definitely belonged to Alan. The astronaut was crouched over him with worried eyes. “Take it easy. You might have a concussion.”

Head injury then.

“Mission status.”

“John’s gone after Gordon. Virgil is awake and out of the ice.”

Gordon. Gordon had been in the water. The weird water.

The very idea of Virgil being buried in ice again awoke horrors he did not want to face.

“Help me up.” Scott rolled himself over, ignoring the protests from his brother to stay put. His head protested very loudly and it became very apparent that the supposed head injury was not impressed with any movement.

Ow.

But, mission.

“Scott, what are you doing?” Another set of hands grabbed at him, which was probably a good thing because he was going down if they hadn’t. As it was, the whole world shifted as he was forcibly lowered to sit on the white, white ground again.

There was a flicker of yellow light and muttering from his youngest brother. “We need to get him back to base.” Alan’s voice was worried.

But Gordon. “I’ve got to go help Gordon.” He tried to stand up again, but too many hands held him down. His shoulders were grabbed and he found a pair of grey eyes staring at him. “Dad? Gordy is in danger.”

“I know son. John, Lee and Virgil will see to him.”

Virgil. He blinked. “Virgil was with me!” Again he struggled to get up.

His father held him down. “Virgil is very determined that he is fine. You, however, are not. You have a concussion. I will take you back to the Base and you will rest. Alan will help his brothers.”

“But-“

The hands on his shoulders squeezed. “Do I have to ask Virgil to reinforce that order?”

Virgil? Order? God, his head hurt.

But this was Dad. Dad knew what to do in space. Dad was...Dad was...

“Scott, you with me?”

He was shaken just a little and his head hated him for it. A groan and his hand encountered his helmet. Augh.

Space sucked.

“C’mon, Scotty, let’s get you into the pod.” Alan’s voice was gentle and professional. He was so proud of his little brother. “Yeah, well, I learnt from the best. Up you get.”

He was pulled slowly to his feet and he had to bite down or lose whatever the hell it was he had eaten last. There were steps and then he was sitting and familiar restraints were holding him in place.

He closed his eyes.

Gordon. He had to help Gordon.

“Your brothers will help him, Scott, you know that.”

But-

His world shook as the pod lifted. He glimpsed the back of his father’s helmet. Dad. Dad was driving. Dad had control.

He could let go.

-o-o-o-

Alan swallowed as their father launched the pod back down the tunnel, its headlights sparkling.

He had reported Scott’s status the moment they had the medscanner’s results and had received a very abrupt acknowledgement from Virgil.

It was unusual to have Virgil in command in space. It wasn’t his native environment and he didn’t venture into it very often. It, of course, wasn’t the first time, and Alan trusted Virgil with his life. But this was Alan’s turf, he needed to be there to help.

He leapt into the remaining dragonfly and dashed off down the tunnel.

It got tighter and tighter as he flew closer to the Crystal Cave, his access blocked by frozen lake water. For a moment he thought he was going to have to abandon the pod, but he was just able to squeeze through the entrance.

The lake was exactly as it had been. Calm and glittering in the pod’s headlamps. He turned slowly on the rocky beach to find Four, free of ice, jammed up against the wall beside the tunnel entrance. She was on her port side, cabin rammed into the rock.

Alan’s heart clenched as he set the dragonfly down.

Both John and Virgil along with Uncle Lee were attempting to gain access via the rear hatch. The ‘bird was made for water, but on the very rare occasion such as this, Brains had built space capable redundancies into her airlock.

How many submersibles in this universe were also space capsules in disguise?

But all this was redundant if the seals had been compromised.

A quick query of Thunderbird Five reassured Alan that Gordon’s vitals were still strong. There was still no response from their fish brother, but he was alive and relatively stable and Four reported no seal ruptures.

Yet.

Virgil grunted as the back of Four was slowly cranked open. Uncle Lee and his engineer brother were putting all their muscle into heaving the hatch open while John slipped into the vehicle.

A moment later the door was shoved shut again and Alan was surprised to see Virgil seal it with a hand laser.

Tired eyes caught Alan’s. His brother didn’t need to explain why he was doing what he was doing.

“Inner airlock door is now compromised.” John’s voice was calm and sure despite the subject matter. “Proceeding to the cockpit.”

Alan stared at Virgil a moment, caught by his haggard expression before hurrying around Four towards her belly viewports.

All he could see was Gordon’s feet. No matter how he shone his hand light through those windows, he could see nothing more. Gordon’s pilot’s seat obscured everything.

For it to be in that position it had to have been severed off its mountings.

Hell.

Determined, Alan scrambled around Four’s nose and tried to find her front viewports. Everything was obscured by rock.

Crystal glittered mockingly at him, an almost scarlet chunk of quartz sticking out of the wall and falling over as if it was reaching for Four.

Alan fought the urge to shove it away from his brother’s ‘bird.

“Cockpit hatch is non-operational. Eos, relay through my suit sensors and give me a detailed report on Gordon’s position.” John’s voice was ever so calm.

Alan wanted to scream.

He hurried back to the lower ports and stared at his brother’s feet.

Again Gordon had been crushed in his ‘bird. How hurt was he this time. How long would he take to recover?

Virgil spoke up and Alan was startled to find his engineer brother and Uncle Lee standing beside him. Virgil was standing ramrod straight. “Eos, can you pull any medical data?”

“Please hold.” The AI’s voice was crisp and professional. “Compensating for interference.”

Damned interference. Alan was so sick of static. Their comm lines and sensor feeds were usually perfect. What was it with this place?

A big hand gently wrapped around his arm.

“I’m fine, Virgil.”

The hand did not let go.

“Thank you, Eos.” How did John stay so calm? “Cutting into the cockpit now.”

Virgil’s wrist control lit up and projected the sensor data he had requested from Eos. True to this place, parts flickered and there was some pixilation, but a clear outline of both Gordon and John inside Four was all the reassurance it could be.

Gordon was curled up on the ‘floor’ of his ‘bird, on what had been Four’s portside viewports.

The laser cutter in John’s hand flared up brightly as he cut through the cockpit hatch mechanisms.

Red light flickered through the marine acrylic enough to catch on Alan’s uniform.

“His right arm is broken again.” Virgil sighed. “He’s going to be so pissed.”

“I’m in.” And John was. Light lit up the viewports, quickly followed by the yellow of a medscanner.

“Oh, thank god.” Beside him, Virgil visibly deflated in relief. The hologram lit up with Gordon’s full medical details. A red alarm hovered over one arm where the break snapped his right ulna and his head had an orange flag that pinpointed a likely concussion. But other than that, Gordon appeared whole and safe, his spacesuit undamaged and airtight. Alan’s shoulders dropped almost as much as Virgil’s.

“He’s safe to move, John.” No doubt John knew that, but Virgil obviously had a need to confirm it anyway. He had a habit of doing that. Alan wasn’t really sure who it was for, Virgil’s brothers or himself.

The next few moments involved cutting open the rear hatch of Four again. This time there was the hiss of escaping atmosphere as Virgil took the entire door off the sub, no longer needing to worry about Gordon’s suit integrity.

John emerged carefully carrying his unconscious brother, Gordon’s helmeted head limp on one shoulder, his arm in an emergency splint, no doubt from one of Four’s first aid packs.

“Vincent, I’m thinking you boys need to take your brother back to base.”

Alan suddenly realised they were a pod or two short to carry all of them. There were five operatives and only one pod.

Uncle Lee eyed Virgil, his lips thin. “Albert, you could fly George while Vincent, John and I dig out the other pod.”

Virgil shifted his feet as he translated that, and Alan frowned at him. His engineer brother was wrecked. Alan could see it in his eyes. Understandable

Virgil’s nod was firm, regardless. “FAB. Alan, you’re with Gordon. John, what is the impact of the interference on Eos’ capability to pilot the pod if necessary?”

Their space brother was looking down at Gordon’s face frowning. “Eos is deploying a moon-wide probe net. We can use them to strengthen the signal. I think that above ground, Thunderbird Five should be able to pilot reliably. I would not recommend attempting it underground.”

Virgil nodded again before striding over to Alan’s pod and, climbing up and throwing the hatch back, began reconfiguring the backseat to transport their injured brother.

Alan hurried over to help and within minutes, John had secured their unconscious aquanaut brother prone on his side in the back of the pod.

Silent, eyes closed, non-responsive.

Alan took off smoothly and with as much care as possible, flew back up the tunnel, heading above ground and back to Callisto Base.

His last glance at the Crystal Cave outlined the shapes of two brothers and an uncle standing ever so alone in a giant cavern that had tried to kill three of his brothers.

-o-o-o-

Next

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Inflated Egos” (Rated G)

Summary: When Kurt takes one of his students to compete in their first competition after landing their Axel, Kurt is confronted with the conundrum of choosing good sportsmanship or doing anything you can to win...

And Sebastian and Blaine are of no help whatsoever. (2080 words)

Part 69 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3. 

“I wanna add the Axel!”

"I know you do, Kevin. It's exciting to land your Axel. But we can't add it to your routine last minute."

"Why not!? I know the perfect place for it!"

Kurt sighs, steering his precocious pupil down the corridor that leads to the ice, rehashing this conversation they've had close to a hundred times over the past three hours.

“You can't add the Axel because you're competing at a level that doesn't include Axel."

"But this isn't a technical competition!" Kevin argues, the words tumbling around his mouth as if they don't belong. "I'm skating spotlight artistic! I can have an Axel in my program. They just won't score it!"

"Wow. You have such a firm grasp of the rules and qualifiers for a ten-year-old. Almost as if someone fed them to you... " Kurt shoots his boyfriend a dirty look. Sebastian shrugs, but he doesn't look the least bit guilty.

"It might be considered bad sportsmanship, and that could lower your score,” Blaine adds, inching in on Kurt's side of the argument. He has nothing against Kevin adding the jump. It would add pizzazz to his program. But judging at the ISI level can be ambiguous, to put it nicely. Not like in higher levels where it's required to put real-time scores on a readily available screen throughout the performance for transparency. If a judge doesn't like your music or your costume or your coach or you in general for whatever reason, a skater can lose fractions of a point. 

And those add up.

Most ISI judges coach competitors, and they tend to favor skaters in their own skating clubs. Scratches magically disappear if a coach happens to know the performer, knows that they've done better in the past, and cuts them some slack. 

It happens more often than the casual onlooker may think.

Kevin is a talented up-and-comer who hasn't ruffled anyone's feathers (that Blaine knows of), so he doesn't see how one little Axel could sully his reputation. And Kevin is correct - it's not technically against the rules for his event class. 

It's just frowned upon.

But if Blaine joins the Kevin-Sebastian tag team, that would be three against one, and that wouldn't be fair to Kurt. Kurt is looking out for his skater like any good coach would. Bad scoring won't tank a judge, but bad sportsmanship can kill a skater's career before it starts.

“I know the kids at the rink love this event, but I've never competed in spotlight artistic," Kurt admits. "Only technical. So I don’t really know what to expect.”

"I didn't either," Blaine chimes in. "My coach was adamant that it was a waste of time for serious skaters."

“I did a few," Sebastian says, "when I was part of Elite."

Kurt peeks over at his boyfriend, lips twisted behind his mask in an amused grin. "Why? That doesn't seem like Elite's cup of tea."

"Because coach wanted our names on the board for every event possible - technical, spotlight, shoot-the-duck, spirals... "

"What sort of routines did you do?"

"Nothing too impressive. Not like my technical programs. I was a big Avengers fan, so I stuck with that. I was Thor one year. Had a Mjölnir with lightning coming out of it and everything."

"Oh, please tell me there's a video of this somewhere!" Blaine begs, clasping his hands together in front of his chest. "I would pay good money to see it!" 

"You can't afford it," Sebastian says, blowing him off without a glance. "You had to have a prop for spotlight, but coach always said it was about the skating, like every other event. Or it was." He raises an eyebrow at a tractor prop covered in LED lights, quietly questioning, "What the hell song is that for?" as it drives by. "Something tells me that may have changed a tad.”

“Ya think?” Blaine chuckles, pointing to three skaters dressed in inflatable T-Rex costumes pulling an animatronic Indominus Rex the size of a VW bus behind them.

Kevin gasping diverts their attention to a podium covered in holographic wrap, a giant "diamond" mounted on top spinning slowly, throwing colored beams across the floor, pushed by a young lady dressed as a one-eyed spy. "These props are awesome!" he says, his own small prop clutched in his right fist.

"Maybe next time, we can wrap you up in Christmas lights and glue drones to your shoulders to make you fly," Sebastian suggests. "Eh, Kevin?"

"Can we?" Kevin asks, bouncing on his blockers, excited at the prospect of taking his hand-made Elvis costume to the next level.

"No! Kevin doesn't need any bells or whistles," Kurt declares, unsure what Christmas lights and drones have to do with Elvis. "His routine is about his skating. Props are just gravy. We don't need more. One is enough."

"Yeah. Right. Okay," Sebastian and Kevin grump. Even Blaine looks disappointed. 

So when Kurt hears a chuckle, his ears prick up, and his head turns.

Everyone he sees around them seems focused on their warmups. No one is paying attention to them. But off to his right, he spots a brown-haired woman, her smiling green eyes darting their way, then back to the ice. When she looks back and notices Kurt watching her, she knows she's been caught and waves their way.

"I'm sorry," she says, trundling over. "I didn't mean to overhear, but I was wonderin'... are you fellas new?"

It's not often that Kurt walks into a rink in Ohio and isn't immediately recognized. But unlike Sebastian, he enjoys the anonymity.

"Let's just say I am," Kurt says. "What am I missing?"

"A lot." She laughs again so hard, she snorts. "I'm sorry. Saying it's about the skating is admirable. That's what it should be about. But it's not. Not in this category. It's about the props. The bigger the prop, the better. You have to use every advantage you have if you want your skater to come close to winning a medal."

"Not everybody thinks that way," Kurt argues.

"Oh no? Do you see that boy over there in the gold crown?" She motions with her head past the crowd to where a boy slightly older than Kevin, dressed in pale blue and gold brocade, warms up. "That's Michael. He's skating as Tommen from Game of Thrones. His dragon prop is programmed to roll around the ice on its own. It even breathes fire! And at the end, he's going to jump out a tower window."

"Wow," Sebastian says when he catches sight of said tower. It has to be made of styrofoam. The skaters are responsible for getting their props on and off the ice by themselves. There is no way this kid would be able to push his tower around unless it was constructed out of foam. But it looks like stone. It stands at least six feet tall with a platform roughly three feet up and outfitted with a cushion for Michael to land on, painted to look like a cloud that will blend in with the ice. "Kurt, you're super dramatic and stuff. This sounds right up your alley! How about we sign you up for the next go-'round? You can do an excerpt from Wicked. Or Phantom of the Opera! We just need to find you a cape, a mask, and about seven dozen candles! Whaddya say?"

"I say it depends on which testicle you want to lose," Kurt mutters, hoping the bubbly stage-mom dressed in head-to-toe flair doesn't hear.

"Look, it may not be my place to say," she starts. "You are his coach and all, but... uh... " Her eyelids narrow. "What event is your skater in?"

"Thirty-seven," Kurt says.

She sighs, looks strangely relieved. "Okay. My Maggie's in twenty-three."

Kurt's brow furrows. Then he rolls his eyes, realizing she asked to make sure Kurt's skater wouldn't be competing against her daughter after she imparts this valuable nugget of information.

"If you want some advice, let him add the Axel. His prop is a little... well, it's a little... " She glances down at the object Kevin is strangling in his grip, searching for a polite word to describe it "... puny. He'll need a little oomph. Ooo!" She yelps so suddenly, all four boys jump. "I almost forgot! I have a boom box in my trailer from Maggie's last spotlight! It's got a detachable disco ball and flashing strobe lights! It would go great with his costume!"

"Is it big?" Sebastian asks, infuriating Kurt by getting caught up in this woman's prop propaganda. 

"It's the size of an Irish Wolfhound!" 

"And they're big," Blaine concurs, sharing a nod with Kevin, then Sebastian.

"Oh, I couldn't put you out..." Kurt tries, but she shakes her head, refusing to let him turn down her offer.

"Nonsense! I'm parked right outside the loading doors! It'll take five minutes to get!"

"It couldn't hurt," Blaine says, having the good sense to move away after.

Kurt can't reach him, but he fixes him with a glare that could melt glass.

"You can't honestly believe the skating doesn't matter?" he says, not directed at any one person.

"Of course, I believe the skating matters," Maggie's mom says. "But in this event, you have to have some sort of edge. Especially when you're up against stuff like that." She points past them, her eyes traveling up, way up, and Kurt's heart sinks into his stomach before he even turns around.

”Jesus Christmas,” Sebastian moans, staring at the monstrosity traveling their way - the biggest, gaudiest, parade-style float he has ever seen indoors, decorated to look like a six-year-old girl's dream: the base wrapped in tons of fluffy pink tuille intertwined with hundreds of white twinkle lights, crystal baubles and gold balls hanging from fishing line so they look like they're suspended in air, no less than three machines spewing bubbles straight up, a hidden fog machine obscuring the view slightly with pink mist, and in the center, a whole family of inflatable rainbow unicorns on an elevated platform, each one rotating independently, all surrounding a cocoon of pink satin pillows where a skater sits, carried onto the ice by this cotton candy throne. “I’m not even skating, and I’m suffering from some serious prop envy.”

Kurt stares at the thing as it passes by, its smug passenger waving at them like they're peasants waiting for crumbs of stale bread, until the image is burned into his retinas. He looks at Kevin and his pathetic prop - a lime-green inflatable guitar his mother bought for five dollars at the last county fair. There's something wrong with it. It keeps deflating at the neck. Kurt brought a hand pump with him, one he uses to put air in his yoga ball. One of Kurt's jobs as Kevin's coach is to fortify the thing before Kevin takes to the ice. He tosses it about three seconds in to his routine anyway. 

Because it's not the star of the show. 

Kevin is.

Kevin could probably skate circles around half these kids, but if what Maggie's mom says is true, he doesn't have a chance simply because they didn't think to look for anything larger for him to hold than this defective pool toy. Kurt finds it horrible that Kevin has lost before he even begins because his prop is less in-your-face than everyone else’s.

Excuse him for thinking that a skating competition would be judged on skating!

Kurt isn't necessarily proud of his next few decisions since they play into the "anything to win" mentality. But later, Sebastian will convince him he wasn't elevating Kevin so he could win. It was leveling the playing field so he had a chance.

And Kurt can live with that.

"Sebastian? Blaine?"

"Yeah, babe?"

Blaine debates calling Kurt babe, too, if for no other reason than to rankle Sebastian, but now might not be the best time. "Yeah?"

"Could you please escort this kind woman to her trailer and retrieve the enormous boom box she has graciously offered to lend us?"

"On it," Blaine replies.

"Yessir." Sebastian gives Kurt a playful salute, then hurries away, led by the now effervescent woman who couldn't be more thrilled than if they were outfitting her daughter. 

“And Kevin?”

“Yeah, coach?”

Kurt puts his hands on Kevin's shoulders and gives him a reassuring squeeze as they watch that grotesque, bubble-spitting giant take the ice. “Add the Axel.”

[goodomensblog]

Afterward - Part 17

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16

(#2 definitely won - but #4 was a pretty close second, so we’re doing the classic punch and run!)

Afterward - - - Part 17

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Entropy, rising up, tilts its head and smiles a wide, infinitely deep grin. Pale, ephemeral tendrils squirm where the creature’s head and neck are rapidly reconnecting.

Gabriel has picked up the sword and is twisting it up.

Beelzebub, however, beats him to the punch. Literally.

“Mine,” is all Beelzebub manages, a low, rasping shout. Pushing roughly in front of the archangel, Beelzebub winds a bloodied fist back and strikes.

Their knuckles smack between its eyes - and with a wet sounding squelch, the head which hadn’t yet fully re-attached, flies off Entropy’s shoulders.

This time, however, Entropy seems to retain consciousness, and the head screeches in outrage as it careens across the room.

“Shoo, bitch,” Beelzebub spits.

“My angels,” the head shrieks, rolling across the floor. “Your master commands you! Attack!”

From the top of the courtyard, where tiled roofs curve above stone carved archways, movement draws Beelzebub’s gaze up.

Angels line the tile rooftop, their formidable white wings spread wide. In the place where the angels’ eyes should be, dark, sunken pools hauntingly stare.

From behind Beelzebub, Gabriel makes a low noise of distress.

Beelzebub scans the faces. There are none they readily recognize - Michael and Uriel, at least, are absent. But surely most of the dark eyed angels are - or were - under Gabriel’s command.

“No…” the archangel breathes.

Forcibly ignoring the pain they feel radiating off Gabriel in cold, nauseating waves, Beelzebub shakes their head and, squeezing their hands into fists, cracks their knuckles one by one.

“What are they?” Aziraphale asks, horror lacing his words.

The first angel steps from the rooftop. Where it lands, stone splinters around its feet. From its eyes, black ichor drips, trailing like tears down its pure, celestial skin. It takes a second step, and the floor cracks anew.

“That,” Crowley says, speaking up from the back, “looks like an angel on steroids. Bloody evil steroids.”

Another angel drops. Then another. Gray dust from pulverized stone rises in an ominous cloud.

“I - I have to-” Gabriel is muttering, and Beelzebub can feel him moving behind them, probably making up his mind to do something stupid.

“Yeah,” Beelzebub says, surveying the hoard of freaky angels. “Fuck this noise.”

Turning right the hell around, Beelzebub grabs Gabriel roughly by the arm. 

When he doesn’t move - like the absolute asshole he is - Beelzebub grits their teeth and yanks, violently hauling the lead-limbed archangel with them. When they look up and see that Aziraphale and Crowley are still standing there, waiting, they yell, “Oi! Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum! Fucking move!”

Crowley and Aziraphale retreat through the doorway, but go no further.

Beelzebub is panting, blood from a cut they didn’t even realize they had dripping into their eyes, and the room is tilting as a frankly annoying whine picks up in their ears - but this is no time to pass out, so Beelzebub doesn’t. 

At least Gabriel is finally moving; Beelzebub, all too happy to release him, shoves the archangel through the door. 

Upon crossing the threshold, Beelzebub is hastily elbowed out of the way by Crowley; Aziraphale, bracing a hand on the wall, traces glowing symbols on the floor.

“What’s-”

“That’s why we were waiting,” Crowley snaps.

Beelzebub reflects that if the room were spinning any less, they would have happily smacked that smug look off his face.

Instead, they crouch, bracing their hands on their knees.

Aziraphale straightens up with a satisfied nod. “That’ll do the trick.”

Then Crowley is swinging the door closed. Hand on the handle, he melts the lock. 

“If Aziraphale did what I think he did, we do not want to be here when they cross that threshold,” Crowley says.

“I did,” Aziraphale says with a grim smile.

Gabriel, who Beelzebub thinks is looking more like his usual insufferable self by the minute, claps his hands together. “Then let’s fucking go!”

“Right!” Crowley crows, pointing at Gabriel, “Your illicit sneaking out of Heaven door!”

Beelzebub and Aziraphale turn to look at Gabriel.

“Okay it’s really not as weird as he’s making it sound.”

 “It doesn’t matter-” Aziraphale says with a wave, but Beelzebub isn’t listening.

Blinking rapidly, they frown at the black dots blossoming across their vision. They immediately blink harder because they are not going to pass out; It is a fucking bad time for losing consciousness - and besides, they’d honestly rather die than look weak in front of these morons.

Crowley is turning, leading the way, and Beelzebub starts to step after him - when everything takes a sharp and sudden dip. 

And shit - Beelzebub thinks, consciousness slipping as a roaring white noise fills their ears. Blackness is spreading, sweeping across their vision.

They see outstretched, reaching hands - and then darkness swallows them whole.

Reality narrows to individual, isolated moments.

The press of fine, soft as silk fabric against their cheek.

A long hallway lit by a single flickering light.

Aziraphale, pale with purple bruises beneath his eyes, pulling a tapestry aside - pushing a doorway open.

Crowley’s hands cupped around that strange, blue flame.

Then white light - at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

Beelzebub stiffens, crying out in protest - because they know the saying about light and tunnels, and they straight up refuse to let that prick Death lay those frigid hands on them now.

This is followed by the soft, hesitant brush of fingers over their forehead and a whisper-soft murmur. “Don’t worry. It’s not that kind of tunnel.”

Again, darkness.

And then Crowley is exclaiming, shouting excitedly, and Beelzebub squints their eyes open to glaring sunlight - and a sleek black car, parked on what appears to be a random London street corner. 

When someone swings one of the rear doors open, Beelzebub has a sense of deja vu as they are laid down on black leather seats.

Voices drone, someone shifts beside them, and the car awakens with a reassuring purr; Beelzebub’s tired eyes close.

- - - 

Brushing his hands over the steering wheel, Crowley sits in the Bentley, taking a moment to enjoy the car’s energetic rumble. She doesn’t handle long periods of idleness very well. And though Crowley hasn’t been gone all that long, he imagines it must have been rather demoralizing to have been abandoned on a lonesome countryside road. He’ll have to make sure she’s still in working shape. 

“Just cause I gave you a little vacation,” Crowley says, tapping the dashboard admonishingly, “is no excuse for any slacking off, you understand?”

The car rumbles, and Crowley sighs, rolling his eyes. “See? I leave you for half a day and now I’m getting back talk.”

“Can we please just fucking go?” Gabriel snaps.

A glance in the rear-view mirror reveals the altogether unpleasant sight of Gabriel’s frowning face. 

The archangel is pressed up against the door, his large arms folded impractically in front of him. 

Beelzebub, in the few minutes after they’d been set down, had somehow completely rotated, and now they stretch out, arms flung out in either direction. Their booted feet are kicked up - one jabbing Gabriel’s side and the other shoved up against his face.

The archangel glowers.

From the passenger seat, Aziraphale clears his throat.

Crowley’s attention is immediately diverted.

Aziraphale is battered. Deep scratches scatter over the entirety of his person, and a bone deep exhaustion shows in his overall pallor and the bags like dark bruises gathering beneath his light eyes. 

Crowley has the impulse to stroke a thumb beneath that gentle gaze and burn a miracle to soothe some of the exhaustion marring his skin. 

He doesn’t.

Because he filled Aziraphale’s veins with demon blood, and Crowley isn’t entirely sure Aziraphale won’t come to resent him for it. 

The desperate transfusion had worked. Aziraphale is here. That is what matters. But the fact that the cost of this gamble - the cost of mixing that which was never meant to join - has yet to reveal itself, leaves Crowley deeply on edge. 

“Dear,” Aziraphale says, mercifully interrupting Crowley’s rapidly spiraling thoughts. “We fled the bookshop earlier because we believed we were dealing with a threat who knew us, personally. Entropy does not know us. And I presume that it does not know where I live.”

“...you want to go home, don’t you?”

“Yes I want to go home!” Aziraphale says in a rush, hands folded, his fingers twisting together. “It’s been a really long day.”

Crowley considers, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “I suppose we could ward the hell out of it.”

Aziraphale is eagerly nodding, “I already have a good few around the foundation as it is.”

“Is it defensible?” Gabriel asks.

“Better,” Aziraphale replies. “It’s hidden.”

“Though adding a few defenses wouldn’t hurt,” Crowley adds.

“As long as we get off the damned street,” Gabriel says with a weary sigh.

“That, we can do,” Crowley says, shifting the car into drive. 

“Wait!” Aziraphale says, grabbing Crowley’s arm. “First, we need food, Crowley.”

“....right this second?”

“As soon as possible. You do realize that we should avoid using powerful miracles at the moment, right?”

Crowley glances in the rear-view mirror, only somewhat mollified to see that Gabriel is also staring at Aziraphale with an expression of blatant confusion.

“Er - yes? I mean, we don’t want to go around putting beacons on our heads,” Crowley replies. “But what in the world does this have to do with food?”

Aziraphale is staring at him like he might be stupid - which he’s not. Right?

Crowley checks the rear-view mirror again.

Gabriel is squinting at Aziraphale. “Aziraphale. What are you talking about?”

Aziraphale looks between them, mouth agape.

From the backseat, Beelzebub groans. 

“Angel,” Beelzebub says, cracking an eye reluctantly open, “They’re both idiots. Don’t… strain their brains.”

Aziraphale glances back, relief evident. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Of course I know what you’re talking about!” Beelzebub replies, and the other eye opens to a menacing slit. “Food strengthens your bloody corporation. You. Are. Living. In. It. So fucking feed it. The stronger your corporation is - the stronger you are.”

Aziraphale is nodding vigorously. “And we are all very injured. Beelzebub especially. A good meal will help kick start our angelic - and demonic - healing.”

“Ah,” is all Crowley manages.

“Honestly, dear. You really didn’t know that?”

Crowley, who will frankly never admit that he played hookie during the body orientation seminar to check out the strange angel he’d seen walking up on Eden’s wall, adjusts his glasses and shrugs. “I’m a demon. What’s the archangel’s excuse?”

“Corporeal bodies are not my department.”

Beelzebub blows a raspberry.

“Since you’re awake, your highness - mind moving your foot out of my face?”

Beelzebub’s only reply is a long, deep snore.

Crowley shuts both of them up by jerking the car into motion.

Food it is!” Crowley says, foot sinking satisfyingly down on the gas pedal. “And I know just where to take us.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The angels and demons have managed to escape Heaven and flee from Entropy. Before holing up at Aziraphale’s bookshop and deciding their next move - Aziraphale insists they get something to eat. Crowley decides the best place to get a couple of angels and demons lunch is….

The grocery store! Crowded around a single cart, they will shuffle round the aisles of the local grocery mart, exploring the strange wonders of fluorescent illuminated human cuisine. 

The Ritz! Sitting elbow to elbow around a pristine white tablecloth, they will be sipping at champagne and making awkward small talk. Probably nothing will catch fire.

The drive thru! Packed in the Bentley, Crowley will drive them all to the greasiest of fast food establishments. With all three speaking at once, Crowley will attempt to order.

Please comment or reblog to vote! :)

Part 18

[lambourngb]

This Hard Truth

Fic prompt: “Are you drunk?”

THIS HARD TRUTH picks up immediately after THIS HARD LIE, an AU that explores the changes to Roswell and Michael if Alex had decided to tell the Air Force to go pound sand. It’s not all roses. Also folks, not sure if I’ve said, but I’ve been writing these each day literally from scratch off an old vague outline I abandoned a year ago, and today’s the first one that I’ve struggled with, so there’s your warning. Once Michael Guerin Week is over, this is going to a beta and will find a home on AO3. Thank you for loving the raw story. 

****

The solid black Range Rover parked in front of his Airstream didn’t surprise Michael in the least. 

It had been three days since Jesse Manes had succumbed to his terminal cancer diagnosis, those final days silent under a steady morphine drip. The doctors were correct with their less than a month pronouncement which had left Michael with the uncomfortable position of hoping that Jesse was going to defy those odds. It was a win-win of extended suffering for a man who had earned that and it would have kept Alex in Roswell longer.

He had seen Alex exactly seven times since that first night at the Wild Pony, all of them casual spontaneous encounters that became less spontaneous after he’d learned the nursing rotation of Manes brothers and home care staff. He’d shuffled his jobs at the garage to leave openings in schedule and stopped eating at home during the nights he knew Alex would be free, emptying out his dining out jar. 

This was a species thing, he had reminded himself as a curl of guilt had started to squirm inside him at the level of low-key stalking he had done to see his ex. Between Max’s somber admission that he still could remember in crystal-clear detail the day Liz Ortecho touched his lip almost eight years ago in high school and the reaction one of Michael’s attempts at dating had to his story of showing up on Alex’s doorstep two years after a breakup with no warning, well he was aware this wasn’t a normal intensity. The date with wide eyes picking up their phone, even though it hadn’t made a noise, saying, “You seem like a nice guy, but I need to take this call, it’s probably work, we can try again some other time-”

That was the proper reaction to his story he learned, not nodding sagely like Max had and encouraging him to go in the first place.

Humans couldn’t calculate within a minute the amount of time they had recently spent with someone the way Michael could. It was a full commitment of energy to stay carefully friendly with Alex, to keep his alien focus under wraps even though he probably tipped his cards that day in Nashville. On his good days he told himself that Alex hadn’t called the cops on him because he’d been happy to see Michael and on his bad days, it was because he didn’t want the press. 

With Jesse Manes dead, Alex’s reasons for staying in Roswell were over. It was time to say goodbye to this small interlude of where Michael felt completely himself, brimming in mitochondrial buoyancy with every cell alive and sparking. Back to the cards of Hallmark blandness and the short notes of congratulations after a song does well.

Alex looked up from his casual sprawl in the lawn chair, his phone in hand, and smiled at Michael’s approach, “thought I might return the favor, and show up at your door unannounced. I gotta say, an Airstream at Sanders’ was not what I was expecting as Casa de Guerin.”

Suddenly aware of the dark stain of dirt staining his cuticles, Michael shoved his hands in his pockets as he strolled up to him. Everywhere he looked was a reminder of the divide, from the shiny Range Rover Sport to the smooth manicure and high-end clothing that wrapped Alex’s frame. “What did you expect then, bedroll in my truck again?”

“Whoa,” Alex stood up, pocketing his phone to hold his hands up harmlessly. “Sorry, that’s not what I mean, I was referring to the doctor boyfriend you’ve got. Most doctors I’ve met are about the trappings, it looks like you found a good one that likes you as you.” Alex’s smile wavered, “I’m happy for you.”

Now even more off-balanced, Michael sputtered, “wait, I don’t-”

“I’m less happy it’s Kyle Valenti, but I guess it’s possible he’s changed, or received a personality transplant-”

“Holy shit who have you been talking to?” He finally cut in, looking over his shoulder back to the office at the auto yard, half expecting to see Isobel being helpful. She had never quite forgiven Alex for finding happiness in Nashville, and it would be just like her to spin a version of events to make Alex jealous. As if that was possible, even in a universe where Michael was capable of being a Stepford boyfriend worthy of a doctor, nothing compares to the life Alex has built without him. Not even zero-percent body fat doctors who did know quite a bit of anatomy. The mention of Kyle did remind Michael that he hadn’t heard very much from him since that last night shortly before Alex had rolled into town. “We’ve seen each other a few times now, Alex, I would have told you if I had a boyfriend. Anyway, Kyle has changed, but he’s not- we’re weirdly enough friends.”

A pang of longing shot through him at seeing Alex arch his eyebrow at him in judgment. “That is not what Maria says, or Arturo, or Old Man Sanders for that matter.”

“Well, they are wrong.” Michael said firmly, stepping around Alex leaving a careful amount of space as he flipped open the lid of his cooler for a beer. “It’s not like that okay? I don’t have a Dennis and a dog in my life, it’s casual and fun but nothing more.”

“I wish I was sad about hearing that, but I’m not.” 

Michael paused in the middle of popping the cap off his bottle, “Wow, thank you.” That stung more than he was expecting to hear that Alex was happy he was alone. Fame and fortune really did change people. Swallowing the lump in his throat, “Listen, I’ve loved seeing you Alex, and the less said about your dad the better, so thanks for coming by to say goodbye and eh, enjoy Nashville,” he grabbed the knob on his Airstream door to flee.

A hand covered his, keeping the door firmly closed against the frame. Michael cursed his species for the thousandth time as the touch sent waves of weakness through him. Alex leaned in close, too close for just friendly words, “Wait, that came out wrong.”

“Did it?”

“Yes,” Alex stated firmly. He held onto Michael’s hand, stepping into the space between them to block the retreat into the Airstream. This was the closest they had been to one another in four years, not since that last fight the morning before Alex’s flight east that ended with fucking on a bare mattress after Michael had packed their sheets for Alex to take. “Coming back here, seeing everyone, um, seeing you, it reminded me of who I was before I became this guy,” he gestured at his clothes and back toward the expensive car vaguely. “I’ve got all these things now, useless things, that when I look in the mirror, I see my dad, a guy who cared more about a uniform than he did his own kids.” 

“Alex, you could never be him, I don’t care if you become more famous than McCartney, it’s just not possible.”

Whatever Alex saw on his face made him shake his head gently in response, “I don’t get it, you still look at me like you did when we were dumb kids surviving on ramen, like nothing’s changed at all.” 

“Nothing has changed for me,” Michael insisted firmly, bringing the open and almost forgotten beer to his lips. A merger shield to employ. It was pretty clear that nothing ever would and that was his reality. It was as true now as it was when he had borrowed a guitar from the music room at seventeen. “But you knew that already, that’s why we broke up, remember? Things were changin’ for you, you were goin’ to bigger places than Roswell, and that’s a good thing. A great thing even.”

“I know. You should know that I’m not going back to Tennessee right now, Michael.” 

“What?”

“There’s no Dennis, I mean, not anymore. That kinda fizzled out after your visit, and the dog was his,” Alex kept his hand over Michael’s, slowly moving it up to circle his fingers around his wrist, “I do miss the dog, she was sweet.”

“Your house-” Michael started, his pulse back to pounding senselessly in his ears.

“That was mine but I sublet it to a guy I know who’s doing session work at the studio while I was here. I just let him convert the sublet into a lease.”

“And your agent?”

“Dealing with the fact I’m taking my first sabbatical in four years,” Alex finished smoothly, an answer ready for every disbelieving question that Michael could muster about his house and life. He took a step back, as if he was suddenly aware of how he had crowded him against the warm metal door of the Airstream.

There was just one question left to ask though, as Michael studied Alex’s face intently. The transparent way his eyes kept flickering from the beer bottle against Michael’s mouth and then away. “If you’re not here to say goodbye to me, then why are you here?” he asked challengingly, raising his beer back to his mouth to finish with a full lipped suggestive swallow.

Gauntlet dropped and accepted as Alex surged forward to press Michael against the door and kiss him. The glass bottle dropped uselessly to the ground, glancing off the metal steps as Michael reached behind him to turn the knob quickly. He stepped backward, letting Alex crowd him through the doorway, chasing his mouth hungrily.

The metal door slapped hard against the door jamb, as Michael fell back on his mattress. 

Alex gulped audibly for air from the break, pulling back to tug off his v-neck shirt over his head and then stilled as he took in the state of Michael’s small bed. His eyes widened, scrutinizing the setup and Michael had to look away in embarrassment, knowing exactly what Alex had just recognized. “You goddamn liar! When I said I didn’t want our sheets to take with me, you said you were going to burn them!”

“Yeah, well, it seemed wasteful.” 

Michael leaned back on the thin mattress, ripping his own shirt off to toss carelessly on the floor. He watched as Alex reached down to unbutton his pants. The yellow light from the trailer window brushed a gold glow of Alex’s half naked torso. He drank in the small, subtle changes in Alex’s body, like the corded strength in his torso that spoke of some sort of workout. Probably yoga or dancing maybe. The playful outrage on Alex’s face slowly changed over to a dawning realization as he took in the details of the small and cramped surroundings.

This was why Michael never brought anyone back here.  All around were the skeleton remains of that first apartment together. The same dishes in the tiny sink. The same cheap poster advertising Warp Tour was taped to the back of the wooden built-in dresser. The same stupid classic car clock that Alex had brought home, after Maria had bought the Wild Pony and upgraded the decor, all because the cars reminded him of Michael.

Everywhere in the Airstream was some piece of memorabilia from those three years together. It was as close to a shrine to their relationship that Michael could build without setting out candles and a full altar.

“Holy shit, you really do love me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Michael rubbed at the back of his head ruefully, before laying back to accept Alex’s warm weight over him. He closed his eyes as Alex kissed him, turning his head upward as those long, musician fingers tangled in his hair. Gasping softly, he confessed, “Never did figure out how to stop.” 

“My dad was wrong, I mean, I knew he was- but he was so convinced that your species weren’t capable of it-” Alex stopped abruptly, aware almost immediately that Michael had gone rigid under him. 

Dimly Michael realized that Alex was still talking but nothing registered after ‘your kind’. It was subterfuge earlier, when Alex joked that first night about his father being a lunatic lost in the ravages of a brain tumor. He believed Jesse, worse he seemed to know that Jesse was right, that Michael was different. 

Cool palms cupped Michael’s face, pulling him away from his spiraling thoughts. Any hope of laughing off the response was gone with the serious look in Alex’s eyes. “Hey. I don’t care, okay? You are still the first person, hell the only person, I’ve ever loved completely. Where you came from doesn’t matter to me. I know who you are-”

“And you know what I am.”

“Yes.”

*** 

Michael stared up at the ceiling of his trailer not daring to look sideways at Alex, who was pressed as close he could get against Michael on the narrow bunk. After a soft acknowledgment that he knew that Michael wasn’t alone, that he’d figured out that Max and Isobel had to be the same even though his father had died believing only Michael was an alien, Michael told him everything. 

The crash, the pod, the years in the system, the knowledge that he was different and the fear that came with that knowledge. The fact he has powers, that they all do. The joy he had in finding Max and Isobel again at eleven even though he didn’t trust why he felt that way toward them. Then the vow they had made for absolute secrecy. “Not even Noah knows about Isobel, and they’ve been married four years now.”

“And Max? He never told anyone either?”

“His partner knows Jenna Cameron but that wasn’t planned. They were driving back to the station after a long circuit patrol for speeders and got caught up rescuing some people from a flash flood. The Berrendo. Cam got hit by a tree branch, femoral artery, and yeah, Max healed her. No one saw him because it was a dark night, but healing leaves a handprint. Impossible to deny it.”

Alex ran his hand absently through Michael’s chest hair, soothing them both. “It was a relief when my dad had Flint show me the evidence.”

“A relief?” Michael joked weakly, his mouth twitching upward in the effort. “Low key worried now that learning I’m an alien was a relief to you.”

“I thought the novelty of being with me had worn off. I mean, my choice after telling the Air Force to fuck off was starving to death or splitting expenses with you for rent. I figured after 3 years, you were ready to move on, so you let me go.” Alex reached up to cover Michael’s mouth with his palm briefly. “I know how that sounds, but you have to understand, before you? No one had ever loved me. My mom left when I was eight. I mean, maybe my older brothers did for a bit when I was little and cute? At least until I was thirteen and my dad started singling me out. He would kick my ass in front of them, daring them to protest, and they didn’t. I didn’t even love me.”

“Alex,” Heartbreak was in every syllable. “I never wanted to let you go-”

“I know, I’m just saying, I could finally believe it when Flint handed me a piece of a 70-year-old spaceship.”

“Dropping in on you with no warning a couple of years ago wasn’t a clue?”

Alex pursed his lips together, and laid his head on Michael’s shoulder. “Honestly I had spent two years telling myself that you didn’t give a shit, and then when you showed up, I thought it was because I was making a name. All sorts of people come out of the woodwork when the first taste of fame comes along. Then you confused me, because you left and started sending me these terribly boring greeting cards.”

“Fuck off, I spent forever picking out those cards,” Michael protested with a laugh. “I was trying to show you that I had chill, that I wouldn’t boil a bunny or stalk your social media.”

“Well you succeeded, I did keep all your cards though. It might have been a factor for Dennis moving out,” Alex joked in return before sobering with a tired sigh, “but little did you know, the real stalkers here were my family. Ever since 1947, a Manes man has been tasked in protecting humanity from your kind, starting with my great-grandfather Harlan, and ending with my brother Flint.”

Michael echoed the sigh, tucking Alex closer to him. The idea of the government, especially the United States Military, believing in aliens was enough to send his pulse rattling upward with fear. Every fear made real. 

“On the bright side, my dad is dead, so that’s one less Manes hunting you.”

“What’s the other side?”

“I thought my brother was in Germany except he’s been stateside for the last five years working with my dad. He’s a weapons expert, and he’s so important to the project that the military forwarded his mail to Germany for the proper postmarks.”

“Well fuck.”

*** 

The next day, Michael took a rare sick day from work and guided Alex out to the desert to the cave to show him the pods, where his story had begun according to his memory. Then it was Alex’s turn for show and tell, as he directed Michael to the abandoned air base.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to get in, but Flint calls it Project Shepherd. It was Dad’s center of operations in Roswell. He tapped into all the traffic cameras and even planted one on the gate to Sanders’ Auto,” Alex explained as he stepped out of his Range Rover. “You fixing cars must have bored the shit out of him.”

Weeds and scrub grass covered the broken pavement of the air base, lending to the air of disuse. The huge metal hangers covered the expanse, the domed tin roofs punctuated the horizon like a scattered group of D’s. Michael scanned the surroundings, a feeling of disquiet and dread filling his veins. It was probably the height of foolishness to visit a top secret bunker with only the company of a musician as back up, even if he did have the last name of Manes.

A dark shadow caught his eye, and frowned as he realized that they weren’t the only ones on sight. A familiar dark blue BMW was parked off to the side, mostly hidden by a building named B unimaginatively. As he crossed the parking lot with Alex a step behind, skipping over the broken slabs of paving markers, he drew to a halt in front of an open door.

Michael started forward, but Alex slapped his hand over his arm to halt him, “you should let me go first-”

“What, no!”

“I’m human, what if there’s some sort of anti-alien trap down there?”

“And you’re human, so what makes you think you’ll trip it?” Michael shot back reasonably, shaking off Alex’s hold. “If there’s a trap, I’m the one with the lock pick in my brain, besides, I think I know who’s down there.”

“This is like every bad horror movie, Michael.” 

But outside of that pronouncement, Alex let him take the lead down the stairs of the open bunker into the cool shadows of the underground facility. As expected, he made it down uneventfully and found exactly who he expected at the bottom, spinning around in a slow circle in a leather covered office chair.

“Did you know they’re selling a shirt at Planet 7 that says ‘I’ve been probed by an alien’? I should buy it, because I can wear it unironically,” Kyle greeted as Michael made it to the bottom of the staircase. He shut his mouth comically as he realized that Michael wasn’t alone, “Whoops, did I just blow your secret like I’ve blown you?”

In Michael’s experience with Kyle, working the almost-friends and all-benefits angle, he had seen him in a lot of states. Worn out from a long shift at the hospital, solemn because he’d lost a patient, giggly because of Michael’s tendency toward wild bedhead, horny strangely because of a good football game, and finally tipsy after a pair of IPAs. He had never seen Kyle in this state.

“Are you drunk?” Michael asked, disbelievingly even though there was a mostly empty bottle of bourbon on the long conference table, stretching along the width of the room under the fluorescent lights.

“I am very drunk. That is the only sane response to my dad, I mean my day, actually I had that right the first time, my dad.” Kyle nodded vigorously before looking over Michael’s shoulder, “Hi Alex Manes. I’m sorry I was a homophobic jackass in high school. I have really changed. Ask your ex. Or is it current? Am I the ex now? Are we both Michael’s ex? Exes? Fuck is that plural or possessive-”

“You are definitely an ex now,” Alex answered firmly.

“Holy shit you are wasted,” Michael shook his head, slightly amused in spite of the deep alarm he felt in finding Kyle Valenti deep in the command center of an alien hunting operation. It was hard to feel too afraid considering the words pouring from Kyle’s mouth unedited. 

“Listen I changed myself okay? I did the hard work examining my privilege and my toxic masculinity. I did it because I like sucking dick, but also because my dad is a good person and I wanted to make him proud. But I was fucking wrong. Not about sucking dick, that’s great, but my dad, he’s not good, Michael, he is really not who I thought he was.” Kyle pronounced seriously with the heavy emphasis of the inebriated. He staggered over to a computer system to press a key, pulling up a surveillance camera of a nondescript building on the set of command monitors. “He runs an alien GITMO,” the outside image clicked over, showing a line of cells, including an image of an all-too familiar man, “And he had Jesse Manes killed by an alien.”

[tirednotflirting]

i'm all butterflies (i'm sky-high for you)

just found this lil thing in my wips and i’ve decided (like two months after not thinking about it) that i actually like it.

title from feels like this by maisie peters

read here on ao3

It’s too early to be thinking like this, Ashton keeps telling himself. He can’t be thinking like this so soon. It’s asking for complete and total disaster, for running back up and checking to see if you lit the fuse on the firecracker kind of disaster. It feels terrifying but it’s the kind of feeling he’s found himself craving as of late. 

Some 20 or so feet away he can Luke smiling brightly as he tells a story, his hand not holding a glass of wine waving through the air, those in the little circle around him laughing like he’s telling them the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. Luke tends to do that, he can capture the heart and attention of anyone around him in seconds with his bright smile and wide blue eyes. He makes coming to these kinds of things easier. And not just because Ashton suddenly has someone to smile beside rather than forcing himself back into the role of the class clown. He wants to listen to and look at Luke just as much as everyone else in the room.

He had been hesitant to ask Luke to join him for the several weddings and showers he had been invited to that summer. This thing between them was still new. It was intimidating to ask a new love to attend one wedding let alone five in the span of two months. But when Luke had come back to Ashton’s after a movie for a coffee and a finish to their never ending conversation, he had seen the save the dates on the fridge and practically begged Ashton to take him along as a plus one. Helped search through registries and everything. When Ashton had teasingly asked about his interest in attending so many celebrations of love, Luke had only smiled lazily and spewed a few wine drunk poetic lines about love that had Ashton diving across the couch to press their lips together and fit his fingers in the spaces betweens Luke’s.

The summer of weddings had been fun. They had danced and sang and drank their way through May and June, giggling through cheesy slow dances after too many spritzes and shared blushed looks when reaching for sweaty hands during vows that hit just a little too close to home. This was so so new, Ashton kept reminding himself every time Luke would finish his sentences when speaking to old high school friends or when he would wrap his arms around his middle once returning from the bar with another glass of wine, blue eyes meeting his own hazel before a kiss was pressed to the tip of his nose in thanks. 

In his earlier twenties, weddings had been a bore for Ashton, even when he managed to find someone else going stag to spend time with, he still felt very on his own. Which he always justified to be as okay; it was a celebration of the love between two other people, he didn’t need to be trying to force that emotion into his own life. But then a bubbly blonde quite literally tripped his way over his own legs in a coffee shop and into Ashton’s life and suddenly the idea of navigating any part of life without him, even after just under four months, made no sense at all to Ashton.

They’re at an adoption party now. The summer of weddings was over though Luke had a countdown on his phone to the winter destination wedding Ashton’s friend from his cohort was having in December. It was early September so classes had started up again but no one was really too thick into the courses they were teaching to have an excuse not to attend the celebration for Michael and Calum’s little one that had just arrived into their life. How anyone had the time for babies during graduate school was beyond him, but Ashton was over the moon to see his friends so happy. 

His focus returns to Luke then, his story obviously coming to a close now as Kaylee, one of Ashton’s past colleagues in the lab, sets a hand to his arm and smiles up at him as Luke nods, his focus settled intently on the shorter girl. Luke laughs brightly then and nods and before he knows it, both of their faces turn to where Ashton sits at a baby yellow draped table. Ashton feels a blush creep up to his cheeks as he tries to playfully roll his eyes as he gets up to meet the small group.

“What are you kids getting up to over here, huh?” Ashton jokes as he lets a hand drop to the bottom of Luke’s back, not missing his way he leans just slightly into the touch. 

“I was just telling Kaylee about how much of a zombie you turned into last month the week those grant proposals were due,” Luke smiles as he leans over just the slightest bit to press a kiss to Ashton’s temple. “And she was telling me the story of when you slept in a sleeping bag in the lab when testing those catalysts during your rotations. Said it looked like you were having a bit of a slumber party.”

“Oh come on,” Ashton scoffs with a laugh. “If Henderson had just had the guts to ask that post-doc to split the measurements with me this wouldn’t have been a problem! God, I was barely a person that semester.”

Kaylee shakes her head, excusing herself from the conversation to go grab herself a drink. Luke smiles his goodbye, thanking her for the conversation, before turning to face Ashton, his arms moving to drape over his shoulders. He lets his glass of white wine dangle somewhat precariously between his fingers as he pulls Ashton closer in, the other boy’s arms moving to wrap around his waist. “Feel weird yet that you’re going to be a whole Dr Irwin in a few months?

Ashton hums at the feeling of Luke brushing his fingers through the curls at the back of his neck. “Probably won’t feel real until I’m handed the diploma. Or when a student shows up scared at my office hours and says it for the first time.”

“You’re ridiculous.” “I don’t know,” Ashton smirks up at his boy. “You ready to hear Dr Hemmings yet?”

Luke lifts the hand that holds his glass of wine and waves it around at nothing while smiling at Ashton’s playful tone. “It’s different for musicians. We always call each other by first names. Nothing like this nonsense you guys have over in science. Too stuffy.”

Ashton raises a brow at the comment. “I’m stuffy?”

“Oh hush,” Luke shakes his head with a pout. “You know you’re not like most of them. You’re special to me in every definition of the word. Come on, I want to meet Aleena.”

Ashton lets Luke reach down for his hand, their fingers tangling together as he pulls them in the direction of the table where Michael and Calum sit, a tiny bundle tucked against Calum’s chest while they speak with their mothers. Calum seems to be doing much more of the talking while Michael smiles softly at the baby in his husband’s arms, his finger tucked inside her tiny fist.

“Hi boys,” Calum greets them warmly as they approach while the mothers wander off toward the tables of food set up on the opposite end of the lawn. The signs of parenthood already show on the couple, their eyes just a little bit more tired than a typical graduate student. Calum rubs his hand against the back of the tiny human tucked against him, his upper half gently swaying back and forth some. 

“Congratulations, guys, happy she’s finally here,” Ashton smiles warmly as Michael tucks an arm around him to pull him briefly into his side. The three of them had started their program together what felt like a lifetime ago. Ashton had felt a particular joy getting to watch the couple come together and start their own family. 

“You know I was thinking about it the other day,” Michael muses as he steps around Ashton to greet Luke in a similar fashion. “And all of the paperwork combined probably weighed more than our child does. It’s mad.” 

“To be fair, Mike, babies are small,” Ashton laughs. He turns then to see Calum handing over the tiny bundle to a now sitting Luke, softly instructing how to support Baby Aleena while he adjusts the fleecy blanket around her tiny frame. From where he stands, Ashton can see the baby is fast asleep and his eyes glitter at the way Luke looks down at her.

He feels something akin to a fight or flight response as he carries on the conversation with his two friends, discussing their projects and what the start of the semester has looked like for him. He can’t help the way he tucks himself a bit closer to where Luke sits, letting the blonde lean his head against his hip while a hand moves to fix the collar of his shirt. More than once does Ashton catch a knowing look from Calum.

Eventually Aleena starts whining some, her nap seemingly over and her confusion at the number of people around her evident. Luke gently hands the baby back up to Michael and the couples part ways, the new parents heading in the direction of the backdoor into their house. Luke stands then, his hands dropping to Ashton’s shoulders as he presses a kiss to his forehead. 

“Gonna grab another one of those lemonades, you want anything?”

Ashton shakes his head, one of his own hands lifting to cover Luke’s on his left shoulder, his thumb running over his knuckles. “I’m good for now. Thanks, love,” he stops his thumb for a moment and moves to better hold his hand. “Hey, I’m glad you’re here. Like, with me.”

Luke lifts Ashton’s hand that had been holding his own up to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles as he smiles dazedly. “Happy I’m with you too, Ash.” There’s something just a bit more ambiguous in the way he responds but Ashton isn’t given a chance to question him before Luke turns and heads in the direction of the drink table.

Ashton gets pulled into a different conversation then, getting asked about how his writing is going and the new project he’s started his undergraduate assistants on. He knows it's rude but he can’t help the way that he keeps looking to find where Luke has gotten up to in between his responses to questions. He finds it so curious how his eyes are instantly drawn to the tall, smiling blonde regardless of where he’s made his way to around the room. He considers for a moment if it’s just the more definable physical characteristics of his boyfriend that make the search easier on his eyes but as he catches Luke tossing over a quick wink, Ashton’s heart fluttering some at the action, he knows then that it’s something different.

It’s the ease in the way their love fits into Ashton’s life and the warmth he felt watching Luke hold his friends’ daughter. It’s the gentle touches and the way Ashton can hear Luke’s laugh the second it leaves his lips regardless of where he is in a room full of people without a moment of hesitation. It’s love, he thinks. And though it's still so early, Ashton finds himself thinking that that kind of love is something he could get used to.

*

[ogcassiopeia]

M+M’s Top 10 Kpop Songs of 2020

NOTE: Please remember these choices are only my opinions and I am not exactly a professional music critic. If you disagree with me that is perfectly okay,  I only make these lists for fun and entertainment purposes.

10. Not Shy – ITZY

This song is so fun, boppy and sassy! It’s my favorite song that Itzy has put out thus far, and I feel they looked and sounded super confident on this track, telling us how they will get what they want and aren’t afraid to ask for it. I was dancing to this track all through the summer months and I think I will keep it on rotation even heading into 2021.

9. Sukhumvit Swimming – ONF

This is the only song I have ever listened to by ONF but I absolutely adore it. I adore it even though when the members sing ‘sukhumvit’ it sounds like they are saying, ‘stupid’.  It just comes out “I’m like a stupid swimming!” and I can’t help but cringe…but for some reason I can forgive that because the hook is just so damn ear-wormy and delicious.

8. Love Killa – Monsta X

 I am a sucker for a dark concept…we all know this by now. This song is pure badass, choas energy reigned in only by a dark, deep bass and hard-hitting, punchy lyrics. Love Killa is smooth and seductive while being intimidating and dangerous. Monsta X also rocked their form fitting suits and blood red lips in the music video (emulating popular thriller movies) while dancing in an imitation of a dirty, back-room bar brawl.

7. Home – YEZI

Gorgeous, ethereal and emotion filled, YEZI belts out incredible notes throughout the final chorus of this song about how when you love someone, they become your safe space. The mixing on the EDM back track can get a bit muddled in spots, but overall it’s a lovely song that I’ve been listening to repeatedly since it’s debut.

6. All That Love – Shim Changmin (MAX)

It’s my forever bias, hitting me again with his incredible songwriting ability and this sweater-warm song. Changmin once again reminds me of how mellow he can make his voice if he feels it suits the song, as he does get to hit some impressive notes but he never gets too loud or screechy…just sits perfectly in this melodic middle-ground. This song should have been more popular…newer kpop fans keep sleeping on TVXQ, Changmin and Yunho and it frustrates me to no end.

5. LA DI DA – Everglow

If you had spoken to me last year, I would have told you I hated Everglow. I found their previous tracks to be lacking in imagination, creativity and uniqueness so I just skipped them if they came up on Spotify. So it was a surprise to me when I listened to LA DI DA and immediately fell in love. It’s 80s synth heavy, hitting you smack in the face with retrowave/synthwave techno beats and an earworm chorus that you just can’t help but feel like your listening to the opening of some fantastical 1985 sci-fi movie.

4. Scream/BOCA – Dreamcatcher

I couldn’t chose between these two bangers which one I liked more, so I added them both at #4. Dreamcatcher has become my favorite kpop girl group of all time and it’s been a slow climb to the top of my list, but it’s a well-deserved spot for them. I came into Kpop AFTER jpop and jrock, and so Dreamcatcher’s sound and influence is like home for me. I adore the horror concept and their various takes on it, the members’ chemistry is palpable and distinct, and they actually seem to LOVE what they do and how they do it. I believe Dreamcatcher LOVES being the group they are and it’s so refreshing to see this kind of positivity and friendship in kpop….its not exactly the reality in most regards, ya know. Scream and BOCA were both hard hitting and wonderfully different in a kpop genre that’s getting a little stifled with same-y sounding releases. I hope Dreamcatcher continues to find success and produce bops, because I definitely don’t want to say goodbye to these 7 girls anytime soon.

3. Pporappippam – SUNMI

It’s 80s synthwave inspired and I love it. I love it so fucking much. You should all know by now that I am a sucker for this kind of sound. I am nothing if not consistent. Sunmi is pure perfection on this track, stunningly melodic over a low thumping synth beat that makes me want to drive down a desert road at sunset in the middle of summer. Sunmi never disappoints in her efforts to be a solo artist who can only deliver bops of the highest caliber.

2. A Song Written Easily – ONEUS

 Before this song’s release I couldn’t have cared less about this newbie kpop group and their following releases haven’t caught my attention either…but this song….this song just hits different. I do not know if it is because this song just sounds incredibly nostalgic for me or what? It takes me back to the early years of kpop, specifically 2002-2009, in it’s overall sound and presentation. Its melody sounds like a lullaby and it rolls through the song like sparks of sunshine on a wave lapping at the shore of a quiet beach. It’s perfection to me and I’ve listened to it way too many times for it to be okay LOL.

1.Lie – Shim Changmin (MAX) feat Chungha

YES. YES YES YES. 1000X YES. This song has been played so much during this year that if it had been on Spotify it would have been my #1 song. (SM WHY HAVEN’T YOU UPLOADED CHANGMIN’S SOLO ALBUM AGAIN TO SPOTIFY…ANSWER ME THIS?!) Changmin’s entire solo album, “Chocolate” was the best surprise I got this year and the fact that this album had no bad songs, nothing skippable, was such a fucking feat. This song especially hit me like a load of melodic bricks to the face. IT’S FUCKING GORGEOUS! Changmin and Chungha’s vocals go so well together, the beat is repetitive like a heart beat and the lyrics speak to the confused feelings one can have when a relationship is near it’s end.  It’s sweet, it’s smooth and when Changmin reigns in his powerful vocals and just…croons….I can’t help but swoon. Changmin can sound like Adam Lambert in one song and them come off like Michael Buble in a another and it’s one of the reasons I adore his wide vocal range. I cannot believe that this album and this song were never appreciated enough this year.

 Honorable Mentions:

I Can’t Stop Me – TWICE, Pit a Pat – XIA, Girls – NATURE, Can’t You See Me and Run Away – TXT, Cassette – DEMIAN, LALALILALA – APRIL, PLAY – Chungha, Don’t Touch Me – Refund Sisters, Boy – Treasure, Zombie – DAY6, Dumhdurum – APINK

[gayenerd]

The Band You Love To Hate By Tom Lanham of RIP  (There’s no date on this but I would say 1995 or 1996?)

Eyes wide as a barn owl's. Spines stiff with anticipation, like a hungry scorpion. The two teenage girls sit stock-still in their booth at a posh Berkeley diner, practically bursting with excitement, but without the faintest clue how to handles it. Clueless, you might call them. A few feet across the linoleum aisle--with his back to them, oblivious to all the oh-my-gawd facial expressions--sits the object of their adulation, dressed in unassuming black jeans, black T-shirt, shredded black Converse, and a beat-up black baseball jacket. But even with his once-green dreadlocks tamed to a short black business cut, Billie Joe Armstrong--yes, the snaggle-toothed MTV ragamuffin from megaplatinum neo-punkers, Green Day--is as easy to spot as Michael Bolton at a Rogaine convention. Although the kids want to leap up from their seats and race over for an autograph or a jittery hello, they don't dare. Instead, they're forced to deal with their seething emotions as if they were eating post-tonsillectomy ice cream: a lot of numb gulping and a quick pain chaser. This is the blessing of being Billie Joe Armstrong. Alas, it's also his curse. By the time you read this, the irascible little rocker will have turned 24. And exactly two years ago, he and his wacky bandmates--drummer Tré Cool and bassist Mike Dirnt--lolled around the trashy basement flat they shared, getting stoned and sneering at the idea that Dookie--their just-released "sellout" on big-time Reprise--would ever amount to more than a nice drink coaster. Fame? They were more preoccupied with their bong collection, stacks of rock 'n' roll bubblegum cards, and a thriving sea monkey tank displayed prominently on a window-sill. Most of their furniture had springs poking through--they didn't care. Armstrong regularly picked boogers from his gold-ringed nostril and then flick them onto the scary shag carpet--what did he have to worry about? Too bad he couldn't have foreseen the all-too-near future. Green Day happened to be in the right place at the right time. The three-chord slam-a-rama Dookie--a pop-edged return to decade-old punk ethics--became the surprise hit of '94, going on to sell over 11 million copies. Armstrong, accustomed to frenetic club performances, began translating the group's infectious energy to larger and larger venues. Demand continued to grow at a staggering pace; Green Day fought back. They turned a satellite MTV Video Awards performance into a "spit-cam" fest by urging the crowd to gob any camera lens it could ("[The cameramen] tried to make it look like it was cool, but it wasn't"). Last October, Armstrong and company issued their 32-minute follow up, Insomniac, almost as an afterthought, with little promotion, a visually offensive video (for "Geek Stink Breath") and--at least initially--a strict no-interview policy. Simultaneously, they ditched their high-powered Cahn-Man management team and are now virtually managing themselves. Along the way, Armstrong married his long-time sweetheart Adrienne and last March fathered a son, Joey. In typical down-to-earth fashion, the couple spent their honeymoon a few blocks from home at Berkeley's prestigious Claremont Hotel, not on some exotic island. Beginning to see the problem here? How does a street-smart kid from humble beginnings skyrocket to world-class notoriety and yet--with his music in millions of homes and his privacy suddenly a right that needs defending--still adhere to the simple ideals, the simple lifestyle that spawned him? Is "successful punk" an oxymoron? Insomniac provided few clues--it was more of the same slacker-ennui sentiment, more defeated, disenfranchised grousing set to speedy, memorable hooks. Or, as Armstrong barks in the aptly-dubbed "Walking Contradiction," "My wallet's fat and so is my head...I'm a victim of a Catch-22." And that, in essence, was the topic this tortured artist wanted to discuss at the diner. The old "be careful what you wish for" adage. The classic "problem with success is finding someone to enjoy it with you" truism. Armstrong, who takes occasional sips from a vanilla milkshake, but mostly stares morosely at the floor, seems to be dealing with superstardom in a relatively normal way. Don't be fooled by the steady stream of negative vitriol that follows; he's analyzing it, breaking it down, figuring out ways to disconnect his kinetic career. Or at least turn down the volume for awhile. 

RIP: We know what's going right. But what's going wrong? 

BILLIE JOE ARMSTRONG: Lots of things, really. Actually, when I came here today, I said I didn't wanna talk about anything good, because I don't really have anything good to talk about. Goin' on tour pretty soon--don't really wanna go. Just because I've been kinda torn. I wanna stick around at home. I don't like playing arenas, and I realized I didn't know what I was getting myself into on the last tour, but I went into it being positive and getting excited about it. But I didn't realize that I was the kind of person to whom it's too much of an event and not really a personal thing anymore. And I started to realize how much I liked being the background music to this scene at the club. And now it's.... I dunno. People expect so much. It's cool and stuff, and it can be a lot of fun, a really good experience. But when you play that many arenas.... The first time we ever played those big kinds of shows at the Shoreline (Amphitheater in Mountain View, California), there was weirdness--we were playing for a lot of f?!kin' people. And I hate to say it, but sometimes it just feels like another gig. We played every day, 50 gigs this last leg, and it just wears on ya. There's all these people, and they think "Alright. I paid my $15--you better impress the f?!kin' shit outta me right now!" And I realized that for Joey, the rock and roll touring life is not a good atmosphere for a kid. I tried to make it to where it would be, bringing lots of his toys out. But there are no familiar surroundings for him. And he likes all the attention--people come up and say hello to him every day, people who are on tour with us. But he doesn't have his own room or a home to go to every day. So, no more touring for Joey. 

RIP: Turned on Regis and Kathie Lee this morning to find their gossip columnist dishing dirt on Green Day. How Insomniac didn't do nearly as well as predicted, how it was a disappointment to the label. A failure, supposedly. 

BJA: Well, it's like, we didn't set up this record. We didn't. We didn't do any promotion beforehand, we completely quit doing interviews, and basically we just wanted to go on into it. We weren't even sure if we wanted to do a video. And then when we did a video, it got yanked from daytime rotation because people were getting grossed-out by it. So I think we did alienate a lot of people. So that was expected, that it wasn't going to sell a lot of records. 

RIP: NOFX have taken it one step further. They refuse to talk to press, make videos, pander potential singles to radio. They don't want to get any bigger. 

BJA: I dunno, maybe I'm just getting jaded or something. But I just got cable again and I can't stand anything. Six years ago you could hear something that was different and know that it was different. So it'd be "alternative" or whatever. But now it's like you get this Joan...Osborne? With the ring in her nose, waving the alternative rock flag, when she's just...not, ya know? And I'm thinking, I hate all this music that's coming out now--the past year was just hell for music. But people are buying it, so then I'm thinking, Maybe they're the ones that are good and I'm the one who sucks? I just don't know if I really wanna be involved in the rock world anymore at all. Period. I don't necessarily have anything against a big record company or people who what to join up with a big record company. It really is right for some people, but more and more, I don't think that I'm really meant to. And I hate to sound like that, because I don't like taking things for granted. I don't like to talk about my problems when there's some kid struggling in his garage somewhere saying "F?!k him! He's just taking it for granted. Shit, I wish I could do something like that, but I'm just stuck here in Biloxi, Mississippi, and I can't even get a gig." I'm so confused right now. 

RIP: It must be odd to know that, with all those millions of albums sold, drunken frat boys are probably staggering around to your music right now. Your audience grew far beyond your control. 

BJA: Oh, totally! We became what we hated. Which is, the people I despised in high school--and now--are buying our records. We initially became a trend, so there was no way I expected to sell as many records with Insomniac as with Dookie. That's one of the biggest-selling records of the decade. We get slagged by the punk rockers, and it's like, I don't blame them. If you draw that much attention to yourself, that's what you're gonna get--attention--and it's not personal anymore. 

RIP: Ever think about giving it all up? 

BJA: There isn't a day goes by in the past year and a half that I haven't thought about quitting. I went to this party on New Year's Eve, and this band Juke, and another band, the Tantrums, played in a friend of mine's backyard. And a lot of my old friends showed up, and everybody was just dancing. And I was dancing, and getting really muddy, and I was having a great time. I can't remember the last time I sat down and listened to a record from beginning to end and felt this incredible spine-chilling music. And it's because I haven't been able to go out and watch bands play at my free will. I'm not gonna live in a closet, I'm not gonna vegetate myself. 

RIP: But it has to be difficult, when tons of kids know your face. You're on your way to Michael Jackson-dom, where you have to wear a disguise in public. 

BJA: If you think about the Beatles, at that time all people had to go by were the photographs on the records and every now and then a television appearance. So when they'd come to town, people would just flip out--it became this huge public event every single time. Whereas now, everything is so saturated kids don't even have to leave their home to go to a show anymore. They can sit in the comfort of their living room, and your favorite rock star is gonna be entertaining you while you sit down and have your microwave burrito. 

RIP: The Milwaukee cops weren't pleased with aspects of Green Day's Milwaukee show last November. Why were you arrested? 

BJA: I dropped the pick and--actually, I even forgot about it--I just mooned the crowd, which is pretty harmless compared to what I've done before. And I wasn't even thinking about it--I just went out and started playing again. Then I went backstage and was hanging out with Adrienne, and this guy Jimmy who does security for us goes "Come on--there's a car waiting for you outside right now. You've gotta get out of here!" I said "What's wrong?" and he said he didn't even know. So we get in the car and all of a sudden about ten cops come walking over, fully surrounding the car. So the guy puts the cuffs on me, throws me in the car, and I get tossed in the holding tank for two, three hours. I wasn't in the bullpen--I was in with the other ones, the not-so-bad ones. They made me take all my jewelry out. And my shoestrings, so I wouldn't hang myself or something. I dunno. I just don't know how to fit into rock music anymore. I don't know what I like about it anymore. I don't like anything about it anymore, to tell you the truth. To tell you the real truth, I'm a pretty miserable person right now. I'm totally depressed, and my wife can vouch for that because she's around me. In fact, she's the only person who's really around me. I dunno, the whole thing with the mainstreaming of punk rock. I just feel lost in the whole thing...I don't really know...I don't wanna...I dunno...It's miserable, it really is. It's f?!ked up. 

RIP: For every original voice that comes along, there will be countless mad signing dashes for any and all sound-alike artists, with no thought given to the artist's longevity. Just throw the record out quickly and hope it sticks. 

BJA: The thing is, a lot of musicians have gotten so comfortable with this big so-called "Revolution in Rock Music" over the past decade. First it was like, "F?!k the corporations! F?!k the corporations!" And then people just sorta got cozy with that, and forgot that these bands are getting lost in the shuffle. And I'm talking about the ones that never get noticed at all and just get kinda bitter. The 15 minutes of fame is getting shorter and shorter. And now music is totally going backwards--the first half of this decade, there were a few things going on that were interesting. It wasn't my favorite kind of music, but it had a sensibility about it. If you think about Nirvana and Pearl Jam and that whole Seattle scene, and even the Offspring--there was this thing going on that was more honest, in a lot of ways. It wasn't like, beer, drugs and pussy, like what went on through the '80s with all the hair bands. But now what we've got is Hootie & the Blowfish.... 

RIP: Who are probably a lot like you. They seem like nice, regular guys who--through no real fault of their own--are suddenly assimilated into pop culture. 

BJA: Yeah, but that's the problem, is that they are nice regular guys. And they're totally comfortable with that, and they sort of put that out, to where they don't really have...I dunno, there's a certain amount of attitude that, say, someone like Cobain or Vedder has that they don't have. But it's becoming way not...real anymore or something. Maybe not real to me. It's just turning back into what it was in the '80s. It's like, "Hey, everyone! We're Huey Lewis and the News!" I dunno. Maybe nobody knows what the f?!k I'm talking about anymore. 

BJA: I get so irritated by people. I think I'm more bitter than I've ever been in my whole life, to tell you the honest truth. I think Insomniac is much more of a bitter record than Dookie. And I think the older people get, the more they kinda get angry. I think a lot of people feel like they get cheated by lief somehow--no-one is ever completely satisfied. There's maybe a few. But I mean, I'm in a place where I don't really wanna be. It's like, sometimes I feel like we're losing our passion for playing music. And that's the f?!ked-up thing, when you lose passion for what you love, then it's like, Is this marriage headed for divorce or what? 

RIP: Theoretically, you can fight back a couple of ways. Like Cobain, you could make a record almost calculated to offend all the bandwagon-jumpers. Or take as much time off as you'd like. Who says you can't go live on a desert island for two years? 

BJA: That'd be nice. I'm just not enjoying life right now. I'm really not. I'm so cluttered, I can't even speak. Yeah, I do feel like I'm getting old, and I'm kinda bitter about that. I'm not excited about being onstage anymore, and I was really trying to convince myself that I was. Really. Before we did this last U.S. tour, every time I did an interview--I don't know if you read the last Rolling Stone piece--I was like "Yeah! I'm excited! I wanna play these arenas!" and stuff. And then just every night, it started sucking, it felt like a routine or something. It felt almost choreographed in a lot of ways. And I was yelling "f?!k you!" to people, but I didn't know who I was yelling "f?!k you" to anymore. 

RIP: Last time we spoke, you said you went out of your way to change every single show, make each one different. 

BJA: Well, I think it's just the stress of getting up in front of all those people all the time, every day. It's like, "Do I really feel like downing another f?!cking pot of coffee and a bottle of wine before I walk onstage to do this again? Just to get myself ready to go?" You know, for all those people. And every night I always do something different and stupid. But at the same time, it'd be really cool to just say "F?!k you!" to people and like, walk off. And then they'd get it. It's like, "I'm really telling you to f?!k off this time! Time to pack up and go home." It'd just be so nice to start from scratch again. 

RIP: In many ways you can. That's the music-making system trying to program your behavior. And obviously you've broken quite a few rules already--you don't even have to be talking to me right now, actually.... 

BJA: Oh no. I really wanted to do this interview, just because the last interviews that I've done, I've been miserable, and I was pretending not to be. I really was, I was lying. Not to the reader, not to the person I was doing the interview. But I was lying to myself, convincing myself that I was really happy with how everything is going. 

RIP: So you always knew what you wanted, and now you've got it, in spades. You're having trouble figuring out what's next? 

BJA: I didn't even know what I wanted back then. I really didn't. I didn't know if I wanted to be huge, totally successful. I never knew that. I was struggling so hard even to sign that f?!king contract--when I was sitting there, I was contemplating, "Should I just run outta here right now? Am I making the biggest mistake of my life?" A lot of people say, "You're totally disillusioned with what money can do for people," but money never meant shit to me. There's something very passionate to me, very romantic, about living on the street in a lot of ways. Just because I really like my lifestyle back then. I was totally content, in retrospect. A lot of it has to do with the fame. I dunno, I'm trying to talk right now and just totally stuttering. 

RIP: It's not like you chose music--it chose you, and you can't help it. 

BJA: Yeah, it's cool when people really get it. But what a lot of people don't understand is that we're a band that's been around a lot longer than people know. And that's the thing. The difference between this and what happened between Kerplunk and Dookie--in a year, I got married, I had a kid, and I sold 11 million records worldwide. That can do something to ya, ya know? 

BJA: Sometimes I think it'd be cool to just hang out with my friends, drink beer, smoke cigarettes. The more I think about it, the more I'd be really happy with that. I don't think that we're feeling quite like a band anymore--that's one problem we have. There was this certain rock 'n' roll underdog think that we always had--we always drove for something, always drove from town to town in a small van. And you know, I f?!kin' like touring like that--it's like culture shock, really, driving around in a van, setting up my amp when I get there, and playing. That's rock 'n' roll, that's what it started out as. A bunch of sweaty pigs in some tiny f?!kin' bar having a hootenanny, that's what punk rock was to me, that's what drove me to it. I love rock music in its simples, rawest form. And I think we're the only band, really, that plays rock 'n' roll. 

RIP: Has all this put a strain on your old friendships? Do your pals treat you a little differently now? 

BJA: When I come up to friends I haven't talked to in a while, there's a weirdness. And the ones who are really close to me don't really bring up anything, but that thing is still there; it's still in the air. And sometimes I'll just not say anything the whole time we're hanging out. I'll be totally quiet, because the only thing I'll have to talk about is my band, and I get so sick of talking about my band and myself. So I'll just be quiet, since that's the only thing there is to me, except for my son and my wife. 

RIP: Pretty soon, you'll be boring everyone with slide shows--"There we are at Yosemite!" 

BJA: Ha! Adrienne was telling me the other day, "When you were in there dancing with all your friends, while the band was playing, you were so happy because you were so in your element." And I've even gone as far as saying we're not a punk band anymore. But no matter what, that's still gonna stick with me forever, because I love the music, I love the energy of a new band coming out that creates this sense of urgency about 'em. I'll never be able to kick that habit. I love hangin' out with my friends who have small fanzines--kids just writing their guts out about whatever the hell's bothering 'em, and putting it on a Xerox machine and then handing it out for a quarter apiece at shows or at a party. All I wanna do is just try and work it out. I was sitting there the other day, counting all the records that the Replacements put out, stuff like that, Dan thinking how [Paul] Westerberg totally came across to his audience and did everything, everything that the wanted to do in music. He wasn't extremely successful for it, but the guy has influenced people, and a lot of 'em don't even know that they are influenced by him. All I wanna do is just write good songs and stick to it. I wanna develop--not being experimental--but go into different styles, go across my boundaries of the two-and-a-half minute punk song with a three-and-a-half minute jazz song, or maybe get into a little bit of swing or rockabilly. 

RIP: With such staggering success, you could walk into Reprise and tell 'em you're doing an album of saxophone solos and they'd allow you that creative luxury. 

BJA: Well, I never wanna be that experimental. I don't wanna get into synthesizers and shit like that. The thing that was cool for me with Insomniac was that I think we definitely set a foundation for ourselves, because we put out our hardest record to date, totally in-your-face all the way through, and now we're able to go anywhere we want. We can do that now--we do have that going for us. That is, if people are still interested. Which is kinda weird for me to say.... 

RIP: Your craft will always remain the most important thing of all, even if you're just writing for your own amusement. 

BJA: Yeah. No matter what, I'm gonna be writing songs for the rest of my life. I mean, I already have a shitload of new songs right now. But I just wanna do some other things with it. We've sold a million of Insomniac so far. But I definitely want to be respected as a musician. Well, more as a songwriter than as a musician. I wanna be f?!kin' normal, is what I wanna be. The thing is, I've seen so many freaks and so many weirdos and crazy punk rockers and drunks and junkies. But for a lot of those people being weird is easy. It's so easy to be strange--the hard thing is to try to be normal. There's no such thing as normal, ya know. 

RIP: How's your mom feel about all this? 

BJA: She's kinda worried about me. She doesn't know what to think of everything. We have a hard time communicating with each other, just because I don't like to talk about it that much. So she feels like she has to walk on eggshells around me all the time. 

RIP: You buy her anything cool once the money started rolling in? 

BJA: Nah--she doesn't want anything. I've asked her. She's been living in the same house for over 20 years, and she's content living there. But I did give her a trip--she went to Hawaii, her and her boyfriend. And I think travelling is really good--if you paid for someone to travel, so they can go and explore and see some things they've never seen before. But I think that's probably where I get it from. I get so content with not having much. And then you get all this stuff, all this attention, and you don't really know what to do with it. You don't know how to channel it. 

RIP: Most outrageous thing you've bought for yourself? 

BJA: I got my car primered! And one thing I did do was build a home studio. So I've been recording all my friends' bands for free. I produced this band called Dead and Gone, and Social Unrest, Fetish and the Criminals. And I have this side-project called Pinhead Gunpowder--nothing's up with it right now, but we played at the beginning of '94 a few times. RIP: Sounds like you've got more than enough pressure valves to let off the steam. Still, do you worry about death? 

BJA: Yeah, I do. But I have too many reasons to stick around. One is my son and my wife. And I don't feel like I'm finished yet. I'm not done, ya know? And the beauty of it is that death is forever and your problems aren't. And that's why I'm talking about my bad shit, because you vent that, you get it off your chest and you can move on to something else. There's gotta be a positive side to all this--so you just sort of try and dig it out. Get rid of all the bad--out with the bad air, in with the good air. 

RIP: You said about Green Day that you think your "bandwagon is coming to a close and all that's gonna be left is just a band. Hopefully." So then will you start writing happy songs? 

BJA: I thought about writing a totally sarcastic song called "I'm So Goddamn Happy," just talking about how happy I am. Actually, I'd like to put out a double record--I'd like to put out tons of music. But I never wanna become an egomaniac. I just wanna keep things down to earth, so I think it's really important for us to take a long break after all this stuff. We just put out two records back to back, one year after another, and now we can sit back and work on ourselves as people again. So we don't parody ourselves. And it's so hard to be a father and a musician at the same time. If I get into one thing and I pay close attention to it, like if I'm with Joey and I start neglecting my music, then I feel like I should play more often. So I start playing my music, and then I'm going, "Am I neglecting Joey?" So it becomes hard to do everything at the same time. 

BJA: I wanna create a very mellow and sound atmosphere for him, because I don't wanna make any mistakes for him--I want him to be able to make his own mistakes. And even when it comes to swearing--I don't cuss in front of my kid. I'd rather him get it from some dirty-mouthed kid at school. Then at least I'd know, I could go "Thank God--my kid is in a real world and he's learning these things from his surroundings." That'd be a good thing. Because the best things you ever learn are the things you learn in kindergarten. 

Finally, after more than an hour worth of gut-spilling, Armstrong suddenly observes four brace-faced girls, each no more than 12 years old, idling over by the cash register. They're there on the pretext of getting change. In reality, they just want to ogle punk icon and pin-up darling Billie Joe, stare at those caterpillar eyebrows and chiselled cheekbones up close. Another oh-my-gawd event. "I gotta go--it's gettin' weird," the reluctant rocker whispers, literally leaping up from the booth. "I can feel eyeballs all over me already...." And as fast as that, he's gone. "Was that...was that...B-B-B-B-Billie Joe?" stammers one swooner. "No," says the waitress, with a subtle smile. "That was just some guy who usually eats here alone, nobody famous at all. You know, just an average guy." A little white lie to herd the young 'uns out. But nevertheless the truth.

[f-agee]

I haven’t posted anything on this blog in a bit sorry 😔but I wanted to test my skills and see how fast I could write and complete a story. I feel like I failed my expectations cause I wanted it to be less than an hour and it took 3 to write but it’s here. I hope u guys like it cause it’s bad. Happy Halloween 🎃

Michael & Claudette short story

Claudette watched from her shop window as the abnormally tall man stared at the Halloween display of darkly colored roses and orange and black baby pumpkins, crouching in front of it with rapt interest. It seemed that the man had either just gotten off work or he came here on his break, seeing as the man was still in his navy jumpsuit, dark stains of what she assumed was oil splattered randomly around the garment. His hair wrapped in a loose bun, fringe and stubborn locks hang freely in front of his face, obscuring it from prying eyes. He’s been to the shop numerous times before, but never stayed for long and has only bought something a fraction of the amount of times he’s been there. Although recently the man hasn’t been coming as often. Busy for the holiday that was coming up soon, she assumed.

Claudette had missed the man. She’d always been a woman of routine, and the imposing stranger had unknowingly wormed himself into hers. Seeing the man again brought a small smile to her face. He chose the right time to show up too, considering she just got finished working with an unruly woman about a ridiculous order of out of season flowers. She guessed that now would be a good time as ever to finally greet the man. Maybe start up a conversation that’s not just, “Find everything ok,” and, “Have a nice day, sir!” 

It wasn’t usually in her nature to be so bold in introductions, but it seemed the man was worse at communication than she was, seeing as how her previous questions were usually answered with a stoic face and silence. 

Her calloused, bandaged hands pressed against the front counter to help her down the slight drop from her stool. She quickly dusted the dirt and stray leaves off of her apron before taking slow deliberate steps towards the man, almost like she was trying not to startle an animal. 

As she neared the man, his eyes shot up from the display and directly onto Claudette as she neared the large glass, his icy blue eyes dangerous and his stare, hard. The intimidating movement admittedly shocked her a bit, but she tried not to let it show. Offering up a warm smile and a small wave instead. His posture straightened as she passed the display and walked to the shop's front door to greet him properly. She stopped in the doorway, leaving it open just enough to shield her bottom half from the shocking autumn wind.

“Trying to stock up for Halloween this year? This array isn’t for sale since I need them for decoration, but I have plenty of extras in the shop I can let you take.” She chirped. 

As she expected, she was met with silence in return. His eyes never left her form nor did they reveal any emotion or acknowledgement that he had heard her, but she wasn’t about to let that ruin her offer of friendship. She shifted her stance and moved to open the front door wider. An invitation. 

“Would you like to see? At least just to hide from the cold.” Again she was met with silence, only this time the man finally shifted his gaze from her, to the inside of the shop, before subsequently taking the steps to walk through the doors. Claudette’s smile deepened at the small victory before she, too, walked back inside. 

Claudette stepped past the big man to help guide him to the festive flora towards the back of the small building. Her arms gave a triumphant “Ta-Da” motion when she finally stood in front of it. 

“Pick anything you like. I was lucky this time. Everything grew in perfectly and on time this year.” She finished with a smile, her hands clasped in front of her as she stepped back to give him an unhindered view of his options. 

The man stood awkwardly far from the large wagon that held the plants. He sized her up for a while in uncertainty, then eventually turned his stare down to the pumpkin display. He browsed at a distance for a couple of minutes, before stepping closer to kneel down and physically inspect the gourds. He picked up a rather large pumpkin, rotating it in his massive hands and tossing it up slightly to gauge its weight and inner contents, then finally replacing it for another. Repeating his procedure.

Claudette stood by patiently as he finally settled on three large pumpkins, and two baby pumpkins. He shifted his torso towards her and then reached into his pocket. Realizing the gesture, Claudette shook her head and gave him another bright smile. 

“No need to pay this time. Call it... a gift from a friend.” She watched as his mismatched eyes widened a bit. A minuscule amount for most people, but for him, that’s the most emotion Claudette has ever gotten from him. The reaction made her heart ache. She hoped it wasn’t a rare occurrence that someone showed the man a bit of kindness. She felt that everyone deserved some good in their life. 

The man eventually recovered from his shock then looked away for a moment in contemplation. He seemed to come to some sort of a conclusion as he looked to her again. His hands moved in a specific pattern. A gesture that was obviously meant to convey something.

The elaborate movements were lost on Claudette for a second. Confusion clear on her face as her head tilted in response. The man made the same movement again but slower.  

Oh.

It took her a second, but realization finally dawned on her. The man was using sign language. Suddenly the mans mysterious silence wasn’t so mysterious anymore to Claudette. She was glad she decided to learn ASL back when she was still in school. Her peers scorned her for deciding to take the class, but clearly all her efforts were rewarded. 

The man seemed to deflate slightly as he signed one more time before letting out a small breath and turning back to his pile of pumpkins. Her memory of her past teachings were hazy, but she was able to make out the gist of what the man was saying. 

“A witch. I’m gonna be a witch.” She answered. 

The man quickly turned back to her with that same, shocked look before it eventually melted back into his original stoic state. Although Claudette was definitely sure she’d seen the corners of his mouth lift up in a phantom of a smile and his cheeks get more colored.

Just as quick as he turned to look at her, he turned back to gather his pile of pumpkins, large hands holding the large bounty easily, and stood to walk out of the shop without another glance. 

Claudette smiled to herself as she watched his retreating figure, already thinking about their next interaction and what she could possibly say next. She didn’t even get the chance to ask for his name or anything else about the familiar stranger. Claudette let out a soft chuckle at her situation. She guessed she had to touch up on her sign language and ask him next time. 

The next day she didn’t see the man again, but she did find two skillfully carved pumpkins sitting next to each other in front of her shop's door as she went to open up for the day. One, a large pumpkin with a man's face she never seen before carved in. Blank and emotionless. The other, a baby pumpkin with glasses and a smile carved in with a tiny witch hat sitting on top of it.

[the--blackdahlia]

The General’s Daughter Chapter 1

Title: The General’s Daughter Chapter 1

Summary:  Stevie Holsted was enjoying her time at a hospital in Seoul. She was there with friends, even with the ever-watching eyes of her father watching her. That was until Margaret Houlihan decided she needed help with the nurses. Now Stevie is heading to the 4077th, and a whole lot of adventure that she never thought she would see in her lifetime.

Series Warnings: Language, violence, war themes, later attempted non-con, sexual themes, later sexual scene, crude humor, and more that might come to mind later on.

AN: Okay, so this is the fic I’ve been hinting about. Stevie has become more of an OC than anything. I’m not sure if you guys will like this, but anyway, here it is!

“Colonel, I don’t think you understand,” Margaret sighed as Henry put his feet up on his desk. “With the constant changing of nurses and the increased fighting, I need help.”

“Oh Major, you’ve been handling it just fine,” Henry shrugged. “What’s changed?”

“We have a new batch of nurses every week! They’re always getting rotated around and I need someone who can connect to them better,” Margaret pointed out. “Colonel, are you even listening to me?”

“Well, what do you want me to do Margaret?” Henry asked. “Put a classified ad in Stars and Stripes? Head nurse in need of an assistant? People who cry easily need not apply?”

“Colonel Blake, I want you to get on that phone and call HQ. Tell them to send me someone competent that won’t get shuffled around whenever the wind blows.” Margaret demanded. Henry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was about to speak when Radar walked in.

“Radar!” Henry called out. “Get…”

“On the phone and call HQ to see if they have any nurses that would meet Major Houlihan’s requirements,” Radar finished Henry’s statement before walking around. Margaret turned and followed after him, leaving Henry sitting in his office alone.

“Well, okay then,” Henry leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, ready for some much needed work.

****

“I don’t know if we have anyone here,” the clerk relayed to Radar as he wrote down the requirements. “Well, we have one person, but I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on, help me out,” Radar begged. “ You don’t know what it’s like working with her when she doesn’t get what she wants.”

The clerk sighed and ran a hand down his face as he looked at the personnel files for the hospital. He had one nurse that would be perfect for the job.

“He’ll kill me,” The clerk mumbled.

“ And Major Houlihan will skin me alive!” Radar told him. “ Give me something! Anything!”

“Okay, okay,” The clerk told Radar. “Give me an hour and I’ll have you an answer.” He hung up, grabbed the file, and headed towards the other side of the hospital.

****

A group of men, all with bandages of some sort on them, sat on cots and chairs, watching the scene before them. An injured man was sitting on one cot, a blonde haired nurse on another, with a table between them. They stared at each other as the nurse blew a stand of her hair out of her face before picking up her checker piece and running it up the board.

“King me,” She said with a smirk. The man groaned.

“How do you do that?” Sgt. Michael McKagan asked, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“What can I say? I’m a natural.” The nurse, Captain Stevie Holsted, smiled at him. “Best two out of three?”

“Captain Holsted!” A voice called out. “Your presence is requested in the general’s office.” Stevie sighed and patted Michael’s shoulder as she got up.

“Keep my checkers warm. I’ll be right back,” She started to leave.

“Hey, this isn’t some trick so that I can’t get a comeback, is it?” Michael called out. Stevie turned her head to look back at him.

“How often do I willingly go to the general’s office?” She laughed before heading down the hallway towards the higher up offices. Stevie took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” A voice answered. Stevie slowly pushed open the door and made her way in.

“You called for me sir?” Stevie asked, standing in front of his grand desk.

“We’re in private. You don’t have to call me sir,” The general smiled. “Sweetie, have I ever told you how proud I am of you?”

“Yes, Dad,” Stevie smiled at General Samuel Holsted, her father.

“Well, it looks like you have exceeded expectations, because General Mitchell wants to send you to a MASH unit to help out their head nurse,” Samuel told her. “I’m against it, but he’s my boss.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Stevie asked. Samuel shook his head.

“You won’t be there long. A month is probably it.”

“Probably?” Stevie asked. “Dad, MASH units are at the front!”

“I know, I know. But if the fighting gets too bad, they bus the nurses out and I’ll drive up there and pull you out myself if I have to,” Samuel assured her. “It won’t be long, I promise you.”

"Dad, I'm not trying to pull my daughter card, but I thought you wanted me to stay at the hospital with you."

"I would love for you to stay here, but it's not my call," Samuel sighed. "Is this more about Michael than anything?"

"Dad…"

"You know I like Sgt. McKagan, but you deserve better than a military man."

"Dad, I'm 27. I've been involved with the army in some shape or for since I was a day old. Who do you think I'm going to look to?"

"Stevie…"

"There’s much more capable nurses in Korea, Dad. Why me?" She flopped down in a chair.

"Your last review was the best review any nurse in this hospital has ever had," Samuel told her. "You're pretty much as competent as any doctor. You've saved so many lives. As much as I don't want you at a MASH unit, I see why they want you." Stevie sighed.

"When do I leave?"

****

"Now, you guys don't be causing any trouble while I'm gone," Stevie said to the room of people as she waited for her Jeep to take her to the airfield. She didn't want to look at them, because she knew she would cry if she did.

"You know, there’s better ways to get out of playing checkers," Michael said as he carefully approached her.

"Trust me, I'd rather be here kicking your ass." She laughed, risking a glance over at him.

"The front is dangerous. I should know," Michael told her as he motioned at his healing ribs. "Just be careful, okay?"

"You too," she nodded. "I don't want you ruining my handiwork." Michael smiled and kissed her cheek as the Jeep pulled up outside and honked. "I'll be seeing you." She waved goodbye to Michael as she got her bag and headed out to the Jeep.

****

"Heard we're getting a new batch of nurses today." Trapper told BJ and Hawkeye as they lounged in the Swamp. “Radar’s taking the Jeep to go pick them up.”

“And he didn’t invite us,” BJ shook his head. “I thought we raised him better.”

“How long will these ones stick around though?” Hawkeye asked, sipping his gin.

“Probably long enough to meet the great Hawkeye Pierce, right?” BJ winked at Hawkeye. Frank set up from where he had been napping.

“Oh, you guys are degenerates!” Frank called out.

“Man, and I thought we were scoundrels,” Trapper laughed, taking his own drink.

“Some of us are trying to sleep, instead of drooling over nurses!” Frank glared them down.

“I bet if it was Hot Lips you’d be right there with us dogs,” Hawkeye laughed. Frank scoffed and buried himself back under his blankets. The three others started laughing hysterically.

Sometimes, you have to make your own fun.

****

Radar parked his Jeep at the airfield and looked around. He was picking up three nurses today. He looked down at his list: Captain Stevie Holsted and Lt Christie Dunn and Lt Ester Lowell.

"A male nurse. I bet he's another Klinger," Radar mumbled to himself as he looked around. He saw three women sitting at a picnic table, telling jokes and snacking.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for three nurses. I'm taking them to the 4077th." Radar said shyly. Stevie smiled and held out her hand.

"That's us," she laughed, shaking his hand. "Captain Holstead, Lt. Dunn, and Lt. Lowell."

"Oh, uh, excuse me, sir, but you're not a sir," Radar said shyly. Stevie smiled at him.

"Well that's good, because if not, I have two masses on my chest that might need to be removed." The other two giggled at Radar's red cheeks. "I'm just messing with you...uh…"

"Oh, Corporal O'Reilly, but everyone calls me Radar."

"And why do they call you Radar?" Ester asked, leaning forward across the table and batting her eyelashes at him. Radar's already pink cheeks were growing redder by the second.

"I, uh, tend to know things are happening before they happen," he muttered. The girls laughed then.

"Okay, okay, enough teasing Radar," Stevie stood up and grabbed her bags. "Let's get to the famous 4077th."

They climbed in the Jeep, Stevie hopping up front with Radar. She watched the scenery as he drove.

"Lot different than back home," she commented. "Where's home for you Radar?"

"Uh, Ottumwa, Iowa," Radar told her. Ester gasped from the back seat.

"No way! I'm from Cedar Rapids!" Stevie could see a smile spreading on Radar's face and that adorable blush coming back.

"Looks like they have a lot to talk about," Christie said, leaning forward to pat Stevie’s shoulder.

"W-what about you two?" Radar asked.

"Jacksonville, Florida," Christie told him proudly.

"Cicero, Indiana," Stevie added. "But only briefly. Moved a lot with my dad."

"Divorce?" Radar asked.

"Well, yeah. And the army has always been his true love," Stevie told him. "But you don't become a general by cleaning latrines."

“General?” Radar asked. “Your dad’s a general?” Stevie just smiled at him before turning her attention back to the passing scenery.

[farelian]

Galactic Quarrels: Unexpected Visitor

And here I am, back again with another edition to this series. Thank you all for your support, this one I flashed through and had so much fun writing it! Be prepared for the next one because things are about to get... teddy bit crowded

~~~~~~~

In the early morning, as the sun rises over the horizon, Michael is out on the balcony doing stretches, bending his body and legs in ways a Zarqonan would most definitely find disgusting and painful.

Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes returning back into reality, looking left and right looking at all the high-rise buildings and the large blue lake over in the distance.

He needs to maintain his physique and strength, but as of now, he hasn’t built up the courage to go outside in sleeveless shirts and running pants with shoes. So to substitute for it, he starts doing body exercises and stretching in his residence.

Walking back inside he walked to the coffee table picking up his holo-watch and taps it a few times. Screens show up showing his fitness routine and exercise record, not enough by him letting out a disappointed sigh.

He is still a citizen of the UTF as per the migration deal, he’s basically just out on vacation instead of moving away from his parent’s house and finally moving into his own.

And being a citizen of the UTF, he is still a Lieutenant in Frontier Command, UTF’s equivalent of a space army and fleet. 

He wonders if he should go home again.

Turning the watch off and placing it back on the table, he walked to the kitchen counter taking his glass of orange juice. It’s a surprise when he got a package of Earth’s fruits, he also got a blender so better use it rather than leaving them in the fridge.

He feels watched though, the last few days he has this unease in his heart and the feeling of being watched 24/7, even when he’s going to go to sleep. He looked up and around the apartment again, there have to be cameras in here there has to be.

He returned his focus back to his orange juice and went behind the counter to blend some dragonfruit. The sounds of the motor and turning blades blast the room while the noise of the fruit being chopped and blended echoes outside into the hallway.

“I hope they don’t think I’m making a bomb in here” *He muttered to himself as he waited and waited. Turning it off and pouring it into another glass, he raised it up to his mouth, ready to drink the dragonfruit only to be interrupted by the quiet knocking of the front door.

“What?” He said quietly, he knows Yaku, or any Zarqonan never knocks on the door and just burst in unannounced, this is new. “Coming” He yelled putting down the glass of dragonfruit and cleans his lips with some tissues before walking to the door.

He looked around again as that feeling of being watched still lingers, then he faced the door. No peephole or see-through tech, he wished he was back on Earth now. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the knob. This feels different, it feels like it’s not a Zarqonan over on the other side. Could it be a Murumur? Could it even be a government agent that came to pick him up without telling him in advance?

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know if he opens the door he will wake up inside a shipping crate on his way to the edge of the galaxy to be sold in the galactic black market.

A muffled feminine voice can be heard. “Come on what’s taking so long?” Human, a human voice.

He’s taken aback, he turned the knob and slide the door open and looked down at the figure. A human woman, wearing a black and dark red coat with a full military-style uniform. Taking a quick glance at the woman’s face, yellowish eyes with hair that’s tied back into a long ponytail that stretched down to her hips.

Around 5’7” tall, he couldn’t believe it. “Um, hello how may I help you?” Michael let out an uncomfortable chuckle. “Haven’t seen a human face for a while”

“Of course you haven’t” The woman replied with a relatively sour but somehow comforting attitude. “Jill Porter, nice to meet you, Michael”

“You know me?”

The woman laughed while nodding. “Everyone knows you, Lieutenant! The mad man that wants to migrate to the Zarqon homeworld” Mad man? Is that his title now? The mad lieutenant?

“Oh, that’s uh… interesting I guess” “Yeah, interesting indeed” Jill claps her hands together and peeked into his apartment. “Can I come in?” Michael stepped aside. “Sure, let yourself in.”

As the woman walked into Michael’s apartment, he walked into the kitchen finally drinking his glass of dragonfruit while the door automatically closes itself. Glancing back towards the girl, he prepped a cup. “Tea or coffee? They’ve come from those weekly packages.” He said taking the coffee jar.

Jill took a seat on the armchair in the living room, looking back at him. “Cofee would be good” Then she looked up and around his apartment. “Nice place”

“I thought every room is designed like this?” He responded while brewing a cup of coffee.

“I mean yeah mine is basically a carbon copy but it’s nice to be polite” Jill replied with a chuckle as she fixed her attention to the tv, turning it on.

He walked over placing the coffee onto the coffee table and sat on the couch, leaning forward resting his elbow on his thighs folding his hands together. “Alright, cut the chit chat. Who are you and what do you want?”

Jill laughed as she looked back at Michael with a smile. “Are you deaf? I just said who I am. Jill Porter.” She shrugged and tilted her head. “For what I want, I want you to help me here.” She said pointing at Michael.

Silence, a few seconds pass by without a word being spoken before Michael replied to her request. “I like to know who my employer is.”

Jill laughed once again, shaking her head then nods. “You’re smart Michael, no wonder you go through the ranks at a young age.” Jill reached into her coat and pulled out an id card. “Jill Porter, lead xenobiologist for the Putter Institute.”

He took the id card and looked at it. A rotating model of Jill, name, age, occupation. He returned it and sighed. “Alright, what do you need help with?”

“I need a willing specimen, a Zarqonan”

“And what will you do with them?”

Jill pulled out a holoprojector. “Exactly one week ago a Zarqonan arrived at our local Topirus branch, the outermost colony in UTF space” An image of the Zarqonan in question appeared. “She is missing a back-left tentacle after a horrible accident in one of their orbital research stations.

To create the prosthetic requested by the Zarqonan, we need to examine the back-left tentacle.”

“Let me guess, they don’t let any humans onto the station?” Michael concluded first before she continued.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Alright, I understand why you’re here now,” He said nodding while Jill put away the projector.

Jill leaned back into the armchair. “So, lieutenant? Can you help”

A few seconds of silence as Michael stared at the ground. He looked back up and answered. “I know a girl”

~~~~

Michael’s residence has been turned into a makeshift examination lab and Yaku was brought in for the examination. The xenobiologist, Jill, worked examining Yaku’s left-back tentacle taking scans and examining its structure.

Yaku herself did not mind but is thinking if there’s another way to make this more efficient and not resulting in a mess.

Power cables scattered across the floor connecting the power to the lights and scanning equipment Jill brought with her. The doctor looked eager examining the subject, asking Yaku all sorts of questions.

“So what are the purposes of your tentacles?” The doctor asked while Michael is leaning back against the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Moving up one of her two front tentacles, she speaks. “The two front tentacles are used to maneuver, turning left and right and to slow down.” She then lowered the tentacle lifting up one of the back ones. “The back is for moving around.”

Michael grunted as he pushed himself off the wall and walked over, crossing his arms on his chest. “I still don’t know why you just don’t render a model immediately and make it.”

While continuing the examination, Jill answered. “At Putter we do not waste resources. We take the exact measurements, the exact height and preferred weight, joints and muscle contraction points” Writing the last bit of info into her datapad she stood back up.

“Also, this is a great learning experience for us, in the case aliens demands for prosthetic rises,” She said turning away to the table and portable little computer transferring the data.

“So there’s a consumer satisfaction stance, and a marketing stance,” Michael concluded once again.

“A hundred percent correct Michael, I thought you would be hard to work with” She turned back around. “But it looks like everything worked out fine.”

Michael turned to Yaku and nods. “Thank you Yaku”

“No problem Sir Michael, I’m glad to help.” Yaku said turning to Jill and make an attempt at smiling.

The two humans not noticing the subtle small attempt of smiling, both of them shook hands. “Well looks like everything’s done now, thank you, Michael, I’ll get an update soon enough”

“My pleasure” Letting go of the firm handshake. “Well since everyone is bored and doesn’t have shit to do, want to stay and watch some movies?”

Jill chuckled and shrugged with a smile. “Well sure! Just don’t put on a romantic one, we’re not there yet.”

Michael laughed and waved her away. “Oh, how bold of you to think that we are already in a relationship? We’re just acquaintances” That gained laughter from the opposition. Michael turned to Yaku and gestured to the couch and armchair. “You want to join Yaku?”

Yaku looked over at the couch and tv before nodding slightly. “I would love to.”

“Great!” Michael was about to go to the kitchen only to realize all the equipment in his room. “Oh uh, clean this mess first would you?”

Things are starting to get a tad bit crowded.

[zilbea]

(This may not be your thing and that’s valid so feel free to ignore this if you want!) I love Vagabond and Golden Boy who get each other frustrated and worked up and practically get dragged into the bedroom but y’know what else? I live for the soft moment, admiring the other, drawing shapes on their skin and just looking at them with so much love and affection that it makes the other turn so red and flustered from all this attention like a completely different person from their earlier antics

Spot on, my friend - and like always, I got carried away. So here’s a mini fic (1538 words, slight warning for mild gore/injuries) with a bit of angst for ya. Because their relationship isn’t all about their complete lack of self control and grandiose reactions… the little things have a big voice. 

So when The Fakes stumble one by one through those safehouse doors, bandaging their wounds and drinking their defeat, Ryan lets himself bleed. Michael was the last to arrive; he had shown up hours ago - his solo entrance settling a dismal mood over the crew. He had solemnly shrugged his shoulders when Geoff begged the question burning in everyone’s minds.

Where is Gavin?

Ryan can’t take his eyes off the door. He snarls when Jeremy offers to clean his wounds, pulls a gun on Jack when she suggests he get some sleep. Ryan’s knuckles sting; his head pounds; his muscles ache - but he endures the pain. It’s a small price to pay, for it offers distraction from the reality of the situation. He wasn’t moving until Gavin walked through those doors tonight. He will show up. He has to. Stubbornly, Ryan hunches in his chair, glaring at the safehouse door as if he could conjure the Golden Boy through sheer will, and as the minutes tick by, the single unspoken premonition weighs heavy over the room. 

Behind Ryan, Geoff sits on the tiny kitchen’s coutertop - eyes expressionless as he takes another swig of whiskey. On the small couch, Jeremy curses, angrily stitching a nasty leg wound while Jack, with more aggression than necessary, scrubs a blood stain out of her own shorts. To their right, Michael absently disengages and re-loads his pistol; the incessant metallic pop and click piercing  the cold tension of the room. It works its way through Ryan’s head until it’s all he hears; the scrape of metal fills his mind, and everything else fades away. Ryan’s vision blurs, and the clicks become gunshots. One through Gavin’s knee, another through his stomach… two through the chest… The Golden Boy’s brains scattered across the cement - 

The door swings open, and five pairs of eyes snap to the bloody, sagging frame of Gavin Free. 

Gavin smiles meekly at the tense greeting, wincing as the split in his lip deepens. “What?” He says, scanning the crew’s angry faces. “I’m here in one piece, aren’t I?” He lets out a soft laugh and reaches into his breast pocket. “Well, mostly.” Gavin grimaces and presents two halves of his prized golden aviators, giving them a forlorn look before tucking them back into his shirt. 

Ryan stares at Gavin in disbelief. His eyes rake over the tired figure before him - afraid to look away in fear his mind was just playing tricks. Gavin’s leg was bent at an awkward angle, his hair singed away in patches. His mouth had been punched open, covering most of his chin and beard in dry blood. Ryan’s chest tightens - Gavin was a mess, but he was alive. A tingle runs down Ryan’s spine as he meets Gavin’s bloodshot gaze. Despite everything, those green eyes still glow with mischief and life, and Ryan wants to cry.

“You’re bleeding, Ryan,” Gavin says softly, breaking the silence. He attempts another smile, stepping forward.

Ryan doesn’t respond - he hardly feels like he can breathe as he gazes at Gavin. The Golden Boy is alive.

A glass bottle slams into the countertop behind Ryan and The Vagabond whirls around in time to see Geoff crossing his arms expectantly. “You were supposed to stay with Michael,” Geoff growls at Gavin.

 Gavin flinches, but his response is bitter as he limps to the first aid kit by Jeremy’s side. “Shit happens, don’t it Geoffrey?” 

Seething, Geoff sets his jaw, not necessarily wanting to start a fight in his poor expression of concern.

“Fuck, dude,” Michael says, face twisting into a mask of regret. He crosses to Gavin. “I - I’m so sorry, Gav. You were right behind me! I was already on my bike… there were so many goddamn explosions -”

“Doesn’t matter now. Bloody bad luck, is all.”

Jeremy throws a sympathetic glance Michael’s way before handing Gavin a brown bottle and a cotton pad - to which Gavin nods his thanks and begins cleaning his wounds. As he works, calm finally settles over the crew. A failed heist was always a devastating hit, but they were all safe now - that’s all that mattered.

 Eventually, Jack yawns, stretching as she stands. “Well, I’m going to bed. If the rest of you know what’s good for you, you’ll follow my lead.” She ruffles Gavin’s singed hair before making her way to one of the two small safehouse bedrooms.

Geoff nods in agreement. He throws one last angry glare at Gavin, but falters as he watches Gavin laugh and swat away a hug from Michael. “Glad you’re okay, Free,” Geoff grumbles - more to himself than to Gavin - and he pads after Jack. Best to save the chastising for another day.

Across the room, Ryan still sits silently. It’s almost predatory the way he’s staring at Gavin, and Jeremy smirks at the sight. He nudges Michael and stands, giving Ryan a tiny knowing wink before leading the other lad to the bedroom on the left.

Gavin glances back towards Ryan at the abrupt emptying of the room. “You planning to sit there all night?” He punctuates his words with a wave of the now soiled cotton pad.

Ryan’s stomach flips and suddenly, feeling Gavin’s skin under his hands seems like the most important thing in the world. He pushes off the chair, quickly crosses room, and settles next to Gavin on the couch. Their knees touch. Ryan frowns at The Golden Boy, unsure where to start. Gavin offers a pained grin, and Ryan gingerly cups Gavin’s chin with a hand. His thumb brushes over a bruise on the smaller man’s jaw and Gavin winces. 

“I thought you were dead,” Ryan says unceremoniously. His fingers tingle where they meet Gavin’s skin. “We all did.”

Grimacing, Gavin places his hand over Ryan’s. The Vagabond draws back - thinking the gesture a dissuasion - but Gavin’s grip tightens. He slides Ryan’s hand to the back of his own neck and leans into the new touch. “So did I,” Gavin whispers, staring at Ryan in earnest. He takes a deep breath and scoots closer the older man. “But I’m not s’posed to die, not just yet anyway.” Gavin’s eyes flick to an oozing cut just above Ryan’s eyebrow and he clicks his tongue. “Look at you, Ryan. Still bleeding and everything - I bloody had to survive, or you’d be here just rotting your damn self away.”

“My injuries pale to yours,” Ryan responds flatly. He ghosts a knuckle under Gavin’s busted lip. Gavin had managed to clean most of the blood from his chin and beard, and Ryan was thankful the wound wasn’t really as bad as it had looked. He flattens his hand along Gavin’s cheekbone, and Gavin sighs receptively, letting his head rest in Ryan’s palm. Ryan’s heart quickens at the sight, and finally, he lets himself smile. 

It could have been different - he could have been holding Gavin’s lifeless body. He could have been devastated, looking into Gavin’s vacant, unseeing gaze. Instead, Gavin sleepily stares up at Ryan through long eyelashes, eyes glinting with admiration. Ryan’s heart swells. It could have been different, but it’s not.

Gavin straightens suddenly. Wincing, he moves his injured leg across Ryan’s thighs, rotating himself into a kneel over Ryan’s lap. He wraps his arms around the older man’s shoulders and gazes down into those piercing blue eyes. Gavin smiles as a flush starts across Ryan’s bruised cheeks. 

“If you’re worried about touching me,” Gavin muses softly, resting his forehead against Ryan’s, “I promise - you couldn’t get me much worse than what’s been done.” Without waiting for a response, he takes Ryan’s hands, gently placing them on his lower back. They’re warm and strong - they feel like home.

A warm wave of relief runs through Ryan. His hands find their way under Gavin’s shirt and rub circles into his tanned back. Tension flees Ryan’s muscles as Gavin’s hand slides up into his hair, and suddenly, the Golden Boy kisses him. 

Gavin lets out a satisfied hum as their lips meet. It’s a soft, warm kiss, and Gavin never wants it to end. His lip burns, but he ignores he pain. He was here, kissing Ryan. Everything else could wait. Tilting his head for better access, Gavin’s free hand joins the other in Ryan’s hair. He catches Ryan’s lower lip between his teeth and leans into the older man, tipping him back against the couch cushions. With new leverage, Gavin deepens the kiss.

Ryan grunts in approval and pulls Gavin’s hips down onto his lap. Gavin’s tongue passes through Ryan’s lips and Ryan’s breath hitches. The hands in his hair tighten, causing Ryan’s mouth to fall open.

Gavin uses the break to plant small kisses along Ryan’s jaw - and he can’t help but smile into them as Ryan’s chest heaves. 

“Gavin,” Ryan breathes as The Golden Boy kisses his neck, “Don’t even think about disappearing ever again.” 

Gavin laughs, breath hot against Ryan’s neck. “If I do -” He makes a soft noise as Ryan’s hands move to his ass, “You’ll be the first to know.”

[andrea-lyn]

Holiday prompt! Michael's a single dad (mother didn't want the kid so he raises her all on his own.) And he's the cutest fluffiest daddy to his little princess. But he's lonely. Alex has his little princess, his beagle Buffy. But he's lonely too. Michael and Alex have some kind of meet-cute and fall in love. Alex bonds with Michael's daughter and Michael/his daughter bond with Buffy. And they become a sweet little family in time for Xmas! (I loooooooove your writing btw!!!!)

what are you doing new year’s eve?michael/alex, pg-13

“Buffy! Hey! Whoa! Easy,”Alex pleads when Buffy takes off through the park, hellbent on gettingsomewhere, yanking on Alex’s arm as she bolts. 

Usually, she’s a great dog, but when there’s a lot of commotion going on, shecan get excitable. It’s probably Alex’s fault for bringing her to the fall fairlike this, but it’s one of Roswell’s few events – not to mention that Kyle hadtexted him that if he didn’t attend and kept sitting alone in his cabin, therewould be consequences. So here he is, out at the fair, while Buffy tries tomake him lose yet another limb because she wants him to go somewhere.He’s almost got her under control when the toe of his prosthetic digs into adivot in the ground and sends him flying. Alex hears someone’s shout of alarm nearby.He braces himself for the impact, but then it … never comes.Instead, he’s face-first in someone’s chest, hearing a high-pitched giggle nearhim. “Hi doggy!” a little girl says to Buffy, and Alex grabs at a pair ofshoulders (very nice, very strong, very handsome shoulders) to pull himself outof whoever’s chest he’s gone right into. When he looks down, he sees Buffy licking the girl’s cotton candy (she can’t bemore than four and she’s also very easygoing, because she clearly doesn’tmind). Alex stares up nervously to find himself in the arms of a handsome man,which is usually the kind of thing that only happens in his dreams.“Buffy, stop it,” he manages to eke out, even if he’s not looking at the dog. “Tori, don’t let the dog get your cotton candy,” the man says, and he sounds alittle like he’s echoing Alex’s tone. “Hi,” he says, breathless and a littlestunned as he looks at Alex. “You always meet new people like this?”“I think my dog had some designs on your daughter’s cotton candy.”

Alex collects himself and steps back, running through the list of likelypossibilities why this handsome man isn’t a prospect for Alex. Even thoughthere’s no ring on the man’s finger, there’s a daughter, which means that thewife is somewhere around here and though his dog may be trying to be amatchmaking little fiend, even she can’t know about the complications that hehas to face in a town like Roswell where his prospects can be counted on asingle hand. “She’s cute,” the man promises, and ducks down to haul Tori up by the waistinto a flying position. She screams happily and peers upside-down at Alex witha head of blonde curls bouncing. “I’m Michael and this is Tori,” he introducesthem, while Tori waves at them.“I’m Alex,” he says, tugging on the leash to get control, “and this is Buffy,”he says, bending to try and get some of the cotton candy out of Buffy’s mouth.“Sorry, I should let you get back to your family, your wife must be waiting forthe both of you.”It’s the wrong thing to say from the way Michael looks hurt, echoed on Tori’sface.“I don’t have a Mommy,” she says quietly. “Daddy says that she has importantbusiness somewhere else, but one day he’s gonna fall in love with someone elseand I’ll get a new Mommy or Daddy then.”“Tor,” Michael hisses.Alex blinks as he tries to rapidly process all of that. He can’t imaginethat Michael had intended for his daughter to out him like that. “Sorry, I’doffer to unhear that, but…”“It’s fine,” Michael says, even if he looks a little uneasy. “Her Mom and Igrew up together in a group home and a while ago we tried to have something.She got pregnant and she didn’t want the baby, but she had some pretty strictviews on that, so I offered.” His smile softens as he stares at her withadoration. “Best decision I ever made.”“She’s pretty cute.”“So’s your girl,” Michael replies, and when Alex gives a confused look, Michaelgestures to the dog. “Buffy, huh? You must’ve been a big fan.”“Or just a really big nerd,” Alex clarifies. “Are you new to Roswell? I feellike I haven’t seen you around, because I would’ve noticed…” He trails off, hiseyes widening before he admits something really stupid like ‘I would’ve noticedsomeone as hot as you’.“I lived here for a while when I was a kid, but then I got moved to a fosterparent in Albuquerque. Only came back for a job recently, but it’s funny howmuch the town hasn’t changed.” Michael hasn’t shifted his gaze from Alex’smouth the whole time he speaks. “At least, in some ways. I don’t remember ithaving someone as handsome as you around.”Alex glances to the side and blushes, wondering why he’s ignoring the pick upline.“It, um…I…” He’s not used to people flirting with him, so he thinks he’sallowed to be somewhat off balance. “Thanks?”“Yeah, no problem,” Michael replies with amusement. “Listen, Tori dragged meout to this thing because she said I was being Mr. Sad Dad sitting all aloneand working on the car, but I don’t really know what you do at a fall fair. Youwanna…explore with me?” he asks, biting his lip and arching his brow in a waythat has Alex reading all the way between the lines into the other thingsMichael might be asking with a question like that.“Yes!” Tori says, jumping up and down excitedly, already coming over to try andtake the leash. “Please? Please, please? I can hold Buffy,” she says veryseriously. Alex is still stunned that he literally fell head-first into this man’s chest,who happens to be bisexual, and wants to explore the fair with him. His luck isn’tusually this amazing, and yet, here he is, looking down the barrel of an offerhe can’t refuse.“Yeah,” he says. “I think I owe someone a cotton candy replacement.”“Yes!” Tori squeals. “And then we’ll play games, and ride the ferris wheel,”she lists, sliding her hand along the leash that Alex is holding to help, whileMichael falls into step at his side, casually bumping his shoulder ever once ina while, “and we’ll get pictures drawn and go pet the sheep…!”“All that, huh?” Alex teases.“Maybe even more,” Michael agrees, and leads them off into the fair. His dog is a remorseless matchmaker, he decides, but seeing as Michael keepstouching him in all these small little ways, keeps feeding him fair food, keepsgrinning in that sweet and overly perfect way, it’s not like he minds. When the night’s over and they’re parting ways in the parking lot, Michael’sgot a sleeping Tori in his arms, giving Alex an apologetic look.“I’d give you my number, but my hands are kind of full…”“It’s okay,” Alex rushes to insist, not wanting to put expectations on Michaelfor one good afternoon. “I’m Alex Manes, I’m out at a hunting cabin justoutside of town, but maybe I’ll drive in sometime and visit the both of you. Iknow Buffy would love to see you again.” He breathes in and decides to go forbroke. “I know I would, too.”“Okay,” Michael replies, with a considerate nod. “Michael and Victoria Guerin,”he says. “Look us up or we might just have to come find you.”Alex waves them off, thinking about how that threat had sounded far toogood. Maybe Alex will have to hold off on the finding, just to see what happens next.*On Thursday evenings, Alex attends the local library with Buffy for a sessionin the kids’ section. Buffy mills around the kids to soak up affection whileAlex reads stories, plays his guitar, and sings. It's something he’d picked uprecently when the weight of being alone at home had begun to crush him. Hehasn’t really had anyone for years and it’s not like he and his family getalong, which means that other than his dog, he doesn’t really have anyone inRoswell.He used to have Kyle, but then he’d picked up that doctors without bordersrotation last month and Jenna’s off on another tour, so here he is.The kids are great, though. They love hugging and cuddling Buffy (and his dogis an absolute terror who preens as she encourages it) and Alex likes having anaudience, even if it’s children. His day job involves programming, which ispretty lonely in itself, so getting out and doing this is a godsend. He makes it through the first story and song before he looks into the crowd ofkids and sees a familiar head of curls and a beaming gap-toothed grin directedback at him.Tori waves eagerly at him, bouncing in her seat. Alex laughs as he waves back,noticing that Buffy’s decided where she’s going to stay, which happens to be inTori’s lap. Alex pushes that thought out of his mind that where Tori goes,Michael is also probably there. It still affects his next song choice, pickingsomething closer to a ballad than a happy upbeat song.When story time is over, Tori jumps up. “Come on Buffy!” she whistles andclaps. “You gotta go back to Mr. Alex, now,” she says.“Alex is okay,” he says with a laugh and a warm smile for the girl. He digsinto his bag for a treat to get Buffy at his side, patting her head when shereturns to him. “Hey Tori,” he greets her. “You liked story time?” “I did!” Tori agrees. “I never got to do this, but then Daddy found out thatyou were here and he said we should come, cuz you never called us.” It’spetulant and she’s got her hand on her hip, like Alex is in trouble, which he’scertainly feeling even though it’s all turned out for the best.His favorite people in the world have come to see him play music and sing andread stories. Even Tori’s stomping mad mock-fit can’t change that.“I definitely made a mistake,” Alex promises, hand over his heart. “How about Ipromise to take your Daddy out for coffee and bring you, and then I can make itup to you?”Tori squints at him, like she’s thinking about it, but then nods. “Okay, butyou gotta guess what I’m gonna be for Halloween, Alex!” Tori demands, jumpingup and down a little. Alex laughs as he keeps her in, a hand gently on her shoulder to prevent herfrom drifting too much. “What are you gonna be?” he asks, her energy just alittle overwhelming, and he wonders how the hell Michael does this on his own.“An alien!” she says loudly. “I’m gonna have antenna and green skin and…”“Tori, volume,” comes her father’s voice.Alex blushes slightly, knowing that he’s probably been lurking around, butstill, glancing up to see Michael in a soft-looking sweater is enough to catchhim off guard. Alex wants to wrap his hands up in it and tug Michael towardshim, bury his face in his shoulder, and kiss his way up his neck before…He’s in a children’s library section. He should not be having these thoughts.“Hi,” Alex says, staring at him. “Hey,” Michael replies, coming to stand behind Tori. “You never called.”“You said you’d come find me if I didn’t,” Alex replies, heart pounding in hischest. “I figured if you were actually interested, you would.” And here he is. “So,if Tori’s dressing up as an alien for Halloween, what’s her Dad going as?”Michael lets his gaze slide over Alex and shrugs, like he’s not so sure hewants to give it away so easily. “I mean, you could always come with us,” hesays, which makes Tori’s face light up with delight, whispering ‘yes, yes, yes’and tugging on Alex’s hand, even though Halloween isn’t for another week andchange. “Then you could see what I’m dressed up as.”So they’re doing this, are they?“Okay,” Alex hears himself agreeing, because he’d be an idiot not to. “I guessI’ll see the both of you on Halloween.”On trick-or-treating night, Alex shows up in town with Buffy. She’s wearing littlealien antennae to match Tori and Alex has dressed up in his very finest vampirefangs and contacts (mostly because his go-to costume from Rocky Horror PictureShow probably isn’t appropriate for public consumption). Tori is, as expected, an adorable little alien. Her father is dressed up as acowboy, with that black hat looking way too good to be true. The pantsalso happen to be a little too tight and look like a strange material that hasAlex questioning them.While Tori is off collecting candy, Michael fills him in on why that is. “Theyran out of the normal cop costume for adults, so uh, this is the stripperversion from online.”Alex gapes at him as he wanders up to collect Tori, wondering if he’s going tobe able to test out those pants and see how easily they come away. His heartpounds in his chest as he thinks about it, hoping against hope that maybehe’ll get that. For now, he’ll enjoy the view. *It's the day.Today’s the day Alex has to decide if he’s going to attend the family Christmasparty or whether he’s going to turn it down another year in a row. On the onehand, he loathes his father and he knows the feeling is mutual, so the lastplace he wants to be is under his roof. On the other, it’s going to be a lonelyChristmas otherwise. It’s the thought he’d been debating while standing in theliquor store for the last thirty minutes mulling over the same bottle ofwhiskey.“I know it can’t be that complicated to decide on the booze, so whatever’s onyour mind must really  be weighing youdown.”Alex startles, glancing to the side to see Michael standing there with abasket. “It’s not Sunday,” Alex jokes, which is when they meet up to go groceryshopping together. He hugs the bottle of whiskey a little tighter against hischest to try and dispel the way he feels so unsure, wishing that he could makethis decision easily, but he can’t. Obligation and hope that his awful familywill decide this is the year they stop being terrible looms. “What, I can’t stalk you on Fridays, too?”“I would’ve picked a nice restaurant for dinner if that was the case,” Alexjokes, but it feels empty. “What’s up?” Michael asks. “Man staring at liquor like that for as long as heis, it’s never a good thing.”“I have to tell my family today if I’m going for Christmas dinner or not,” Alexsays. “I keep waiting until the last minute and that’s today.” With only a weekto go, they want to know how many places to set and Alex knows that he alwaysputs it off because of his indecision, but he usually folds and goes, only toregret it.“What happens if you don’t go?”Alex shrugs and puts the bottle in his basket. “The same thing that always happens.Buffy and I have a night in where I make something for dinner that she eats offmy plate, I get stupidly drunk, and then I wish I’d gone. It’s why the last fewyears, I do go, and then they call me names, ask me if I’ve thought aboutconversion camps, and are total assholes for the whole night.”It’s a lose-lose situation, basically.“You’re ignoring the very good third option here,” Michael says, his facestormy the moment Alex mentions the conversion came. “Come spend the day andevening with us,” Michael says.Alex had never counted on there being a possibility of a win in thissituation. Yet, it catches him off guard. Even though he and Michael have beenspending a lot of time together over the last three months, it had neveroccurred to him to even ask to spend the holiday with Michael and Tori, but nowthat he’s brought it up, it’s the only Christmas gift he actually wants. He’s sure that his face is filled with a desperate longing (something else hefeels around Michael all the time, which means it’s a normal look for him thesedays).“It’s Christmas,” Alex hears himself protesting, instead of screaming yesthe way he wants to. “I don’t want to intrude.”“My foster siblings are all out of town and you’re Alex,” Michael says, shakinghis head like he can’t believe Alex thinks he’d be intruding. “You’re basicallypart of our family already. Tori adores you, and she loves Buffy. Sometimes, Ithink she loves your dog more than she loves me, it’s causing some realemotional issues…” he deadpans, but he’s still smiling. “Alex,” he says andreaches out to rest his hand on top of Alex’s. “Can you please let me have whatI want for Christmas and come spend the day with us?”He wouldn’t be alone. He wouldn’t be at his awful family’s house.Instead, Alex would get to indulge in the third option, one that he’s neverconsidered until this very moment. “We’ll be there,” he hears himself saying.Suddenly, the whiskey in his basket doesn’t seem half as necessary because there’sgoing to be an air of celebration instead of doomed certainty about what hisfuture holds.“I can’t wait,” Michael says. “Neither of us can. You’re family, Alex,” hesays, before heading to check out.Alex watches him go, fighting that desperate urge to grab Michael by the collarso he can kiss him and tell Michael that maybe they’re family, but Alex wants tobe so much more. He’d be family and partner and boyfriend and lover. He’d beeverything, even a second father to Tori, if she’d have him. By the time he resolves to do something about it, Michael’s out of the store,but with the holidays looming near, Alex knows that he’s going to get hischance. *“There’s only a minute left! Sixty!” Tori begins the countdown, her armswrapped around Buffy as she lies on the floor, watching the television. She’shyperactive on the chocolate that she’s been snacking on all night to stayawake, much to Michael’s chagrin (and Alex’s guilt, seeing as he’s been the onefeeding it to her). She keeps counting down, even as Alex shifts on the couch,staring at Michael.It’s been such an incredible back half to the year. Ever since they met at thefall fair, Alex can’t imagine his life without Michael. Every Thursday he has adedicated fan in Tori in the front row at the library, with Michael lurkingnearby. The Christmas they’d spent together had been perfect in all the mostsurprising of ways, and on a regular basis, Michael had started to take Alexout for coffee once a week on top of their usual grocery store date.Alex’s loneliness has begun to ebb away, almost like it had never existed inthe first place.“So, new year coming up,” Alex says, adjusting the blanket they’re under asTori jumps back and forth with Buffy trying to paw at her feet. “You got anyresolutions you planning on making?”Michael’s attention is fixed on Alex, reaching up to adjust the glittery silverparty hat that he’s wearing. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he admits, “andyeah, I think maybe there’s one that I’m meaning to take on.” Alex absently rubs his fingers over Michael’s hand, massaging out the cramphe’d gotten when he’d been opening up the champagne bottle to have it ready togo. “Yeah?” he murmurs.“Yeah,” Michael says softly.“…five! Four!”“You gonna tell me?” Alex asks, heart pounding in his chest.Tori screams one and the television goes wild wishing everyone a new year, butAlex barely hears any of it because Michael leans in and cups his cheeks tobear him to the back of the couch with the kiss that Alex has been dreaming ofsince they first met. It takes him all of a frantic half-second before Alexremembers to kiss back, parting his lips to deepen it while tangling hisfingers in Michael’s curls to tip his head to the side, pushing back to makethis more equal.Breathing heavily by the time he eases back, Alex sags back in happy disbeliefto see Tori grinning at them, jumping up and down and wriggling withexcitement.He’s fed her way too much chocolate.“Happy new year!” she announces and throws herself into a hug in Alex’s arms,snuggling in and yanking on Michael to pull him in. “Does this mean that I’m gonnaget Buffy at our house too?” Alex should feel like his emotions have been wounded what with Tori only caringabout Buffy’s presence and not Alex’s, but he closes his eyes to feel Michaelpressing his temple to Alex’s head, adjusting the blanket to curl all three ofthem under it. “We’ll see, okay?” Michael murmurs. “I gotta make sure I keep my resolution tokiss Alex every day for the next year going, so maybe if he says yes to usmoving in with him, I can do it.” He grins at Alex hopefully, raising bothbrows. “I know it’s fast, but I also think you know that we’re both lonely onour own and this thing, us? It’s working,” he guarantees. “So…what do youthink?”Alex, who’s already been thinking about them as his family for ages, knows deepdown that it could be too fast. And yet, at the same time, they’ve gone monthswithout a kiss as they built a foundation together that could support this asthey try. The worst that can happen is that it falls apart and Alex loses it. No, that’s not it.The worst is that he never tries and doesn’t get it at all. For that,Alex is willing to take the risk. He cups Michael’s cheek as he leans in tokiss him again the way he’s been wanting to for ages, pressing soft kisses tohis lower lip as he eases back to stare dreamily at Michael. “Your daughter’son a sugar high, so I’m gonna say this real quietly,” he murmurs. “But yeah,you can move in with us,” he whispers, and seals that promise with a kiss.He can feel Michael’s grin against his lips, and the little sound of victoriousdelight sends frissons of pleasure through Alex. He has to let them movein, though. After all, Michael has a resolution to keep and Alex feels verystrongly about making sure that you keep to your word, especially when thereare kisses at stake.

[ikesenlemonadestandstories]

Level 23

This has been a crazy year fam. We’re well into May and I’ve not left my apartment except to go to work and the grocerty store. I hope you’re all staying safe and healthy and that this has given you something to look forward to each week :) I’m trying my best to keep up with my writing while I go to work! Thank you guys for doing what you’re supposed to, whether it’s continuing to go to work, or staying home to the best of your ability. As a healthcare worker I appreciate you guys!

Tagging: @loudartanimeeclipse, @ihavenotfallenyet

Master List Here or check out Ikesen AFK tag

Warnings: None? Maybe some language?

Happy Reading! <3

Level 23

You were deaf; Rose had squealed so loud when you told her about what happened after she left your place, you were sure your ears were going to be ringing for the next week. 

“Could you maybe not do that? I’d take your ridiculous happy slaps over the screeching.” You grimaced, trying to put a little extra pressure on your ear. 

“Whatever. When are you going? Where are you going? Oh my gosh, I’m so excited you’ll have to give me all the details.” Rose beamed as her hands drummed on the table like an overexcited toddler. 

“I don’t know; I don’t know, and not if you’re going to act like that every time I tell you something.” You sighed, drinking from your water bottle. 

“Boo, you’re no fun.” Rose pouted, moving to lay her head down on the table. 

“Never said I was.” You snickered, patting her outstretched hand before being distracted by the seat to your left being pulled out. 

“Afternoon.” Was all Ieyasu said before he began to unpack his lunch.

Startled, Rose sat up straight in her seat. You may have laughed at her, but you weren’t sure your reaction was much better. Though you’d gotten into the habit of staring at him lately, so it wasn’t entirely out of place.

“There’s no more tables.” Ieyasu was as blunt as always, and you bit back a laugh as you watched Rose swivel in her seat to look around the overcrowded cafeteria. 

“Happy to have you.” Rose said, sending an evil smile in your direction.

“From the way the conversation stopped, I’m not sure I believe that.” Ieyasu sighed as he bit into his sandwich, waving a hand dismissively. 

“No trust me, I didn’t want to continue that conversation.” You sighed, relaxing in your seat a little as you picked at your cheesy breadsticks. 

Curious Ieyasu quirked an eyebrow up but didn’t say anything else. Instead, the three of you ate lunch in relative silence, which was only a little awkward. Idle chatter picked up between you and Rose, mostly about how Michael had gotten into the habit of not disposing of his used cuvettes in the biohazard waste. 

“I can only assume talking to him hasn’t helped?” Ieyasu asked, picking at his bag of chips.

“No, he goes; Oh yeah, I’m done with those. You can throw them away.” Rose said, mocking your other co-workers’ tone. “How about no? You come to throw them away.”

“I’ve taken on a more passive-aggressive approach.” You leaned into the conversation, a smirk on your face. “I let him fill up all the racks and just leave them like that until we run out.”

“Oh? Doesn’t that mean you run out of racks?” Ieyasu wondered, leaning back in his chair. 

“Nope, I clear the rack I’m using and just keep filling it when I need it. Which means Michael’s only option is to search for an unused rack before he realizes he has to clean his old stuff.” You look over at him, proud of yourself.

“The only reason that works for you is because you share a lab rotation with him. When I’m in the lab, his crap is all over, and he’s on marrow’s, so he never comes out to check.” Rose sighed, slumping in her chair. 

“What about talking to your supervisor?” Ieyasu asked as if it was the obvious solution.

“She asked if I wanted to get into a fight over tubes.” You mimicked her tone. “At the time, it wasn’t as big of a deal, but now, yes, I do want to get in a fight over tubes. I’m not your mother, dude.”

“Erin told me last week he told her it was time to call for back up after she lost her second biopsy.” Ieyasu said with a headshake. “You’ve got to try at least three times before you call for someone.”

“hE dId wHaT?!” Rose screeched.

“Told a physician she needed to call for backup. Apparently, he didn’t have all day.” Ieyasu shrugged. 

“Oh my god. He’s insane.” You breathed out. “Giving critique when it’s asked for is one thing. Straight up telling a physician, she needs to call someone.”

“He was the talk of the office.” Ieyasu smiled, and Rose bumped your foot with a knowing smile. 

“I’m sure he was.” You barked out a laugh, nearly falling out of your seat. “What a dumbass.”

Once your laughter died down, there wasn’t much to talk about. Instead, the group of you sat in much less awkward silence.

[planetsam]

*offers virtual pie* What about sick Michael with Alex taking care of him? Maybe being at the prison exposed him to alien germs he's actually vulnerable to. Or he barely survives bring Max back. Or he just ends up sick from exhaustion from everything that's gone on and won't admit he needs help until he passes out. Maybe Maria calls Alex because she knows that's who Michael needs even if that's not who he entirely wants at the moment.

Michael blames himself for Max dying.

He left too soon, he was selfish, he was angry and willed this to happen. He immediately takes to guarding Max in the pod himself, ignoring everyone and everything except people bringing him meals. For the first few weeks, the only time any of them see him is bathed in the eerie purple pink glow of the pod. Honestly it makes them all look like they’re on deaths door. He refuses to hear of leaving Max, even when someone else says they will watch him. Alex wants to stay away but Maria says that if she can stomach being around someone who was willing to use her to forget his own pain, then he can damn well do the same. So he joins the food rotation and the basic supplies while Isobel, Liz and Kyle research how they can possibly do this. Even Rosa helps which is mind boggling to say the least. Michael does the theory work from the cave, his back against the pod.

Which is how Alex finds him, tapping his pen against the paper and staring at something before he scribbles something else. Michael gets lost in his work and it’s completely adorable. Even when he looks frustrated. The frustration morphs into something worse and he drops the pen, leaning over himself. In the shadows he looks even worse than he does in the sickly light. It’s cool in the cave but when he leans his head back, Alex can see a shine of sweat on his forehead. Michael blots his forehead with the back of his sleeve and pulls the jacket he’s got on closer. Alex knows Michael has a complicated relationship with being sick. He was never the type of kid who wanted to be sent home or faked sick. Now it’s hard to imagine anyone taking care of him when his first instinct is to push away.

“Hi,” Alex says, “I have food for you.”

“Thanks,” Michael says, setting aside his pen and paper.

Carefully he pushes himself up and takes a second before reaching for the backpack. Alex is ready to save face but Michael’s eyes widen and in a moment, they both realize Michael’s about to go down. Forwards or sideways means the rocks. Backwards risks the pod. Alex knows which way will win. He drops the backpack and barely manages to get his arms around Michael as his legs buckle. It’s so surprising, so wrong, that even Michael looks stunned. When Alex adjusts him, he realizes how heavy Michael is. Taking advantage of his momentarily dazed look, Alex tugs his collar. Michael must be wearing every piece of clothing in an effort to get warm. Alex presses his hand to Michael’s forehead and finds he’s burning up. Even as he burns up though, he shivers. His forehead presses into the back of Alex’s hand like he’s chasing his warmth. Or coolness. Or something. Alex doesn’t know what. He cares only as much as he cares about Michael getting relief.

“Come on,” He says, getting Michael’s arm around his shoulder.

“No,” Michael protests.

“Yes, Michael, you need to trust me,” Alex says. Michael looks at him warily, “five minutes, that’s all I’m asking. Please.”

Michael jerks his head and they stumble away from the cave. Alex doesn’t look at him until they are out in the sun, then he carefully gets him to the ground. Michael looks horrible out here. His perpetually sun tan skin is sickly pale except for the red that’s high on his cheeks. Dark circles are under his eyes but patches of dry and irritated skin line his eyelids. Immediately he closes his eyes against the sun like it hurts him. Alex locates the pink hoodie that sends a wave of nostalgia through him somewhere near the outer layers and tugs it up over his head to give him some relief. Michael opens his eyes just enough and Michael can see how miserable and red they are.

“Can you tell me what hurts?”

“E’rything,” Michael says and the lack of denial shows how miserable he truly feels.

“Okay,” Alex says, “I’m gonna call Liz and Kyle.”

Michael winces and curls away from the entrance. Alex frowns and calls them, leaving messages. He doesn’t expect them to answer their phones. Making sure Michael won’t tip over or anything, he ducks back in and grabs the backpack of food. Michael’s notebook is laying there. The page that it’s open to doesn’t have anything about Max though. It’s a careful catalogue of Michael’s own symptoms. He’s dated when they start, how they’re progressing. He’s theorized several things, ranked them and only one is crossed out. Alex looks up at the pod with Max sleeping in it. Or resting, he’s not sure what to call it. If the thing making him sick is some kind of defense the pod has—Alex imagines that’s it. They both know it, both from Michael’s wish for it not to be true and the fact that the universe is absolutely that cruel. He comes back out to see Michael curled in a ball against the side of the cave. Digging in the bag he pulls out a bottle of water and some electrolyte powder. Mixing the two, he rouses Michael.

“Here,” He says, “take a few sips,” Michael stares at him blearily, “come on.”

“You were there when my mom died,” he says.

Alex adds delirium to the symptoms. He lifts the bottle to the bottom of Michael’s lips and coaxes some of the liquid down his throat. Baby sips, it’s just much harder without a straw. Settling the bottle aside, he tries to take the first few layers off Michael, but Michael grips the sides of his coat with a sound that’s too close to a whimper for Alex’s heart. Alex grew up with a monster but he grew up with his basic needs met. Michael claims he’s going to leave this planet but Alex knows he squirrels away everything. Scraps of paper, leftovers, clothes—he knows that pink shirt is from high school. He wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a suit somewhere hidden among the layers. This much heat cannot be good for him though. Alex moves his hands up to Michael’s face. He rubs his cheekbones with his thumbs until Michael’s eyes slit and he looks up at him.

“Alex?” He says, still confused. He blows out a short breath, “what happened?”

“It’s okay,” Alex says, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible, “let’s get some of these layers off,” Michael looks upset, “I’m going to put them right here,” he says.

“M’cold,” Michael says.

“I know,” Alex tells him, “we’re going to warm you up.”

Michael honest to god pouts and something warm bubbles through him. Pouty Michael is among his favorite, mostly because he never gets to see it. Pouty Michael also means that he’s gotten through at least a little delirium, that Michael knows nothing huge is at stake. He doesn’t do his usual fight. He knows it’s not about survival. Alex can’t help brushing the back of Michael’s cheek with his knuckles. It doesn’t have to be survival for him, but Alex can see the sweat starting to bead along his hairline. He eases the first few layers off him, piling them where Michael can see them. Bending down, he takes off Michael’s boots. They aren’t the ones he usually wears and Alex can see the multiple socks and pants he has on. He gets the first few layers of those off as well. Everything Michael wears is soft and worn with age and use. There’s something intrinsically Michael about the various clothes as he folds them into a pile Michael can easily see. He doesn’t like how Michael immediately curls back into himself. Finally Kyle and Liz arrive.

“Hey, Guerin, we’re taking the Cowboy Hobo thing a little far huh?” He says quickly taking his pulse, “how long has he been like this?”

“He’s been getting worse,” Alex says, holding out the notebook.

Kyle glances over it and then holds it out to Liz. While they bend their heads together, Alex focuses on Michael. He’s folded into himself again, cradling his now good hand to his chest. It seems like he’s trying to burrow into himself for warmth. Alex coaxes him into taking a few more sips of the gatorade which Michael does, but doesn’t look pleased about it. The two scientists finally have reached a consensus and Liz bends down, looking at Michael.

“Let’s get him away from the pod.”

“No,” MIchael says blearily, “Max needs me.”

“Max is dead,” Liz says firmly. Everyone stares at how bluntly she says it, “and you won’t be able to help him if you are too.”

“But—“

“I’ll stay,” she says, “the effects seem to be worse on you. I’ll watch him,” she raises a perfectly arched eyebrow, “or do you not trust me with him?”

Michael is feeling just slightly better. Better enough to roll his eyes, though he immediately slams them shut and breathes hard through his nose. Alex has never hated his leg more or lack of than when it’s Kyle who bends down and gets Michael to his feet. But Kyle is aware of the situation or the look must show on Alex’s face because he immediately lifts Michael’s arm. Alex slides under it, pulling Michael’s weight over his shoulder. Michael’s head hangs and he looks like he might be sick. Alex wraps his other arm around him, letting him rest his head on his own shoulder. Kyle grabs their stuff and look at Liz who nods at him and steps into the cave. Alex leads them to his car. Kyle throws their stuff in the backseat and helps him get Michael into the passengers side. He eases it back and Michael twists on his side, making sure his hood is high up. Alex feels a wave of affection towards the other man and closes the door to find Kyle in full doctor mode.

“He needs fluids, maybe a lukewarm bath to take the edge off his temperature. Call me if anything changes,” he says. Alex nods, “you know when babies get their first shots they scream like it’s the worst thing to ever happen to them. That’s because it is,” he says, “has Guerin ever been sick before?”

“Not that I know of,” he says.

“Good luck,” Kyle says, “call me if you need backup.”

“I don’t need backup,” Alex scoffs.

Kyle’s smug look will haunt him.

Michael is a terrible sick person. Alex always thought he was bad with feeling under the weather but Michael puts him and anyone he’s ever met to shame. The second he’s far enough away from the pod, he starts to recover until he hits some kind of wall. Then he gets pissed off. Michael’s life depends on him being able to take care of himself and his sudden inability to is a personal offense. Alex understands but Alex also wants to kill him. Being powerless is something Alex has never done terribly well and any attempt to help has been met with complete rejection if not outright anger. The only good thing about not seeing Michael for so long when he got hurt was that Michael missed the early days of his recovery. When he lashed out at everyone and everything that tried to help him. Alex is ashamed of his behavior back then but he’s got a new appreciation for just how much of a dick he was. He doesn’t compare the loss of a limb to Michael’s first time being sick, suffering is suffering in his opinion. But his patience starts to wear thin as Michael gets more and more frustrated.

“No,” he says, folding his arms.

“What do you mean, no,” Alex repeats, “Kyle said—“

“Kyle said,” Michael imitates in a high voice, “why don’t you go make Kyle drink that stuff,” Alex frowns, “yeah, go take care of him,” MIchael says, seizing the thread, “I’m sure he needs you. I got on fine without you for the past few years. You’re too late for me to need you now.”

The low blow surprises him. He reminds himself that Michael is sick, possibly for the first time in his life. And that Michael pathologically uses sarcasm and anything else he can to shut down conversations he doesn’t want to have. The problem is that defense rarely works on Alex, in no small part because Alex rarely sticks around. He shuts it down on a physical level and from the way that Michael folds his arms and looks at his blanket covered legs, that is what he’s expecting to happen. Alex comes over anyway and sets the glass down. He would hold it out to him but he doesn’t put it past Michael to use his powers. The last thing this already tense situation needs is Michael’s guilt. Once the glass is down, Alex sits on the edge of the bed and looks at Michael. MIchael refuses to meet his eyes and Alex is painfully reminded of the fact that Michael didn’t have anyone to teach him not to be an asshole when he was sick. It’s probably too late to learn that lesson now.

“You have to stay hydrated.”

“I’m an alien, I don’t have to do anything,” Michael snaps.

“You’re a sick alien,” Alex corrects.

“Tell your dad so he can cut me up then,” Michael shoots back, “like he did with my mom.”

He meets Alex’s gaze full of defiance and anger. He’s trying to push him out, Alex has the sense to realize. He’s trying to hurt him before he can get hurt. Alex thinks he probably deserves it, it’s payback for all the times he did nothing wrong and Alex still walked away. But Alex meant what he said, he’s done walking away. He also said he was done not saying what he wanted to, but he puts a pin in that. He’s not going to call a scared, surly Michael the list of names he’s got going on in his head. Instead he picks up the glass and holds it out to him.

“If your mom was here, she’d be on my side,” he says. Michael stares up at him, open mouthed, “and she would tell you to drink because your doctor said to stay hydrated,” he wiggles the glass in front of Michael’s face, “you want a different flavor?”

“Shut up,” Michael says half heartedly, taking the glass and drinking sulkily, “they all taste bad.”

“You could have water if you drank more,” Alex says.

“Drinking hurts,” Michael snaps, “swallowing hurts. And you won’t let me have acetone so no. I don’t want to drink more.”

“Then gatorade it is,” Alex says.

Michael drinks the other part of the glass and sets it down, glaring at Alex the entire time. Alex has had worse from him. Michael holds his gaze for another minute and then drops back onto the pillows, folding his arms over his chest. Alex has the realization that he’s in love with a toddler. A giant, hairy, macho cowboy swaggering toddler who thinks that pouting is going to get him through his first ever sickness. Alex can’t believe how recently he thought Michael’s pout was adorable. He can see Michael struggling to stay awake and waits until his eyes are starting to close to pick up the glass and go to the kitchen to refill it. He adds a few ice cubes and comes back. Michael is snoring and even though Alex is thinking of multiple ways to never have him speak again, even he can admit it’s slightly adorable. Slightly. Alex still thinks he’s a terrible sick person though. In the very back of his head, he also sincerely hopes that maybe Michael won’t snore like that every night.

He leaves soon, feeling better but obviously embarrassed and Alex joins the food rotation and the pod sitting rotation, though babysitting Michael’s massive naked brother in his egg pod is not exactly something he enjoys. Mostly because he spends a lot of the time thinking about if their places had been switched and Michael was the one in there. Michael goes back to avoiding him and sulking and working in the lab. And eventually taking care of the world’s worst patient somehow catches up with him because Alex gets sick. He lets Liz know and she tells him to feel better with a dozen emojis as he hunts down the leftover gatorade. Michael isn’t the only one whose life depends on being able to take care of themselves. He swears he’ll call Kyle later but before later arrives there’s a knock at the door. Alex is not a saint when he’s sick himself, but he’s still smarting from some of the things Michael said so he resolves to at least be civil to Kyle.

“What are you doing here?” He asks as Michael stands there carrying a bag of gatorade and a bag of canned soup.

“Paying you back,” he says, practically bouncing on his feet with either adrenaline or nerves, “can I come in?”

Alex shrugs and nods, stepping aside as Michael goes to the kitchen. He knows his way around. Alex doesn’t think anything of going back to the bedroom and dozing off. The more he sleeps, the faster he can get better. And the faster he doesn’t have to feel like crap. He’s just managed to fall asleep past the tickle in his throat when there’s a poke at his shoulder. Alex takes back all of his reservations. He’s going to kill him. When he doesn’t move, the poke comes again. Finally realizing ignoring him isn’t going to work, Alex opens his eyes to see a putridly bright glass of gatorade in front of him complete with a crazy straw that winds itself in the shape of a ufo. Alex knows that they sell that straw at the museum he worked at as a teenager. He’s sold those straws. He glares up at Michael through the opening in the straw. Michael beams. Alex sincerely wishes he wasn’t quite as in love with him as he is.

“Kyle says to stay hydrated.”

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