theucipitalmapilary

[theucipitalmapilary]

Prompt: "You're not calling him Junior are you. I promised you I would never do that." Origin of this conversation and Michael being there for Sara's pregnancy and birth of his son.

Michael sat in bed, his wife next to him, both of them a book in hand, the glow from the table lamps on their nightstands illuminating their faces as the words on the page came alive.  He’d made quick work of acquiring more baby books than any one person needed, and had been slowly making his way through them one by one.

He was careful to pay attention to the details, filing them away for later use.  Each new fact both exciting and terrifying, and he often found himself glancing over at Sara’s stomach, trying to imagine what it would be like once she started actually showing.

Sara must have seen him peeking at her, because she sets her book down, reaching over with her hand to the top of his head, moving to settle at the base of his neck.

“That’s probably enough for tonight,” she tells him gently, knowing that he was overwhelming himself with the looming future.

“Maybe I’ll just switch over to this,” he says, pulling out a name book from the stack on his nightstand.  This one was thicker than the rest, and had yet to be cracked open by him yet.

A smile comes to her face as she glances at the title.

“I already have a boy named picked out,” she says matter of factly, and his eyes dance with amusement at that.  She hadn’t said a thing before this.

“Well, are you going to tell me?” He asks with a slight laugh to his question, a smile lighting up his face.

“Michael,” she says, and he squints his eyes at her, almost begging for the answer.

“Come on, you have to tell me eventually,” he teases, and she just shakes her head, her hair falling from behind her ear and dangling in her face.

“No, the name is Michael,” she answers, and he knows his face immediately drops, and probably contorts into something disapproving.

“After me?” He asks, confused by her choice.

That has her laughing, but he sits with his brow furrowed.

“It’s a good, strong name,” she tries to convince him.  “And the namesake isn’t bad either,” she says with a guilty, close mouthed smile that has the green flecks in her eyes twinkle.

“There’s gotta be something better,” Michael cringes, tearing open the book, flipping to the first page of boys names he finds.  “Here, umm, what about—“

“Michael,” Sara points to the name on the page that he’d happened to have turned to.

His hand comes up to his temple, closing his eyes tightly.  

“I will find something better,” he insists.

xxxxx

“What about Luke,” He says as he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, Sara sitting at the kitchen island, eating a strawberry.  Her stomach had grown, their baby having been announced as a boy just days before.

Her finger comes to wipe at her lip, the juice from the fruit threatening to drip down her chin.

“It’s a little close to Linc, don’t you think?” She asks, licking her finger with a smile.

“And Michael isn’t a little close to…Michael?” He jokingly argues, as he mentally scratches off another name on his never-ending list of names.

She doesn’t even dignify his argument with a response, instead reaching for another strawberry, her stomach pushing up against the island, and Michael can’t help but smile at her, despite her stubborn stance on the issue at hand.

“How about Frank, after your dad?” Michael suggests, not fond of the name, but willing to take anything at this point.

Her head shakes, mouth full.

“I loved my dad, but his name sounds like a serial killer or something.”

Michael heavily sighs, grabbing his keys from the basket by the door.

Leaning in, he kisses her softly, the taste of strawberries lingering on her lips.

“I will keep trying,” he whispers, and she smiles against him.

His hand comes to her stomach, so big now that his palm couldn’t even splay across the expanse of it anymore.  

“Bye baby,” he says, Sara’s hand coming to rest over his.

xxxxx

“River is kind of cool,” he suggests, as a very pregnant Sara walks next to him, her arm tucked into his, and their pace slow and steady, as to not to wear her out.

“Fox River,” she says, bringing her head to his shoulder.

“Well that is where we met,” he reasons, a grin coming to his face, and he can see her looking at him with the same grin.

“Next you’ll be suggesting Chicago as a good option,” she teases, nudging him with her elbow.

He raises an eye, willing to accept that as a compromise if she’d allow it.

She shakes her head no.

His face falling to the fate of their son being named after him.

She stops walking, causing him to face her, a confused look on his face, as the people around them continue moving.

“Why don’t you want him to be named after you?”  She asks him seriously, studying his eyes, waiting for an honest answer for why he’d been fighting so hard against what she seemed to have decided the moment she found out she was pregnant.

He dips his head, taking her hands into his.

“Why do you want him to be named after me?” He asks, his voice taking on a self-deprecating tone that has her angling her head to see his eyes that he was trying to keep hidden.

“You’re smart, and sweet, and loyal, and altruistic,” she begins listing traits that he’s ready to dispute, his demons whispering at him that none of that was true.  “You’re the best person I know who is going to be the best Dad.  Plus, I just like it,” she shrugs.

Glancing up at her, he sees how sincere she was in her explanation, her reasons sound and although he didn’t necessarily agree, to have someone think that fondly of him, to want their son to have the traits she hoped they’d share…it didn’t seem all that crazy.

“Promise me something,” he whispers in a hoarse voice.

She tilts her head at him.

“You won’t call him Junior,” he says with a cringe, giving in to her request of the name Michael.

Her face lights up, a radiant smile to match the sunlight streaming down on them.

“I promise.”

xxxxx

Michael’s handed the tiny baby into his arms, the little boy he’d been dreaming of for the past nine months, wrapped in a blanket, so small and perfect he was sure his heart would burst.

It was then, standing by his wife, a smile refusing to be wiped away from her lips, and their son snuggled into his arms, an identical replica of his mother, he knew that this baby was without a doubt a Michael Scofield.

Leave the first sentence of a fic in my ask box and I will write the next five sentences.

[theucipitalmapilary]

Can you please write a little one shot about Michael and Mike working together on a science project for school (because I am a sucker for Michael in Daddy Mode and Mike being totally a badass kid)

Michael comes in through the front door, a long day back at work, but a satisfying one.  He’d contemplated finding something else do, something more relaxing perhaps.  But his mind refused to let him rest, and instead demanding it be stretched for answers.

 He didn’t mind, enjoying the time he could helping to solve problems and come up with configurations that others stared at in awe.  It was what he did best, but it wasn’t what he lived for.

No, that was reserved for when the clock struck five, refusing to put in late nights, instead almost racing home.  

He rolls up his sleeves, as he makes his way into the house, finding Sara sitting in the living room, still on maternity leave.  Isla has her back up against her mom’s stomach, a gurgling, drooling little girl whose arms flail at Sara’s excited, “Daddy’s home,” echoing through the house, meeting Michael’s ears, bringing a soft smile to his face.

He holds his hands out, reaching for the baby, who snuggles into his neck, as she breaths in her distinct infant smell, Sara getting up from her spot, a quick kiss exchanged, almost as if a habit, a ritual they’d implemented long ago, instead of a relatively new routine they’d established.

“He’s already waiting for you,” Sara says with a grin, her hand coming to rest on Isla’s back, as she walks into the kitchen to check on dinner.

Michael climbs the stairs with Isla in tow, reaching Mike’s room.

Every night for the past month, the two of them had been working endlessly on Mike’s science project.  Stealing time when they could, before and after dinner, and then on the weekends when they weren’t at Mike’s baseball practice.

“It’s looking good, bud,” Michael says from the doorway, Isla gurgling in agreeance, causing Michael to turn towards her little head resting on his shoulder, his long fingers, wrapping in her soft, dark hair.

Mike looks up from his project, a small smile on his lips at his dad’s compliment, before squinting back at his work.

“I just have to add the support,” he says in a quiet whisper like voice that sounds all too familiar to the older Scofield.  “We can probably start testing it this weekend,” he says, hesitantly, as if he’s not quite sure.

“Let me see,” he walks further into the room, staring over at the blueprints for the bridge that Mike had worked out himself, Michael having only helped with the calculations.  Piece by piece, they’d put together the structure.  Mike believing that they had worked on it together, but really, it had been mostly him, Michael just lending encouragement and a pointer here and there.

Bending down to his knees, he turns Isla over to where she can see Mike, his son immediately grabbing onto her little hand, making cute faces at the girl, whose eyes grew wide at the sight.

Inspecting the structure with one hand, he finds himself laughing at the interaction.

“Are you helping, Isla?” Mike asks her, shaking her hand as if it were her way of agreeing to such a task.

Michael brings his lips to the tuft of her hair, leaving a kiss on her head.

“I think you’re right, Mike.  You’re just about done,” he says.  A flicker of accomplishment sparking in the ember of his son’s amber eyes.

These were the moments he was living for.  The ones he’d fought tooth and nail to get home to.  A surge of pride rumbling in his chest at all that not even he had accomplished, but rather the things his kids would succeed at.

His optimism had wavered here and there, but for the most part, it had continued burning from the moment he’d inked his skin.  Often sacrificing his own happiness for the greater good, sure that if only his family were safe, he could die fulfilled.

“Oh wow, baby,” he hears Sara behind them, coming up to rest her hand on both of their heads.

It was only in his wildest dreams that he would be there to witness such a feat.  But here was, helping his son with a science project, holding his daughter, with his wife standing with him.

“You guys did good,” Sara says, his hand slipping to Michael’s neck, while planting a kiss where her hand was on Mike’s head.

“Yeah, we did,” Michael agrees, meeting her eyes, a knowing look passing between them.

It had been a long time coming, but he could finally, contently, say that this was what he’d been fighting for, a moment just like this one, and all the future ones to come.

Leave the first sentence of a fic in my ask box and I will write the next five sentences.

[theucipitalmapilary]

And if you can be so kind to write about Michael's thoughts when he secretly watched Sara and little Mike in a botanical garden/zoo (in the flashbacks) :3 sorry for bombarding you with asks

The heat of the summer sun beats down on Michael, the hoodie he’s wearing causing a sheen of sweat to cover his face.  A small price to pay for his destination, and not unlike his time on the run.  Still hiding his identity, still lurking around in shadows, hoping that no one will notice him.  His sleeves, this time, not hiding tattoos but rather the skin of a man who wasn’t meant to exist any longer.

He’d been between missions, so to speak.  Jacob had been sending him around the world, banished to various prisons, breaking out people he didn’t dare think about the ramifications of his actions.  It was as if he were living his life over and over again, never quite reaching his happy ending, instead forced right back to the start, forever grasping for his family that was just within reach, but so violently yanked from his grasp.

The day was more humid than most, so he’s not surprised when he sees Sara’s hair tied up, exposing her neck in a tank top, free to expose herself to the world, sunshine warming her in its rays, illuminating her identity to him, a beacon of home, beckoning him closer still.

But he stops, still, his blue eyes warming as he sees her reach into the backseat of her car, picking up her son, their son, into her arms.

He’s gotten bigger since the last time Michael had seen him.  He’s got more hair now, the sunlight striking it at the right angle, giving it an auburn tint to match Sara’s.  It has Michael smiling from his position, as he slowly trails behind her.  When he imagined his child before he was born, the image he always conjured resembled that of Sara, her insistence that any child of their’s would look more him, apparently only wishful thinking on her part, because as it stood, their boy looked just like her.  And he can’t help but be thankful that he was granted at least that.

She smells of lavender, her scent lingering in the dew of the air, soaking him it is soothing comfort, his eyes closing, taking in the feeling of her surrounding him, if only an essence of her.  Memories flood him of the brief amount of time that he was allowed to take her in, all of her without fear of retribution.

The part of the zoo they were in had a wooded feel to it, shrubbery and trees aligning the trails, offering him plenty of spots to hid behind, duck if necessary as he trailed them.

As he takes in the small boy’s eyes widening as Sara pointed out birds to him, his tiny finger pointed with her, bouncing him on her hip.  The kind of activity he’d had maybe done with him had he been in their life and not just trailing behind.

Michael’s brow furrows, his eyes squinting as the guilt engulfs him, shrouding him in contempt for the situation he was in, a determination to formulate a plan.  But as he glances over at the pair that have stopped to look at an owl, he can’t help but configure a list of things he doesn’t know about his son.

His favorite food, his favorite toy, his first word, if he’s ever felt an absence of his father and if not, when will that happen, if ever?  He’s not even sure what Sara calls him.  He knows his name is Michael, a thought that only makes him cringe a little, but he’s never heard her use his name, her words usually swallowed up in the wind, leaving him with nothing but a yearning for something, anything about his family.

They’re on the move again when he looks up again, and he quickly moves to keep up with them, his foot stepping on a branch left in the trail, causing a crack to ring out.

There’s no time to dash into the foliage, instead he turns, hoping that the hood conceals who he is, simultaneously wishing that she’d recognize his silhouette, walk up, and resume their life as before.  But his shoulders slump, as he braces himself for her to move on.  Only looking back briefly, the ghost of her husband nowhere on her mind.

Moments later, when he deems it safe, he turns back around, coming face to face with the owl, who wore a disguise of eyes on the back of his head, also concealing his own identity, and Michael’s head cocks to the side as an idea forms.  

His eyes dancing with enlightenment, flickering to the small boy who’s staring, his mother’s back to him, but his son’s eyes bore into him, and it’s not quite recognition but it’s the closest to contact that he’d had with his namesake, the brown meeting the watery sea of a storm reflected back at him.

I will come back.

Leave the first sentence of a fic in my ask box and I will write the next five sentences.

[theucipitalmapilary]

- I have an amazing doctor on call. ©

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[let’s get outta here]

Logan Lucky x Black Mirror (with some shades of The Lobster if you squint)

Summary: based on Hang the DJ with just a soupcon of The Lobster. Audrey and Clyde are staying at the Hotel, under the program that guarantees to find them their Ultimate Compatible Other. They are paired up briefly and then thrown into a series of other matches, while the nagging feeling that the system had it right the first time keeps growing.

CW: strong language, NSFW, angst, verbal abuse, mentions of same sex relationships, eating disorders, body image issues, consent is kind of removed by an algorithm

Word count: ~9.3k

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The Bear and the Maiden Fair - part 8

Summary: To reestablish himself in society and align with Count Pierre, your father gives your hand in marriage to Jacques Le Gris, his favorite squire. You, knowing his reputation as a newly established rich squire with little breeding and womanizing ways, are vehemently opposed to the idea.

*

She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,

But he licked the honey from her hair.

Her hair! Her hair!

He licked the honey from her hair!

*

~Series Masterpost~

Chapter summary: Some heavy-ish angst, some more pissing contests from our two obstinate sweethearts, and a long ride to Ye Olde Bone Town with some broken wheels along the way

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GASPARD ULLIEL 🕶️ EVA (2018)

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