unhingedchaos | FAMILY STUFF IN DETROIT (IT'S A BREACH?)

Okay, so tell me what it could be like, because I definitely don't see any other options.

[ Well, there was the option to fucking kill the guy. It'll definitely work eventually? It would have to. He closes his eyes now that their faces are this close - yeah, maybe shame is right, because he can't handle looking at him like this for long.

Even as his eyes are closed, he raises his free hand and settles it on the back of the other guy's neck. His hold is loose but firm, nails digging in just slightly. ]

Why are you grinning like that? Acting like you know something I don't. Know me better I do.

Edited 2026-01-05 05:39 (UTC)

Could be you and me and Chris. And before you say anything — I know. That’s not how things are gonna go.

So. You could, y’know. Tell him. That you need me. What’s the worst that could happen that hasn’t already?

[ He cranes his head back, leaning into that touch. Smug grin still on his face: widening after Mike mentions it. ]

I know a lot that you don’t, yeah. Not important. What’s important is this: me. You. Us.

Look, I would be stupid to go off with you. The fact you don't fucking get that is part of why it would be so stupid, so there's no solving that shit.

[ He squints at the last statement, trying to not allow himself to be baited. He has to visibly shrug to do it, feel the action, to push himself out of a mind where he can get so easily hooked. He's sure it's all lies anyway, there's nothing this guy knows that he doesn't. Right? Right.

As his touch is leaned into, he can't help but stroke his fingers, no matter how he's telling himself how he feels. Make a little demonstration, even if he lies to himself about why. ]

What hasn't happened is him leaving for good. And I'm pretty sure that would put me half a step away from that at best.

Except you’re the stupid one here.

[ Just being blunt here. ]

You’ve got him by the short and curlies. Got him rat trapped. Would say you could beat the shit out of him and he’d stay, but he’d probably be into that.

You really think there’s anything you could do at this point that’d make him leave? That guy’s ride or die.

[ Speaking honestly — the manipulation just fits the truth.

In response to Mike’s touch: ] Mmm.

[ Eyes half-lidded. Feeling pretty pampered, honestly, with how he manages to get alone with Mike like this time and time again. ]

[ Mike flinches at the implication he could hurt Gavin like that physically and it wouldn't change anything. He thinks about that night when Emily really fucked his mood up and made him punch the guy, and how he threw up and they never fucking talked about it. So it's not like that's wrong, but also if he actually did hurt his husband like that in a way that he actually meant it? Yeah, he'd make himself leave. It's not like he didn't spend so many days after that, staring at him as Gavin slept, thinking about how he should make himself leave for his own good.

Not like he hasn't done that for other things. It's not that Gavin is going to leave. It's that he has such a tough time convincing himself staying is better for both of them, not just himself. But as long as he keeps that vulnerability close to the chest, this stupid asshole in his lap can't manipulate it. The one thing he keeps inside and never shows as long as he has any say about it. ]

Whatever. If you really think actually inserting yourself into my life would benefit me, then I'm going to call you an idiot again. How many times have I nearly relapsed because of you?

[ Let alone the time he nearly relapsed with the intention of brain death, but he'll stick as far away from that particular moment as he can, thanks. He lifts his hands from his other self and holds them to the sides, just enough to make a show of not touching him at all. ]

Don't have to kill you if you'll go. Do us both a favor and choose it before I have to do the worst.

Again, yeah. Right. I’m the idiot. As if you aren’t the one being all “come in the front door, Mikey.” “Sit in my lap, babe.” “Fuck me in these hot pants, studmuffin.“

Come on.

You keep blaming me and pointing fingers at me, but you want this. You need this. So, sure: can pretty confidently say I’m beneficial to you if you need me.

[ Mike trying to be all hands-off here? Fine. He’ll just go and wrap his hands around his neck: not with the threat of violence. Just rubbing his fingers along that nice throat. His throat. ]

Are you just conveniently forgetting what happened the last time we were supposed to die?

Is that what you think? [ Mike narrows his eyes and stiffens at the hands on his neck, adreneline spiking for a moment at the fear something terrible's about to happen. He thinks about how it would really suck for him to die in the other room away from Chris, then he realizes that it would really suck for Chris for either of them to die in the other room. Doesn't matter if the kid is barely a month or so old. It would still fucking suck.

He then realizes that no ill intent is meant here, that this guy is just touching. He relaxes, then shakes his head in a defiant and insistent sort of way. ]

You think I could ever forget? You haven't seen my body since, that's probably fucking why.

[ Well, he's not going to be the one to reveal it. He's going to make this fucking subapar kinkos copy discover for himself and then see the look on his face. Whatever it is, will tell him if this is something worth keeping in some way. In a fucking and goddamn instant. ]

Look under my shirt. Won't stop you. See what you left.

[ The scars from the various tubes have mostly faded, but there's still hints of them her and there. The stab into the heart left a thick and dark scar, one that is more present than it has any right to be. But the worst one is the bilateral and curvilinear scar running underneath his pecs. It sure hasn't faded yet, and it's probably not going to, angry and red just like he is about the entire damn thing.

Pregnancy didn't leave a lasting mark, other than a few stretch marks here and there that he's stauchly ignoring. But this? This is forever, yet another addition to the mess of scars that is his damn chest and stomach. ]

[ Still stroking that throat, almost lovingly, as Mike talks. A bit of a dopey expression on his face as he stares at Mike’s mouth: watching the words take shape. ]

No, I don’t think you could forget. Even though you act like it sometimes.

[ Blinking at Mike, now. He moves one hand lower, toward Mike’s collarbone; tugging up his shirt.

Then he’s pulling away: getting up off Mike’s lap so that he can kneel. Hands caging his thighs as he leans in. Pressing kisses to those scars. Running his thumb along the ones beneath Mike’s pecs.

He says, a little breathlessly: ]

Beautiful.

That's not -

[ The point? He doesn't say that; it's obvious and besides, the guy at his feet clearly doesn't care about what the point actually was. That Mike is distracted by whatever the hell he thinks is so beautiful and this Mike doesn't get it at all. Or maybe he has a suspicion but he doesn't really want it to be right. ]

What, because you left such a permanent mark or something? Don't fucking joke around.

[ He could say more about how he hates every single mark and scar but he doesn't. He shuts his mouth and just looks down at him. And maybe there's something beautiful about that, having him right there to look at. Where Mike could choose to do whatever he want to him. He reaches to touch the other guy's hair, lingering with his fingers in the strands for a moment before pulling his hand right back.

He wants with everything he has to hide the scars again but he pulls off his shirt instead, dumps it to the side. Like maybe that'll somehow prove his point. Or something. It's not going to at all. ]

Sure. More because it’s yours, though. Makes it special. Ours, in a way — not just ‘cause I did it. But because we’re, y’know... kind of the same person.

Although I’m sure you wish we weren’t.

[ He says this almost reverently, staring up at Mike. Batting those lashes of his. ]

And it’s proof you’re still here. Proof you’re — we’re — meant for more.

I’m into this angle, though.

[ Whistling as Mike takes off his shirt. ]

You stripping for me, baby boy?

We're sure as hell not the same person. Are our memories even the same? Do we have similar experiences? Or are you just some carbon copy that got a little screwed up while being made? Came crooked out of the stupid old printer?

[ He stiffens a little at the 'baby boy' then chooses to push it off to the side, mentally. Ignores the rest of the statement, doesn't acknowledge the compliment about the angle. ]

It's not about what I wish, it's common sense and facts. You never answer when I ask anything about what you remember about what you grew up. Or anything else about your past. I had to pull teeth to get your age and I figured you were embarrassed but now I fucking wonder.

[ Mike is learning about himself he's an unreliable narrator at best. Is it the same for this guy, and is the reason tied to why they're both here and how they exist? He looks at him finally, staring down at those eyes, pausing for a moment at the sight of those lashes. Shakes it off and reaches down to take ahold of his chin. He's holding it firmly in the way he's done once before, in the way this guy has done so many times because he knows Mike is weak to it.

He's firm with his grip and slides his thumb a little, pressing it into the area where the throat starts in the front. He wants to make sure this other guy pays attention. You know what? Maybe they are a little the same person, because they both know the tricks that make an individual known as Michael Munroe pay attention. It's time to use one of them. Maybe it'll be to his advantage? Or at least get this asshole actually listening for two seconds. ]

Let's play this. It doesn't matter what we do right now because it's the last fucking time. [ He knows he always says this, but before he didn't have Chris to make sure he followed through. He has to do it for him. ] I'm going to ask you questions and if you answer, you get a reward for each. Let's play, because I have no fucking common sense when it comes to you and you know it.

[ He leans down, just enough to tease being closer, looking into his eyes with an intense determination. He then straightens up again, but doesn't look away for even a second.

Of course, desire for this man will always run under all his decisions. He could do it another way but he isn't. And even though he'd hate to know it, the intensity of his gaze makes that attraction so damn clear. ]

Edited 2026-01-12 19:20 (UTC)

Who’s to say you’re not the fucked up copy, huh?

[ Said with a hint of irritation: yes, yes. Kinko’s copy this, Kinko’s copy that. Maybe it’s bad Mike who’s the real Kinko’s copy, hmm? It’s not as if they know for sure — not that he cares.

And maybe that does make him the inferior copy, or whatever: the fact that he’s never really cared about all that. Just indulged in the pull between them. ]

Oh my god. [ He rolls his eyes. ] Fine. Ask, then, if it’ll get you — whatever. Hard. Off.

[ Definitely paying attention, here. All eyes on Mike — not that he especially cares about looking anywhere else.

Except at Chris. Just Mike and Chris. ]

Last time. Right. Abso-fuckin’-lutely.

[ Disbelieving. Little mocking smile curled on his lips. This is their song and dance: one last time. One last time.

It never is; never will be. ]

Ask, then. Playing your game here. Always your game. The rewards’ll be worth it, though, I trust.

I'd say we can go with your game next time but if you actually objected, you wouldn't be playing along.

[ For now, he puts the suggestion he's the copy out of his mind but it'll nag at him later, start to grow and cause doubt. For now, he's able to brush it off, mostly because he's keen on focusing on his plan. Kind of.

It's less the damn plan and more being distracted by this stupid asshole being in that particular position and obeying what he wants. It's too tempting to make this just sex but he actually has to fucking try here. He slides his hand up, abandoning the throat, touching his fingers to that stupid smug smirk. The one he can't actually be mad at. ]

You wouldn't be making this face, or looking at me like this. So answer this.

Who were you born to? Where, when? What did they call you in full?

[ He really doesn't think this guy grew up the same way he did, especially with the lack of ghostly powers. He presses his thumb down firmly on his bottom lip. ]

Of course the rewards will be worth it. Maybe if you answer enough, I'll actually even fuck you.

[ And then what? He'll solve that shit later. Always later. ]

[ He licks at the fingers against his mouth, then: ]

Mom never told me who my dad was — ‘cause she didn’t know for sure. Had a pretty good idea who it was, though. Two prime suspects. One is dead, the other is an alcoholic dick who doesn’t want anything to do with me.

My mom — Louise. Lou for short. She married later, had another three kids.

[ He yammers on as if it matters. As if Mike honestly cares.

The answers decidedly don’t matter — the past is irrelevant here — but he’s still playing along. Make Mike happy with his empty words: whatever he feels is necessary to get him to fuck him, put fingers in his mouth, whatever. ]

Wheatland.

Michael John-Linder Munroe.

[ Nipping at Mike’s thumb now. Head cocked. ]

You got more questions, or is it time for rewardy? Should be time for rewardy.

Edited 2026-01-16 14:46 (UTC)

[ Here's the thing, Mike does care. If he didn't, he'd have killed him the second he planned on it, not wasted time with whatever this is - stalling, really. He doesn't need to find that gun to do it, he doesn't need some knife. He was hand raised to imitate the killing styles of the Boy, how else did he survive against wendigos for so damn long when everyone else failed? Movement 36-J of the Latvian Incident would work well here, be efficient as he looks down on this guy. But even as he fucking knows it, he doesn't go to make some sort of killing move.

He laughs instead, pulling his thumb away after pushing it more firmly against the guy's mouth, just for a moment. The sound isn't one of humor or mirth, if anything it's some sort of unhinged desperation. More than a little derision ringing through it for the both of them. His eyes are, by contrast, weirdly fond. ]

Wheatland? Where the fuck is that? At least you have the same damn last name.

[ He shakes his head as if in disbelief but it's so fake. He figured everything would be different. It's not any sort of response, even as it's presented in such tantalizing giftwrap. He traces his thumb along a cheekbone, ignoring all the urges for the rewards he promised. He's not giving them as easily as that. ]

John-Linder. What are you, from the wild west? Try my shit on for size.

Michael Everett Munroe. Born some place near Oceanside, right at the California and Mexico border.

My mom was sent to a bigger hospital when it looked like there were going to be complications. That didn't fix it. Was born not breathing and all that shit. Angela Munroe, barely 19, already had another kid at 14 but the poor fucker died.

She figured I was a goner too. Not like she could eat properly when pregnant. Not like she wanted to. Homeless anyway. It's not like she didn't have a rich dad but he wanted to teach her a lesson about adult decisions.

[ He tilts his head as he continues to look down on this other guy's face, the one that's supposed to be some sort of other him - but everything is so damn different. Probably? He himself rejects everything about their personalities and habits that are similar, like this guy is some sort of damned boogie man. It's always been like seeing himself through a funhouse mirror, but maybe he just doesn't want to accept the darkest parts of himself, while stupid Mike John-Linder Munroe relishes in the shadows both of them have. Fuck that.

He's feeling every small feature as he's permitted as his touch continues. Studying everything as much as he can, in ways he never has before, to look for differences. Do they have different scars? Would this asshole have any marks from that night on the mountain? Sure. But probably not the same notch Mike has on his own chin from catching it on something when pushed off his bike at 7. Lila never apologized - she said he should thank her.

He probably should. She was right. Marks that remind you of who you are, that's particularly important for him in this particular moment. Keeps him sure of what's real, that he's actually fucking alive and not some fake copy of a shady memory. ]

Older brother, dead on arrival. Older sister in everything but what's real. Younger sister I said goodbye to when she was a baby, it was for her own good. She doesn't know I'm in her life and that I know who the fuck she is. Pretty sure she thinks she scammed her way in to keep an eye on me while actually honestly trying to help me out.

[ He slides that hand around to the back of this other Mike's head. Some sort of determination hits him as he's talking about their differences. His past. He caresses the strands of hair there as he continues to talk, stroking lightly. In a way that could be comforting. ]

But nobody gets the drop on me and gets away with it. You understand? If I like you then I let you stay awhile. But I remember.

[ He tightens his grip all of a sudden, enough he's pulling at the smallest of hairs in what is likely painful. His eyes narrow. He's putting on a show, faking a threatening aura. He knows how to act with a Hollywood sort of mouth, he grew up around the right places for it. Got fucked over by the wrong people. One always internalizes those marks - that's always going to leave the most ragged and raw of scars on his heart. ]

You've gotten too comfortable. You think you're better than me so you can decide everything, but I'm going to call the shots now.

If you get anything other than one last breath, it'll be because I decide I want that.

[ Pulling a little more. Twisting his grip, applying those fingers. He's using his intact hand, this has to really count. ]

Got it? You really need to understand. We need you to get this crystal clear, babe.

That's so very important.

Edited 2026-01-17 00:27 (UTC)

Wheatland’s in — [ cocking his head, giving Mike an offended gawk ] — California, dumbass. Couple hours northeast of San Francisco.

[ No, it’s not surprising Mike hasn’t heard of the place. Just makes him prickle a bit. Defensive. ]

Oh my god. [ He laughs. ] Not the Wild West. Mom was into some old band. Lead singer’s name was John Linder, or something.

[ Murmuring: ] Angela.

[ The name sounds right, somehow. Even though she’s not his mom. Some whole other life this Mike’s been living here. ]

Different here, yeah. To put it lightly. Wasn’t homeless, but we moved around. Avoiding debt collectors — till my mom got married, anyway.

[ Not that he’s been asked to elaborate, but he still does. ]

Not the same, but one of my mom’s other kids — Derry. She died, too. Got sick.

[ It feels oddly vulnerable, hearing all this coming from Mike. Shit they’ve been skirting around for months and suddenly: actually talking, here. And not about fucking — or “fuck Gavin.”

The way Mike grips him? Hot. Having a normal reaction to that, now; cheeky grin splayed on his lips. Eyes thinned as if to say: “Go ahead and try.” Tilting his head wherever Mike tugs him; not at all fighting it. Here for the ride. ]

Might surprise you, but no. Don’t think I’m better than you. You think I’m so bad — you think you’re bad. But you’re not. We’re just are what we fucking are.

So, if you’re “letting” me stick around — must mean you like me a whole lot.

Wait. That the guy who got killed by some Adam Sandler bitch at some tower? [ Yes, Mike got the name wrong. No, he isn't coming even close to realizing - he is too intent on this sudden discovery of a connection. Even if the whole thing makes less and less sense as they go along. ] My mom slept with that guy. Like a lot.

A lot-lot.

[ He shrugs. It was a fact she used to tease Chris because he idolized the guy, who knows why he forgot the name until now. Mike just hadn't wanted to remember shit about the dead. ]

Why'd she get sick? Older or younger? You sure it was an illness or was it something to do with the fucking debts?

[ Because he knows how that goes. Come on, he's not an idiot, he's seen it happen so many times. But that prickled up, defensive sort of gawking look the other guy gave him earlier? Mike's giving it right back at the suggestion that's been moved onto. That he 'likes him a whole lot'. He mutters something under his breath and pulls at him when he should be pushing him away. Trying to get the guy to rise up and move at least his face closer. ]

Don't like shit. Kidding yourself. Stupid.

[ He's a liar and bad at it when it comes to his other self. Fuck. He glances away, averting any further eye contact. ]

Adam Sandler? He going around killing people at towers?

[ One-hundred percent sure that’s wrong, but it’s not as if he remembers all the details. Also confident that Adam Sandler wasn’t in a rock band. Or dead? ]

I believe it. Your mom sleeping with him, I mean. Seems like he slept with just about everyone — except my mom, I think. Guy went and died before she could hit that. Probably why she went and married another guy in his band. Can’t have who she wants so she goes after second-best.

Derry got sick. [ Snapped a little defensively; scowl slipping onto his face. ] Younger. New bitch-boy husband swept in and fixed all our money problems. Money couldn’t save her, though. Not that he was around when she was sick.

[ Scowl gone, all smiles again when he says: ]

Stop lying. Wouldn’t I be dead if you didn’t like me? Isn’t that what you said?

Your mom just wasn't determined enough. Death doesn't count out hitting that unless you listen to loser talk. [ He shuts up after that, at least for the moment and watches this guy's face as he talks about these things in his past. He's fascinated by all the little tells there are, especially because they're not particularly meant for manipulation. Not like the usual.

And it's not like he doesn't understand seeing someone get sick. He ignores the accusation that he's lying, just chooses to ditch that part of the conversation entirely as he gives him a look that's both sympathetic and understanding. ]

I get it. The guy who fixes everything but leaves the worst part to rot you from the inside out. Not only is that how I lost my mom but nobody really noticed when I went to the lodge for everything that happened that night.

[ He shrugs a shoulder. Looks at the shape of this man's smile on his lips. Weird how it goes to scowl and comes back again so easily. Not really the kind of more cheerful mix he usually inspires. ]

What was I supposed to do other than go along with Emily's bullshit? It's not like anyone was asking about me other than to prove I supposedly fucking belonged to her.

Did they ever even find the guy’s body? After the whole tower thing? Like, as far as I know, maybe my mom did try to fuck him. After.

[ It’s odd: this sort-of actually talking thing they’re doing here. Even if it’s somehow veered into necrophilia.

He’s never really been a person before. Not to Mike. Always his Kinko’s, his fucktoy, bitch boy, attempted killer. ]

Don’t have to go along with Em’s bullshit now.

[ Unless he wants her to move on, but that’s a whole other story. ]

I wouldn't know. I'm not a source of info on some weak overblown comedian that apparently got pissed people didn't like his movies so he started a band and fucked off life instead.

[ Is that right? It sounds right. He's trying not to think about how weird it is they're actually talking, possibly fucked up. He looks down at him, looks at those eyes that are shaped and shaded like his own but actually look nothing like them, then does something he's never dreamed of.

He asks his fucking opinion. ]

What would you do? With her.

[ It doesn't matter what he is doing, this guy isn't the Mike who killed her. He doesn't seem to give a crap while Michael Reed is the one who can't move on. ]

And fucked off to some tower, apparently. Huh.

[ Said a little incredulously, but what the hell does he know? Not much of an Adam Sandler fan. The most he knows about him now beyond the acting thing is that he apparently killed some guy who fucked everyone’s mom — or who everyone’s mom wanted to fuck. ]

Right now?

[ He shrugs. ]

Nothing.

[ A little brutal, maybe, but he’s being honest. ]

Unless she starts pissing me off. Or if you really want us to do something about her.

[ Emphasizing the “us” there. ]

[ Brutal? Maybe, but honestly, she earned it. He can only beat himself up so far about her death and he figured she needs to move on - the fact she is refusing in such fucked up ways says more about her than him. Ghosts might change based on the circumstances of their deaths but the potential had to be there on the first place.

He's feeling the stirrings of something that's uncorrupted by any sort of bad feelings or resentment. Just a sudden fond affection for this guy and he can't help but give him a look that betrays the way he's been actively fighting all this time against feeling. An odd sort of smile tugs at his lips. ]

Look, I did everything to try to help her. I even went to see her damn mom and watched the woman cry about it, knowing Emily could show up for her but wasn't.

Don't care if you get pissy and do something to her. But I think your time is best spent right here.

[ Unsure of himself all of a sudden? A bit shy. Fuck. Is this what all the girls kept feeling at his own presence? ]

Would’ve figured you’d want me to do everything to try and help here now, too.

[ Or is it that you failed, so you think I’ve got no chance here?

Hmm. ]

One thing we can agree on there, sure.

[ The hell is Mike looking all bubbly here for? Almost makes a guy wonder if he really is ready for murder. Finally fucking snapped. ]

You... what? Thinking about my dick? In your mouth? Yeah, that’s gotta be it.

[ He nods, as if this is the most logical answer. ]

[ All of those thoughts and suspicions would have been fair even two minutes ago. Hell, maybe even thirty seconds ago. But fuck, he's the kind of guy that resists feeling something until he does and then it happens in an instant. Hope that other Mike's not going to regret all the fighting he did for some sort of actual scraps of affection to be felt because it's sure as hell not going away now.

So yeah, the look doesn't go away. It's not that dopey look he gets about Gavin, that's exclusively for and because of a rat, but that doesn't mean it's nothing special. ]

Not exactly. Thinking about -

[ The look fades, replaced by something serious, almost stunned? Maybe a bit afraid. The feeling is so familiar lately. That's terrible, even if this somehow isn't. ]

Maybe we'd agree on shit if we talked more. Actually acted like we have fondness and affection.

[ A pause and he's more hesitant to state the next bit. He'll definitely look stupid. Or maybe not, maybe he's just afraid of hearing something he'll actually like. ]

You keep telling me everything will be great if I actually give you real space in my life. Why don't you explain some of what you actually fucking want?

Why don't you come back up here first though. I want to -

[ He cuts himself before he can divulge that part, starts tugging on this guy with clear insistence. Time to see what happens next. ]

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Miiiike 😭

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Me staring because the tag keeps going sob it's a novel

👀

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How is this tag 880 words I'm gonna

I LOVE 😻

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CW shaming for lack... Of necrophilia...? Michael is a mess

Nfnfnfn mike

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Gsgs lmfao @ Adam Sandler

Keywords relevant, that might surprise the other guy & this icon is THE LOOK (he is giving him)

Good boy 👀

This definitely won't backfire for either of them