Wait hold is Mike...?

Drawing his siblings?

He never stops thinking about them,,

north//chapter fourteen

genre: angst

pairing: season twelve spencer reid x female oc

warnings: description of physical assault, prison, just all of the bad prison arc stuff

word count: 4.7k

summary: spencer and amelia feel the effects of being forcibly separated and it impacts them in similar ways.

honestly, spencer’s pov in this chapter is one of my favorite things i’ve ever written so i hope everyone enjoys it <3

AMELIA

"Come on! You don't even have to do anything! Just go and clean up. We'll go with you and help!" Yaz pokes my shoulder incessantly, trying to get a reaction out of me. But I just keep my eyes on the tv in front of me, bundled up under a blanket.

"Lia," Michael sighs and slings his arm over my shoulder. I want nothing more than to shove it off. “It's been like, three months since-"

I'm quick to speak up to correct him. "Two and a half."

Michael and Quinn exchange a tense look. "Okay," Quinn nods, "two and a half months. It's been two and a half months since you've drawn, or painted, or sketched, or done anything even related to art. We know you're upset about Spencer but you can't let yourself be so upset. You need to find something that's gonna bring you happiness, and art has always done that."

"I don't wanna," I answer like a stubborn child, an answer that any of my siblings would have given me about things like going to bed early or eating vegetables. I pull the blanket up to my chin and stroke my thumb across my newest tattoo, tucked away and out of the sights of my nosy, annoying friends.

Frankie turns and shushes Quinn. "Like I said, Lia, why don't we go and just clean up your studio? We can drive over and just clean up? That's it. You don't have to do a photoshoot or create anything new. Just clean. Sound good? An hour tops."

I look around the faces of my expecting friends and tighten my jaw. I try to steal Spencer's skills and profile what their ulterior motives could be. They all hated Spencer before meeting him, and even after they met him, they weren't completely fond of him. So why are they trying so hard to get me to feel better? Why does it feel like they’re trying to get me to forget about my boyfriend in prison? I should be worrying about him every second of my day instead of prancing around town, cleaning up my studio, and going about my life as if Spencer isn’t suffering. But I’m sure they mean well. And I’m absolutely positive that my legs are sore from sleeping on the couch and from being in that same position all day.

"Fine," I concede, and they all silently cheer. "But I'm driving myself."

The drive to my studio is nearly insufferable. It’s silent and overwhelmed with a tension that I created but can’t seem to let go. The sights around me are familiar but blurry, like I can’t even tell which stores are which without someone in my passenger seat spitting out fact after fact after fact as I drive. I can’t drive down the street and try to recall all the good times and all the dates and all the drunken stumbles back home with the love of my life on my arm. It’s far too painful to constantly remember that I can’t go home and see Spencer and I can’t spend hours on the phone with him like I do when he is away on a case. I can’t see him. 

When I arrive at my studio, I realize why they were so insistent that I come out to clean up. I can't remember the last time I was actually in here to work but it's an absolute mess. There are canvases everywhere, bottles and tubes of paint on the floor, splashes and splatters of paint on the walls, brushes everywhere, crumbled up sketches in the trash, and way more. The studio needs much love and I guess now is the time to give it.

Michael immediately turns on music and everyone gets to work, but I don't. I pick up an empty tube of yellow paint and squeeze it in my palm. My head is starting to pound and I can't even stop it as tears start to fall down my cheeks. Who knew that one person could produce so many tears? 

Spencer loved when I wore yellow. I have this one short, backless dress that he loved. He especially loved that he had easy access to my skin, always tracing shapes on my back and murmuring about how soft my skin is. He always said that he loved the way the yellow complimented my blonde hair and how it contrasted against my colorful tattoos. He even went as far as to buy me another yellow dress for my birthday last year. 

And he loved when I used yellow in my paintings too. One time, I sent him a picture of a piece I was working on and he emailed back a book about how the use of yellow paint expressed the happiness of the piece or something like that. He raved about a painting I did of the sun and how my use of yellow wasn’t scientifically accurate, but it was beautiful nonetheless. 

"Amelia?" Quinn speaks but I don't look at her. My cheeks are wet with tears that I barely noticed and my hands are clutching the tube of paint so tightly that it would burst if it were full. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to upset you. If we-"

"I'm gonna go," I say hastily, clutching the empty tube in my hand as I breeze out of the studio, leaving my bewildered friends to either clean or leave. They know the way out and they know where the keys are. They don’t need me.

I'm wandering into the bullpen like it's second nature because, at this point, it basically is. Nobody on the team bothers to say anything to me. They never do. They're too worried I'll blow up at them or start crying. I don't blame them.

I rap my knuckles against Dave's door and wait for him to shout for me to come in, and when he does, I enter slowly. He gives me a small, pitiful smile as I move in front of his desk. I set the empty yellow paint tube in front of him and then sit down, bringing my knees to my chest.

Dave looks down at the tube, his eyebrows furrowing. "Paint? What's this?"

I blink and it forces tears out of my eyes. "I don't know how to live without Spencer."

Dave leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over my chest. He studies me, profiles me. I hate when Spencer did that. He always got this look on his face when he profiled me, but Dave has a better poker face. "And paint has something to do with that?"

"I just went to my studio with my friends and I finished off all this paint and there were brushes all over the floor and-" tears start pouring down my cheeks again, wetting my neck and the neckline of my sweater. "I came home the other day and I'd left the balcony door open. How stupid. I'm forgetting to lock my doors just because my boyfriend is in p-" I gulp, having to force out the disgusting word, "prison. How fucking stupid. How stupid am I that I can't function without him?"

"You're not stupid," Dave shakes his head. Nothing about his tone or his body language is helpful in the slightest. Nothing and nobody will help. "You two are reliant on each other and that's not a bad thing. I'm sure Boy Genius is always on you about locking your doors and I'm sure he's always giving you statistics on break ins and-"

"He doesn't," I cut him off sharply. "If Spencer's telling me statistics then it's about stars in the sky and how to properly care for my plants so they stay alive longer or just- it's never about things you guys talk about here. It always about things that I'd like. He does it to protect me. He doesn't tell me about serial killers unless I ask, and I only ask when I can see that he had a really hard day at work. It's just me, Dave," I put my forehead to my knees, shoulder shaking as sobs take over my whole body. "I just don't know how to live without him. I don't know how to function without him holding my hand and him calling me to promise he's okay and-- I just can't. I can't do it."

"You did it before you met him," Dave stands from his desk and moves in front of me. He puts his cold hand on my shoulder and it sends a chill down my spine. "You lived a long life before you met him, and you're living now while he's temporarily gone. It's hard, I know, but it's only for a short time."

"I just want him to be okay. That's all I really care about."

///

SPENCER

///

My whole job is about helping people and I've spent my whole life caring for others, mostly my mother. In my professional life, I'm always keeping an eye on my teammates to make sure they aren't in danger. I consider it to be part of my responsibility to look after every single one of my teammates. They're my family and I rely on them to help me too.

I never thought my helpful nature would come back to hurt me. I never thought that trying to help out a friend would come back to hurt me so badly. All I wanted to do was help Delgado. That's it. Calvin is protecting me and the other men in here wouldn't dare to cross him. They know how miserable he could make their experience here and they'd rather beat up someone else than get on Calvin's bad side.

All I did was speak to a correctional officer at chow. That's literally all I did. Yes, I did rat out the gang to the officer for beating up Delgado, but they don't know that. They aren't going to be disciplined for it. I ask the guard for water first as a cover, but clearly, it wasn't enough.

And I've been through a lot in the field. I've been tackled, and punched, and shot, but getting beaten up in a prison is completely different. The guards couldn't care less about the inmates. No matter how much I screamed and pleaded for help, no one came. And even still, there was another inmate outside my cell keeping watch so my attackers could run and not get caught.

I’ve gotten beaten up a lot in my line of work and I can confidently say that this one, in a dirty prison cell, is the worst I’ve received. They held me down against my bed and used a rag to muffle me, but it covered my mouth and nose and it almost suffocated me. They beat me to a pulp, drawing blood on my forehead and almost cracking a rib or two.

It was an unrelenting beating and I eventually succumbed to the pain because I convinced myself that they were going to kill me. I snitched and death would be the consequence. I stopped fighting and just let them take their turns at swiping my face and my chest and my stomach because what could I do? Nothing. As Calvin loves to remind me, the rules are different in here. I don't have a badge and a gun to make the torture stop. I have to endure it or find my own ways to make it stop, and this is a moment to endure it. I'm rendered useless.

The beating only ended when the inmate outside whistled, probably a preplanned signal, because the two others immediately jumped off of me and ran out of my cell. As soon as the towel was pulled away from my face, I gasped in a breath and clutched my aching chest, wincing in pain.

Wilkins came strolling over, peering into my cell. I knew he knew exactly what had just happened by the smirk on his face, but he chose to do nothing. He chose to stroll over instead of running and he didn't yell at the other inmates. He just stared at me and smirked, shaking his head.

"That'll teach you to keep your mouth shut, Snitch."

And those are the words that echoed in my nightmare that night.

I'd rolled over and coughed up a generous amount of blood, grimacing at the taste in my mouth. My body trembled and shook when Wilkins left, even more than when he was silently mocking and watching me. Wilkins doesn’t care to do his job but at least with him standing at my cell door, I had the tiniest bit of protection. But with him gone, the other inmates could come back and finish the job. I shook and stayed rolled over on my side for twenty minutes, staring at the floor and waiting for my cell to close.

When it finally did close, I didn't even let myself sigh of relief. I just fell onto my back again with a groan. I could barely move. It hurt too bad. Everything always hurts nowadays. Things didn't hurt on the outside. Living didn't hurt before I got arrested.

Getting visitors the next morning is not what the ideal situation is. Rising from bed is more of a challenge than it normally is. My body is sore and aching and all I want to do is curl up in my obnoxiously uncomfortable bed, if this slab of metal and a blanket could be considered a bed, and go back to sleep. But I know I'll get in trouble if I don't get up for role call, so I ignore the pain.

I don't dare to look around at anyone on my block as the officer shouts our names, checking to see that we're all here. I just keep my head held high and my hands at my sides and try to show that I couldn't care less about the beating that is causing me so much unrelenting pain.

But then they call our names for a visitor’s session and, of course, my name gets called. I'm usually grateful to get to see anyone from my team, but now? Today? After last night? I'd prefer if they didn't come back until after these bruises were gone. But there's nothing I can do so I allow the guards to put cuffs on me and lead me to the visitor’s room.

As soon as Penelope sees me, she gasps and drops her jaw. She starts to rise to her feet, but I sharpen my glare at her and when she sees my expression, she stays in her seat. When I sit down at the little table and put my cuffed hands in view, like I'm required to, I watch her eyes fill with tears.

"You-" she whispers, "you're hurt. What happened?"

"It's not a big deal," I answer nonchalantly. "It could've been worse." She's not convinced, her jaw dropped as a few tears drip down her cheeks. I keep my jaw tight and as much as I want to comfort her and hug her and promise that as badly as this hurts and as horrible as I'm sure I look, I'll be fine. But there are a million eyes on me right now, including my assailants, and if I show any kind of weakness, a beating like last nights will surely be in store for me again.

Penelope not-so-subtly glances around at the other prisoners around us. "Reid," she leans towards me and tries to lower her voice, "I am going to march right down to the warden’s office and I'm going to-"

"No, you're not," I snap, and my sharp tone of voice makes her jump back, her eyes widening. But for some reason, the look on her face doesn't even make me regret the way I've spoken to her. The look on her face just bothers me more. Why doesn't she get it? Clearly, I have to spell it out for her. "It'll just make worse things. I've got it handled, Garcia."

"Are you sure?" She practically whimpers. "I could-"

"How's everyone else? How's the team? How's my mom?" I deflect from the obvious issue at hand and instead turn the focus to my loved ones. All but the one I wanna hear about.

Penelope starts to nod slowly and she moves her glasses to wipe her cheeks free of tears. "We really miss you. And in our free time, we're working really hard on your-"

"Shh," I try to hold my hands out but the handcuffs rattle, and my eyes dart over to a guard who is alerted by my movement. He gives me a pointed look as if telling me not to do anything stupid. I put my hands back down and look over at a stunned Penelope, leaning in closer. "Don't talk about my case, Garcia. People don’t do that in here. It’s not right and it’s not safe. Just don't talk about it."

She gulps harshly, another single tear dripping down her cheek. "Okay," she nods again, and it's obvious that she's confused. But I don't have the time or the energy to explain why I'm acting like this and I don't even have it in me to care. I didn't even want to be at this visitor’s meeting. I'm only here because I have to be. "Um," she taps her fingers against the table, "we just really miss you, Spencer. Your mom is doing really well with Cassie."

"Good, I'm glad everyone is okay," I nod and I sit back, glancing around for a clock. When is this thing over? I'd rather be in my cell than here. I never thought I'd think that.

Penelope raises her eyebrows and her eyes soften. "A-Amelia? Do you wanna hear about her?"

As soon as I hear her name, my heart starts beating faster. My mind flashes with all the most beautiful images of Amelia that I can recall. I can practically see her in front of me. I can almost feel her under my fingertips. I swear I can taste her chapstick on my lips as she kisses me. I rub my fingers together as if I can feel the fabric of her denim skirt. As if I could unbuckle her belt and take her right on my bed right now. I shake the thought from my head. Don't go there, Spencer. Nothing good ever comes of when your mind goes there.

But I can't get her out of my head. I can stop seeing her lying on my lap, peering up at me as she mulls over which record to put on. Etta James or Taylor Swift? That's always the question of the day, isn't it? It always seems to take her hours to decide on an answer, and she usually doesn't. She'll usually work up an appetite with her thoughts, and when she's gone to get a snack or a glass of wine, I decide for her. Always the same. Always Taylor Swift.

But her smile is always so beautiful when she comes back into the room. When the music finally flows through her ears, the smile that comes to her face is one that could end wars, cure cancer, solve world hunger. I didn't think I could ever understand how bubblegum pop music could make a person so happy. I didn’t think I could ever understand how bubblegum pop music could make Amelia want to drag me off the couch or out of bed and force me to dance with her, whether it be in the middle of the night or just as the sun is peeking through the always-open blinds of her apartment.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to bring myself back to reality. I try to forget about the girl that's waiting for me in the free world. I try to ignore that she's probably shed tear after tear and I haven't been there to wipe them away. My brain produces images of her gasping for air with her head between her knees and I ball my hands into fists.

I'm angry. I'm fucking furious. I want to be there to hold her and whisper in her ear and tell her that her panic attacks are short-lived, that I'm right there. I need to be there to hold her and kiss her and love her. I need her because I can't do this without her. I don't know what to do if I'm not spending my time protecting her. Everything I do is to protect her. I don't know how to function if I'm not holding her hand, or if I'm not pushing myself through every day just so I can call her at midnight to promise that I'm okay. I've become so reliant on Amelia, and maybe that's wrong, but I don't care. I don't care about anything anymore. I just want my life back. I want my life, I want my job, and I want my girlfriend.

I want my girlfriend. I want to move in with her like we planned to and I want to propose to her and I want to marry her. I want to have a whole house full of kids who are loud and messy and loving and adorable and a crusty dog who slobbers all over the couch and chews my shoes. It's not fair. None of this is fair. Amelia doesn't deserve this. She deserves someone better than me.

But I can still see her. I can still see her fucking smile, and I can still hear her goddamn laugh, and I can still feel the fabric of her dumb hair scarves. She's engulfing me in her. She's not even here and yet I feel like I could reach out and she would be in my arms, kissing my neck and telling me that I'm safe and that we can just sit on the balcony and talk. We don't have to go to bed if you don't want to, we can just talk.

What I would give to hear her voice again. I'd give everything I have, and right now, it's not much. I'd give everything plus the clothes on my back to just hear her tell me I'm safe, or to tell me about a new painting she's thinking about starting, or to ask me to tell her a random fact about a food item she is about to buy at the store.

The last thing I want right now is to hear about Amelia. I want it all, or I want nothing. I don't want to hear that Amelia misses me, or that she's crying and having panic attacks in the middle of the BAU, or that she's sleeping in my clothes (or worse, not sleeping at all), or that she's lashing out at everyone. No, if I'm not having her in front of me, kissing me, hugging me, I don't want to hear about her.

"No."

For what seems like the millionth time, Penelope's eyes widen. "No? You don't wanna hear about-"

"No, I don't," there's a pit in my stomach that I try to hold down. I try to not let it take control of me. "I don't wanna hear about how horrible she's doing, okay? So just tell her that I lo-"

I can feel a million eyes burning into every bone in my body and so I stop myself. My lips freeze mid-sentence and I release the steel grip my hands hold around my cuffs. Penelope's are just another pair of eyes that bore into my frame, and I usually love her concerned and mothering nature, but now, it irks me to no end.

"Whatever," it pains me to cut off the sentence I crave so intensely to say, but I can't let my guard down. I can't be vulnerable and I can't show weakness.

"Whatever," Penelope repeats, almost mockingly, her voice cracking. "So you-"

"Could you not say anything to, um," I gulp, "her about this?" I gesture to my face where I can feel the pulsing and throbbing bruises tormenting me. I drop my shoulders and start to fiddle with the way-too-tight handcuffs around my wrists, but then I decide that that's a horrible idea, and probably a good way to get harassed by the correctional officers. "I just don't want her to worry about this. I'm sure she's worried enough. I don't want to give her another reason to, you know, panic."

"Times up! Inmates, get back to your cells."

Without so much as another glance at Penelope, I stand and turn my back to her. I lift my chin as I'm pushed and shoved into the lineup and then pushed and shoved back to my lonely, isolated cell. I'd rather have it this way, behind bars where the other inmates can't get me.

I drop down to the floor, pressing my forehead against the rusty bars, staring out at the drab, bland, boring beige walls. The paint is peeling and the bars, honestly, look like they could be broken with a hard enough kick. And, of course, the colors of the walls do nothing to brighten up the dead environment. The colors aren't anything like those that adorn Amelia's body on the regular.

A frustrated groan escapes my lips as I bang my hand against the bars. Why did I have to think about her again? Why did I have to let her infiltrate my thoughts?

But the colors of her. The colors swirl around in my head but as hard as I try, I can't get her colors to fill this horrible cell I'm confined to. I try to imagine her denim skirts, knit sweaters, and pea coats strewn out on the bed as she chooses what to wear in the morning. I try to remember the feeling of accidentally stepping on one of Amelia's millions of piercings when they fall on the floor after she takes them out before bed. I try to see her laying down on my bed, her sketchbook in her lap, and her colored pencils beside her as she rambles on and on and on, talking more than me, about what she's drawing and how she's planning on achieving her vision.

But no matter how hard I try, I can't get her into the cell with me. She doesn't belong here. Her art doesn't belong on these chipped walls, and her clothes don't belong on this poor excuse for a bed, and her absurdly positive attitude doesn't deserve to be squashed in here.

I rub my eyes and try to forget. I try to forget all about her and I try to erase her from my mind completely. I push myself away from the bars and stand, but standing does the opposite of what I want to do. Standing gives me a perfect view of the tiny window across from my cell, but more specifically, the sky.

I stare up at the clouds, my hands gripping the bars as tight as I possibly can. My eyes well up with tears and my knees start to buckle under my weight, and as my tears start to drip, they sting the cuts that I didn't even realize I had on my face. It’s not like I have a mirror to examine my injuries. 

They are just blobs. There are no dragons, or hands, or tables, or staircases, or cars, or Christmas trees. They're just clouds. There's nothing fancy about them. I'll never be able to see it. I couldn't see shapes when I was with Amelia. What makes me think I would be able to see shapes without her?

I push myself away from the bars and throw myself onto the bed, covering my face with my hands. This is useless. I'm useless. There are echoes of chatter from men on my cell block and it makes my head hurt. If Amelia were here, she would cradle my head in her lap and brush her fingers through my hair, and she would trail her fingertips over my forehead and over the bridge of my nose, all while whispering sweet nothings to me. I groan with frustration, rolling onto my stomach and burying my face under my flat pillow.

"Hey, Reid," Calvin's voice joins the echoes from the cells around mine. "How's it going over there?"

 TAGLIST

@babybloodstonebones @bxnnywriting​ @blameitonthenight21​ @feralreid​ @anepiphany​ @reidscardigan​ @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto​ @stxrrywildflower​ @penemily​ @whollytaciturn​ @thegingerfairchild​ @yasminwashere​ @shrimpyblog​ @anamelessfacelessnerd​ @wonderlandhatter​ @whxt-to-write​ @inkandexchange​ @just-call-me-non​

For the holiday prompts- I love cheesy fluffy Hallmark Xmas movies, so one of these but insert Malex? Maybe Alex is a famous singer who is alone at Xmas cause his family sucks and the only people he surrounds himself with are people who work for him. Of course he's lacking the Xmas spirit cause he doesn't usually do holidays. He stumbles into (or gets stranded in) a small town and meets Michael. They fall in love and now Alex has this found family and is reminded of what's really important !!

I’ll Be Home For ChristmasMichael/Alex, Hallmark AU“What do you mean I can’tbring it in? The engine is rattling!” Alex protests. He’d taken the phone fromhis assistant when clearly no progress was being made. “I rented it from you, Ineed a new one!” The agency tells him that they’re very sorry, but being thatit’s the holidays, they have no other cars available. 

The best they could do was to send him to the auto repair shop in town and promiseto reimburse him when he returned it. When Alex Manes had made it big on the music scene, he thought he’d be donewith these types of situations, but here he is, as frustrated as ever. He’s notsure who he wants to blame here, but he’s pretty sure this one comes back tohim. He’s the one who’d wanted to spend Christmas in Roswell after his fatherand brothers had waved him off, too busy with their own plans to have Alex forthe holidays.Instead, he’d come to a place that held old memories.He hasn’t been here in years, but when his mother had still been alive, thishad been her absolutely favorite place, and it’s why Alex had wanted tobe here. If he’s going to survive the stupid holiday season, he might as welltry relaxing somewhere that his mother used to love – not that he enjoysChristmas, because in the Manes family, it’s just another holiday where yourfamily lets you down.“Find me the auto repair shop,” he directs his assistant, hanging up the phoneand pinching the bridge of his nose. She nods frantically and takes his cell from him. “Yes, sir, but um…”Alex narrows his eyes. “What?”“It’s just, it’s the twenty-first?”Alex stares at her, not sure where she’s going with this, but he’s not about tointerrupt. He waits and stares at his young assistant.“You said that I could head out today to start the drive back, so I could spendChristmas with my family. Because it’s really important to me,” she says,starting to look nervous. “I can find you all the information you need, but ifI don’t get going soon, I’m not going to be able to make the drive up to SantaFe to catch my flight. I…um…” she’s near to babbling and looks close to tears,as if Alex is that much of a grinch that he’d prevent her from spending timewith her family.Shit, he’s not that bad, is he?

He knows that he’d struck it big a few years ago with some of his solo stuff,but he’s tried as best as he can to keep grounded. Maybe it’s just that hedoesn’t get the point of these holidays and it reflects in hismanagement style. They don’t decorate his house or his trailer, no one isallowed to suggest Christmas songs for Alex to cover, and his team getsbonuses, but they’re not Christmas gifts.“Yeah, of course,” Alex agrees, hurrying to make sure he doesn’t sound like anasshole. “I can take care of the car. Just give me the information and I’lltake care of it. Small town like this, there’s nothing else to do, right?”She looks almost relieved enough to cry, which kind of makes Alex feel like anasshole, because is he really that much of a bad boss that his staff thinksthat he’d deny them going home to their families for the holidays, just becausehe doesn’t see the point of celebrating with his own?“Just tell me where I’m going,” Alex says.The last thing Alex is expecting is to be told to go to a junkyard lot,but here he is. He’s adjusting his leather jacket and sliding his sunglasses upto the top of his head, watching the whole town flock to the Christmas treemarket that Roswell hosts once a year while Alex stands there beside his rentalcar, keys in hand, wondering who the hell here is supposed to look at his car.“Excuse me?” Alex calls to the man in a Santa hat, working near the cash. He’scounting bills and swaying a little to the music that’s playing over theloudspeakers nearby. It’s blaring out, drowning out the sound of thetownspeople milling around. Alex reaches out to touch the man’s shoulder,trying to get his attention. “Are you the owner?”When the man turns, Alex swallows with an audible click.“Yeah!” says the most handsome guy Alex has seen in ages. Under the Santa hat, goldenhoney curls spill out like they can’t be contained, and when he grins, his eyesactually look like they sparkle in the lights. “Hey, hold on, you gotta just…”He closes his eyes. “Can’t miss my favorite part here.”Alex is so confused, but then the guy croons along to the music playing overhim.“Baby, all I want for Christmas,” he sings, loud and not off-key, butdefinitely not with any talent that would make him famous. He opens his eyesand points to Alex, hands over his heart as he draws out, “is you.” Alex rolls his eyes, which is the normal human reaction to that, but he alsocan’t help being somewhat charmed.“And all I want is my rental car fixed,” Alex retorts, jangling the keys.“Well, that’s me,” he says. “Michael Evans,” he says, reaching out to shake hishand. “Certified mechanic, temporary tree-lot runner, and mediocre singer.”After he shakes Alex’s hands, he takes the keys. “What’s wrong with it?”Alex gives a bewildered shrug, because if he knew, he’d try and fix it himself.“I don’t know. It’s rattling?” Michael looks him over like he’s debating what he’s about to say. He looks overhis shoulder to the other people manning the cash booth (a couple of women anda guy), then back at Alex. “Okay. Give me the keys. I can look at it during afew breaks, but it means it’s not gonna get done soon. You going to be okay ifyou stick around?”What other choice does Alex have? Beyond that, what else had he been planningto do?In order to go see his mother’s old haunts, he’d need to get a taxi and this feelslike the kind of personal thing that he wants to do on his own.“Fine,” Alex says, waving a hand to let him have the car. “I guess I’ll just…”He turns and stares at the trees, hears the holiday music, and looks at all thepeople decked up in red and green. It’s like the holiday spirit puked on thearea around him, but if this is what he needs to tolerate to get his car fixedby the town’s handsome mechanic, he can deal. By the time he turns around, Michael’s gone, but the women at the cash are eyeinghim with a speculative eye, which means Alex has probably been clocked. Heheads into the trees to get lost before this ends up an autograph session,winding his way around and finding a bench near a trailer near the back of thelot. He digs out his phone to text Kyle about where he is and the updates on hissituation, scrolling through texts and emails to pass the time. He doesn’t evennotice that most people have left with their trees because he’s started tolisten to some demos to give them approval, taking advantage of the time to gothrough them. It must be hours before the car is done, but Alex doesn’t actually notice thetime passing. The tree lot isn’t the worst place to spend an afternoon,especially in a quaint and quiet town like Roswell. Michael comes to get him eventually. “Hey!” he calls over to him, wiping offhis hands. He has to duck through the trees so he can hold out the keys to him.He’s still wearing the Santa hat, but his shirt bears a few new grease stainsnow. “Thanks for waiting. I know this place can be a bit much,” he admits. Alex stands, prying the air pods out of his ears. The sun’s gone down, so thejunkyard is illuminated by twinkling lights and the stars above cutting throughthe light pollution, and Alex’s instincts are to complain that he shouldn’thave to wait around like this, but on the other hand, what else is he supposedto do in Roswell?“You’re Alex Manes, aren’t you?” Michael says, handing over the invoice for therental company. “Sorry I probably ruined your eardrums earlier,” he jokes. “it wasn’t so bad,” Alex admits, standing and taking the invoice from him. He’sstill just as handsome now – maybe even more, because he tugs off the hat andhis curls spill loose with it. The soft twinkling lights highlight the anglesof his face and the softness of his lips and god, Alex wants to kiss him morethan he’s wanted to kiss anyone in recent memory. “So uh,” he manages, findinghis voice. “I’m new in town. What’s a guy do to entertain himself in Roswell?”“Well,” Michael says. “If you’re okay with waiting ten more minutes, you couldcome to dinner with me and my family?”That’s way more than Alex had been anticipating. “I…”“You’re not intruding. They’ve been curious about you since you turned up,”Michael says, and Alex’s mind flashes back to the people at the desk staring athim. “Besides, Liz’s family owns the local diner and you can’t leave Roswellwithout a meal at the Crashdown. You should come, have dinner with us. That, orI’m gonna bring it back to your hotel, but one way or another, we’re gettingyou to try it,” he warns.Alex laughs in protest. “Okay! Okay, I’ll come to dinner with you.”Michael’s smile is as beautiful as the rest of him; so is the way he breathesin and then holds it, like he’s trying to hold onto a little hope, before helets it out. “You won’t regret it.”Alex absolutely doesn’t. That one dinner turns into lunch the next day, then it becomes Alex hangingaround the junkyard with his guitar, singing his half-written songs whileMichael works on cars. With the tree lot packed up, it’s back to normal, butMichael keeps up the lights and the sound system still plays carols. “Myparents and siblings love Christmas,” he’d explained with a warm grin. “I loveit too.”“I don’t get it,” Alex admits, “The holiday spirit. I guess because my motherdied when I was so little and my father’s not exactly the warm and fuzzy type.Half the time, he wasn’t even there because he or my brothers were out of thecountry on a mission. For me, Christmas was just another week that I didn’thave a family.”“That’s really sad, you know,” Michael says, and pries his guitar back fromAlex. He sits in the back of his pickup and nods to him. “Come on, you can’thate it so much that you won’t at least sing along,” he coaxes, playing theopening chords of Winter Wonderland, and when Michael gets to, “a beautifulsight,” he winks at Alex, which makes him flush.He ducks his head down and sings with Michael, listening to how their voicesharmonize together and sound so right. It all feels right. It feels perfect. At least, right up until the moment Alex’s other life comes into town and burnsit to shreds.Alex is starting to love his lunches at the Crashdown. He’s made friends ofMichael’s friends and by now he’s in tight with his family, and they’ve alltaken him on as a project, sympathetic to the fact that he’s alone onChristmas. He drinks at the Wild Pony every night, then meets Michael forbrunch before he goes to work. Liz makes sure he’s well fed, Maria keeps himdrinking, and Michael and his siblings occupy his time with holiday parties andchores. Right now, he’s in the middle of helping Isobel stuff Christmas cards when hehears a familiar voice.“Holy shit, you weren’t joking about this place being a hellhole.”Kyle Valenti, as loud as ever. Alex tenses up when he sees the hurt onMichael’s face. He rushes out to meet his manager at the door, giving him awarning look even as Kyle pulls him into a hug. He’d said those things when Alexhad first come into town – trust Kyle to repeat them now, after Alex has had acomplete change of heart.“Outside?”“Nah, I’m starved,” Kyle says, pushing past Alex. “Besides, we’re not gonna behere long, so let’s grab some lunch and talk.” Alex tenses up, but he leads Kyle to the only other open booth, which is theone beside Isobel and the others. He’s not facing Michael, which is for thebest, because he doesn’t want to see his face after that first insult. It doesn’t get better.Kyle’s as direct as ever. “So listen, we got a flight to Bora Bora,” he says,once lunch is delivered and he’s in the middle of eating fries like it’s hisjob. “The rest of us figured that it’d be shitty for you to sit here in Roswelland sulk in some stupid town…”“Kyle,” Alex warns.“And since you don’t do the holidays, it’s perfect. The resort doesn’t go infor the festivities, so it can be an Alex Manes special. Get drunk, find a hotguy to sleep with, and then back on tour in the new year.” Usually, any other year, he’d be eager to hop on a plane and do exactly asKyle’s listed. Kyle’s not wrong, that is what he excels at, but somehow thisyear is different. Staring at Michael’s curls in the booth over, he knows why,even if he doesn’t want to say it out loud. “Anyway,” Kyle says, finishing with the burger and laying down a few bills topay for his lunch. “The tickets are back at the hotel for you, okay? I’ll seeyou at the airport and then we’re Bora Bora bound,” he says with an excitedsmile, squeezing Alex’s shoulder as he bounds out, unaware of the damage he’scaused in the course of a thirty-minute lunch. Alex slowly stands, heading back to join the others, but when he gets there, itlooks like Michael is on his way out. “I…wait…”It doesn’t help. “You’re leaving, huh?” Michael says as Alex settles. “I get it. Why would youwant to spend the holidays in a stupid little town like Roswell when you couldbe off living the rock star life with drugs and sex in some tropicaldestination.” He hasn’t looked up at him, won’t meet Alex’s eye. “Shit, BoraBora, if I had that kind of money, I’d go too.”“Michael…”Michael digs into his pockets for crumpled bills to pay for his meal. It hitshim, belatedly, that it’s Christmas Eve. He’d spent so much of his life tryingto ignore the holiday and the one year he finds something he wants, reallywants, and he’s losing it because of his life outside of this town.“I get it,” Michael cuts him off. “We’re just a town you pass through, right?It was never going to be anything.” He stares at his boots, shaking his head,like he’s talking to himself. “It was never gonna be anything,” he repeats, andbefore Alex can protest, he’s gone.In the hotel nearby, Kyle’s waiting for him to pick up the tickets and leave. Tomorrow,this whole town will go have dinner with their families and curl up by thefireplace exchanging gifts. They’ll kiss under the mistletoe and drink spikedegg nog, and they’ll be happy in a way that Alex is only starting torealize he wants.He wants it. It’s not just the holiday spirit and that warmth.He wants Michael. He wants the man who’s sat with him at every meal at theCrashdown. He wants the man who tells the dirtiest jokes to get Alex to laugh asloud as possible. He wants Michael, who drinks with him at the Pony and thendances badly to the Christmas music Maria puts on, who wears reindeer antlersat the junkyard while he’s fixing cars, who plays the guitar while Alex singsfor him. He wants him and maybe he’s starting to understand the Christmasspirit, because he wants to shower him in love and gifts and kisses, butMichael thinks he’s about to leave to go to Bora Bora.“Hey,” Alex says, glancing over to Isobel, who looks at him cautiously -- likeshe’s deciding how cruel to be in return for Alex’s insults about the town. “Doyou have a guitar I can borrow?”His equipment is back in Los Angeles and if he wants this surprise to actuallybe a surprise, he can’t walk up to Michael and ask him for his. When Isobeldoesn’t answer, he figures that she’s trying to freeze him out, but Alexdoesn’t have time for it.  It’s Christmas Eve, he only has so long to prove to Michael that he’s not theman that the world wants him to be, especially not right now.“Please, Isobel,” Alex begs. “I need to win him back.”That seems to do the trick. “If that’s the case, Maria can help,” Isobelsuggests. “The Pony’s always got music nights, and if it’s to win over Michael,then I think she’ll be okay loaning it out.”“Thank you,” Alex exhales in a rush, kissing her hand before he bolts to thePony to get what he needs. He has to show Michael that he’s not Alex Manes,rock star. Right now, he’s just Alex Manes, who’s a guy wanting to prove thatthere’s more for him here than there is on some island.By the time he gets to the junkyard, it’s started to snow. Big heavy flakesfrom the sky obscuring the stars, but it gives the world a glow, especiallywith the junkyard lights. Alex can see that the lights are on inside theAirstream and Alex heads over, standing under the twinkling lights a few feetfrom the door. He’s performed in front of thousands of people before, and yet he’s never feltas nervous as he does right now. “I don’t want a lot for Christmas,” he begins without the guitar, adding in thechords after, and playing as he sings. It’s the first holiday song he’s evercovered that wasn’t with Michael playing guitar for him, but when the Airstreamdoor opens and Michael steps out, Alex knows it’s the most important song he’sever sung in his life.Michael looks stunned to see him, but he steps down into the snow. He’s onlywearing a cream sweater and a pair of sweatpants, no jacket to speak of. Thesnow lands in his curls, dissolving as he gapes at Alex, open-mouthed. The cover he’s doing is slow and sweet, but the only thing that matters is thechorus to Michael’s favorite song. “Baby,” he sings, barely more than a softplea, “all I want for Christmas is you.” He doesn’t sing anything beyond that,cautiously putting the guitar down as he approaches Michael. He waits for a signal to stop.Alex looks for a twitch or a flinch. He looks for a single sound that wouldtell him that Michael doesn’t want this, but by the time Alex crosses the fivesteps separating them, he hasn’t seen a single one, which is why he feelsconfident grabbing Michael’s face with both his hands and kissing him under thetwinkling lights, snowflakes cascading towards the ground.He’s on the tips of his toes, like he’s desperately eager to make this kisslast as long as it possibly can, tangling his fingers up in Michael’s curls theway he’s thought about since the moment he met him days ago, and when he easesback, he’s still nervous despite the fact that Michael’s hand is tangled up inAlex’s leather jacket, like he’s going to refuse to let him go.“You’re an idiot,” Michael laughs fondly when they finally drift apart. “You’rechoosing me over Bora Bora? You don’t even like Christmas. You don’t even knowme!”He’s still not letting go.“This is the first time I’ve felt like I had a home or a family in years,” Alexgets out, his voice low and determined. “You’re the first person I’vefelt like myself around in ages. I think I’m figuring out that it’s not that Idon’t like Christmas, but I’ve never had someone to show me how good it can be.Fuck Bora Bora,” he swears. “I mean it. Michael, all I want for Christmas isyou, if you’ll have me.”Michael grins at him and Alex’s breath catches as he sees the lights reflectedin Michael’s eyes. “I’ve been dreaming of having you in about ten different ways,” Michael informshim, tugging Alex towards the Airstream as he wanders idly backwards. “I neverthought I’d get what I asked Santa for Christmas,” he jokes. “Maybe you’ve been a nice boy this year,” Alex suggests, traipsing after himwith a wide-eyed besotted look.Michael smirks as he steps inside, casting Alex a filthy smirk before he pullsoff his shirt. “Baby,” he says, and pushes Alex to the bed. “I’m definitely onthe naughty list for the thoughts I’ve had about you.”Naughty or nice, Alex thinks that they both got exactly what they wanted thisyear, and if anyone had told Alex that this is what he’d be yearning for at thestart of the year, he’d think they were insane. Now that he has it, he knowsthat the only madness would be not having this, not wantingMichael.With Michael finally in his arms, Alex isn’t going to let go.It’s rude to take back the gifts you’re given, after all.*It’s December 21st and Alex turns over in bed to see snow fallingoutside the window. He’s warm in bed, curled up with thick blankets, but despitethat warmth, he’s missing the body heat of someone pressed up against him. Heturns, with a whine of protest, sleepy eyes opening to see Michael sitting nearthe door, tugging on his boots, along with his denim jacket. “Wear the puffer,”Alex mumbles sleepily. “You’re gonna freeze out there in the tree lot all day.”Michael pulls on his other boot and wanders back to bed to give Alex a kiss onthe cheek. “I’m sorry, is my sleepy husband asking me to wear his expensivegifts?”“What’s the point of being a rock star if I can’t spoil you?” Alex asks,yawning in the middle of his words as he grabs at Michael’s jacket to try andpull him in for another kiss. “Your Santa hat’s by the door,” he mumbles, stilldebating whether he wants to go back to sleep.“Thanks, babe,” Michael says, adjusting the hat as it jingles and jangles.“Don’t forget, you’re on stage at noon to lead the carols,” he says, pocketinghis keys. Alex stretches his whole body out and stares at Michael with a happy grin,thinking about the days ahead and the activities they’ll be doing to ring inthe holidays. His house in Los Angeles has been sold, the fancy cars gone, andwhile Alex hasn’t stopped touring and has the same team supporting him, he’slearned an important lesson.It’s one thing to have a career that you love, but having friends and familyaround you at the same time makes life so much better.“I’ll see you there, Santa,” Alex promises, voice low and thick with the headypromise.“Thanks Mrs. Clause,” Michael teases as he goes, whistling a very familiar songon his way out, and as Alex falls back to sleep, the last thing he hears isMichael singing, “I don’t want a lot for Christmas…” under his breath, whichcoaxes Alex back to sleepy warm and perfect dreams about the life he’s made forhimself.

Prompt: Alex & Rath AU continuation where they have that talk they were meant to have, please.

Follow up to this: HERE. Because apparently having Astrea going on ao3 isn’t enough to stop me from continuing Alex and Rath in this format if I’m prompted. 

His top three mornings on Antar are the first, the day after they win, and the one where he wakes up with Alex in his arms. 

Alex is cool against him. When he was a kid he always dreamed that one day he’d have a place where he could be with Alex and not have to worry. Now that it’s here he’s almost afraid of it. If he breathes too loudly or moves to quick will it break? His fingers almost tremble as he touches Alex’s skin. The last time he was tan from the sun. Now he’s paler. But Alex is the same, same warm tone but cool skin. Michael traces along the cuts of muscle and the new scars. He’s adapted to the Antar mindset and each of Alex’s scars fill him with pride and awe at his survival. A soft huff of laughter draws his eyes up as he skims his fingers over a line on Alex’s hipbone. Alex is awake, watching him. Michael flattens his hand and puts them level again.

“Morning,” he says. Alex smiles, “how was sleeping for twelve hours?”

“Not as amazing as the wakeup,” Alex say with a smile that Michael swears he feels in his toes. He kisses Alex slow and soft, taking the time to feel every languid slide of their mouths and hands. Alex makes a low sound of encouragement, but there’s none of the tension or desperation that he usually exhibits after, “but I have to file my debrief,” he says. Michael drops his head to his collar bone with a groan that makes Alex laugh, “I’m sorry!”

“Why is it when I get cockblocked it’s by the US military?” He demands, no actual anger in his tone. Alex pushes his curls from his forehead and Michael leans into the touch.

“I guess you’re just that special,” he says.

Michael flops over as Alex gets out of bed. Michael watches as he slides on his leg and then grabs the dark robe. He fastens it easily and gets up, managing to wear it more naturally than Michael is sure he’s pulled off. Ever. Even though he was literally made to be in those robes. There’s also the fact that Alex is wearing it commando and only they know which, again, might be the best use of those robes ever. He watches as Alex gets up and goes over to his bag, pulling out a slim laptop and a pair of spectacles. 

He’s definitely trying to kill him, Michael decides watching him put them on and begin to work. Michael groans loudly until Alex tears his eyes from the computer. Michael props his head up on his hand and looks at him. Alex considers him for a moment and then picks up the laptop, coming back over. Michael tries to look as innocent as he possibly can. Alex looks at him steadily before getting back into bed, on top of the covers.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warns.

Michael holds up his hands, he isn’t denying distracting him crossed his mind but hey if it gets Alex on the bed he’s willing to behave. Or at least try to. At the very least though he’s willing to get up and make them both coffee or the Antar equivalent. It’s when he’s out of bed that there is a knock on the door. Michael’s eyes narrow and he grabs his robe with his powers, flinging it on. Apparently it’s commando day in this part of the palace. When he opens the door though, he’s suprised to see Isobel standing there looking almost nervous. She fidgets slightly with her fingers. Isobel and fidgeting are two things that don’t go together and alarm bells go off in Michael’s head.

“I need to talk to you,” she says.

“Is this about Alex?” He asks.

“Sort of—“ Michael turns as Alex bolts up from the bed. Isobel peers around the corner and her face falls, “damn,” she mutters.

“What’s going on?” Michael questions, stepping aside so she can come into the room.

“It got out Alex came back here,” she says, “people are questioning the peace treaty and if he was a double agent,” she explains, looking at Alex apologetically, “they’ve already locked down the portal.”

“What?!” Michael says.

“They think you seduced him during the talks.”

“That’s insane,” Michael says, “he seduced me way before then—“

He turns to see Alex sitting looking completely horrified. Michael thinks anyone whose accusing Alex of not doing his job is out of their fucking minds. But Alex is in a far more complicated position. Michael goes over to where he’s sitting on the bed, lost in his own thoughts and drops next to him, making sure their legs touch. That at least startles Alex enough for him to look at him and Michael grabs his hands, ignoring the way Alex stiffens in surprise.

“Look at me,” he says, “no-one knows the whole story. We can explain what happened,” he says, “and why the idea of these not being legit is completely insane,” he cups Alex’s cheek, desperate to get him to focus anywhere but his miserable thoughts, “You’re not a traitor. We know that and someone else does too or they would just throw this thing out. We just gotta tell them about high school—“

“You seduced me,” Alex cuts in.

“Huh?” Michael says.

“You seduced me,” Alex repeats, “you played the guitar for me.”

“In the shed you invited me to camp out in,” Michael says.

“I was being nice!”

“So was I,” Michael protests.

“Okay!” Isobel cuts them off, “this is nauseatingly cute but it’s not good,” she says, “I’m sorry, but if you two do this fling it’s not going to help. If you break up—“

“Hey!” Michael cuts in, “we’re not—“ he looks at Alex.

“We haven’t been on an official date,” he explains, “this was a surprise trip on my part, I got swept up in the moment—“ 

“Clearly trying to seduce me again,” Michael cuts in, earning a nudge from Alex, “we’ve been out though, slapping a title on it doesn’t change that right?”

Alex looks at him dryly.

“I can see why you think i seduced you,” He says and continues past Michael’s feigned outrage, “What are you suggesting?”

“Something slightly more serious,” isobel says.

Michael stares at her. She cannot possibly be suggesting what he thinks she might be suggesting.  He looks at Alex. Alex is a solider, a warrior. He thinks that them both being in Antarian robes is the most Alex has been out of the closet in a long, long time. Alex isn’t immediately refuting the ludicrous idea which means its on him.

“No. Absolutely not. We are not getting fake married for the peace of two worlds.”

“Married?!” Alex says.

“I was thinking engaged,” Isobel says, “arranged marriages are common here. Technically Michael and I were in an arranged marriage. We just didn’t get married, but we didn’t date before we were engaged.”

He opens his mouth to deny this is ever going to happen, when he realizes the same denial isn’t coming from the man sitting next to him on the bed. Alex looks stricken but he hasn’t immediately shot the idea down. He looks at Isobel and then at Alex and then gets up. 

“Get out,” he says.

“Excuse me?” Isobel demands. 

“Get out I need to talk to Alex,” he says. 

Isobel rolls her eyes but leaves. Michael smiles just slightly as he turns around. He may have always wanted to kick a sibling out of his room because he had a boy over. This boy, to be precise. Or man. Who is sitting there with his most concentrated face. 

“So, uh, I can call her off,” Michael says, “or, we could do it,” he looks at him, “this kind of feels like an ‘us’ discussion,” he hesitates and then continues shyly, “you didn’t say no.”

Alex hangs his head, rubbing his face. He’s right, he didn’t say no. He wouldn’t say no. Their relationship has been so fraught with miscommunication that he knows him being there in robes on Michael’s bed will be less than him objecting.  He looks at Michael who looks stricken but also hopeful. Alex wonders briefly  if the universe is stacked against them, if there’s any point to fighting it like this. But one look at Michael and he has the answer to that.

“I didn’t come back here for the world,” he says, “I came back here for you.”

“But—“ Michael swallows, “marriage?”

“Engagement,” Alex says, “we would date while we were engaged,” he continues, “I’d have to learn the customs of this place—“ he trails off at Michael’s stunned look, “we could be engaged for a while,” he finishes.

“Yeah,” Michael says.

“That’s what dating is working towards anyways right?” He continues, “seeing if you want to marry someone.”

Ten years ago that wasn’t an option on earth. He looks at Michael.

“Can we get married here?” He asks tentatively, wondering if this is over before it’s begun. 

“Oh, yeah, I wrote that into the constitution for  us,” Michael says.

“Ha ha,” Alex replies sarcastically, “seriously though—“ he trails off as Michael looks at him calmly, “you’re not kidding.” 

Michael shakes his head.

“Did you pick out a ring too?” Alex asks and there’s no sarcasm in his voice.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Michael says, “come on.”

He grabs Alex’s hand and leads him to the wall. He steps through and Alex follows him into a dark and cool passage. Several scanners inspect Michael and then let him continue. This place is cool and it’s made of an odd dark purple stone that flickers with light Alex can’t pinpoint the location of. Mostly because Michael is setting a brisk pace and brings him to the dead end. His hand glows red and he presses it to the wall. It vanishes to reveal a gilded door, the rosy gold bright warm in the passage. Michael opens it and pulls him inside. Alex used to like jewelry but it was costume jewelry.

This is definitely not.

It’s the Antar Crown Jewels and there are a lot of them. The purple stone turns rainbow and reflects everything, making the room seem like it’s a geode. There’s crowns and ornaments and if Liz ever seals the deal with Max she is never going to have to buy jewelry again. He recognizes a few pieces Isobel has worn and a few crowns Max has as well. Michael leads him to a section that has a lot of achingly beautiful weapons and ceremonial armor. Michael stops and turns to him.

“This is my section,” he says, “there’s not a lot of rings but I’m sure Max and Iz don’t mind if you wanna look,” he says and brings him over, “it doesn’t have to be a ring but in context—“

Alex looks at the rings. Michael turns away so Alex can’t read his reactions. Alex feels a rush of annoyance and affection towards him as he turns back to the bands. Two stick out at him though, a narrow band of obsidian and an equally narrow one of coppery gold. He picks them up and stands in front of Michael. Surprise goes to happiness and then to something else. Michael’s eyes go bright. 

“What?” Alex asks.

“Which one?” Michael counters and Alex takes his hand and slides the black one up his finger. Michael looks at it and then takes the coppery one, carefully sliding up his finger. Alex looks at him curiously, “this was my grandfathers,” he says holding up his own hand. His gaze softens, “that was my mom’s.”

Alex opens his mouth to offer to give it back but Michael bends and kisses the back of his hand, like this is where it belongs and Alex closes his mouth.

****

Alex comes out of the bathroom wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“The last time someone found out about us, they broke your hand with a hammer and started a war,” Alex says.

Michael softens and his lips quirk up.

“So it’s not being engaged to me?”

Alex picks the insecurity in his eyes and crosses the room. He’s sick at the thought of the world knowing but he’s dizzy with the notion he can be in front of Michael and take him in his arms. That they can be together. Still, after everything. He’s desperate to make the insecurity go away and the only way he can think to do that is to cup both of Michael’s cheeks and kiss him. Michael hums into the kiss and then goes silent as it turns hungry and passionate. He whimpers and Alex pulls back, waiting for him to open his eyes.

“Being engaged to you is the only thing that makes this worth it,” he swears. 

 “God, what are we doing?” Michael says helplessly and Alex presses his forehead to his.

“What we have to,” Alex says and Michael tenses, “and what we want to,” Alex tells him.

“Don’t be scared,” Michael says and Alex swallows, “I’m gonna be there with you the whole time,” Alex takes a deep breath, “also your dad only got to me because I was pretending to be human,” he points out. 

“Also he’s dead,” Alex adds.

Michael shakes his head. Alex goes to pull back and Michael holds him. Alex can hear the unspoken plea for one more stolen moment and surrenders without a second thought. He kisses Michael on the mouth and pulls back just enough to whisper in the space between them.

“I love you,” He says. Michael inhales sharply and Alex continues, “I can’t say it to the world first. You don’t have to say—“

“I love you too,” Michael cuts in, Alex feels words rushing through him, “Alex,” he says his name and feels Alex tense, “I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Alex makes a noise and Michael pulls him closer, burying his face in Alex’s neck as they hold each other. For the first time since this all started, he doesn’t feel like a monster in a war. He feels like someone who lost something, who has a chance of getting it back. No, he feels like someone who did get it back. He’s spent years watching reunions, envious of those who got to have them. Now he gets it. 

“We have to go,” Alex says regretfully and Michael shakes his head.

“I’m not used to we,” he admits. 

“Me neither,” Alex replies and something cheeky comes into his eyes and he offers his arm, “shall we?”

“Remind me why we’re engaged again?” Michael says, taking his arm. 

****

“So their biggest problem is that we’re both guys?” Michael demands, “that’s it?” He makes a noise of disgust, “What a bunch of morons.” 

Alex is quiet and Michael frowns, lowering the tabloid in favor of looking at Alex who is laying with his head on Michael’s stomach. Deep in thought. Apparently talking about this isn’t going to tug him out of it so Michael searches for the thing that will. 

“At least you look good in the pictures,” he says. 

No response.

“Hey, remember when the biggest issue was that I was a low life?” He says. Alex’s brow furrows, “I guess now you gotta suffer through being with a—and I quote—‘genocidal maniac who likes to take it up the ass’,” he frowns, “I don’t get the correlation.”

“Ugh,” Alex says and grabs the tabloid, throwing it to the side. 

“Not a fan?”

“I can’t believe we’re on all of them,” Alex finally says, breaking his silence, “people didn’t know I was—“ he waves a hand around. Michael tries not to be distracted by the coppery band.

“Gay?”

“In love with the guy I was fighting,” Alex says. 

“Oh,” Michael grins, “right.”

“How are you smiling?” Alex questions, fully grumpy and Michael shrugs. 

“I guess I’m still enamored with you saying that,” he admits. 

Alex looks at him for a long moment before sighing and picking up the tabloid, adjusting his neck against Michael’s stomach. The picture is not one of the official, stiff portraits thank god. Rather it’s of them walking away from the press conference angled towards each other. Alex looks completely dignified and Michael has his head thrown back, laughing at something Alex has said. The next picture is of Alex standing in front of a plane and underneath it says they have the exclusive scoop of his torrid history of canoodling with the enemy. 

“Your scandal would use the word canoodle,” Michael says taking the magazine back.

Alex turns and buries his face in Michael’s stomach with a groan. 

“Can someone else have a scandal?” He pleas.

****

Three days later Max and Liz are caught by the paparazzi mid-smooch and he gets his wish.

****

“Antarian dances are not meant to have two men dancing them,” the man teaching them starts to protest. 

“Well they are now, so let’s figure it out,” Michael says. 

“General Rath,” he begins. 

“God, look, okay there’s already a ton of scandal going on. So if you don’t want to teach then that’s fine,” Michael says, “but I feel like we already crossed the scandal bridge. It’s two dudes dancing together,” he continues, “the biggest problem is gonna be that everyone wants to dance with Alex, which I get, but as his fiancé the job falls to me.” 

“There’s a lot of dipping,” the tutor says, “in this particular dance. Which you must preform,” he continues.

“Great, Alex you wanna dip or should I?” Michael asks. 

Alex looks at him and at the tutor. The spotlight on him is wildly uncomfortable and every move that Michael tries to make to easier it only seems to make it worse. Finally Alex gets to his feet, walks over and immediately starts to lead them impeccably through the dance. The man has one foot and he’s about a thousand times better at this than Michael has ever been. Michael thinks he’d be more outraged if it wasn’t so hot. And just because Alex is, well, Alex, at the end of it he finds himself very firmly in a dip. 

“Splendid!” The tutor claps his hands together, “simply splendid, you move very well General Manes,” he says. 

Michael steals Alex out into the gardens when the lesson is done and they are very well into the massive hedge maze before he manages to relax, even just a little. But Alex is still quiet and Michael can feel the worry churning through him. Maybe this is too much. It wouldn’t be the first time it was. He looks at Alex but doesn’t try to get him to stop, finally sacrificing the pretense. 

“Talk to me,” he says. When Alex opens his mouth, he looks at him and then closes it before opening it again.

“I’m not used to being in the spotlight,” Alex admits. Michael raises an eyebrow, Alex is every bit the hero he is, “because of who I love. I hid it,” he emphasizes, “I thought we would have time before—“

“We got engaged?”

“We caused a scandal,” Alex admits, “I was hoping to avoid the scandal.” 

Michael manages to bite back his sarcastic remarks that even if all this had never happened they would still be pretty scandalous. Worry sparks in Alex’s eyes and Michael bites on his lower lip before getting in front of him and catching his hands with his own.

“We can talk about it,” he says. Alex sighs, “we can,” he stresses, “we should. Because this all will die down,” he reminds him, “look I’ll go first,” he says, “I hate the attention. But I like the world knowing we’re together,” he explains, “I like not having to hide it.”

“I was used to hiding it,” Alex admits, “I’m used to secrets,” he looks at him, “you were born for this. I wasn’t.”

“Yeah which means you earned it,” Michael stresses, “I just woke up here and they started calling me a General.” 

Alex looks at him quietly before starting to walk again. Michael moves alongside him. They don’t always talk about the start of the war, about what happened while they were trying to kill each other. But Michael thinks they probably should. If they are having all these weird conversations. 

“It must have been hard learning on the job,” Alex says.

“Yeah, since I’ve got no poker face,” Michael points out and Alex smiles.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he murmurs. 

Michael laughs as they wander through. Holding left hands, he can feel the band on Alex’s finger and if he moves his the right way, they can click together. The first few drops of rain startle Alex. The fact that startled means he grips Michael’s hand tighter means more to Michael than he has the words to say. Also the rain on Antar is purple. Alex sticks his other hand out and catches the drops, looking at them intently. They make their way back to his room where Alex has been spending most of his nights, since another advantage to the scandal is that them living together in sin is a small one. Comparatively. But that means that Michael gets to kiss Alex on his balcony in the purple rain.

“I hate the attention,” Alex says, “I wish you weren’t worth it.”

Michael laughs into the kiss and pulls Alex into the room, showing him exactly how worth it he is.

Neither of them sees the man waiting there until it’s too late.

***

“Alex! Hold on, just hold on!”

He’s floating, anchored only by Michael’s warmth. His lips are still swollen, that must be why it’s hard to breathe. It’s bright and he feels Michael kiss his hand before his warmth is gone. There’s hands on him, pulling open what he’s wearing and pressing onto his chest. The movements are quick and efficient and Alex doesn’t know why Michael is worried.

He’s floating.

“Michael! Oh my god, whose blood is that?!”

He hears Michael make a wounded noise and he tires to open his eyes but he can’t remember how.

Then the healing starts and he forgets everything altogether. 

****

Michael’s top three mornings pale in comparison to the one where Alex wakes up. 

One moment Michael is drinking coffee and eating toast under Liz’s death glare, the next he’s running to the bed as Alex stares up at him. He’s physical okay, Antar healing is unparalleled. But between being shot and stressed and sleep deprived, his body needs the break. He’s been asleep for the longest two days of Michael’s life. Alex blinks and frowns at him.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

Michael shakes his head.

“You asshole,” he says, “I thought we talked about you throwing yourself in front of me.”

Alex frowns and looks down at his hand.

“Where’s my ring?”

“God,” Michael shakes his head and sits on the edge of the bed, pulling Alex’s ring off his finger where he’s been wearing it next to his own. He slides it on his hand and Alex relaxes, “no more taking hits for me,” he says.

“But I’m going to be your husband,” Alex says, tugging him down weakly, “I have to protect you.”

Michael goes and presses his face to Alex’s shoulder. He’s been listening to his heart and breathing for two days, reminding himself that Alex is still here. That between his powers and his screaming he was able to make sure Alex wasn’t dead. Alex saved him, saved them both, but he is never going back to his old rooms. They’re moving into new ones and he’s not letting Alex out of his sight.

“I think we should get married sooner,” Alex says.

“Not until you promise to never do that again,” Michael says.

Alex smiles. 

****

He doesn’t promise. 

They move the wedding up anyway. 

****

“Get out! Get out get out get out!”

Michael and Alex’s favorite morning starts with getting yelled at.

Isobel is not amused considering the work she’s done to keep them apart. Not that it matters. They’ve managed to wind up in the same room, tangled together. Alex lifts his head as Michael groans and presses his forehead to his shoulder before turning over to his irate sister. 

“You said no more scandals!”

“Iz, the only scandal is how loud you’re yelling,” he says, pushing himself up. Under the sheets, Alex’s hand doesn’t move from the small of his back, “it’s early!”

“You have to get ready,” she says, “we both know how long it takes to do your hair.” 

“She’s right,” Alex says rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Don’t take her side, she’s just your sister in law. I’m going to be your husband!”

Alex softens at his outrage. Reminding each other they’re going to be married is the new I love you, though that’s still pretty great to hear. He’d marry Michael with his sleep rumpled curls and his old UFO emporium t-shirt, but he gets the need for this to go well from a public perspective. The problem is while he would, Michael looks like he has every intention of actually doing that. So Alex kneads his lower back and regretfully shifts away so he can get up, leaving Michael less than thrilled at this turn of events. 

“Your hair—“

“I’ll telekinetically remove the water,” Michael argues, passing him coffee that Alex takes with a nod of thanks.

“We can’t be late,” he says finally. Michael rolls his eyes, “the faster we get this done the faster we’ll be married.”

Michael considers this as he spins the copper band around his finger. Alex looks to his still glaring soon to be sister in law and then back to his soon to be husband who shoves a hand through his hair and pushes his curls off his forehead. Family, Alex thinks, this is what a family is. His family. Michael stands up and stretches, tugging his stolen shirt and looking at Isobel. 

“Guess we should get going, huh?” He says, dragging a hand through his hair and flashing Alex the kind of grin that makes him want to pull Michael back into bed, “see you later,” he says and steals a kiss from the corner of Alex’s mouth. Alex catches him, pulls him back and kisses him properly. 

“See you soon.”

Long Way Home: Twilight Zone (Part 1)

a/n: Here's the first chapter!! I'm soooo glad that we were able to post this. I'm really exited to see where this series goes and how it takes off. I have so many ideas for this series. So make sure to stay tuned!!

Summary Series: The Winchesters, Dean, Alex, and Sam, live in an abusive household since they were put into foster care. Eric and Rachael have been their adopted parents since they were put into foster care. Since senior year has come and Dean and Alex are turning 18, Eric and Rachael have been putting the siblings in bad situations ever since summer break and the year prior. What will happen one night everything turns upside down in a blink of an eye? What will happen if Dean is handed his siblings life?

Chapter One Summary: When Dean has to confess a secret he has to Alex, it turns out fairly well. 

Word Count: 2,454 words

Series Warnings: NSFW, 18+ only! under aged smut. Fluff, angst, swearing, alcohol intoxication, underage drug use, underage drinking. Heartbreak, crying, flashbacks, nightmares, trauma. Description of child abuse, domestic violence, self-harming, and rape. Stress, mental breakdowns, anxiety attacks, depression, suicide attempts. Description of blood and injuries, hospital scenes, near death experiences, more warnings. I can go on forever. 

Chapter Warnings: Fluffy Dean, swearing, angst, drunk!Dean, underage drinking, nightmare, mentions of domestic abuse, mention of self-harming(slightly), stressing over Dean being drunk. Slight mention of homophobia. Let me know if I’m missing any more warnings for this chapter. 

Characters in Chapter: Dean, Alex, and Michael. Mentions of Cas, Sam, Charlie Bradbury, Rachael, and Eric. 

This fic goes out to @katehuntington and her 1k celebration, congrats!!! I used ‘Twilight Zone’ by Golden Earring for this fic. Hope you like it. :)

----

'Ask anyone in this school about being a freak and they'll point to me, no questions asked. They always wonder why I'm this way, having a twin brother who rules the school, catching all the ladies, and a nerd of a brother who's too good to be here, who I say is way smarter than me, even though I'm at the top of my classes. But they don't know, and don't want to know, why I am who I am. When it comes to sex and partying, they're all over me and still can't figure out why...'

I type down the words on my computer, trying to let go of my problems. Cas said it would help me lift some pressure off my chest because, apparently, he does it every night to help him calm down. I call bull, but he insists on it. Without even noticing, Dean comes up to the top bunk and closes the computer on me. I barely move my hands out of the way before it slams shut.

"Hey," I screeched, putting my computer under my pillow.

"Bed time, loser," he said, laying down next to me.

I was trying to get comfortable on the bed, noticing Dean doing the same. This only meant one thing, and I wasn't in the mood.

"I was wondering if I can sleep with you and maybe. . .we can talk?" he asked, whispering so they couldn't hear us. I pulled a face at him telling him what I was thinking so he got the hint.

"We-we don't need to talk, I-I actually have to. Can you just, maybe, listen?" He stuttered over his words. Something must be up because he always stutters when something is bothering him. I changed my expression quickly, slightly smiling to make him comfortable.

We settled under the blankets, the room already dark from when Dean closed the door. I could hear Sammy's light snores from the bottom bunk, telling me he was out like a light.

Dean was hesitant to talk to me. His face was open like a book and I could easily read it in the sliver of light that was slipping through the window.

"You know you can talk to me, right? I'm always here for you and-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I just don't know how to say it," he said, cutting me off, clearly thinking of what he wanted to say.

"Okay, so," he began. I pulled his hands into mine, squeezing them, letting him know that I was here and that it was safe. "I'm kinda dating Cas. Actually, we've been dating since the summer, and. . .and I couldn't keep hiding this from you. If you're not okay with it, then tell me straight up, I'll be fine bu-"

"Dean, why wouldn't I be okay with it? You always seemed happy with him since we were small. You guys always give each other that look when you see each other, I'm surprised you didn't start dating sooner! I'm happy that you're together. You have someone who can love you," I said. Deep down, I was doing a little happy dance because Dean was so carefree whenever he's with Cas and I'm always happy to see him happy. They've been giving each other googoo eyes since the fifth grade and it's been painful just watching their endless pining.

"Wait, so you're not mad?" I nodded rapidly. "You're completely okay with this?"

"Yes, I am Dean! Quit worrying," I said, trying to reassure him. "But," I began, and his happy expression dropped, "you can't let Eric and Rachael know about this. They will murder you, and that's not going to happen on my watch." I pulled him into a side hug.

"Yeah, I know that much," he sassed back, and I could feel him roll his eyes. He squeezed me tightly.

We layed in each other's arms, and just like every time this has happened before, we found it comfortable. I breathe in his scent, forever familiar in my head. Whiskey (he drinks it a lot, but I don't say anything), oil that hasn't quite come off of him after his shower, and this one smell that I couldn't quite describe, but it was just the smell of Dean and that's all I needed to know.

I could feel sleep overtaking me, the darkness consuming me. Before I let the darkness engulf me fully, I feel Dean lay a lingering kiss on the top of my head.

"I just hope you'll be happy too," he whispers into the air.

Finally, I let the darkness consume me.

I pounded on the door for what seemed to be the hundredth time, growing more annoyed with Dean.

"I've been out here for the past five minutes," I shouted, "hurry and wrap it up!" I pounded my first harder on the door, surprised they have not started to hurt.

I can hear mumbling on the other side of the door, and seconds later he comes out, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Dude, you reek of sex and that isn't the way we want to walk into the house. You know that place is a madhouse! It's already two a.m. and we were supposed to be home at ten forty-five. I'm really glad Sammy asked to sleep over at a friend's house tonight," I scoffed furiously, grabbing at his arm. One look into his eyes and I knew we were fucked. He was drunk. Of course he's drunk! He gave me that smirk, that cocky and full-of-shit smirk, and oh my GOSH I just wanted to punch it right off his face.

"Y'know, y'look. . . y'look funny when yer mad." His voice was higher than it was supposed to be, his words slurring together. He tried to go in for a hug, giggling intensely.

"No, no, no. No hugs Dean! You look like you've been to every sex club in existence, you smell like a bar, and-are you even listing to a word I'm saying?!" I gripped his arm harder, trying to pull him with me to no avail.

"Nope." He popped the p and gave me a goofy smile. God, he looks so happy right now, I thought. I wish I could make him look this happy everyday.

"Okay," I patted him on his shoulder, sighing and loosening my grip on his arm, "okay."

We started making our way downstairs. I grabbed our coats and my purse that were in the hallway closet before I headed back to Dean, who was sitting on the couch, his eyes drooping from drowsiness trying to take over his body.

"Come on buddy, time to get up." I lightly shake him awake. He squinted his eyes at me.

"Uuugghh I don't wanna gooo!" Dean whined. I pursed my lips and rolled my eyes.

"Well boo-hoo your ass. I was down here watching everyone, and by that I mean I was watching everyone making out with each other, sitting here waiting for you." I pulled on his arm, but he wouldn't budge. Then, I smirked at an idea that popped in my head. "If you don't get your lazy ass up, we won't drive in Baby."

Dean's eyes grew wide, and he stood up immediately, swaying. I steadied him, giving him his coat. He stared at it and giggled, and I rolled my eyes and took his hand, leading him to the door.

I open the door, the air stinging my face as I practically dragged Dean behind me, a trail of giggles and nonsense leaving his mouth. I walk to the top of the steps leading down to the sidewalk, stopping at the sight I see.

The yellow light from the streetlamps illuminates the scene of my friend, Charlie Bradbury, kissing some random girl. I stumble, taking a few steps back, and I feel Dean bump into me.

"Shwoops!" Dean exclaimed loudly, startling Charlie and her. . ."friend."

Charlie stares at me for what feels like forever. I wait for her to say something, anything, but she says nothing. I clear my throat and make it down the steps with Dean clumsily following behind me, a weird feeling in my stomach. I mean, it's not like I should care, It's not like she's my girlfriend. We're only friends! And it seems like she was enjoying her make out sesh with whoever that was. . .

I shake my head to clear my thoughts, dragging Dean behind me. He yanks his hand free from my grip and walks in front of me to reach the car, kindly opening the door to the passenger's seat for me.

"M'lady," he says, drawing out the y, bowing down to me, stumbling over his feet. I rolled my eyes, thinking to myself, Why, God, why do I have to be related to this dumbass?

Dean stood upright, his hand fumbling in his pocket to get his keys. Once he got them, he attempted to swirl them around his finger, but ended up with the keys on the sidewalk. He giggled and said, "I'mma drive." I sighed, annoyed, and picked the keys up from the sidewalk. I pushed Dean into the passenger seat, receiving a giggle in reply. "Yer, thehe, really fhu. . .fhunny, d'you know that?"

"Yes, Dean, I know that we established this already. Now c'mon, we need to get out of here," I said, patting his shoulder and reaching out to close the door.

"Okie dokie," he said, laughing quietly as I closed the door.

"This is why Sammy likes me better," I muttered under my breath, heading to the driver's side of the car and getting in.

"You ready? Because I am," I stated to Dean, closing the door behind me and turning the ignition on. When I heard the rumble of Baby's engine roar, I knew we were set.

----

We stopped by an abandoned parking lot for the night, not wanting to go "home." I headed to the back seat and got comfortable, using my jacket as a pillow.

"Dean?" I asked, receiving a hum in response. "How sober are you?"

"Mostly not drunk, why?" he asked, seriousness in his voice.

"Just askin'," I replied back, keeping it short. A feeling I knew too well settled over the car. Silence. It felt like we were wrapped up in silence, and I felt it crushing me. The itch is back on my arms and I shut my eyes tight, not wanting to think about what happened earlier today. The reason why I agreed to go to the party in the first place, to numb the feeling. But, of course I couldn't because I needed to take care of my ass of a brother here. I reached under the passenger's seat and grabbed my new best friend, tequila. I popped the cap off and took a swig, the familiar liquid burning throughout my throat and chest.

After a few moments of crushing silence and me going to town with my tequila best friend, I heard gun shots in the distance. Dean and I startled, looking at each other. We looked out the window to the lot so we could figure out where the sound came from. Dean sprang up from his seat and headed out of the car.

"Dean get back in the car, you don't know who could be out there!" I whispered yelled, afraid of getting caught. I reached out, grabbing his elbow and spinning him around. "You're still wasted, so get your ass back in the car!"

"What if somebody's hurt, Alex?" he whispers yelled back at me. "I'm technically the older one in this situation, so you should just let me go!"

"Letting you go my ass! If you're gonna fight me on this, I'm at least gonna go with you and that is period," I replied fiercely. He huffed, turning away, looking for the potential threat.

"Fine, come on."

"Ugh, fine."

So with that, we walked through the abandoned lot, using our flashlights from our phones. The only things I could hear were our quiet footsteps and Dean's heavy breathing. My heart started thumping so fast and hard that it felt like it would burst out of my chest, and I could hear the blood pumping in my ears with every step I took. Dean stopped abruptly, causing me to bump into him.

"What the hell, du-"

"Shut up, look!"

There it was; the gun. There was blood splattered all over the chamber and handle.

"Give me your bandana," I said quickly.

"Why?!" Dean asked, exasperated, but still reaching in his pocket to get the bandana out.

"Just give me the damn thing," I said, yanking it out of his hand, lay the piece of cloth on top of the gun, and gently pick it up. The gun still warm under my touch, examining it, then putting it back down as gently as I picked it up. "The chamber's still hot but there weren't any dents or scratches on it. So the attacker," my breath hitched, "the attacker-"

"He must have left it there," a familiar voice said, startling us both. "Hands where I can see 'em, darling." I mentally cringed at the name, a shiver going down my spine. I turned around and saw the last person I ever wanted to see, slowly inching closer to Dean.

"What are you doing here? Last time I checked, you moved out of Lawrence," Dean spat, anger growing inside of him.

"Well, you ain't in Lawrence anymore. You're in my turf now, Winchesters." He reached for the gun, pointing it at us. All the sirens in my head were going off, telling me to get as far away as I could with Dean, but we really couldn't do that at the moment because of the gun being pointed at us. And, by the weight of when I picked it up, it was fully loaded.

"Put the goddamn gun down Michael, we all know you won't shoot us," Dean spat, venom leaking from his words, ready to fight him at any second.

"Maybe, maybe not. But one thing I know for certain is that I despise the Winchester's guts." His finger lingered over the trigger.

"Just put the gun down, Michael," I said from my spot next to Dean.

"You guys put me through hell this past year. So, why don't you give me a perfectly good reason to not shoot both of you right now?" He was met with silence, Dean and I not uttering a word. "That's what I thought."

I was starting to realize at this moment that eternal fate has turned its back on us. He pulled the trigger, and the last thing I heard was BANG!

----

a/n #2: hiya! thank you to all of those reading this, i appreciate it a lot. i love editing this story and encouraging my friend, so i hope you love it as well! - Kati Bee

a/n #3: I want a special thanks to my sweet friend, kati bee. I wouldn't know where this chapter would have gone without her. I know many writers say this but feedback and likes are kindly appreciated. It's letting us know that you guys are enjoying the story and wanting us to continue the story, as well. 

a/n #4: forgot to mention that Dean and Alex are twins,17 going to 18, and Sam is 13 going to 14. 

I love Sarek. But he’s really not that great.

Sarek and Amanda are my favorite couple, not just in Star Trek, but ever. I’ve written more than half a million words of fanfiction about them. I’ve watched episodes featuring them so many times I secretly worry Netflix will put me on blast.

But I am not a Sarek apologist.

I’m pretty sure what draws most people to this couple is the age-old romantic notion that opposites may attract but the power of love can overcome anything. Cue cheesy instrumental music and a torrid kiss in the rain at a train station. I imagine a lot of women see themselves in Amanda, a seemingly regular woman with a regular life. Then they see a successful guy like Sarek, a dude who’s physically fit, well-educated, powerful, and absurdly intelligent, and it’s only natural that a recipe for hotness is born.

Because I’ve devoted literally years to dreaming up various ways this couple might have shacked up and vomiting the results all over AO3, I’ve also been forced to examine the personalities of both characters in great detail, and the only consistent conclusion I come to is fanon (myself included) gets it wrong most of the time.

Their marriage can’t have always been smooth sailing. If you’re not willing to believe me, then believe Amanda. 

Oh sure, there are tons of one-shots where they have little spats, but they almost always end with both of them making heart eyes at each other and jumping into bed. I get that Star Trek originated in the 1960s, but that doesn’t mean Sarek and Amanda had one of those “golly gee” wholesome relationships that could put Ward and June Cleaver to shame. 

Whichever version of Sarek you personally subscribe to, be it Mark Lenard, Ben Cross, or James Frain, it’s entirely possible to find the actors attractive but still think the character of Sarek could use some improvement. It’s also possible to love a character and admire their good qualities while being disappointed in their shortcomings. Maybe it makes me a shitty fangirl. Maybe it makes me realistic.

Literally decades of fanfiction and fan art have polished over Sarek’s unprettier bits, often portraying him as a hopeless romantic, a tender lover, a devoted father, and a man fiercely dedicated to his wife. I’m not going to argue each of those is patently false—hell, as a fanfiction writer, I’ve bought into some of those tropes myself—but I think some are truer than others. Let’s examine the canon.  

When we first meet him in “Journey to Babel,” he’s callous and aloof. He’s Vulcan, I get it, more on that later. But seriously, the guy has a habit of summoning his wife and acts like he doesn’t even know his own damn son. No one should be standing up to enthusiastically applaud and hand the man a husband or father-of-the-year trophy. Even Amanda seems pretty resigned to the arrangement.

I already know what the pushback to this assertion will be. He’s Vulcan! You can’t judge a Vulcan by human standards! Well, his wife is human and one of his sons is half-human, so I would argue that it should at least be an option, but I wrote a whole other essay on Star Trek’s moral relativism problem. 

Long story short, Star Trek glosses over a lot of moral and ethical dilemmas by using the argument, “Who are we to judge a culture we’re not part of?” I can’t answer that, but I will say someone once gave me a great piece of advice that I think applies to this idea of moral relativism: no person’s belief is inherently worthy of respect, but every person is. Maybe to understand Sarek as a person, we should look first at Sarek as a Vulcan.

Obviously Sarek subscribes to Vulcan philosophy, and while Vulcan philosophy seems pure as hell with its pacifism and its belief in embracing Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations (IDIC), I’m going to assert the Vulcan adherence to that philosophy seems to be a little lunch counter in nature. Yes, they take two scoops of resting bitch face and they’ll pass on the extra helping of tolerance. Sarek hails from a culture that is ostensibly exclusionary, sexist, and xenophobic in its practices.

When we encounter Vulcans in Enterprise, they’re people who mock humans for being too volatile, go to war with their Andorian neighbors, and aggressively purge the Syrranites for wanting to get back to the true meaning of Surak. But you might say, but that was before the Federation! They got better when they put T’Pau in charge.

Really? When we meet them next in the chronological timeline in Discovery, they’re telling Sarek they’ll only admit one of his weird social science pet projects (or as Sarek calls them, his kids) to the Vulcan Expeditionary Group.

In the Discovery episode “Light and Shadows,” Amanda reveals that Spock had a learning disability as a young child, which clearly embarrassed Sarek. Sadder still? Amanda explains there didn’t seem to be any educators on Vulcan willing to help a half-Vulcan child with a human learning disability. 

In the alternate timeline, when Spock applies to the Vulcan Science Academy, the admissions folks give him a pat on the back for achieving so much, despite his great disadvantage of having a human mom. Replace the word “human” with any religious, racial, or ethnic group, and see how you still feel about that sentence. 

Yes, Vulcans have racists and nationalists just like the rest of us and it doesn’t seem like they’re a rare breed either. Sarek is clearly attempting to be a better Vulcan, so kudos to him. However, not being an overt racist is not synonymous with sainthood. 

It’s pretty obvious throughout canon that while Sarek loves his wife, he’s uncomfortable with humanity, and he’s doubly perplexed with the humanity she imparted in their son. She even directly accuses him of never truly respecting humanity, to which he replies:

Which, let’s be honest, sounds like the rough equivalent of the “I can’t be racist because I have a black friend” defense. So many things in canon point to Sarek being utterly baffled by humans, not cutely intrigued by them as so often seen in fanon. The only time Spock and Sarek seem chummy with each other is when they’re mocking Amanda’s human emotionalism in “Journey to Babel.” Whether or not he meant to (and he definitely meant to), Sarek raised a son who saw his human half as a thing to be overcome.

Discovery has also hammered a lot of nails into the affectionate father coffin. Up until the final episode in season 1, he never called Michael his daughter and instead referred to her as his ward. It’s nice that he finally got over that technical distinction, but it doesn’t exactly conjure up the image of him tucking her into bed and giving her a kiss on the forehead.

He seems to accept her humanity because, well, she is human, but his own son’s humanity isn’t ok? Not like it matters, because his plan was to mold Michael into a Vulcan-like human anyway, which is pretty weird when you think about it. At one point, Michael tells Sarek she knows he must have considered the effect a Vulcan education and lifestyle might have on a human child, but she wants to know what he wanted Spock to learn from the experience of having a human sibling. His reply?

Which is... nice? He doesn’t say the only reason he took Michael in was for her to be his son’s empathy tutor, but he does essentially admit he was worried Spock was becoming too much of a momma’s boy. So the theory that Sarek was just scooping up orphans all over the galaxy like some kind of Vulcan Angelina Jolie doesn’t seem accurate. It gives the distinct impression that even Sarek thought of his hodge-podge brood as an experiment, at least to a degree.

Now, some may argue that Sarek never told Spock that he had to follow Surak’s teachings, which is true-ish. But that’s like telling a kid, “You don’t have to believe in Jesus” and then sending them to a Christian school in the heart of the Bible belt. What decision did he imagine his son would choose when he decided to raise him on Vulcan and stand by when other kids beat him up for not being Vulcan enough?

Seriously, Spock was almost guaranteed to turn out one of two ways: either he would just try harder to out-Vulcan everyone, which he did, or he would give logic the middle finger, which, well, is the option Sybok chose to run with. 

Despite fanfiction and fanart imagining him as this really hands-on parent who changes diapers and decorates baked goods (yes, I wrote a story like this and I’m calling myself out), he admits he’s the kind of dad who works late in the evenings, not the kind that reads stories at bedtime. 

It’s also no secret that as a parent, Sarek holds grudges. In “Journey to Babel,” Amanda confesses that Sarek and Spock haven’t spoken as father and son for eighteen years. In “Brother,” Michael asks Sarek when the last time he spoke to Spock was and he concedes it’s been years. In “Light and Shadows,” he’s clearly [Vulcan] pissed that Amanda is harboring a fugitive, who also just so happens to be his own son.

Is Sarek just that logical that he believes in justice even at a high personal price, or is he embarrassed that his own estranged son has been accused of murder and appears to be in the clutches of a mental breakdown? As far as I can tell, it might just be a little bit of both. 

Then there’s the idea that Sarek is a caring and devoted husband. Is there actually any evidence for this in canon, other than he was married to Amanda and had a family with her? Lots of people are married and have kids and don’t have a relationship that would rival that annoying couple on This is Us. 

Their relationship doesn’t seem like an equal partnership based on compromise, but rather one where Sarek does what he damn well pleases and Amanda follows along as a dutiful wife. 

Amanda gave up a lot of things to be with him: her home, her culture, and potentially even her own son’s well-being. The woman went to extremes for love not even witnessed on the Bachelor, and why?

In some contexts, that sounds like the powerful kind of love and devotion that epic-poems would be based on. In other contexts, it sounds almost like a pathological self-martyrdom. Did Sarek ever fully appreciate her sacrifices? It’s hard to say, but if he did, I doubt he ever voiced his appreciation. 

In his later years, when Sarek is losing his mind due to an age-related degenerative disease and he mind melds with Captain Picard, he tearfully muses (as Picard), “Amanda. I wanted to give you so much more. I wanted to show you such tenderness. But that is not our way. Spock? Amanda? Did you know?”

He's strongly implying he never told Amanda he loved her out loud. I’m sure he did love her, but it hardly bodes well for the idea that he’s a flowers and handmade cards kind of guy. And as for the notion that behind closed doors, he and Amanda had a super intimate relationship that would make even characters in Harlequin romance novels swoon, please, point me to an episode that makes you think that. I will watch it every day for the rest of my life. 

In summary, between his first chronological appearance in Discovery to his death in The Next Generation, Sarek had a lot of improving to do as a person and we see evidence that he most certainly did. He came to accept Michael as his daughter. He started speaking to Spock again after wrecking his childhood and turning him over to Section 31. Even though it clearly exasperated the hell out of him, he occasionally gave into his wife’s emotional needs. 

But that’s still a pretty far cry away from galaxy’s best father, husband, or lover. I think that’s what draws me to this couple so much. Sarek and Amanda didn’t live happily ever after: they did the best they could and made it work, just like the rest of us non-fictional losers. 

What little we have of canon depicts them as a couple who likely got married before they really knew each other, probably should have spent their first few years of marriage in counseling, eventually figured one another out enough to raise three kids who could all probably benefit from some therapy, and loved each other no matter what, even if it wasn’t out loud.

Small Bump - Chapter 8

Rating: M+

Warnings: New character introduced >:)

Read on AO3

The next few days were rather tumultuous for Lucy. Unfortunately, the anti-nausea spell Michael performed wasn’t exactly working. She spent nearly four whole days hunched over the toilet as Michael tried his best to help her all while he was working with the Cooperative to start making advancements towards repopulating the Earth. Melanie’s ginger tea recipe was helping slightly, but there wasn’t much relief for Lucy until about a week later.

She woke up one morning, her stomach finally not churning for once, and she let out a sigh of relief. Michael was already gone, a note on the bedside table explaining that he’d been called away for a meeting. Lucy was starting to worry about how much time he was spending with the Cooperative. If they were calling him away at all hours of the night and day, would he be there for her and their twins? She was so anxious that she knew she needed to clear her mind or her nerves would have her face first in the toilet yet again. Taking a deep breath and getting herself dressed, Lucy made her way to the familiar indoor garden that she loved. All the colorful flowers and the gentle breeze from the open windows usually did wonders for her anxiety and depression. Little did she know there was someone else heading to the indoor garden as well that day… Someone who had been tracking her for quite some time, making sure to keep themselves out of Michael’s gaze until the moment was right.

And the moment Lucy walked into the Sanctuary’s indoor garden that fateful morning seemed to be the perfect time.

“I’ve always admired how they manage to keep this place thriving with life, especially given all the death and devastation surrounding us.” A woman spoke up and Lucy turned around, coming face to face with Senator Allyson Mayfair-Richards. Lucy had tried her best in high school to keep up with the news and Senator Mayfair-Richards’s rise to power was certainly one she had kept her eye on. She admired how this beautiful and powerful woman managed to beat all the odds and make it to the top. So to see this woman that she looked up to for so long standing right in front of her, Lucy was downright speechless.

“O-oh my God… You’re Senator Mayfair-Richards!” Lucy exclaimed, her eyes going wide in surprise. The woman before her just chuckled and nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah. But you can just call me Ally. After all, there’s not really a government anymore for me to be a senator for.” Ally smirked, crossing her arms. She couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow as she noticed the slight rounding of Lucy’s abdomen. After ridding herself of all her phobias, Ally started noticing things others generally missed. This included Lucy’s stomach that she had tried her best to keep hidden under her sweatshirt.

“Ally… Well it’s lovely to meet you! I’m Lucy, I’m a big fan of yours.” Lucy said with a smile, extending her hand which Ally happily took.

“Well the pleasure is all mine, Lucy. After all, us women gotta stick together in these hard times.” Ally shook Lucy’s hand and Lucy couldn’t stop smiling.

“I agree! I used to watch you speak on the news and I wish we had a senator like you in California where I lived.” She admitted with a shrug, her emotions seeming to suddenly get the better of her as Lucy felt lightheaded out of nowhere. She sat down on a nearby bench, a look of concern crossing Ally’s face.

“Are you ok?” Ally asked and Lucy nodded with a sigh.

“I’m fine… I’m just ten weeks pregnant with twins and these babies are already giving me a hard time. My midwife thinks I’ve got something called hyperemesis gravidarum.” Lucy explained, the Latin words sounding foreign to her ears, “It’s been hard finding one good day where I’m not just hunched over the toilet.” She gave a dry laugh as Ally sat down beside her, knowing this was exactly her way into Lucy’s life.

“You know, I have a son, and my pregnancy with him as anything but smooth, let me tell you. I’m still amazed my ex wife was able to deal with all of my bullshit.” Ally said with a laugh, “If you ever want any help with this, I live on floor 3, section C, room 12.”

“Oh my God, Ally, thank you. That’d be really helpful.” Lucy replied, her hand lazily rubbing the small bump under her sweatshirt. She then gave a heavy sigh, biting her lip as an odd question formed in her mind, “Did your ex wife work while you were pregnant?”

“Yeah, both of us did. Well, her more so than me. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just… The father of my children, my boyfriend, he’s very high up in the Cooperative and he’s been absent quite a lot lately due to his job. I just wanted to know if your ex wife was away on work duties a lot… And if she was, did that affect your pregnancy? Was she at work so often that she missed your delivery?” Lucy was clearly nervous and Ally could sense it. She hoped she could use Lucy’s nervousness to her advantage. To get under her skin far enough that she would trust her, and therefore, she would be close enough to get the leverage she needed.

“Ivy was a bit of a workaholic during my pregnancy. She wanted to make sure we had enough money to support Ozzy when he came. However, despite all that, she was there for me when it really mattered and she was there when he was born. Even though we had our many, many, MANY differences, Ivy was a good mother and was amazing with Ozzy.” Ally’s store only made Lucy worry even more but Ally reached over and took her hand, “Hey you said your man is high up with the Cooperative right? Well, if he’s as high as you say, if you ask him to take a few days off, that shouldn’t be too hard for him.” She suggested and Lucy raised an eyebrow. She had once considered that, but she knew Michael was busy rebuilding the world. He and the Cooperative were dividing up the world to the survivors and Lucy didn’t really want to disrupt that.

But then again, she didn’t want him to miss the major milestones of his children’s development.

“You’re right. After all, I am the mother of his children. He should have more reason than ever to spend time with me.” Lucy replied, feeling slightly better as she and Ally began to talk almost incessantly.

However, Lucy had no idea that this was all part of Ally’s plan from the start.

Ever since Ally had first heard about The Cooperative, she knew she needed to be a part of it. Unfortunately, she was nowhere near powerful enough or rich enough to get a seat at that dark table. She was, however, just rich enough to buy herself and her son a spot at the Sanctuary. One of her fellow SCUM members did have an informant with the Cooperative which gave her the knowledge she needed. Once the apocalypse happened, Ally knew her main goal was to gain control of the Cooperative and the Sanctuary itself. She promised the long dead SCUM members that she would reshape the world in the feminine image. And this Sanctuary was basically what was left of civilization. Ally knew she needed to take control of the place. And, at that moment, control took the form of a single man.

Michael Langdon.

Ally spent quite a while learning about him, trying to find a potential weakness that she could exploit. Unfortunately for her, she was unable to find any weakness at all in the man for almost three years after the apocalypse. Luckily though, she remained vigilant, and her patience eventually paid off. Ally soon discovered that Michael’s weakness was a single person. The key to tearing down Michael Langdon was a beautiful, tiny redhead with heterochromia and freckles. Ally then took this knowledge and began to form a plan. She knew she had to get close to Lucy in order to take Michael down, but she had no clue how to get in with Lucy in the first place. From her observations, Lucy was rather quiet and kept to herself, preferring to spend her days drawing alone in the library. But once she learned from her close friend Ina May Gaskin that Lucy was expecting Michael’s baby, Ally knew her exact entry point and manner of attack. She knew exactly what she had to do to get where she needed to be.

This was the reason why Ally was listening intensely to Lucy’s story about how difficult it was for her and Michael to have a healthy baby.

“I must admit, it did take a few tries for me to get pregnant with Oz. However, I never had any miscarriages, but you do have my condolences.” Ally mused, resting her head on her hand as she listened.

“Thanks. You know, even though it’s been a while, each loss still stings my heart. I’m planning on telling these two about their siblings once they’re old enough so hopefully their memory will never be lost.” Lucy said with a sigh, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. She sat silently on the bench, doing her best to think and try to calm her mind, “I just can’t wait until they’re finally here.” Her hand caressed her small belly as she knew she needed to start preparing for the twins. However, because she was so early, she was still terrified of another miscarriage, despite what the spell said. Ally just reached over and patted Lucy’s shoulder before standing up and running a hand through her hair.

“Well I know for a fact that you will be a fantastic mother. I have to go pick up my son from his tutors, so I will keep in touch! It was lovely to meet you, Lucy!” Ally shook Lucy’s hand once more before leaving the garden. Lucy, meanwhile, dug her fingers in her curly hair, doing her best to process it all.

———————————————

TAGS: @wroteclassicaly@katiekitty261@thelangdoncooperative@darklangdon@langdonslacefront@michael-langdon6@slaveforlangdon@acherik  @mytrash-mylife@michaellangdonhasbecomemylife@seducinganakin  @whiteandblack777 @madhatterweasley @arielle90@michaels-slut @icylangdon @meeeeeeeeeps @thechurchoflangdon

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I'm so so sorry but I have to: Werner for the character meme (and/or Chuck McGill, if you can't think of anything!)

What the hell, I'm gonna do Werner AND Chuck

Werner

Fav thingabout him: He is so sweet; if I had a German uncle or grandpa or something, I'dwant him to be mine. He obviously takes his work very seriously too. He(initially) seems like a very cautious, careful sort of guy...unfortunatelythis attitude does not extend to all aspects of his life.

Least favthing: He's too sweet, dammit. His naivete and trusting nature made megenuinely angry, because I couldn't believe anyone could be so stupid aboutanything when he seemed fairly smart about everything else. I don't think youhave to be "street-smart" to understand that breaking out of an enclosedcompound without permission isn't the sort of thing you'd be allowed to getaway with. I was annoyed at how he felt like a plot device at the endthere--that he just existed to force Mike to have to kill him. It's a fault ofthe writing more than the character. Everyone could see the end coming from amile away, which is (as far as I can remember) unprecedented in the series.Even things that were heavily telegraphed and seemed obvious usually carriedsome sort of unforeseen twist, i.e. everyone thinking the lantern was going tobe involved in Chuck's death, but not knowing it was going to be a suicide. Thesecond they showed Mike building up a relationship with Werner, everyone knewexactly where it was headed. Also, this is a weird pet peeve, but I hate how healways called Mike "Michael". Bro, you've been working with him formonths, you are the only one who calls him that.

Fav line:(agh, unfortunately I can't recall any because I don't have any way ofrewatching season 4 at the moment. I love that he was courteous enough totranslate into English that he felt like he was going to throw up in the bumpyvan ride.)

brOTP: Him& Mike as cute old man drinking buddies.

OTP: Werner& his unseen wife, I guess. (That phone call before his death was so sad. I hope nothing happens to her, but this is the Breaking Bad Cinematic Universe, so bad things often happen to innocent people.)

nOTP: idk,Werner/Kai? I haven't really seen him shipped with anybody so I can't say Ihave any strong opinions on the matter.

randomheadcanon: (again, I need to rewatch all of season 4, because I remember thestory arcs, but not enough of the little details in dialogue and stuff.)

unpopularopinion: I have to admit, I don't know enough of what the popular opinions onWerner are to know what an unpopular opinion would be. I liked him, I just wishhis character arc felt less contrived and that he was treated like less of adevice. I also have seen some people in some places comparing him to Walt,which doesn't really make sense to me, because personality-wise they're justtoo far removed from each other. (Then again, people were even comparing dopeyPryce to Walter White, which was also a stretch!)

song Iassociate w/ him: I...I have no idea! Sorry. (So long, farewell, aufwiedersehen, goodbye?)

fav picture: the cute little drawings @callmcgills did of him! (Also, ugh, the shot where he is, uh, shot...is beautiful. Depressing, but cinematically beautiful. I’m not posting that here though.)

 Chuck

Fav thingabout him: Honestly, as a fellow cowardly, anxiety-ridden, socially maladroit, perfectionistolder child, aspects of him are extremely relatable, frightening as that may beto admit. (My younger brother is of the slacker/moocher variety, rather thanthe con man variety, though.) I don't agree with everything he does, but I understandwhy he does it. (This is actually pretty similar to my attitude towardsSkyler's actions in Breaking Bad--I don't necessarily agree with her decisions,but I mostly understand why she acts the way she does.)

Least favthing: I think he should've been willing to at least put Jimmy on some sort ofprobationary path to HHM after he landed Sandpiper. HHM was under no obligationto hire Jimmy after he passed the bar (a lot of fandom seems to feel otherwise,which makes no sense! I don't think any other firm would've wanted to hireJimmy either!) Jimmy probably would've still managed to screw something up, butat least then if Chuck wanted to officially bar him from working for HHM forgood, Jimmy would know why, and what it was that he had done to cause that. Itdoes no good to punish someone if he doesn't even understand he's beingpunished, which is what the whole issue is in the first place with Chuck goingbehind Jimmy's back and using Howard as the perpetual bearer of bad news.

Fav line:"Because if there's one thing kids love, it's local printjournalism."

brOTP: lmao Chuck is bros with nobody except his space blanket, and his ol'sipping-scotch-and-chortling companion Howard, before that relationship gotdestroyed...

OTP: ...althoughI must also confess a SHAMEFUL desire to ship Chuck/Howard, because it's gotsuch a messed up power dynamic, because they've known each other for at least18 years, because Howard's clearly still so much in awe of Chuck (which Chuckprobably enjoys), and because neither of them seems to have any other friendsor close relationships. (Are we ever going to learn what's up with Howard'swedding ring? Even my mom thinks Howard is gay at this point! And what's upwith papa Hamlin? Did he die? Retire?) Canon-wise, I'm actually really curiousabout Chuck & Rebecca's relationship, because I have to wonder what it washe did that caused her to divorce him, but not bear any particular grudge oranimus towards him afterwards. He was clearly really upset about the divorce,but doesn't bear any ill-will towards her either. She doesn't appear to enteredinto any new relationship after the divorce either. It's all very mysterious.

nOTP: I can'ttell if this person was serious or not, but I swear I remember seeing someonepropose some theory that Kim had fucked Chuck at some point, and that's gonnaget a BIG NO from me.

randomheadcanon: oh god I've got like five hundred of them at this point. Themassive infodump that was Chuck's obituary in the season 4 premiere contributedto a lot of them, I think. I imagine Chuck's freshman year of college, at age14, was absolute hell for him. He was so proud to get accepted to an Ivy Leagueschool, but had been upset it wasn't a more prestigious one, like Harvard,Yale, or Princeton. (He had applied to them and had a few interviews, but unbeknownstto him, he had been heavily penalized in their byzantine admissions proceduresbecause, despite his sterling academic record, they didn’t find him outgoing or athleticenough.) His parents put him on the train to Philadelphia by himself, with afew suitcases, a map, and $50. He had no problems getting to the university,but was pretty overwhelmed right off the bat by the fact that everyone else wasolder and wealthier than him; he had dealt with this to some extent in high school, butnot to this degree (I headcanon his fictional alma mater, Francis Xavier HighSchool, as a typical Jesuit all-boys preparatory school that draws heavily fromupper-middle-class suburban families). Here he was, a literal child, thrustinto the adult world, and the world of the elites, at that. He probably feltself-conscious about things he hadn't even realized he could feelself-conscious about before, and spent at least a couple nights sobbing intohis pillow, and praying that his roommate couldn't hear him. He made a coupledesperate attempts to fit in, with a relatively low level of success (e.g. goingto a party and trying to impress people there by playing piano, only to get abeer spilled on him instead), before deciding it wasn't worth it and he wouldthrow himself singlemindedly into his classes and extracurriculars. He had hisfirst-ever panic attack sometime during his first semester, and wound up at thecampus doctor's office because he had convinced himself he was having a heart attack.On being told he was physically fine, he was indignant, but all the same, henever told his family about the incident, or anyone else either. Somewherearound this time, he also gets a letter from his parents, telling him he'sgoing to be a big brother in a few months, and won't this be exciting for him?(He wants to tell them his life is too exciting for him as it is, but saysnothing, instead writing back that he is sure having a younger sibling to helplook after will be the greatest experience of his life. He almost convinceshimself that he means it.)

unpopularopinion: I DON'T HATE CHUCK. (The most unpopular opinion of all!) He's myfavorite character on the show, with the obvious disclaimer that saying acharacter is my favorite doesn't mean I approve of all the character's actions,etc. Also, I know he's just a fictional character, but I'm still pissed offabout people celebrating that he killed himself & saying they hope it waspainful & stuff like that. Like, how much of an asshole do you have to be?What a horrible thing to say.

song Iassociate w/ him: Burning Down The House j/k, probably Faure's Sicilienne,because I too, cannot play it on piano without screwing up

fav picture: Not a picture, but I can’t resist.

why? → r.d

✧ pairing; yukimura anzu x rae dara (ft. rae dongyul, rae donghyuk, rae dai & rae dahye and mentions of yang hyunsuk)

✧ summary; red’s mother doesn’t want her to be idol being so young, but red is already in love with the idea of ​​being an idol

✧ warnings; anzu being a strict mom, angst, sad (?

✧ note; dāri means honey in japanese

2001

Her brown hair flew with every movement she made, her feet almost tangled and her hands moved strangely but she was happy, she was feeling the song and she was not going to stop, however ridiculous she might seem.

The voice of Michael Jackson sounded through her room, Smooth Criminal was one of her favorite songs. She loved the aura that transmitted that song and every time she listened to it she had to dance, it was a rule that she followed very strictly. She turned around, her eyes were closed as she danced around her room, so when she saw her father leaning against the door frame she jumped in her place before bringing her right hand to her heart.

"Dad, you scared me." Her father smiled for a few seconds before he stretched his arm out into the hallway. Little Dara frowned when she saw her father so serious "What's wrong?"

"Your mother wants to talk to you, come down."

That phrase made her step back automatically, she shook hands with her father "I haven’t done anything".

"I know you have not done anything" The man wanted to laugh at the attitude of his daughter but he knew he shouldn’t do it, not with what his wife was going to say. He scratched his nape with discomfort. "She just wants to tell you something."

Frowning, the oldest daughter of the Rae came down the stairs with her father behind, both walked to the kitchen, where her mother was cooking. Dara sat on a chair and looked at her mother with questioning eyes while Dongyul watched them from the other side of the kitchen.

"Dārin " Anzu smiled sweetly at her daughter before crouching in front of her.

The two yearold baby Dahye gave a small laugh from her place when she saw her older sister, Dongyul approached her. The younger green eyed gaze fell on a package that rested on the countertop, her eyes shone with excitement and her heart began to beat strongly.

"Is it the contract?" She pointed before jumping out of the chair and running to pick up the package in her hands. It was heavy and thick, you could tell it had many leaves.

The couple looked between them.

A few days ago a former idol and owner of an idols company had visited their restaurant for dinner and happened to hear Dara sing and offered her a contract as future idol in his company, YG Entertainment.

Since then, Dara was happier than usual, her dream of being a singer was closer than expected, she could fulfill it!

But her parents ...

Her parents were not so convinced about letting their ten-year-old daughter become a superstar, they wanted her to be a normal girl and to live normal experiences and not follow the stereotypes that just because she was pretty, the only thing she could dedicate is to be famous.

"Mom, can we read it and sign it?!" She started jumping into place, squeezing the contract against her chest.

"Dārin, I need to tell you something" She took her to the same chair where she had sat a few seconds ago. She knelt down again. "Look, being an idol is very hard. Do you understand that? "

"Yes" She answered without hesitation.

"Then you will know that for us, your parents, it is hard for you to be idol at a young age. It's not a good idea, dārin. I'm so sorry. "The silence fell between the four of them, even little Dahye was silent. Dara frowned before letting go of her mother's hand.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Dārin, I'm very sorry but I can’t let you be an idol. At least not now! She gave her a sad smile, taking her hand again." You get it, right? "

The girl blinked a couple of times, trying to assimilate the situation.

They weren’t going to let her be an idol.

The only thing she wanted in this life. The only thing she fought for, the thing for which they made fun of her in school, the thing for which she had almost no friends. She had the opportunity and her parents were denying her, the people she trusted the most and the ones she loved most were denying her the opportunity to be happy.

Really happy.

Her small heart broke into a thousand pieces causing tears to accumulate in her eyes. She let go of her mother's hand almost with disgust and looked at her with pure rage.

"Why?" Her voice shivered.

Anzu didn’t respond. Dara looked at her father but he avoided her gaze. Dara didn’t understand, her father always supported her about being a singer, always showed her proud to his clients and sometimes told her to sing for him when his head hurt.

Her best friend had disappointed her.

The truth was that Anzu didn’t want her daughter to be an idol because she didn’t like it, it was not something she expected for her second child. She wanted her to be a great doctor or something for which she had to go to college and have a nobel but no, fate had other plans for her and Anzu can’t do anything against it.

"Because no" She answered before getting up and turning around, ready to continue cooking dinner.

"But why not?" Her voice came out louder this time, her tone rising unintentionally.

“Because no".

"But why?".

The older green-eyed turned around, feeling stressed and somewhat angry at her daughter's rebellion "Because no!" She exclaimed making her daughter jump in her place "I don’t want you to be an idol, Dara!" She approached her and tried to take away the contract that the girl was pressing against her chest tightly. Dara writhed, preventing her mother from snatching it, but she succeeded.

"Mom, mom, give me the contract!" She begged but her mother ignored her before approaching the window and throwing the pile of papers out the window.

Dara's lower lip trembled. Her feet hit the ground before a sob came from her throat.

"No!" She ran to the window to try to catch the leaves but some flew out. She tightened her grip on the window frame.

"You'll thank me later, dārin” The woman tried to stroke her back but she pulled away before she could.

"I hate you!" She exclaimed before another sob came out, the tears began to run down her cheeks "Someday I will be the best idol of all Asia and the only way you can see me will be on television."

Running out of there to go to her room, not caring her mother's surprised gasp at the expression she had used towards her or the sudden cry of her little sister.

On the way to her room she met Donghyuk and Dai, the older frowned when he saw her crying and her face red.

"Noona, do you want to play with hyung and i?" The high-pitched voice of the five-year-old Dai didn’t stop her, normally she would have accepted very happy because Dara worshiped each of her three siblings but at that moment all she wanted was to lock herself in her bed and sleep. She closed the door, leaving Dai somewhat confused "Noona?"

Donghyuk pressed his lips in a thin line before pulling the little Rae "Come on, Daidai."

"But noona..."

"Noona wants to be alone, Daidai."

On the other hand, Dara cried in her bed. She cried non-stop, wondering what she had done wrong so that her mother denied that opportunity. She helped at home, did homework, got good grades, didn’t do bad things at school and was good with her siblings. What had she done wrong?

"I hate you so much” She whispered between sobs before shrinking more between the sheets.

She felt so bad. She hated her mother, she was a good person who only expressed her love for her family but today she had shown that not everything was pure love and happiness on her part.

How could a mother destroy the dreams of her children?

For hours she stayed in the same position, crying non-stop, listening to the happy screams of her brothers as they played, the television with some stupid drawing to entertain Dahye and finally the door of her room opening. She cringed more looking at the wall of her room, the fetal position helped her a lot.

She felt a weight sink the mattress. And suddenly silence. It was already early morning, her siblings and the woman she had wanted to call mother until a few hours ago were already sleeping so she knew perfectly well that it was her father.

"I'm sorry for what your mother has done but you know I couldn’t do much." Her father's voice was soft and somewhat disgusted. Her heart tightened and the desire to cry filled her again. Why did you do this to me dad? "I went to take out the trash and I found this" Her father's hand slipped into her field of vision and from it hung a lot of pages, they were somewhat dirty and broken but you could clearly see that it was the contract.

The brunette opened her eyes in surprise and after snatching it she sat on the bed, analyzing the contract to make sure that this was the reality and not a dream that had caused today's disgust. She looked at her father, meeting him looking at her with a small smile on his face.

"It's signed," She whispered when she saw her father's signature. Dongyul smiled.

"You deserve to do everything you want in this life and if you want to be a singer, be a singer because I know you have talent for it and that your mother is wrong because you are strong and no matter how hard the life of the idol is, I know that you'll be able to do that and much more” He gave her a last smile, got up and kissed heer forehead before starting his way to the door.

"Appa" She called when he was about to close the door, he stopped and looked at her. Dara looked at him with tearful eyes and a big smile on her lips "Thank you very much. I love you".

“I love you too, little star” Dongyul just smiled at him and closed the door.

200. “Please pretend to be my girlfriend/boyfriend.”

Anon, I am so sorry this took so long. Hope it’s worth it.

hs!au, jock!Cas and nerd!Dean, minor homophobia 

Dean’s phone starts to ring halfway through the season premiere of Dr. Sexy, and under normal circumstances, that would be more than enough reason for him to ignore everything to do with his phone until the hour is up. Despite that rule, though, his curiosity is piqued by the fact that someone is calling him, which isn’t something that anyone but his family does.

And then he sees the contact filling his screen, and Dr. Sexy gets paused.

“Hey, uh, what’s up, Cas?” He winces as soon as the words are out—can he really not even keep his cool long enough to answer the damn phone? Sure, he’s already sort of awkward around Cas, and sure, this is the first time his relatively-new-ish friend has called him, but that’s no excuse.

“Dean,” Cas says, and even though he normally manages to make Dean’s name sound intense, there’s a different sort of pressure behind it right now, which is enough to have Dean sitting up straighter on the couch. “I need to ask a favor of you. Are you busy?”

Dean eyes his paused program. “Not really. What’s up? What do you need?”

Cas takes an audible breath in, then says all in a rush, “Please pretend to be my boyfriend.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Dean isn’t sure if the swooping in his stomach is happiness or mortification. This can’t really be happening. Right?

“Cas, I...”

“Please, Dean,” Cas hurriedly interrupts. “I’ll do anything. Whatever it takes. I’ll owe you. I’ll bake you a pie every weekend between now and graduation. Anything.”

“This isn’t, uh.” Dean clears his throat, and nervously adjusts the way his glasses rest on the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t some kind of prank the football team put you up to, is it?”

Because while Dean doesn’t want to believe that that’s the case, he can’t ignore the fact that that’s a possibility. His friendship with Cas is already unusual, and not favorable by most of Cas’ friends—the words ‘jock’ and ‘nerd’ don’t often go together, despite how much Cas clearly doesn’t understand the typical decorum of high school cliques. Cas is on the football team and the soccer team, and plays varsity for both. Dean, by contrast, is the kid who’s friends with half of his teachers and vying for the title of valedictorian.

In short, they don’t mesh. And football players are dicks.

On the other end of the line, Cas is too quiet. Dean only notices it belatedly, and when he does, his stomach sinks. “...Cas?”

He’s listening so intently that he thinks he hears Cas lick his lips. “Dean. Do you really think so little of me?”

Dean flinches. “No, I—I don’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I don’t think you would do that, I’m just—” He inhales shakily. Cas is silent. “Why do you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

Cas’ answering sigh crackles over the speaker. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re questioning this,” is the first thing he says. “I shouldn’t make you feel bad about it. Sorry. I’m asking you to do this because I’ve gotten myself into a mess.”

“What kind of mess?”

“The kind where I accidentally came out to half of my relatives.” Cas sounds wry as he says it, and casual, as if the fact that he came out isn’t at all meant to be the point of his statement, as if that part is a given, already established, and it’s most definitely not.

Cas...

Cas is...

Maybe the fact that he’s angling for a fake boyfriend and not a fake girlfriend should have been Dean’s clue.

His friend continues on with his explanation, oblivious to his internal meltdown, “I defended gay rights to my very conservative uncle, and in the course of the ensuing argument, I also implied that I have a boyfriend. Which brings me to my current predicament.”

Dean chokes out, “Implied?”

There’s yet another beat of silence. “Alright, I may have said that I have a boyfriend whom I’m very happy with. And now they want to meet this boyfriend, because they’re confident that I’m lying. Which I am. Because I’m... well.”

“Single.”

“Yes.”

Dean takes a deep breath. He can hardly believe this. He can’t believe what he’s about to do. He turns off the TV, giving up completely on the last of his Dr. Sexy, and says with more confidence than he feels, “Alright. Tell me what you need me to do.”

~

Half an hour later, Dean is pulling his car up along the curb in front of Cas’ house. Cas’ large house, he can’t help but note. With its brick facade and white posts on either side of the entryway, it’s ridiculously cliche, and also incredibly terrifying.

Apparently in addition to missing the fact that Cas is gay, he also completely missed the fact that he’s loaded.

His nervousness doubles in strength.

He sends Cas a text as he makes his way up to the house, and the other boy opens the door before he even has to knock. And god damn, Cas looks good. His hair is as perfectly tousled as ever, but instead of being in form-fitting jeans and a t-shirt or varsity coat like he typically is when he’s at school, he’s in—well, jeans, still, but nicer ones, paired with a button-down shirt that’s just the right shade to make his eyes look so blue there’s no way it’s not illegal.

“Dean,” Cas greets, and he sounds... breathless? His eyes rake over Dean’s form, which prompts Dean to shift his weight nervously. “You look... You look great.”

It’s not true—Dean put on an argyle sweater to meet Cas’ request of dressing nice, and maybe he spent ten of his twenty minutes getting ready on his hair alone, making sure every strand laid correctly, but of the two of them, he’s not the one worthy of ‘great’. Telling himself that, however, doesn’t help to tame his blush as much as he was hoping. He knows that arguing the statement will only draw the conversation out longer, though, so he tugs at his sleeve and accepts it.

“Thanks, Cas. So are we, uh. Are we doing this?”

The reminder of why he’s there visibly dulls Cas’ mood, his shoulders slumping slightly. “Yes, I suppose we are.” He pushes the front door back open where it had drifted shut behind him, and offers a hand out to Dean. Dean hesitates only slightly before he takes it, and once he does, Cas is pulling him across the threshold, and there’s no going back.

Dean toes off his shoes before they get too far from the front door, letting them join a lineup of many others, and then Cas slips an arm around his waist and guides him further in. Dean’s heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he almost misses the soft words Cas whispers into his hairline.

“I’m sorry for this in advance, but don’t forget that I am extremely grateful, and will find some way to make this up to you.”

It sounds ominous, and Dean’s stomach twists even as he mutters in return, “You fucking better.”

They’re stepping into a living room before Cas can say anything more, and a dozen sets of eyes are immediately on them. Most of them look judgmental, some shocked, and one—Cas’ brother Gabriel, of course, the only person here Dean has met before—just looks downright amused. It’s utterly silent in the room, everyone clearly having stopped talking when they saw Dean and Cas, and that makes it awkward as hell. Dean doesn’t know what to do, or say, so he looks to Cas for some indication—

“So, you must be Dean,” someone in the room says, and Dean’s head snaps back around to identify the speaker. The man (older, balding, mildly revolting to look at) has a tight grin on his thin lips, though the expression is really more of a sneer, than anything. It matches the false positivity in his voice disturbingly well. “Castiel here has been telling us a lot about you. The boy who has led my nephew into a life of sin.”

Dean’s stomach plummets, but Cas only heaves a sigh and says, “Zachariah. I’ve already asked you to stop saying that. This is not ‘sin’.”

Zachariah’s lip curls in distaste, and the tension in the room somehow manages to thicken. “We’re each entitled to our own opinions, Castiel.”

Cas’ teeth grind audibly, and Dean shrinks into his side. It only takes a moment for it to pass, though, as Cas quickly takes to ignoring Zachariah so that he may introduce Dean to the members of his family who are present. Three uncles, two aunts, a smattering of cousins, and two of his four siblings—Gabriel and Michael, who is apparently the oldest. Even if most of them are obviously dicks like Zachariah, they all at least have manners, and greet Dean in return cordially enough.

(Interestingly enough, Gabriel turns out to be the weirdest of them all about it, saying after Cas ensures Dean remembers his name, “Oh, this is rich.” Dean frowns, not sure what the hell it’s supposed to mean, but Cas merely kicks his brother in the shin and drags Dean along, depriving him of the opportunity to find out.)

Once Dean has been told everyone’s names—and forgotten probably half of them—he and Cas  squish together in the last remaining open seat. It’s halfway between an armchair and a loveseat, and while Dean would normally freak out over that kind of proximity with Cas, he doesn’t have much to lose right now, since they’re already pretending to be boyfriends. And if being pressed against Cas helps to steady his anxiety, too, well. That’s just a bonus.

They’ve hardly settled into the chair by the time Zachariah grows impatient, reclining back in his seat on the couch and eyeing the two teenagers opposite him with a smug grin. “Well, Dean,” he begins, “how long have you and Castiel been... doing whatever it is you’re doing?”

“Uh.” Dean shifts, fully aware of how tense Cas is at his side. The only positive is that not everyone in the room is actively staring at him—the aunts are whispering to each other, Gabriel is texting as quickly as his thumbs will allow, and the cousins (Uriel and Hannah being the only names Dean remembers among them) have clearly lost interest. But even with his audience down to half, it still takes far more courage than he cares to admit to say, “What we’re ‘doing’ is called dating, in case you somehow missed that, or don’t understand the concept.”

Cas sucks in a sharp breath. Gabriel sounds like he nearly chokes in an effort to contain his laughter.

Dean wets his lips. “And to answer your question,” he continues, the hard glint in Zachariah’s eye not enough to deter him now that he’s already going, “we’ve been together for almost six months. Since the beginning of the school year. Neither of us wanted to go to homecoming, so we went to the movies, instead.”

And they had; Cas had been asked to the dance by Meg Masters, but when he discovered that Dean both hadn’t asked or been asked and was going to be alone while all of his friends and classmates were out partying, he ditched Meg (who he admitted to not really wanting to go with, anyway, despite how baffling that notion was to Dean at the time), and insisted on hanging out with Dean instead. That was the start of their true friendship, and when they got milkshakes after their movie, sitting in a dim booth in the back corner of the Roadhouse, Dean had also come to realize just how hard he was falling for Cas.

It’s easy, then, to call that the start of their relationship.

Michael asks, then, only slightly less derisive than Zachariah, “Are your feelings for my brother genuine, or do you simply know that he comes from money?”

Cas makes a sound in the back of his throat like he’s going to interrupt before Dean has to answer, but for whatever reason, Dean doesn’t want that to happen. He agreed to come here and help Cas out of the mess he’s gotten himself into, and it that’s going to happen, then Dean can’t just be silent and let them both be stepped on. And Cas’ family really are dicks; he deserves better than this.

“First off, I didn’t know Cas ‘comes from money’ until today.” Cas winces almost imperceptibly, probably, if Dean had to guess, because that’s something he’s clearly kept a secret. Dean might give him a bit of shit for that later, but for the time being, he doesn’t give a damn, so he ignores his friend’s reaction. “And I don’t care who has money and who doesn’t. That’s not what makes a person. I have plenty of other reasons to love Cas, I don’t need that one.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Cas says lowly, sounding almost strangled, “Dean.”

Dean glances at him, unsure of how he earned that reaction—but then he realizes what he said, and the color abruptly drains from his face. He feels queasy. “I... I mean...”

There’s an unspoken question in Cas’ eyes, but far more than that, as well, and Dean doesn’t even know where to begin decoding all of it. He can’t tell what Cas is thinking, and not knowing what Cas is thinking right now is utterly terrifying. Gabriel lets out a low whistle, but even that doesn’t break their stare.

And then one of the other uncles, Raphael, breaks the silence. “What do your parents think about this relationship? About your sexuality?”

Dean looks over at the man and balks. He’s lost his momentum. Standing up to Zachariah and Michael was easy, because of nothing else, he could tell himself he was pretending, but now he’s said that word, as both he and Cas are keenly aware “I, uh... I mean, they...”

His blatant hesitation is like blood in the water, and Cas’ family latches onto it with a vengeance. Most of them look amused, like the question may as well have already been answered, and Zachariah sits forward with a sick sort of excitement in his eyes.

“Do they even know that you’re dating Castiel? Or has your guilty conscience insisted on keeping that fact hidden?”

Gabriel makes a derisive sound. “Guilty conscience, Uncle Zach, really, that’s the best you can do? Get off your goddamn high horse—”

“His parents probably don’t even know he’s a queer,” Zachariah adds, ignoring his nephew completely. Between the pressure of his stare, how close to home his question hit, and the fuck-up Dean just had with Cas—Dean needs to regroup. He can’t do this.

He quickly extracts himself from Cas’ side, mumbles an, “Excuse me,” and hurries out of the room and back to the front door. He steps into his shoes and slips outside, pointedly ignoring the outbreak of an argument he can hear in the room he just fled.

Christ, he shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have agreed to this, shouldn’t have gotten himself involved in this charade.

He leans against the railing of the small front porch and tries to focus on his breathing. Despite how much he’s starting to regret his current situation, it’s still not enough to make him ditch Cas. Maybe it should be. He’s already embarrassed himself, and probably made his friend’s situation worse, to boot. Why should he stick around?

He sighs and hangs his head. For Cas.

A few moments later, the front door opens and closes, and although Dean doesn’t look over his shoulder, he knows from the cadence of the footsteps that it’s Cas. Because of course it is.

Cas steps up to the railing beside Dean and mirrors his position, posture slouched and elbows resting on the wood. There’s a stretch of silence, and then Cas says, “I’m sorry for making you go through that. I had hoped that they would let your presence pass without harassment, but in hindsight, that was stupid of me. I should have known.”

Dean shakes his head. He can’t look at Cas, and studiously keeps his eyes trained on his hands. “Why’d you ask me to do this, man?”

He sees Cas shift in the corner of his eye. “I... I don’t know. I panicked, partially. I would probably consider you to be my best friend, and certainly my favorite. You’re the kind of person my parents would like—theoretically, at least. Kind and smart and charming. And I…”

He stalls, prompting Dean to finally look over at him. His heart is beating too loud, he feels too warm, and the things Cas is saying are sounding a lot more genuine than Dean would have ever expected them to. He swallows thickly and prompts, “Cas?”

“I just… I thought…” Cas closes his eyes for a brief moment, steels himself, and then pins Dean in place with an unwavering stare. “I thought it would be most believable if I pretended to date someone who I would be happy to actually date.”

All of the breath leaves Dean’s lungs in a rush. “Oh.”

“Dean, I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel the same about me, and what you said inside was out of context—”

Dean doesn’t need to hear any more than that. Operating on nothing more than instinct and following the spark of euphoria in his chest, Dean grabs Cas by his perfectly-pressed shirt, closes the distance between them, and crushes their lips together. It’s harried and crooked and far from perfect, but Dean couldn’t care less. Especially when Cas makes a choked sound in the back of his throat and starts to reciprocate. One of his hands slides up to cup Dean’s jaw, and then they’re steadier, more centered, and Dean couldn’t imagine it possibly being any better.

He has no idea how long they spend like that, but he doesn’t care, either. He only knows that when they part, his lips are tingling and his lungs are aching, and he’s never been happier in his life.

Cas grins, expression bright with awe and the most genuine excitement Dean has ever seen his friend wear. It has his heart skipping a beat, and the only thing that keeps him from kissing Cas again is the fact that the other boy is speaking.

“Dean,” he says, fingers curling into Dean’s hair, “will you be my boyfriend for real?”

Dean mirrors his expression without hesitation. “Hell yeah.”

Even if dating Cas means more exposure to his family and all the hell that apparently accompanies them, Dean couldn’t care less. It’s worth it. For Cas.

Something Wicked- Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,856

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, angst, language, minor character death, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Please, if you want to be tagged for this series, let me know and I’ll add you! If you want to be tagged for my other fics, I’ll add you! I want to hear what you guys think about this. If you want something requested, send it in!

Feedback is always appreciated

Tags at the bottom

You barely got sleep last night and you blamed that on the stress of the case. You had an appointment with the doctor so you and the boys quickly got dressed and out the door.

“I was sleeping with my peepers open?” Sam laughed at his brother.

“I almost smoked that old girl, I swear. It's not funny!” Dean complained.

“Oh, man, you should have seen your face.” Sam laughed some more.

“Yeah, laugh it off. Now we're back to square one.” Dean grumbled. You looked over at the main office and saw Michael sitting outside the place, looking very sad.

“Hang on,” You left the boys and walked over to the young boy. “Michael, what’s wrong?”

“My brother is sick,” He looked up at you with tears in his eyes. You frowned and sat beside him, putting a hand on his back to comfort him. “Pneumonia. He's in the hospital. It's my fault.”

“How?” You looked up to see that Sam and Dean joined you.

“I should have made sure the window was latched. He wouldn't've got pneumonia if the window was latched.” Michael was putting all this pressure on himself when he shouldn’t.

“Listen to me. I can promise you that this is not your fault. Okay?” Dean said, listening to him.

“It's my job to look after him.” Michael looked at him. You saw the pain behind Dean’s eyes and you knew that he was comparing himself to Michael. His mom ran out of the motel office and to her car.

“Michael, I want you to turn on the no vacancy sign while I'm gone. I've got Denise covering room service so don't bother with any of the rooms.” She put bags into her car in a hurry.

“I’m going with you.”

“Not now, Michael.” She sighed.

“But I have to see Asher!” he argued.

“Hey Michael. Hey, I know how you feel because I'm a big brother too, but you gotta go easy on your Mom right now, ok?” Dean said and he nodded slowly. The mom looked frantic and she was clearly panicking.

“Listen, you're in no condition to drive. Why don't you let me give you a lift to the hospital?” Dean offered to her.

“No, I couldn’t possibly…” She started to say.

“No, it's no trouble. I insist.” Dean pushed. She nodded and handed him her keys. She got in the car with a sigh.

“You two figure this thing out,” Dean growled at you. “We're going to kill this thing. I want it dead, you hear me?”

“Dean, wait,” You stopped him just has he got to the driver’s side. “You need to stop blaming yourself.”

“Y/N, stay with Sam.” He sighed and got in the car. Soon, they were gone.

“What the hell is going on?” Sam looked at you.

“I need to go after him.” You looked at the Impala.

“He has his keys.” Sam said.

“I have my own. Look, Sam, there are things you don’t know and things that Dean is keeping from you. This case is very sensitive to him and I want you to know that it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t my fault. If I would have known… Just please, figure this out.” You got in the Impala and didn’t want for a response. You just left to the hospital.

You made it just in time because when you got there, Dean was leading Michael’s mother inside. You parked next to her car and rushed inside, going to the pediatrics place because you knew they were going to be there.

“Dean.” You breathed and walked up next to him.

“Y/N, I thought I told you to stay with Sam.” He sighed.

“You know I don’t listen well.” His phone rang and once he saw it was Sam, he answered it, putting it on speakerphone.

“Hey. How's the kid?” Sam asked.

“He's not good. Where you at?” Dean asked.

“I'm at the library. I've been trying to find out as much as I can about this Shtriga and it’s not good news. I started with Fort Douglas around the time you said Dad was there? Same deal. Before that, there was, uh, Ogdenville and before that, North Haverbrook, and Brockway. Every 15 to 20 years it hits a new town. Dean, this thing is just getting started in Fitchburg. In all these other places, it goes on for months. Dozens of kids before the shtriga finally moves on. The kids just languish in comas and then they die.” Sam informed.

“How far back does this thing go?” You asked.

“Ah, I don't know. The earliest mention I could find is this place called "Black River Falls" back in the 1890s. Talk about a horror show.... Whoa, hold on, I'm looking at a photograph right now of a bunch of doctors standing around a kid's bed. One of the Doctors is Hydecker.”

“Hydecker in the 1800s?” You knew there was something off with that man. Dean hung up and glared at the doctor. He looked ready to slit his throat.

“Dean, whatever you’re thinking, don’t.” Dean ignored you and walked closer to the doctor.

“Dean, he doesn’t know that we know and we need to keep it that way.” You said in a hushed whisper as the doctor walked over to Dean.

“So, what's the CDC come up with so far?”

“Well, we're still working on a few theories. You'll know something as soon as we do.” Dean said coldly. If the doctor noticed, he made no move about it.

“Well, nothing's more important to me than these kids. Just let me know if I can help.”

“Of course they are.” You glared at him. Hydecker smiled and walked off.

“Dean, we need to figure something out. Let’s go back to Sam.” You took his hand and he let you take him out to his car. You were back at the motel in no time.

“We should have thought of this before. A doctor's a perfect disguise. You're trusted and you can control the whole thing.” Sam said, pacing the room.

“That son of a bitch.” Dean growled.

“I'm surprised you didn't draw on him right there.” Sam said.

“We can’t let him know that we know. He’ll flee and who knows when the next time he’ll appear. It’s best to do this silently.” You stated.

“It wouldn't have done any good, because the bastard's bullet proof unless he's chowing down on something. Plus, I wasn't packing, which is probably a really good thing because I probably would have just burned a clip in him on principle alone.” Dean sighed.

“You're getting wise in your old age Dean.” Sam teased.

“Damn right. Cause now I know how we're going to get it.”

“Shtriga works through siblings and since I figured it went after Asher, it’s going to come after Michael next.” No, Dean wasn’t thinking of using the kid as bait, right?

“Then we gotta get him away.”

“No, that would blow the whole deal.” Dean shook his head.

“Sam, he wants to use Michael as bait.” You said.

“Are you nuts? No! Forget it. That's out of the question.” Sam scoffed.

“It's not out of the question, Sam, it's the only way. If this thing disappears it could be years before we get another chance.” Dean argued.

“Michael's a kid. And I'm not going to dangle him in front of that thing like a worm on a hook.”

“It’s not like the kid would be alone. He has three very skilled hunters with him.” You tried to get Sam on Dean’s side.

“Yeah, dad did not send me here to walk away.” Dean said intensely.

“You? He sent us.”

“This isn't about you, Sam. I'm the one who screwed up, all right. It's my fault. There's no telling how many kids have gotten hurt because of me.” Dean said, his voice cracking.

“Dean, that wasn’t your fault.” You walked closer to him. You hated how he blamed everything on him.

“How is it your fault?” Sam asked, still not getting it. Dean refused to answer as he stared at himself in the mirror. You walked over to him and laced your fingers with his.

“Dean, you have to tell him.” You whispered.

“Dean, you've been hiding something from the get-go. Since when does Dad bail on a hunt? Since when does he let something get away? Now talk to me, man. Tell me what's going on.” All Sam wanted to do was understand.

“You need to tell him.” You whispered so only he could hear. It was hard for him so you looked at Sam, pulling Dean to the bed.

“It was the summer of 1989 and John had left for a case. How were we supposed to know what would happen? You kept asking where John was and you were getting sick and tired of eating the same damn thing every night. We needed a break Sam. So, when you were asleep, Dean and I left the room to go play video games in the motel lobby.

“Dean wanted to keep playing and playing and I followed him. I swear, we didn’t know what was going to happen. We played until the place closed and made our way back. But it was too late. The shtriga was already in your bedroom. Just a minute later and you would have been dead.

“Dean scared it away from you and that’s when John came back, guns blazing. He shot at the thing but it got away. I swear, Sam, it was an accident.” You explained it.

“Dad just grabbed us and booked; dropped us off at Pastor Jim's about three hours away, but by the time he got back to Fort Douglas the shtriga had disappeared, it was just gone. It never surfaced until now. You know, Dad never spoke about it again, I didn't ask. But he... ah... he looked at me different, you know? Which was worse. Not that I blame him. He gave me an order and I didn't listen, I almost got you killed.” Dean said sadly, looking down.

“You were just a kid.” Sam said softly.

“Don't. Dad knew this was unfinished business for me. He sent me here to finish it.”

“But using Michael -- I don't know Dean. I mean, how 'bout one of us hides under the covers, you know, we'll be the bait.” Sam suggested.

“It won’t work. That thing has to get close enough to feed and he’ll recognize that we aren’t children.” You said.

“Believe me, I don't like it, but it's gotta be the kid.” Dean said. You put your head on his shoulder and he pressed his lips to your forehead.

“Then let’s go talk to Michael.” Sam said, getting up. You looked at Dean to see him already looking at you.

“It wasn’t your fault and you know that. You gotta stop blaming everything on you. To be fair, I thought you were a pretty great kid.” You kissed his cheek and stood up, holding his hand. He didn’t say anything but followed you to the motel reception area.

Masterlist // Series Rewrite Masterlist // Buy me a Coffee?

Series Rewrite tags:

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Forever tags:

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Other tags:

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Batwoman - S1 E3 - Down Down Down

So Kate would like her sister Beth back - sure, I get it, but come on, any remotely reasonable person would know that the odds of that happening virtually nill.  To start with, even if she were a well adjusted person, which obviously she's not, picking up where they left off after 15 years would difficult.  Not impossible, mind you; they'd show that often enough on Unsolved Mysteries when estranged family members or adopted children would get reunited with biological family and new bonds would be made - at least for sure at first and while the cameras were running.

But those are under ideal circumstances, which these are not.  Beth is not Beth anymore, she's clearly seen some shit; and more than that, she's evidently become a murderous psychopath and arguably unhinged from reality.  She's not the little girl you knew, Kate; and for that matter, neither are you.  Again, it's been 15 years.  I can't remember if they said how old they were when the accident happened, I think maybe 11 or 12, 13 tops; so just as a numbers perspective they've been out of each other's lives long than they've been in them; and even if each has continually been in the other's thoughts the last 15 years, that's a long time apart, especially for that period of life and development, that neither of them bears much resemblance of whatever memory they have of one another, to say nothing of how much they may have idealized or even maybe twisted and vilified that memory.  Kate says this as if Beth disappeared a few months ago and that she knows a more recent version of her sister this woman could conceivably return to - imagine your own sibling wanting to have the same relationship you had at 12.  I'm pretty far removed from 12 at this point, a couple of times over, and the relationship with my siblings is not the same as it was then; and I wouldn't want it to be.  I get that Kate might lament missing out on the interim developments, but especially in the case of Alice/Beth, that 15 year span in between has arguably more significance than your run of the mill estranged family member; because it's resulted in a person who has not only been traumatized, ostensibly, but who themselves have become a dangerous person.  One who is responsible for actions that can't just be ignored for the sake or family reunion. To much the same end, I can't help but wonder what's taken Beth so long to come back and enact whatever it is she's doing in Gotham or why she's doing it.  15 years is a long fucking time to be this crazy and hell bent, before she seeks satisfaction.  It's conceivable she was locked up for a period of time or something, but it seems like the only reason they made it that long was so that it could be a long enough time for Beth to be unrecognizable and her identity be in doubt.  It arguably would have made more sense to make her disappearance a more recent thing - maybe 3 years and present the possibility that it somehow coincided with Batman's disappearance; and then have her hide her face for some reason, maybe because she became disfigured or something.  At least then she'd have a clearer bond with an adult Kate. The way they framed the TV ad with Tommy, I honestly thought it was meant to be another security firm, similar to the Crows; and it was mainly later when someone mentions have having contract with the Crows that I had to go back to see that the ad was for real estate or whatever. Still, in hindsight I'm slightly disappointed, because having someone like Tommy and knowing who he is from the comics, the idea of him being in charge of a rival security firm and in the business keeping people safe would be, objectively, a terrible thing, but from the creative, dramatic perspective, loaded with all kinds of now missed possibilities. Jesus, Tommy, we get it, you have an incredibly small penis and are desperate to overcompensate.  I can't tell which of us cares less, me or Kate....It's probably a draw. So many things to unpack with this break-in at the Wayne-Tech vault. First, and I guess they've referenced this before - Luke actually has contact with Bruce, or at least that's the implication with Luke saying he'd better inform Bruce.  So unless Luke is just covering and making it seem like he's actually in regular contact with Bruce, but is in fact just as clueless where he is as the rest of the world, Bruce himself is not missing, he just up and left Gotham - which is dumb and out of character, generally speaking.   Second, who is running Wayne Enterprises?  The building Kate broke into in the first episode was boarded up and seemingly abandoned; and there was no clear indication what the company overall was up to, but ever since she initially made her way into the building, now she comes and goes from Bruce's office - presumably mostly because of the access to the cave - yet there doesn't seem to be any implication that she's take on any sort of role within the Wayne Enterprises company; right?  So who's even in charge? The last one I guess would be just a general observation that they're taking a long fucking time to origin story here.  It's episode 3 and haven't even caught Kate up to where she was last year during the cross-over.  Instead they're dicking around with this whole mistaken identity with Batman for way too long; though I won't be surprise if by the end of this episode they decide to have Kate declare her independence from "Batman" by adding the final touches that make it clear she's not the same person.  But they should have gotten there already, mainly because of the fact that they've already established as a fully established and active vigilante/hero in her own right a year ago and they're backtracking, which makes little sense. Wait, why the fuck would Bruce have Wayne-Tech develop a gun of any kind?  Don't give me that shit that "he had it developed in case the suit ever fell into the wrong hands." Fuck you.  Settings the apparent literal magic woven into this special material the suit is made of that can cause a bullet to bounce off it; yet was simply enough for Luke to alter to fit Kate; surely there must be a world of alternate options for safe-guarding this sort of tech before Bruce fucking Wayne of all people commissioned a gun that could best this miracle armor - especially rather than fast track R&D of the material the suit was made of to make it cost effective enough to make it available to law enforcement and anyone else who might benefit from such incredible protection.  I mean, surely just by virtue of being bulletproof doesn't in itself make you the end all, be all of unstoppable threats, right?  Because by this logic it seems that Bruce equated the effectiveness of the suit as somehow more dangerous than the weapon he had designed to undermine the effectiveness of the suit. Oh, okay, "If Bruce built that rail gun, he built something that could stop it" - talk about your fucking rabbit holes.  So Bruce developed the armor for the Batsuit, which he then in turned developed the gun to take out the Batsuit should the need arise, but now we're supposing that he then must have developed something to stop the rail gun.  So would he have wanted to work on something that could take out the thing that can stop the rail gun? What about a thing to stop the thing that stops the rail gun? I often like to say for most shows "the lie is better" - as in, whatever pretense or lie a character tells, often that would have been the better truth or reality for the story to work with; and in this case, the "lie" that the rail gun had a gps tracker hidden it arguably should be true.  Don't get me wrong, it's a good bluff; and it might a dubious idea should that rail gun inexplicably become commercially available, but definitely while it's in the R&D stage and especially being so dangerous, it should not have been left to chance and some steps of tracking it should it be stolen should have been taken. Oh, man, I hope the elevator with the wait staff in it make it out alright. No, I'm serious, out of all the characters they've introduced, the only ones I could actually give a shit about are the ones they never bothered actually saying two words, yet they seem more sympathetic virtually anyone else whose life is presently in peril. I know they've stuck close to Tommy's backstory, yet somehow they've managed to make him a pathetic, whiny bitch instead of psycho he should be.  Mind you, I was never much a fan of Hush, so maybe there's no good way to do that character the way he's written in the comics. Well fuck.  I swear to God I wrote that part about the wait staff long before I got to the part where Tommy actually killed the wait staff... Now I don't care what happens.  I mean, I don't want Tommy to win, but I don't give a shit if the other characters plummet to their deaths.  Not now they've killed Charles, Mike and Michael B.  That's right, they have names. Charles was a dancer, studied at Julliard.  Michael's going to have a baby with his long time girlfriend, but he didn't know yet; she was going to tell him when he got home.  Mike didn't have much in particular going on, he was just living day by day, trying to figure out life.... Damn you Tommy!!  Damn you all to hell..... Like, Kate's step-sister Mary's alright; she's cute, but I can't decide if she's pulling a Bruce Wayne and only pretending to be a party girl to cover for her being a secret street doctor; or if she legitimately is trying to lead both kinds of lives.  Other than the that, I don't give a shit if he pushes the button. Wait, are any of those people in the elevator that crashed alive?  How?  They made it a huge point how high up they had to go to get to the party and none of them were on the elevator very long before Tommy stopped them; it's not like it only crashed one or two floors; they achieved free fall.  Presumably that should have hit with a force no one survives, I would think. At least the hair looks better than in Elseworlds. I mean, if you can just get the upper hand on the fucker and take him out, is it really "stalling" versus just getting the job done without needing to neutralize the rail gun?  Obviously it's a good advantage to have, but if you can just as easily engage Tommy without neutralizing it, it's kind of moot.  Sure, there's risk, but it's like you're 100% bulletproof even without the rail gun; you still have a vital part of your head exposed, so there's arguably a degree of risk with any engagement and doesn't seem that different. But I bet in spit of this, Tommy's going to last long enough to get his hands on that special gun one last time, but right before he can pull the trigger, the light turns green and the weapon is neutralized. Oh, gee, I wonder if Kate will need to use the double-ended grappling hook she learned about conveniently earlier in the episode....Nah..... Hmm....so the suit can cause a bullet from the best commercially available handgun bounce off it; should Kate even be able to feel Tommy standing on her hand?  Or, I guess, should it hurt?  How would that work? The save by Beth might be more meaningful if she hadn't killed a guy earlier in the episode; or showed any kind of signs that she should be rehabilitated and that this was a positive step forward.  Instead it seems more like a plot convenience; and a pointless one, because what does it achieve?  Are we supposed to see hope for her now? Wait, "she could have found one of Beth's recitals online"? From 15 years ago?   Probably not.  I had to look to be sure, and Youtube wasn't created until 2005; and I know there were no doubt precursors to Youtube, but I honestly can't think of any; at least none of any prominence and certain none that I can think to find now to look up some video that might have been put up back before 2004.  Streaming video was rare back then; at least as much as I recall it. Yet another reason they shouldn't have set the "accident" so long ago. Augh, I remember catching the tail end of this episode when watching a Supergirl episode a few weeks back; and seeing the whole "what should we call her?" exchange; and it's just as stupid now as it was then that any of the characters are struggling that hard to come up with "Batwoman".  I mean, seriously, "Batchick"? Fuck you.

VI. Jessen Stark

» TAGGING: Appearance by Princes Michael and James, as well as Reidar Tully » LOCATION: Prince James hunting ground. » THREAD: Jessen’s attempt at impressing the Prince go awry » NOTES: None in particular.

Only thing that surprised Jessen was the fact that it'd taken her so long to realize she could use one of her great abilities to her advantage in winning over Prince James. So, she rose very early that morning knowing full well the Princes had spent the last few days and would still spend more out on hunting trips to familiarize with the lords of the Great Houses, so why wouldn't she join, instead of being left behind with the rest of the ladies? She had her horse prepared, having insisted on bringing it with her rather than having to ride one of her Father's bannermen's, and got ready to mount near the passage to the Red Keep, knowing full well she would have to be acknowledged at least upon being seen. Riding wasn't a customary thing for most girls in Westeros, and even if it was... no one rode quite like Jessen did.

Thanos, Burner of Popcorn-Today at 1:02 AM

Hunting was one of Prince James' passions, it gave him peace of mind from the deliberations of the Court and an opportunity to spend the day in the company of a select and familiar few friends. Rather than his normal entourage, today he had his younger brother and Reidar accompanying him "Let us see which one of us can take down the largest stag, Reidar" He shouted, with a grin, as their stallions sped past the gates of the Keep and along the passage. James had allowed the company of the brothers to guage for his own which House offered the best strengths for him. The Lords, when it was time, would wax lyricals, their words and promises worth less than the cheapest wine. For this reason, he had also strayed from the Ladies that were vying for him, as he knew all too well that beauty brews lust which cripples the rational mind. As he turned a slight curve with his stallion, he saw another standing still by the side, a woman about his age near it. He immediately pulled the reins and pulled his stallion to a halt, Michael and Reidar following. Michael was the first to recognize the woman, shouting "Lady Jessen, good to see you". James, looked back at him, and smiled as he turned to face the woman, pulling his stallion closer to her "Lady Jessen, I'm surprised to see you out there. And with such a fine stallion in hand. Is he yours?" His eyes met hers, and it was clear in them that the man who was not easily impressed was a little impressed then.(edited)

bender, ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᵉᶰᶜᶤᵉˢᵗ ᶠʳʸ-Today at 1:17 AM

This was Reidar's first chance at having a steady meeting with the Prince, so he supposed the least he could do was make up for not wanting to take part in his siblings scheme, potentially wooing Princess Elise. He rode by the Princes side, sharing their enthusiasm. "What are the stakes here?" He asked, laughing along. His enthusiasm only came to a full stop as she saw a long mane of dark hair and the stallion he'd seen before, the day of House Tully's arrival to the Red Keep: One of the Stark girls. The prettiest one, much to his and his sister's chagrin. Jessen busied herself tugging a little on her horse's reigns, readjusting her saddle, until she heard a not so familiar voice. She turned around, smiling widely as she saw the two princes... and one of the Tullys. She let go of her horse's reigns to curtsy to them. "My Princes, Lord Tully." She acknowledged them all. Prince Michael was as expected the most gracious one. "The weather looked so favorable this morning, I couldn't stop myself from coming out with Gallant." At Prince James question, she nodded. "Yes, my Prince. He was a gift from my Lord Father on my tenth nameday and I've cherished him ever since." She explained, happily. Her eyes fixated on young Lord Tully with some worry, though not enough to make her smile falter. Jessen walked back beside her horse and mounted it with no help despite being offered a hand by the man who had brought out Gallant for her. "Shall I accompany you?"

Thanos, Burner of Popcorn-Today at 1:31 AM

James eyed the stallion "Gallant" He said, drawing his own stallion closer to inspect Gallant more, ignoring the man standing in their company who had brought Gallant out. He then watched as Jessen rounded the horse and mounted it without help, and he turned to glance at Reidar and Michael as if asking them if they had just seen what he had saw. The Lord and the younger Prince also had a puzzled look, some would even say a smitten look. James turned back to the brunette as she asked to accompany them , smiling in response "And you are sure you want to come hunting? Or is that another one of your skills that you had kept in secret Lady Jessen" James urged his stallion forward, now sitting side by side with Jessen "Normally, I know about these details of the Great Houses. But it seems you managed to keep it from my little informant's notice" referring to Michael. With the distance closed between them, James gave her a generous look "Would it be my responsibility to Lord Stark if you injured yourself hunting with us?"(edited)

bender, ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᵉᶰᶜᶤᵉˢᵗ ᶠʳʸ-Today at 1:41 AM

It brought even more satisfaction to Jessen that she wasn't impressing t he Prince with frivolous scheming like surely most ladies were, but rather with something she genuinely enjoyed to do herself. She tugged gently on Gallant's reigns, turning a little as to allow James to further inspect him... and showing more of her own profile herself. She took all this with great joy rather than just duty. She witnessed with great pride as both princes and Lord Reinar looked at her with some glimpse of surprise in their faces. This was of course not news for her own siblings, who grew up learning to ride with her, with the exception of Illyria, so seeing people stare in awe... little to nothing compared to it. "I wouldn't dare come between a man and his prey, but I'd be delighted to bear witness to your own abilities." She admitted, nodding modestly; knowing full well what to say and when to say it. "I wouldn't be able to say. Would it be my responsibility to your mother, Lady Umber if it turned the other way around?" She asked, smiling slightly, deep blue eyes boring into his as if challenging him before riding off on her own, only looking away from him a few feet away from the three young men.

Thanos, Burner of Popcorn-Today at 1:55 AM

As James looked at her, he tried to decipher whether this was a facade or a matter of coincidence. "Well if those are the stakes, I will have to use my best shot. The Northerners often say the people in the South don't know how to wield a bow,  so I can't have you carrying anything but the best impression of me when you head back" He added the last bit to test her intentions, to see if she would falter at the knowledge that he currently didn't see her remaining in King's Landing. James couldn't help but take a momentary liking to the boldness of Jessen's response. He raised a brow, albeit appreciatively, answering with a smile "You wouldn't, because I haven't a single wound on me thus far". He was never to back down from a challenge, and he pulled on the reigns of his stallion to take after Jessen, easily catching up to her "Thought to rid  me so easily, Lady Jessen?" He grinned, and his hazel green eyes occasionally glanced at her deep blue ones as they rode side by side. Soon, they had cleared into the hunting grounds, and James steadied his bow, fixing an arrow to the string "What would you like me to kill first, Lady Jessen" he asked, his eyes expertly searching the thickets and shrubs for prey.

bender, ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᵉᶰᶜᶤᵉˢᵗ ᶠʳʸ-Today at 2:10 AM

Jessen could tell the Prince wasn't resting easy about her presence there, so at least he wasn't as foolish as she had deemed him at first. She wore an expression of interest as he told her to carry the best word about him when she headed back north. Jessen laughed, throwing her head back as she did. "My Prince, I have no intention of going back to the North once the tourney is over." She looked to his side, momentarily staring at Lord Reidar for a moment, then back at James. "That doesn't mean I have any intention of remaining in King's Landing." She replied, unbothered by his indirect rejection, and putting forth some of her own. There was no denial in her mind that Prince James was a handsome young man, but part of her wondered if there was more to him, there clearly was. As she rode ahead of them and Prince James caught up with her, she shook her head. "I merely thought it rude to advantage the Prince without letting him catch up." She joked, slowing down once they reached a line of trees marking the start of his hunting territory. "How about we start with... a rabbit?"

Thanos, Burner of Popcorn-Today at 9:54 PM

Michael and Reidar were caught up now, and the two exchanged glances as James and Jessen seemed to be in a world of themselves. "I was hoping you'd start off with something challenging, but rabbits can be elusive on their day" He turned his stallion and took off, motioning for Jessen to follow him. James knew these grounds inside and out, and at times the hunt was too simple. As they waded into denser ground, he paused and whispered "be wary of the snakes wrapped around some of these branches...one bite and you wouldn't be staying in the North or the South" Michael knew better than to follow them and devised his own game with Reidar for the time being. Reidar was not the least pleased Jessen had managed to steal time away with the Prince, something he thought Ahelissa should have managed to do before the Stark girl. "More cunning than they appear, the Starks" Reidar muttered under his breath. He had little interest in hunting with Michael but he couldn't refuse the future King's younger brother and he obliged. In the depths of the trees, James fired two well calculated arrows. One right near a clearing to lure his prey out and another to rip through and cripple it. "I miscued the shot by a hair" James muttered, as he rounded the wounded rabbit, watching it bleed out to death. The perfectionist that he was, he was hardly pleased with himself and in that moment, he forgot all about his light hearted joking with Jessen. His next words were almost a demand, as if he wanted to prove himself "Next?"(edited)

bender, ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᵉᶰᶜᶤᵉˢᵗ ᶠʳʸ-Today at 10:02 PM

"You needn't worry about me, My Prince, but thank you for the precaution." Jessen granted, nodding as she became more observant of her surroundings, not too obviously so, but she kept her attention at the fullest. As James and her rode even further into the woods, Jessen looked over her shoulder to wink at Reidar, as if mocking him for clearly inching in on his sister, other than that, not minding him in the slightest. She followed after James as he fired his arrows, effectively hitting his prey. It did surprise her how displeased he seemed with himself, not just a general displeasure but... almost a silent tantrum. As he demanded for her to give him another target, Jessen thought about it for a few seconds, before deciding. "A fox, perhaps?"

Thanos, Burner of Popcorn-Today at 10:22 PM

James had regained a bit more of his composure, and he settled into a smile, though not apologizing for his seemingly demanding tone. Why would he apologize, even if this was one of the women he could potentially marry. "I'm afraid there are no bears in these forests if that's where these challenges are leading up to" He joked, adding "I'd have to visit your home in Winterfell and we could go hunting there if that's the case" He was again beginning to pay attention to her beauty as any man, King or not would. Perhaps to compensate for earlier, he offered "Lady Jessen, why don't I help you take down a fox this time around. That could be more fun". He pulled his stallion next to hers again, and without as much as asking took her hands in his, showing her how to best adjust the wooden bow and steel arrow for the shot. As he did, his eyes glanced at her deep blue ones for a moment.(edited)

bender, ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᵉᶰᶜᶤᵉˢᵗ ᶠʳʸ-Today at 10:34 PM

He did not apologize, and truth be told, Jessen was not surprised, but she of course couldn't say anything about it as perhaps it would be deemed to imprudent and perhaps insolent in the Prince's eyes. She laughed gently, shaking her head as he spoke of there being no bears in those woods. "I was building up to a stag. I've been told you've had the ability to hunt the best ones whenever you set your mind to one of those. Eliar and Alvar would love to show you around, if you ever do." Jessen looked ahead of her, ignoring the clearly intent looks he directed her; very clearly at least interested in her appearance, perhaps also impressed with ther proficiency riding. His offering caught her off guard, but she ended up nodding. She'd shot her fair share of small animals despite her own mother's dislike of her doing so since, being a lady, and a beautiful one at that, she ought to focus on the same things her sister Illyria was. This would be no problem. "My Prince is very kind." She nodded, accepting his help. Her hands excerted not as enough pressure as she would've, had it been just held keeping a hold of it. Noting he was looking at her, Jessen tried her hardest not to look at him, but... there she went, and with her gaze, the firmness in her grip also disappeared. She let go of the arrow having lowered the bow slightly and it resulted in the worst thing that could've happened, grazing the Prince's arm, injuring him, seemingly badly.

Thanos, Burner of Popcorn-Today at 10:47 PM

In James' hands, Jessen seemed, not as confident as she had been when she mounted her stallion. If he had stayed true to his wisdom and pulled the lethal weapon from her seemingly unsure hands, then he would have been spared the blood that spilled when the sharp wood and pointed metal grazed his arm. He had been in battles before, and suffered his share of wounds. So the immediate pain from the tear of his skin on his arm only drew a winced expression, and a soundless shout. He immediately retracted his hands, and the bow and arrow came crashing down onto the ground, followed by heavy drops of blood from the gaping wound on his forearm and parts of his upper arm. "Lady Jessen" He exclaimed, though he didn't pin the blame on her "Jessen, go find Michael and Reidar" dropping all honorifics in his pain.

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About CHRISTMAS SANCTUARY

Emma Kelly needs a Christmas miracle. Nick Shepherd loves his life in Salt Spring Island, where he sculpts in a studio with the grizzled and talented artist Mike Nagorski. Mike's estranged daughter, Emma Kelly, arrives in their quiet haven, and though Nick is immediately drawn to her, he tries to resist his feelings. There may be Christmas magic in the air, but Nick knows it can't last forever...

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“Nick wasn’t sure how he knew someone was there, but something made him look away from his work. Standing not five feet away from his worktable was a leggy blonde dressed in fitted black pants and a thick pale-pink sweater. Her hair, a startling shade of white-blond, was pulled back neatly in a ponytail, and her arms were tightly crossed in an obvious attempt to ward off the cold that Nick didn’t feel when he was working.

Annoyed at the interruption, he pushed his visor up off of his face. The woman’s lips formed a soft O as she made a breathy little sound that caught his attention.

“Like what you see?” He grinned as his sudden desire eclipsed any irritation he felt at the disruption. “I’ve got more I can show you if you’re interested.”

This time when she inhaled sharply, the sound carried insult. “I’m looking for Michael Nagorski.”

Her voice—wow. If he’d been intrigued by her just because of the way her sweater hugged her curves, he was downright turned on by the slow drawl in her voice, sweet as a ripe peach. “I was told I could find him here.”

“Just you and me here.” Tugging off his protective mask and elbow-length gloves, he tossed them on the table and picked up a bottle of water, chugging half of it down in big, messy gulps. “And much as I like being all up close with you, you’re going to want to step back a bit. Be a shame for these sparks to hit that pretty face of yours.”

She frowned, her eyes narrowing, and he felt—almost—like he should bite his tongue. He’d perfected his flirtatious patter, and on the island here, even back on the mainland, it worked just fine.

This woman clearly wasn’t impressed. Nor was she moving to do what he said—instead she stayed exactly where she was. “You’re wearing far less than I am. That can’t be safe.”

He shrugged the comment off. Yeah, he should be fully covered when he worked. No, he wasn’t going to change his work uniform, now or ever. When he wore too much clothing, his creativity was stifled. He’d rather risk the scars.

Not that the piece he was working on was going all that well, anyway. Furrowing his brow, he glared over at the shelf that held Michael’s most recent creations. His mentor had never been blocked. Probably because he did his best work when he was depressed, a pretty habitual state of being for him.

That sweet southern drawl melted into his consciousness again, drawing his attention back to the woman standing in his garage.

“I said, when do you reckon he’ll be back?” The look in her pale-blue eyes was full of exasperation, and something about the way she compressed her lips tugged at his mind.

She looked like…no. No way.

“Who are you, exactly?” Stepping closer, he watched her spine straighten as he looked her up and down. The Game of Thrones dragon-lady hair color…the tall, slender frame. The same crinkle of frustration that Nick had seen on Mike’s face a million times, usually directed at him.

“My name is Emma Kelly.” Her words floated in honey, sweet and heavy. So different from Mike’s clearly enunciated voice.

She wasn’t old enough to be a sibling, yet the resemblance was undeniable. The next logical relation would be a daughter.

“I’m his…it seems that Mr. Nagorski would be…my father.” Well. That confirmed it.

Mike had never mentioned a daughter to Nick. Not that it was any of his business, but he was surprised. Shocked, actually. He’d met Mike ten years ago when he’d signed with the same agent as the older man. Mike hadn’t been too happy when Hannah had pushed him into mentoring her new client, and Nick hadn’t been overly thrilled to be receiving advice from someone who was so sure he was right all the time. Somehow they’d pushed through their differences, and Nick was pretty sure he was the closest friend that Mike had. Hell, the whole reason that he was on Salt Spring Island in the first place was to keep an eye on his friend, who was prone to slip into deep depressive episodes without someone nudging him along.

Okay, that was about half the reason. But it was a generous half. Mike was an antisocial creature, happiest when he was alone in the studio or camping in the woods, and Nick knew he was pretty much the only confidant that the other man had. Which was why he was startled that he’d never heard even a whisper of a daughter from his friend.

“The woman—Emma—cleared her throat, and Nick realized that she was waiting for more information. Where she could find Mike, probably, or when he would be back.

His attention went to her lips again as she ran a delicate pink tongue over them, leaving a sheen of moisture behind. Usually, when he was attracted to a woman, he didn’t hesitate to flirt, to use deliberately cocky words and arrogant charm to draw her into his bed. Or onto his worktable—that would work, too.

Emma, though? She was clearly not impressed by his tricks. He couldn’t deny that it intrigued him.

It occurred to him that the reason Mike had never mentioned her might be because he didn’t know she existed. As his friend, the best thing Nick could do was get her out of the way long enough for him to give Mike some warning.

Pulling his attention away from those full lips again, he felt a strangely strong surge of disappointment. Nick usually used sex to help him achieve that blankness of mind that he needed to chase away his grief, but he suspected that if he had this southern lady beneath him, it would be more than that.

She was Mike’s daughter. And there was no way he would hurt his closest friend by sleeping with his kid. Especially if Mike didn’t know he had one. So, she had to go. And he’d learned that the best way to chase women off was just to be himself—after all, there was a thin line between arrogant charm and asshole.

He looked up at her again, at her long legs and white-blond hair, both obviously inherited from Mike. The instant attraction to her was potent, yet at the same time the clear reminder of who she was—the daughter of his best friend—created an uncomfortable dissonance in his mind.

He and Mike had been friends for a long time. The fact that he even found Emma attractive was enough to bring guilt weighing down on him.

“Well, baby, I’m afraid Mike isn’t going to be coming back anytime soon,” he said as he turned back to his torch, reaching for his gloves. “So unless you want to stick around and entertain me until he does, I’m going to have to ask you to go.”

About Lauren Hawkeye

Lauren Hawkeye/ Lauren Jameson never imagined that she’d wind up telling stories for a living… though when she looks back, it’s easy to see that she’s the only one who is surprised. Always “the kid who read all the time”, Lauren made up stories about her favorite characters once she’d finished a book… and once spent an entire year narrating her own life internally. No, really. But where she was just plain odd before publication, now she can at least claim to have an artistic temperament.

Lauren lives in the Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada with her husband, toddler, pit bull and idiot cat, though they do not live in an igloo, nor do they drive a dogsled. In her nonexistent spare time Lauren can be found knitting (her husband claims that her snobby yarn collection is exorbitant), reading anything she can get her hands on, or sweating her way through spin class. She loves to hear from her readers!

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FGMAMTC 

Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents

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