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wormstacheangel · 3 years

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Almost: Ch 5

Chapter Summary: Dean hides in Cas's childhood bedroom during the funeral reception. He quickly finds himself having a nice conversation with Mick and - fuck- the dude's actually nice.

Read on tumblr Ch 1 link | Ch 2 link | Ch 3 link | Ch 4 link |

or read it on AO3 link (maybe leave a nice comment?)

Word Count: 2468 More Under The Cut

“Ah, this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Dean was sprawled across Cas’s old twin bed, one leg swinging off the edge as he laid on his back holding up one of his old X-Men comics. He muttered a “Fuck” under his breath as he put the book down on his chest before looking up at Mick. The happy husbands-to-be walked in and closed the door behind him.

While Dean wasn't a big fan of the Novak clan - they weren’t so hot of Winchesters and company either - Sam and Charlie couldn’t give a rat’s ass. They both stayed downstairs with Balthazar who’s been the only one to welcome them in. Finding them ‘fascinating’. Whatever the hell that meant. But they were having a good time and Dean wasn’t going to rain on their parade just cause he wasn’t in the mood to mingle.

Instead, he hid in a familiar room, Cas’s childhood bedroom, that looked practically untouched. Even their old snack drawer was still filled with old Halloween candy wrappers.

“Making yourself at home?” Mick asked as he looked around the room. His hands touching the items on the desk. “Oh, didn’t know Castiel read comic books.”

Dean sat up as he ran his hand nervously through his hair. “He - um, well - he doesn’t. I mean he does but he won’t buy them himself. Those are all mine.”

Mick looked at him, eyebrows pushed together as he squinted. “You brought comic books to read?”

“No!” Dean put the comic book he was reading down on the bed as he stood up to walk over to the bookshelf behind the door. He motioned towards the middle row. “These are all mine. I used to bring them so when Cas had to study I wasn’t so bored in his room.”

“Ah.” Was all he said as he looked back at the desk. “So you two spent a lot of time together?”

Dean shrugged, his hands awkwardly digging into his pant pockets. “Yeah, I guess. We did go to high school together.”

“Yes,” Mick looked over at Dean, a bright smile on his face as if he was excited that he knew something about Cas. “His first public school experience! He told me.”

Dean awkwardly chuckled. “Yeah, he got in real trouble when Chuck found out he forged his signature.”

“What?”

“Cas! He um, he forged Chuck’s signature on the school papers.” Dean laughed remembering and walking back to sit on the bed while Mick looked at him, eyes sparkling in curiosity. Dean hated it. “Yeah,” He cleared his throat. “Um, Gabriel and Raphael helped him keep the whole thing a secret from Chuck for almost two years. It wasn’t until Cas got suspended that-”

“Castiel got suspended! He never told me!” Mick grabbed the desk chair and moved it closer to Dean. He looked happy to know more things about Cas and Dean felt himself relax just a little. As much as he was jealous - he was practically hulking out by how damn green he was - he was glad that Mick actually seemed to care about Cas. “Well, go on, Dean.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dean blinked a few times to catch his thoughts. His face blushing at the memory. “Shit, well, Cas got into a fight.”

“A fight?!”

“Yeah!” Dean laughed. “Some guys were messing with me. Just some dumb guy shit, you know. And someone must have called Cas cause all I remember is my nose cracking under a fist and then seeing the dude get tackled down. Like Cas full-on body slammed that dude to the ground!” Dean’s face hurt from the big grin that stretched over his lips. “Then he was screaming! Man, it was some sight! Never seen him so damn rabid like that since but I had to drag him off the guy before he really gave the guy a concussion.”

“My Castiel did that?” Mick sat back in his chair, in amazement and shock while Dean tried to hide the flinch from those words. Rolling his shoulders back before rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Sure did.” Dean nodded before slowly standing up. “Well, we should head back down-”

“You know,” Mick sighed as he looked down at his hands. “I always feel that Castiel keeps me at a distance. As if he’s still guarding his heart from me.”

Dean falls back on the bed with a huff. For fucks sake, he really doesn’t want to play counselor to a guy he wants to hate. He could easily do the fake nice guy act and tell Mick that maybe Cas just doesn’t love him. That Cas was just a nice guy who has a hard time saying no to people and while that’s true he really doubts that’s why Cas said yes to him. Cas said yes because he loves this pathetic looking guy and Dean just wants him to be happy.

Even if it’s not with him.

Though Mick looked like he already trusted Dean wholeheartedly and it would be so easy - No!

Dean sighed as he scrubbed a hand down his face. Knowing damn well he was gonna regret playing nice but the guilt of being a part of hurting Cas would feel a shit ton worse. “Mick, man, Cas is complicated.”

Mick looked at him with soft round eyes. He was being sincere as fuck and it was annoying. “Not to you.”

“I had practice.” Dean smugly smiled and gave Mick a wink. “Cas is like - fuck how do you even describe that crazy asshole?”

Mick laughed, relaxing into his chair more. “I guess like that but I wouldn’t say he was an asshole.”

Dean laughed and reached to pat Mick on the shoulder. “Oh, then you really don’t know him! If he hasn’t kicked you out of his car in the middle of a rainstorm because you offended his favorite character then just count yourself lucky.”

“He did that to you?” His eyes widened in shock.

“Twice.” Dean held up the two fingers with a grin. “Had to walk home too because he didn’t come back for me.”

Mick and Dean both laughed.

Fuck. Dean thought as he saw the guy wipe tears from his eyes from laughing. Mick really is a great guy and now Dean just wants to help him. If it means he could make Cas happy then that’s all that mattered. He can at least do that for his old best friend.

“He’s an old soul.” Dean continued and pointed at the bookshelf again. “You can check out the rest of the books and see they’re all classics. He won’t admit to it but he also likes cheesy YA books.”

Mick got up to check out the bookshelf, his eyes scanning it up and down before he reached for a random book that caught his eyes.

“He’s a grumpy old man mostly. He hates being wrong and would fight you tooth and nail to prove his point.”

Mick looked up at him and shook his head. “I think me and you really do know two different, Castiels.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at that and hopes his heartbreak doesn’t show on his face. “Kinda curious on what your Cas is like.”

“He’s focused.” Mick nods stiffly at him before his face scrunches up. “That’s a sad first description of my fiance, isn’t it?”

Dean laughed before nodding. “Yeah, dude, it is.”

Mick looked so in love though as he smiled at Dean. “It’s stupid, Dean, but I just...since I met him I can’t think of anyone else.”

No. No. I don’t want to hear this. Dean kept that smile on his face as he stood up to maybe distract Mick with a book. Cas usually had dumb bookmarks maybe he can talk about the pressed flowers.

“What about you, Dean?”

“What about me?”

“Did you feel the same when you got married?”

“When I got what?” Dean froze in the middle of the room but before Mick could ask again the door swung open. Shielding Mick from view.

Dean’s eyes meet the baby blue’s that made his stomach flip.

Then Cas smiled at him and it wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be smiling at him like that. Smiling as if Dean was his favorite damn person in the world. As if the hour separation from the last time he saw him was torture for him and seeing Dean was just pure relief. It wasn’t fair.

“Dean.” Cas sighed, his shoulders dropping as his whole expression softened. He looked so relieved and happy to see him that Dean didn’t know what to do with himself. He just stood there like a dumbass as Cas ran into him. Crashing his whole body against Dean’s own and into a big comforting hug.

Then Cas did this laugh - fuck it sounded so unrestrained and heartfelt that it made Dean feel like he was floating - as he hid his face against the crook of Dean’s neck.

“I didn’t think you were going to come.” Cas quietly says and the relief in Cas’s voice left Dean more dumbfounded than he already was.

“Wow! Am I getting one of those hugs too, sweetheart?” There was a small strain to Mick’s happy tone.

Cas froze in Dean’s arms - he even heard the dumbass cuss into Dean’s skin - before he pulled away to look back at Mick. Then looked back at Dean, his dumb head tilt - thank god that didn’t change - and squinty eyes asking questions that Dean could hear clear as day.

Dean rolled his eyes. “We were just talking. Don’t get your damn panties in a twist, Cas.”

“I was just asking.” Cas shrugged, a smile in his voice before he walked over to Mick. “I’m glad you two are getting along?”

Dean could hear the damn question in his voice and stuffed his hands in his pockets. His heart was still racing from the few seconds of having Cas so close again. Having him look at him like...like that.

Mick pulled Cas from around the waist and reached to kiss his cheek. It was sweet and Dean saw the red prick Cas’s cheeks.

“We are. I never had a best friend before but I am jealous of your friendship.” Mick looked over at Dean. “Must be nice to have that deep connection with someone.”

Dean looked away. Instead gave his attention to the desk that still had another comic book with a chip bag folded inside to be used as a bookmark.

“Yes.” Cas quietly said before clearing his throat. “Um, why are you both in my room?”

“I just followed Dean here.” Mick quickly answered while Dean nervously ran his hand through his hair.

“You know me, Cas. I can’t stay too long with that creepy vampire clan you have as a family.” Dean winked at him while Cas rolled his eyes.

“Vampires?” Mick asked as he looked between them.

“They’re not vampires.” Cas said at the same time Dean said, “Yeah, you know, bat wings and fangs. The full Twilight!”

“We don’t have...Dean! Stop telling people my family is made up of vampires!”

“I’ll be more worried at the fact that people always easily believe me.”

“Ah,” Mick awkwardly laughed as he wiggled a finger between Cas and Dean. “Is this like an inside joke?”

“No.” “Yes.”

Mick hummed as he dropped his hand. Clearly uncomfortable but he should try stepping into Dean’s shoes.

“How was the burial?” Mick turned to smile at Cas, leaning in to kiss his shoulder, and Dean had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

Just cause he thought the dude was nice doesn’t mean he wants to see that shit.

“It was fine. Nobody really talked.” Cas nodded, his eyes far away as he was thinking about it because he was unsure. Then he blinked a couple of times before turning to look at Dean again. “Which reminds me, Bobby and you are invited to Dad’s will reading tomorrow afternoon. Actually, invited is the wrong word. You guys have to be there in order for the testament to be read.”

“What?” Dean shuffled the weight on his feet awkwardly as he tried to process Cas’s words. “What - wait. Why do we have to be there?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Cas shrugged, “But I would steer clear of my brothers for a while. Probably Sam too. While Gabriel may think it’s funny, he is the only one. They already don’t particularly like you, Dean.”

“Yeah, Cas, I noticed.”

“Really? They like me.” Mick proudly said, cheeks high as he smiled.

“Shocker.” Dean muttered but by the look of Cas’s face, he must have not said it quietly enough. “Whatever. Maybe I’ll just get Sam and Charlie and go home.”

Cas tried to step forward towards Dean but he saw Mick’s grip around his waist tighten. Cas made a face but then he gave Dean one of those fake smiles. “Yeah, probably for the best. Don’t want Mike finding you and interrogating you all night.”

Dean nodded, biting the inside of his cheek before he gave them both the same cocky smile. “Yeah. Sounds like a plan then. I’ll head out then.”

Dean made his way out of the room, not wanting to meet the stare that was digging holes into him. He made it down the hall and was on the first step down the stairs when Cas called out to him. Dean turned around just when Cas stopped only a few inches away from him. From this angle, he can just take the next step up and have his lips pressed up against Cas’s skin. Against his lips. Pull him down for a kiss he desperately can’t stop selfishly thinking about.

At least he can imagine he was brave enough to do that.

Instead, he looked down at the piece of paper that Cas was handing him. “Take it, Dean, it won’t bite.”

Dean takes it and looks to see it was Cas’s phone number written in quick handwriting. That dumbass even drew a little happy face.

“Call me in the morning so I can give you all the details about tomorrow afternoon.”

Dean puts the paper in his pocket as he smiles up at Cas. “Sure, Cas. Thanks.”

Cas smiles back and Dean swears he blushes. Before Dean could enjoy the handsome sight, Cas ducks his head down to leave a kiss on Dean’s cheek. It was quick but it still felt lingering as it burned his skin.

“Night, Dean.” Cas whispers as he starts to walk away. “Um, and thanks for keeping Mick company. Give your family my best for me!”

Dean sucked in a shaky breath. “S-sure.”

Then he waves back at Cas, who looked like he was almost skipping before he disappeared back into his bedroom. Back to Mick.

#My Writing #WormstacheWrites #Destiel #Deancas #Supernatural #SPN #A More Profound OTP #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #mutual pinning #angst #slow burn #happy ending fic #fanfic #fanfiction

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niksixx · 4 years

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Their Favorite Self Care Activity

Requested: Nope! My idea :)

Pairing: Crüe x Female Reader

Description: Ever wonder what the boys like to do for self care?

A/N: Reblog and comment for me :)

*Picture is NOT mine. Found on Google. Credit to the owner!*

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Vince~Baths

For you and Vince, baths were your preferred self care method. There was something so relaxing and sensual about lying in Vince’s arms in the tub as bubbles and rose petals float around you in the warm water. Touring for months on end would take a toll on Vince’s body and his mental health, so it was important for him to find something that would allow him to relax, even if it was something as simple as a bath. When he was able to come home on breaks from the tour, all he ever wanted to do was unwind and recharge with his favorite girl.

You’d strip down together, Vince entering the tub first, you following right after. The water would be the perfect temperature, not too hot that it’s scorching your skin, but warm enough to where you could feel the stress fall off both of your shoulders, feel the muscles in your body soothe. As you relaxed your back against Vince’s chest, his lips would be by your cheek, your ear, giving you the softest kisses. Bathing was intimate.

Depending on how you were feeling, soft music would be playing on the radio, or you and Vince would enjoy a glass of sweet wine. Bath time wouldn’t consist of much conversation, though. It was more of being physically present in time with your love.

Vince was never affectionate until he’d met you. Prior to your relationship, he always felt like he needed to keep up an image, put on a front to the world around him. With you, you didn’t want him to be under so much pressure. You assured him it was okay to take breaks, because everyone needed one day or hell, even a few days, to settle down and relax their mind and body.

Vince was thankful for you. He was able to truly be himself in your presence. While the baths aided in soothing his body, being with you calmed his soul.

~~~

Nikki~Yoga

Nikki had protested yoga at first, but you were adamant that he at least gave it a try before completely writing it off. With Nikki’s lifestyle, he was always on the go. His mind was always racing, whether those thoughts were about touring or new song lyrics, or just life in general. He needed a way to calm down.

He thought the poses were silly at first. Downward dog? Cat pose? Tree? He followed your every movement as he stood beside you on his own yoga mat, wobbling and grimacing each time he lost his balance and fell over. Nikki was easily discouraged, but as long as you were beside him, helping him along the way and giving him encouraging smiles, he’d try again.

As he mastered the basic poses, Nikki began to do yoga on his own time. The living room would be dark, but the windows would be open behind the curtains, letting fresh air into the room. Candles would surround his yoga mat, and there on the mat he would sit, eyes closed, calculated breathing, at peace.

~~~

Tommy~Face masks

Tommy was a ball of energy, to put it simply. As a rockstar, he was constantly moving from place to place, staying out late, never getting any sleep, and somehow managing to be hyper as ever. The word ‘break’ wasn’t in his vocabulary, which is why you were surprised when one day, he caught you applying your clay mask before bed, and asked to take a break and do one with you.

Now, Tommy marched to the beat of his own drum. He always had. There were men in the world that would frown upon skin care, as if it was only appropriate for women to look after their hygiene. Not Tommy. No, he was excited to try it.

And he ended up loving it. Every night, you’d find yourself in the bathroom with Tommy beside you, gently rubbing the clay into his face. A child at heart, Tommy would insist on taking silly pictures as the masks dried. Something so simple like skin care turned into something that you and Tommy incorporated into your nightly routines, cherishing the time spent together.

~~~

Mick~Crafts

Mick was an artist. No, he couldn’t paint or draw or sculpt anything. He was a musical artist. He spent his time devising lyrics with his bandmates or playing chords and riffs on his beloved guitar. You were proud of Mick for chasing his passion, but he was getting older. His body couldn’t keep up with the energetic rockstar lifestyle.

With his aging body suffering from ankylosing spondylitis, there weren't many physical activities that Mick enjoyed. You wanted to help him relax, take his troubles off his mind, but how?

And that’s when you stumbled upon the craft section at your local art store. Grabbing as many items as your cart could carry, you bounded over to the register, a smile on your face, not even phased as money piled on to your bill. Seeing Mick calm, relaxed, would be worth it.

It was a thoughtful gesture, one that Mick would remember for years to come. You’d both sit outside your home on a small patch of grass on your lawn with crafts spread out in front of you as the sun warmed your skin. You would color one day, create macaroni necklaces the next, and make clay figurines after that. Mick would smile the whole time, and his smile, your favorite thing in the world, was brighter than the sun.

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mego42 · 4 years

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while I was not specifically prompted, @foxmagpie posted a fic request that made my brain go hmmmmmmmm, so I went ahead and pretended it was a prompt for me because I do what I want.

i want to read a fic from rio’s POV of 2.10 when annie reached out to him both because i think annie trying to arrange a business proposition would be hilarious but also because i suspect that rio thought beth was either orchestrating things or that it would be a way to get her back and i wanna get in his head about it

can we meet

All in all, it's a pretty standard text. Rio could probably scroll through his phone and find at least 15 others at any given point. More if he didn't dump his phones every week or two. Even more if he didn't have Mick filtering most of the bullshit for him.

But that's the thing, he does have Mick, which means when these kinds of texts make it all the way to him, he knows who they're from and what they want. The problem here is he doesn't know who the fuck this is or what they want or, most importantly, how the fuck they got this number.

And that last part especially is a big enough fuckin' problem that he shuts his laptop and scoops up his phone, swiping through to call and see who it is.

"Hello?"

He doesn't immediately recognize the voice that picks up, though it pings something. He waits, still not saying anything, figurin' he'll either place it, or they'll give themselves away. It's fuckin' unbelievable the kind of shit people will say if he just keeps his mouth shut and waits 'em out.

"Is this…" The voice trails off, and he's right on the cusp of placin' it, can feel a face bubbling to the surface when it continues in a whisper. "Gang friend?"

The fuckin' sister.

Rio's mouth snaps shut so hard it sends a pang through his jaw, and he's pretty sure she heard his teeth click together over the phone.

There are motherfuckers who would kill—hell, who have killed—for his number, and here's this suburban bopper callin' him up like she can summon him or some shit. Like she has the right.

And isn't that just like Elizabeth, makin' her sister call? After her pretty little fuckin' speech, that prim, butter wouldn't melt it's over, leavin' his cut on the goddamn nightstand like he was some kind of hired help.

His phone case creaks, giving slightly under the force of his grip, and he forces himself to relax. He leans back in his chair, drumming his fingers on his desk, tryin' to figure out how he wants to play this.

He fuckin' knew it.

He's not about to pretend the victory isn't at least a little sweet underneath the bitter rage just thinking 'bout their stalemate brings to the surface. He knew Elizabeth wasn't gonna walk away. She couldn't, she didn't have it in her.

It isn't enough, though, knowing he was right. It's barely a dent, a scratch, a fuckin' scuff in the debt she owes him, the mountain of shit he's gonna make her pay for.

"Hello?"

He hasn't said anything yet, and it's makin' the sister antsy, he can tell. There's a static, scratching noise, and he realizes she's put her thumb over the speaker or something because he can hear what she says next, but it's muffled.

"Are you sure this is the right number?"

Something in him bottoms out—he's not exactly tryin' too hard to identify what. The bright, bitter flair of satisfaction's gone as quickly as it came, leaving a dark, hollow space behind.

The sister's actin' out then, going rogue. Elizabeth knows damn well what his number is. She hasn't exactly been too shy 'bout usin' it whenever she needs a payday loan. Or other services for that fuckin' matter.

He can't help but laugh at that, but it's a harsh, biting sound. The audacity must be genetic.

"Okay, now I know you're there. Stop being a dick."

He should hang the fuck up, now that he knows who it is. Hang up, block the number, forget all about that bitch and the sister. It's probably the smartest thing to do, all told.

Except. Except she fuckin' owes him, and Rio hasn't gotten to the top by letting debts go unanswered.

"What?" He asks, giving the t an edge sharp enough to cut.

There's a pause. "What like you didn't hear me, or what like what do I want?"

Rio adjusts a potted bromeliad's alignment on the corner of his desk, running a finger along the edge of one of the tall, spikey leaves. Mick had dropped it on his desk one day with no fanfare, only snide commentary about Rio needing to take a vacation, and maybe this'll get him thinkin' 'bout it.

The annoying part is, it's not like the disrespectful fucker's wrong. Rio knows damn well he's let himself get far too twisted up in Elizabeth's bullshit. Offerin' to deal with her problems, lettin' her get away with all kinds of amateur hour bullshit like bringing her fuckin' kids on drops. He never should've let her strong-arm him into cuttin' her in. It's not like she's the first person to try, should've dealt with her like he would anyone else, string her up and don't give her the option to not tell him where his shit is.

Hell, further back than that, he never should've followed her into that motherfuckin' bathroom. Should've kept it business, should've never found out how soft those miles of pale skin really are, how far that delicate pink flush can spread, how unexpectedly dark and rich she tastes.

Disgusted with himself, he shoves up out of his chair, pacing around the tiny, concrete floors of the control room currently serving as his office in long, loping strides.

He should take a week. Tie things up, take Marcus to Disneyland, or some shit. Get some fuckin' distance. Perspective.

"Hello?"

Now the sister sounds like she's getting annoyed, and Rio's really gotta do somethin' about the two of them runnin' 'round actin' like he's someone they can get away with not takin' seriously. Like he's some sort of pet. Defanged. Declawed. Fuckin' neutered.

"Get to the point."

"I mean, I kind of did in the message."

Rio can hear some kind of groan or somethin' from the background. Probably the friend. She was the only one of the three of them who ever seemed to really get what kind of waters they were swimming in. How deep they were and what kind of monsters lurked beneath the surface.

"Yeah, that ain't really how we do things."

"I know, I...look—" He has to yank the phone away from his ear when she sighs, loud as shit, right into it. "Something...I mean, um. I know Beth quit, but, uh…"

He tunes her out, the way she's going, she'll be stutterin' her way around to her point about a half an hour from now.

She wants a fuckin' favor, a hookup. They always do. Not just these bitches but everyone. Once you're at the top, all people want is a piece; it's only a matter of whether or not they're gonna beg for it or try to take it. Every now and then, they try to earn it.

It’s one of the things he'd liked best about Elizabeth from the jump. Yeah, sure, she was arrogant as shit, struttin' 'round in those heels like she understood the rules the world played by. Like she could twist anything and everything' round her pretty little fingers and get away with whatever the fuck she wanted as long as she batted those big, blue eyes just right.

But she was willin' to work for it. She might’ve expected to be awarded a piece just because she worked hard and that was the fair exchange for her effort. And isn’t that a trip? The idea of livin’ in a world where fair meant somethin’. Still, that didn’t mean she wasn’t gonna get down in the dirt and scrap for it.

Her problem is—well, one of 'em, he doesn't even have enough warehouses to house 'em all—she looked out at her tidy little garden and thought that was the dirt. She didn't want to accept there's a whole other subterranean playing field underneath all of that.

He'd seen it though, the thing with teeth and claws she had locked up inside her. It'd come out in flashes and splinters, peaking through the bars of the cage she kept it in, eyes flashing, tail lashing, and he couldn't help it, the urge to see what would happen if he pulled its tail. Let it loose.

Rio stops pacing, coming to a halt in front of one of the huge paneled windows in the exterior wall of his office, leaning up against the edge and looking out. The panes are dingy, giving his view of the Michigan winter sky a bleak, barren cast. Not that it needed any more of one. This warehouse sits on the edge of a train yard, the miles of rust and concrete below reaching out towards the horizon. All grey and dirty red, broken up by the occasional patch of strangled grass or vibrant streaks of neon tags left behind to defiantly mark the artists’ passing.

"...I guess what I'm saying is, you know, you still have options in this, um, market. If you catch my drift. I'm hoping that we can figure a way to continue this mutually beneficial arrangement…"

The sister's still going, so he ticks through his options.

He'd have preferred Elizabeth came crawling back all on her own. That'd be ideal. He hadn't decided yet if he'd initially shut her out, make her work for reentry, and then make her pay, or go straight to the main event. It would've depended on the circumstances, what was most advantageous at the time. All good plans are flexible. He’s learned the hard way to always take contingencies into account.

She would've, though. Come crawling back. It was only a matter of time. She's had a taste now, she'd let herself go just enough, she wasn’t gonna be able to pack herself back away in that soul-sucking suburban box of a house, of a life. Not for long.

Beyond that, there was the money. She might've thought she had enough, but four kids, three mortgages, and a moron with a talent for squandering every last thing he's given? That's a lot of financial upkeep.

'Sides, even if she thought she was in the black, he was still keepin' tabs on all of them—it wasn't even personal, just good business, they were too new, too green, too unpredictable to go without the extra surveillance—and he knew that wasn’t the case across the board. Elizabeth might've been in an okay spot for now, but the sister and the friend sure as shit were not, and if there's one way to get Elizabeth to jump, it's come through her people.

And on the off chance that all of that failed to come to fruition—always a possibility, she's stubborn as shit and not above gettin' into some kind of dumbass, fucked up mess to keep from backin' down—he's got his little landfill insurance policy tucked away on ice if he ever needs to really force her hand.

"So, what do you say?" The sister‘s finally run out of steam.

Rio runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip and tucks it in his cheek.

Now that he’s really thinkin’ about it, this might actually be a better option than any of the ones already on the table. There's no way the sister and the friend are gonna pull some shit all the way off, not on their own. He knows how to read a room, it’s been the thing that’s kept him alive more than once, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt, the two of them aren’t half as effective on their own. They don't have Elizabeth's steely determination, her gift for spinning bullshit into gold. Not only that but there’s too much friction there. They need Elizabeth to grease their wheels. He can toss 'em some piddly shit that don't matter and let 'em get tangled up. Give 'em enough rope and all of that.

And hey, it's not like he came after her—them. If anything, he's tryin' to help. He’s givin’ them the same opportunity to earn some money, build their own side hustle. He's practically the good guy here.

The thought makes him laugh, this time like it's actually funny.

"Okay, well, thanks for that. You know, you don't have to be rude. I just thought—"

"Park. 2 pm."

"What? Oh! Seriously? Okay, great. Wow, that is...phew. That is a load off, you don't even kno—"

Rio cuts her off, locking his phone and tucking it back in his pocket, then tapping his fist against the window.

Three seagulls are down in the warehouse parking lot fighting over scraps of something. Even all the way up here, he can hear 'em cawing, screamin', tearin' into each other for the same piece of the pie. After a minute, one of ‘em rips whatever it is away from the other two, swallows it and takes off. The others follow a beat behind, and he watches the three of ‘em fly directly overhead until the building obscure his view.

Either Elizabeth'll come to him, or this will give him a new string to tug, somethin' he can use to yank her right back under his thumb. He'll get her right back where he wants her and then he'll— He'll—

Well. He'll just have to see.

#nbc good girls #good girls nbc #beth x rio #brio #brio fic #(kind of anyway)#my fic #wheeeeee i can still do a prompt fill!!!!#apparently the trick is to do them when i'm supposed to be working on something else #anyway back to dean pov #hope this somewhat scratches the itch?#confession i haven't watched 210 in actual ages so i have no idea how canonically accurate this is but i did my best #gg 2x10

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gothpanda · 3 years

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A Little Bit of Attitude Ch. 31: Last Night

WORD COUNT: 6.0k

A/N: I just realized i’m lowkey inspired by That 70s Show. If ya know, ya know!

WARNINGS: angst

TAGS: @madamsixx @emariehorror

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September 1st, 1986

San Francisco, California

Staring up at an unfamiliar white ceiling, laying flat against her back, Sammi stayed silent as she was a guest in this stranger's bed. Sammi rubbed her tired eyes, not caring if her eye makeup was going to smudge, a growing throbbing feeling from them. Sammi's breath tasted like a mixture of drinks staining the tongue. She looked to her left, seeing a snoring man with his face half-covered by the pillow. Sammi felt somewhat embarrassed about not knowing this man's name, not remembering him, even telling her his name. Sammi remembers talking to the man at a bar, accepting all the drinks he gave her, and then agreeing to go home with him but not his name. Sammi gently raised her head from the pillow, looking around the room in search of her clothes. A short blue dress was tossed by the bed's foot, right by Sammi's underwear and bra. Her leather jacket was on a chair in the room, where her heels also were. Carefully, Sammi lifted up the thin duvet that covered her, slipping off the bed to the best of her ability to not wake the man and tiptoeing away. Sammi glanced over behind her, proud when the man remained dead asleep, snoring loudly at random moments.

After miserably playing ninja for 10 minutes, Sammi managed to leave the random apartment without making a sound, sighing out loudly to the breezy air. Sammi swung her purse onto one shoulder, pulling out her pack of Camels as she walked down the stairs. Once reaching the first floor of the outdoor apartment complex, Sammi soon realized she was completely unfamiliar, not recognizing the streets. There was more forest to hide the complex, making Sammi scratch her head for ideas. Even after being here for a few months in a city that was an island, Sammi still managed to get lost.

Nevertheless, Sammi started walking down south with a lit cigarette between her lips and a scowl. The sun was too bright for the hungover girl, mentally complaining about the headache. Stares coming from passing hobos made Sammi uncomfortable, trying to make herself feel small. After wandering for 30 so minutes, a street corner diner came into Sammi's sight, hurrying her pace in hopes to find a payphone to call a cab. The ring from the handbell echoed throughout the almost empty yellow diner, Sammi strutting up to the bar top where her heels were the only other sound. Sitting down, an older waitress in a matching yellow uniform began to hold a glare at Sammi, hand on one hip. Sammi mustered up the best smile she could to the woman, setting her purse down.

"What can I get for you today, Tart?" the waitress asked, remaining her glare at Sammi.

Sammi scrunched her brows. "Tart? What's a tart?"

"Use your brain, sweetheart, or at least what's left of it," the waitress said, beginning to walk away from Sammi to refill coffee for a man two seats down. The man looked over his shoulder at Sammi, not hiding his prominent wandering eyes. Sammi grimaced, zipping up her jacket all the way up.

"I'm not a hooker. Can I just get some coffee, please?" Sammi asked, frowning at the old woman.

"Could've fooled me," the waitress said, placing a mug between them and poured some hot black coffee. Sammi fixed up the coffee to her liking with a frown, blowing on it to not burn herself as she drank the little pick me up. Everything around her felt cold and quiet in this diner, giving Sammi a moment to think, which she avoided doing. She had to admit to herself that right now felt gross to her, never being a person who partook in one-night stands. Sammi racked her brain, trying to remember the man's name, rubbing away any wrinkles on her forehead. Sammi wondered if this was how the guys felt after a random night of partying, having sex with accidental women when they felt like it. Unlike her, though, none of the guys cared if they couldn't remember a girls name for a one night only event. Sammi got lost in her thoughts, beginning to wonder what Motley was up to now but knew she had to think about herself. Sammi soon eyed the payphone on the diner's far corner, remembering she needed to get home. A clock on one of the walls read 11:30 am, traffic beginning to make its way. Sammi glanced at the sullen waitress, frowning down at a row of mugs, she wiped clean.

"Um, excuse me, would you happen to have a number for a cab company?" Sammi asked the waitress. When the waitress kept her side-eye at Sammi, she didn't bother uttering words, only pulling out a thin pamphlet of different phone numbers from behind the counter. The waitress tossed it over, giving her back quickly to everyone. "Thanks…" Sammi mumbled, sliding off the barstool, reading down the list as she made her way to the payphone. She soon began praying for some spare change tossed in her clutch.

"Hey, you better pay for your coffee!" the waitress yelled out, slamming a clean mug hard on the counter.

"I'm not leaving yet!" Sammi yelled out, adding a quarter into the coin slot, punching in the first cab on the list. "Bitch," Sammi mumbled as she shut her eyes, resting her head against the wall. Sammi desperately wanted to go home after this long night turned into morning. The only problem was home was five hours away down south.

The cab came to a soft stop in front of Sammi's apartment building, Sammi's tired head resting against the window as she peeked out of it. Sammi was thankful for the cab ride after realizing she found herself all the way to South Berkley, knowing public transits would get her most lost. Sammi paid for the cab fare with a smile that took quiet the energy to muster up. The cab driver didn't care to say a thank you or give a smile back, only waiting to speed off as Sammi got out to continue his day. Sammi kept her head down low from the sun, disheveled hair covering the sides of her face as headed to the building door.

"Sammi!" a familiar voice yelled out of nowhere, Sammi halting in the middle of the building stoop. Sammi timidly looked to her right with a confusing twitch, eyes growing wide when two recognizable faces inched their way closer. Vince and Skylar. "Well, good morning to you!" Vince said, carrying Skylar on one hip, a backpack on his back. His dopey smile was bright for the time of day, Vince staying at the bottom step. Sammi couldn't believe the sight in front of her, frozen with a growing smile pressed on her lips. Little Skylar smiled at Sammi, showing straight away to everyone who she inherited from. Sammi slowly stepped down the short stairs to not trip over herself, staring dead in Vince's eyes with shock and joy. Vince only smirked, pleased with Sammi's reaction to his surprise.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Sammi asked.

"I told you we'd visit you. I'm just holding up to my promise," Vince answered back, kissing Sammi on the cheek in a way to greet her. "Wanna say hi, Skylar?"

"Ie," Skylar somewhat said, trying her best to wave to Sammi. This only made Sammi smile greatly at Skylar, holding onto her little hand like a handshake.

"Hi, Skylar! I've missed you," Sammi said in a sweet voice, Skylar keeping the smile her father gave her. "So why exactly are you here? Besides seeing my face so early in the day," Sammi asked Vince.

"I got Skylar for a couple of days longer, and it's boring down in L.A so I thought, why not have a little vacation," Vince said, shrugging a shoulder. "Looks like you're already having fun," Vince mentioned, looking down at Sammi attire. Sammi's cheeks grew hot, crossing her arms against her chest in a form to cover up.

"I'm always happy to see a familiar face up here. Let's get upstairs. My feet are killing me," Sammi said, turning back up onto the stoop, pulling out her key from the clutch purse. Vince followed suit, surprised at how bland Sammi's apartment building was compared to back home once inside. Everything could be compared to a shoebox, even the elevator being tiny for the two of them. But Vince kept to himself, bouncing Skylar on his hip to not have her fall asleep. From the short walk through the hallway to apartment number 321, Vince carefully put Skylar down, taking in the interior of Sammi's new place. It still screamed Sammi, seeing how hard she tried to make the apartment look like L.A. Splashes of color in some areas like the throw pillows on the black sofa, and everything kept straight in its rightful place. Photos of everyone on the tv stand. Vince was noticing the group photos of Motley and Sammi. He was almost surprised Sammi decided to frame those.

"So in no way am I judging, but were you just coming back from somebody's place?" Vince asked with a smirk as he pulled out a toy for Skylar to play with, sitting on the sofa.

Sammi rolled her eyes with burning cheeks, offering a Pepsi for Vince as she drank water. "Please do not tell Tommy when you get back. The last thing I need from him is giving me the third degree. I'm supposed to be an angel," Sammi said, sitting next to Vince with a far distance.

"Hey, everyone gets to have fun in a new city. I promise I won't tell him anything," Vince says, making a cross on his chest.

"How is everything in L.A anyway? It feels like every time I call someone, it's only for a minute," Sammi asked, messing with the fringe of a pillow.

"In more detail, everything is boring in terms of partying. Tommy and Nikki pretty much have to entertain themselves now. Mick is okay, I guess. We go out altogether as a band, and that's it,"

"Oh, you poor souls," Sammi teased with a smile.

Vince chuckled. "We're going to start recording a new album in January, but I doubt that," Vince mumbles in the last of his words, staring down at Skylar.

"Why? Is everything okay with Elektra?" Sammi asked, scrunching her eyebrows.

"It's not Elektra. It's freaking Nikki," Vince said, frowning.

"What's going on with Nikki?" Sammi asked, beginning to worry even if she tried not to. Vince only looked at Sammi for a moment before speaking.

"I haven't talked to Nikki at all, but I do know he's hiding in his house, having drug parties. Which means I doubt he's writing anything. Which means there'll barely be anything by the time we have to record. And even if Nikki does pull something out of his ass, I'm sure it'll suck," Vince said with malice.

"Vince, be nice to Nikki. He's still your bandmate. If you think Nikki isn't going to write in time for the album, which he does have time for, then talk to him," Sammi advised.

"Why'd you gotta take his side for everything?" Vince asked, frowning at her.

"I'm not on his side," Sammi muttered.

"Yeah, you are! Why else would you say be 'nice' to Nikki?"

Sammi rolled her eyes. "Just because I say be nice doesn't mean I'm on anyone's side. I'm only giving you advice for you not to deal with dumb B.S. It's also your ass that's in Motley. How about you give a shit about your band?" Sammi asked, scowling towards Vince.

Vince sighed out, pulling his ear lobe. "Alright, you're right. I'm sorry,"

"Thank you!"

"Why do you always have to be right about stuff?"

"Because I'm the only one that actually uses my brain from the four of you," Sammi teased, making Vince rolled his eyes playfully. "Now, were you planning on just visiting, or did you have an idea of going somewhere?" Sammi asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Do you want to go to the aquarium? I think Sky's old enough to react to the animals," Vince asked, with a small smile.

"I'd love to. I promise I won't take long getting ready," Sammi said, jumping up from the sofa. "Oh, and help yourself to whatever's in my kitchen," Sammi added before disappearing into her bedroom. Vince only kept his smile on Sammi when she left him and Skylar alone, sighing out as he sat on the floor next to his daughter. Vince couldn't help but feel joy from the idea of a small calm day with Sammi, just like old times.

"I forgot how cute you look with your glasses," Vince said to Sammi, opening the car door for her. Sammi only smiled and slid in the front passenger seat, trying to play down Vince's obvious flirtation. For a Monday afternoon, San Francisco felt lively and calm compared to the other days of up and down the chaos. A developing hangover didn't paralyze Sammi surprisingly, getting a chance to enjoy the city for what it was for what felt like the first time. Sammi had had the habit of only leaving her apartment for school or food. The aquarium was nearly empty as kids were already back in school, letting Skylar roam freely around like a princess. Vince loved Skylar's fascinations with the sea creatures; her mouth opens in wonder the entire time. When the three reached a grand display window that covered every inch of the wall, making the room a dark blue, Skylar couldn't help but sit right on the floor to stare in awe. Vince almost reached down to pick Skylar up, but Sammi beat him by sitting next to Skylar and prompted her right in her lap.

"Sky, look at that fish over there," Sammi softly said in Skylar's ear, pointing out to a colorful fish with a long-finned tail. Vince only smiled down at the two girls, wishing he had a camera for this sweet moment to freeze in time. "Not gonna join us, Dad?" Sammi asked Vince, shrugging his shoulders and joining them on the floor. "This was a good idea, Vince. It's cute seeing Skylar look shocked at everything,"

"Yeah, I get them every now and then, especially for this little girl," Vince said, rubbing a knuckle against Skylar's cheek.

"Did you tell Sharise you were coming up here?" Sammi asked.

"Yeah," Vince shortly answered. Sammi scrunched her eyebrows at him.

"Are you lying to sound nice, or did you really not tell her about leaving?"

"I told her I was taking Sky out of L.A., I just didn't mention coming to see you,"

"Vince!"

"What? I didn't want her yelling at me for coming to see you. That's my business. And if I want to bring Skylar along, I can do that. I am her dad,"

"Yes, but come on, dude, I would want to know where the hell my child was going every second and who would be around her. Especially if the father of my child was going to go see an ex-girlfriend,"

"Sharise goes out to visit ex-boyfriends, so I don't see the big deal. Also, she knows you and knows Skylar likes you. You're not a stranger to anybody,"

"Have you ever thought she might not like that? Even if I'm not a total stranger,"

"What do you mean?"

"All of a sudden, her daughter likes someone new right away that happens to be an ex. You don't think that's pouring salt right on the wound? I'm just trying to tell you what a woman could be thinking,"

"And thank you for that, but Sharise and I are fine talking only about how happy Skylar is. I'm sure Sharise doesn't mind a responsible person being around our daughter at all,"

Sammi shrugged her shoulders, turning back to the aquarium, seeing clownfish swim near the glass. "I guess," Sammi mumbled, keeping a hold onto Skylar.

Vince glanced over at Sammi, seeing the worry on her face, sighing out. "I'll tell her when we get back home. We're leaving tomorrow afternoon anyway,"

"Good. Let's keep moving than before Skylar gets bored. I know I already am," Sammi said, shifting Skylar in Vince's lap to stand up before taking the toddler in her arms.

"You're okay carrying her?" Vince asked, standing up as they continued down the designated path the aquarium set up.

"Why wouldn't I be? She's a good arm workout," Sammi teased, lifting Skylar up and down gently like a dumbbell, earning a laugh from the baby and Vince. Vince enjoyed the day more and more, feeling confident enough to rest an arm around Sammi's shoulders. Vince and Sammi looked like young parents with a beautiful growing toddler in Sammi's arms in the eyes of a few passing strangers. No one recognizing Vince made the feeling of blending in again reachable to Sammi and Vince. The 'little family' continued to roam the paths around the ginormous aquarium, finding calm sharks on one side and smaller octopus on another side until walking to the outdoor seal and sea lion sanctuary.

"Man to be like that seal, getting a tan on a rock, enjoying life," Vince said as Sammi switched Skylar to his arms.

"Vince, you already do that every time you go down to the beach," Sammi teased, leaning over the railing to see a school of seals hiding from the sun in the water.

"Not all the time, I go to the beach. I also drink and try my best to surf!"

"You trying to surfer and failing will forever be a highlight to our beach dates,"

"Good to know you still remember them," Vince said, winking at Sammi. Sammi only looked away from the man, shaking her head as she continued walking around the area, Vince and Skylar following behind.

"I still remember us being in a relationship, Vince. It's not like I completely erased everything the moment we broke up," Sammi said over her shoulder, a cold feeling trailing down her body. She wished it was so easy to erase memories of past happiness. Sammi came to a far halt from Vince, turning on her heels to hear Skylar begin to cry, heading right next to Vince. Vince tried to calm Skylar the best he could, bouncing her on his hip gently, Sammi gently shushing in Skylar's ear as an attempt as well. "Hey, can you see what time it is?" Vince asked Sammi, looking out into the distance where the sun was beginning to set. Sammi glanced down at the thin silver watch on her wrist, seeing 5:30.

"I think it's time to call it a day. It's already getting late," Sammi said, showing Vince the time on her watch. "Where's your hotel?"

"Oh, hotels aren't for a family man," Vince said with a smile as Sammi raised an eyebrow. "Come on, let's get some food. I'm buying,"

"Okay?" Sammi said with scrunched eyebrows, following Vince through the path to leave the aquarium. "Where are we going now?"

"Just trust me!"

Vince drove out into downtown Oakland on the San Francisco Bay area's east side, parking in front of a rustic apartment building. Sammi didn't say a word the whole time, only helping Skylar out of her car seat with her bag. From the first few steps of entering Vince's apartment, Sammi couldn't help but become envious of the warmth she could feel compared to her little 'home.' A spacious two-bedroom that was almost entirely exposed brick walls. Vince was able to have the luxury of renting an apartment like this, Sammi imagining how much regular rent would cost for a place like this. "How about you order us some Chinese, Sam. I'll take care of the little princess," Vince said, grabbing a grumpy Skylar from Sammi's arms. Sammi followed, ordering takeout like back in Redondo Beach, remembering Vince's usual order as hers. It didn't take long for the two to finally eat, Vince opening a bottle of wine to pass the time. Sammi sat right across from Vince on the dark oak dining table for four, pouring out a small amount of shrimp fried rice from the container. Vince ate straight out of the container, chewing on a piece of orange chicken, watching Skylar try her hardest not to make a mess as she ate chopped bananas for dessert.

"You really just thought of everything, haven't you?" Sammi asked, happily looking at Vince, sipping on red wine.

"Listen, I thought if I'm going to take my child on her first Daddy Daughter vacation, it had to be planned greatly. Besides, hotels just remind me of being on tour, and I don't like that right now,"

"You don't miss the feeling of touring?"

"Depends. Sometimes I do if it's been a long time, but I prefer being home most of the time. Or at least with family,"

"That's understandable," Sammi said, taking a spoon full of rice.

"I haven't asked you yet, but you haven't spoken to Nikki, have you?" Vince asked out of the blue, catching Sammi off guard. She looked at Vince, then down at her food, as she swallowed.

Sammi shook, scratching the side of her head. "No, I haven't. I haven't spoken to him since the wedding," It wasn't a complete lie. Vince nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Sammi finished what was left of the red wine, debating to pour another glass.

"It's for the best then. Like I said, he only cares about hiding away in his castle. He has new friends. I see them around him sometimes,"

"That's not completely true, Vince. Nikki cares deep inside his tiny little heart," Sammi mumbled, eyes gazing down at the table.

"You're so sure about that? Then why hasn't he asked about you?" Vince asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sammi stared at Vince, the heart began to beat fast, shrugging. "Nikki knows I'm gone, right?"

"Yeah, he does. He's known for some time now,"

"Then you're just lying to me. Nikki has to at least have asked Tommy about me. I'm sure if I call him right now, he'll say yes,"

"I'm sorry to break it to you, Sammi, but he hasn't asked about you to anyone," Vince said with a little smile. Sammi sucked the front of her teeth, looking past Vince into the kitchen.

"You know I'm going, to be honest, I still have no idea when you're lying or not," Sammi said with a repressed smile.

"I don't need to lie, Sam. Do you really want Nikki to be calling you when you're focusing on yourself? Drunk dialing randomly?"

Sammi frowned, blinking away anything from her eyes. Vince could tell the sadness was there. "No… I guess not,"

"Good. Because there's something I've meant to tell you,"

"What is it?"

"Nikki also moved on with another girl," Vince said with a shrug.

"How do you know?" Sammi asked, her frown turning soft.

"I see them around when they come out of hiding,"

Sammi didn't say anything else, only rising from her seat to head straight for the cabinets in search of something vital. "Do you have tequila in this place?" Sammi asked, hands on her hips to face Vince.

"The first cabinet to your right is where all the other booze is. Wanna have a little party?" Vince asked, smirking. Sammi pulled out the only bottle of silver tequila in the crowd of alcohol, screwing off the cap to take one straight shot, turning into two. Vince only kept his smirk on his lips, eyes turning lustful on Sammi as he finished the rest of his glass of wine. Sammi offered the bottle to Vince, the man taking it and taking a small sip due to Skylar looking right at him with big eyes. "Okay, little princess, it's time to go to bed," Vince said to Skylar, pulling her out of the high chair and taking her to what was her room for the night. Sammi could already feel a buzz coming on, strutting over to the table to grab the bottle, heading right for the grey sectional sofa. She dropped herself onto the piece of furniture, taking another big gulp of tequila. Vince returned fast, thanking God Skylar went out like a light when he put her to bed, sitting right down next to Sammi. He placed an arm right behind Sammi, taking the bottle from her for another shot.

"Fucking asshole," Sammi slurred, eyes closed with her head resting on the sofa frame.

"You're right, he is. Open up," Vince said, pouring tequila straight down Sammi's throat. "You don't need that in your life," Vince said, fingers lightly caressing Sammi's bare arm.

"Exactly! I'm doing great out here! I'm moving on! I need to worry about me!" Sammi said, not noticing the more vivid touches from Vince. "If he got a girlfriend, then good for him!" Sammi didn't believe anything of what she was saying.

"You are doing great out here, way better than him," Vince said, cradling Sammi into his side, her hair tickling his cheek. He could smell the scent of Sammi's favorite perfume on her neck. This tempted him to a greater power. To Vince, everything was set in stone for him, looking like the perfect man right now. Vince lowered his lips down to the nape of Sammi's neck, lightly kissing in the spot he knew she loved. Sammi pulled away, lips parted as she stared at Vince for a moment. Instead of what Vince thought might be rejection, Sammi leaned in, crashing their lips together for the first time again. Vince immediately reacted, cradling his hand on the back of Sammi's head, bringing them closer together. Sammi clung onto Vince, the tequila making everything feel fast even when not. Tongues were beginning to slip past each other. Vince pulled away; his breath was almost taken away. "Let's go to the bedroom," Vince said, swiftly catching Sammi into a bridal carry. She only giggled along, attacking Vince's neck as he walked down the hallway, soon placed gently in the middle of the king-sized bed. Sammi brought Vince back down, kissing him deeply with a sense of passion. Vince took his time with his wandering hands, lifting up Sammi's shirt and caressing her thighs through her denim jeans. The two didn't need to speak, remembering everything like it was and getting lost in the feelings once again for this one night.

September 2nd

Sammi snapped open her eyes, her breath caught in her throat as if she was having a nightmare. Everything around her was almost pitch black, the window only giving in a bit of light from the outdoor streetlights. Sammi frowned to herself, realizing she was naked under the blankets, slowly resting up on her elbow. She blinked to wake up with the worse blurry vision, reaching out to feel for the nightstand as if it were her standard room, hoping to get her glasses. It didn't take long for Sammi to find her pair of glasses, putting them on to see a dark place that belonged to someone else. Fuck Sammi thought, staring out the window through the blinds. Her buzz from earlier had gone away; grateful to not feel the after-effects of alcohol again, Sammi sitting up, covering herself as she looked at the clock radio. It was 1 in the morning. Soon a soft snoring sound caused Sammi to look over her bare shoulder, finding Vince naked under the thin blanket, hair covering his face. Sammi bit her lip to not make a sound, lifting the covers and quietly tiptoeing out of bed. Her clothes weren't far from the bed, almost all in one pile for Sammi to quickly change into. The entire time, Sammi looked over at Vince, praying he wouldn't wake up suddenly. Vince didn't move an inch, dead asleep while Sammi faintly slipped out of the bedroom. She paced down in soft steps to the front of the apartment, grabbing her sneakers that were tossed next to the sofa. Sammi looked around for a piece of paper, debating to leave a note for when Vince woke to not worry him. Unfortunately, while napkins were scattered on the table, there was no pen in sight for Sammi. She let out a quiet sigh as she grabbed her purse, tiptoeing in socks to the door, and with quick stealth left. Sammi thought how she didn't want to do this again, cursing at herself while slipping on her shoes. Tossing her disheveled hair to one side, Sammi sped down the hall to the 3 flights of stairs, running right out of the rustic apartment building, gasping for fresh air. The city was still wide awake, taxis passing not far, Sammi lifting her arm to catch one's attention.

"Good evening, little lady. Where are we off to?" the man asked over his shoulder, slowly driving off.

"To the middle of San Francisco," Sammi muttered, head resting against the window.

"Good thing I know every part of this bay area," the man said, raising the volume of the radio a bit to an American Top 40 station. Sammi shut her eyes, wanting the tired feeling to go away.

Yawning out in an empty classroom, Sammi rubbed her tired eyes to stay awake, dark circles forming from two nights of inadequate sleep. Sammi looked forward to a morning class to soon become a dread, the professor lecturing as expected, but nothing was sticking to the young girl. It took two cups of coffee from the library for Sammi to wake up and understand what was written in her notebook. Sammi rubbed her temple as she wrote down the chapter spoken in her lecture, different definitions from a Pharmaceutics textbook, thankful for only having one class today. Sammi looked over to a clock on the wall as she drank a bottle of water, wondering if Skylar had woken Vince up for breakfast. Sammi shook her head, letting out a heavy sigh, dropping her head on the lab table. She felt exhausted to the degree that wasn't due to heavy workload; to was the exhaustion of being overwhelmed by others. Sammi thought being alone in a city would help, but clearly, it wasn't the case. When she lifted her head up, Sammi's eye fell on a familiar man standing in the open doorway, staring at her. He walked right up with a nonchalant smirk, proudly standing right in front of Sammi. It wasn't until he got closer did Sammi fully remember his face.

"Hey," the man said, fixing the straps of his backpack. "I didn't know you went to school here. I guess we never spoke much about school the other night," Sammi showed a tight-lipped smile at the man, nodding as she fidgeted with a pencil between her fingers. "Damn, your notes are impressive. I never would've thought you were a scholar type. How are you doing?"

Sammi scrunched her brows at the man. "Okay, I'm sorry, I can't fake it. I do not remember your name at all,"

"But you do remember me, right?" the man asked.

"Yeah. You're the guys whose apartment I snuck out of in the morning. I didn't think I would run into you at all after that," Sammi said with a shrug and a polite smile.

"It's okay. I already came to that conclusion way beforehand. I'm David," said David

"Oh well, great. I'm glad we both knew it was just a one night stand. Nothing else,"

"Of course, it's pretty clear as day with someone like you, Samantha," David said, shoving his hand in his jean pockets.

Sammi scrunched her brows together up at David. "I'm sorry? Someone like me?"

"Oh, come on, Samantha, don't play dumb. Your brother's Tommy Lee! A rockstar who always slept around with randoms. I figured it has to run in the family, and clearly, it does," David said with a smirk.

Sammi curled her lip, rising up from her seat, folding in her arms against her chest. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"Oh, did I hit a soft spot? I'm only pointing out the facts that you're just as easy as your brother. Why do you think I kept buying you drinks?" David asks. Sammi didn't say a word, only scuffing at the imbecile in front of her and rolling her eyes, getting an idea. Instead of shouting at David for being a rude person, Sammi carelessly grabbed her water bottle and took a big gulp of water, holding it in her cheeks. She leaned over the desk a bit, inching closer as Sammi spit all of the water right in David's face. David immediately reacted, pushing Sammi away from him, almost stumbling on his feet as he wiped away the water from his eyes. Sammi tripped back down to the chair, glaring right up at the man.

"Fuck you, asshole!" Sammi shouted.

"I'm an asshole? You're the bitch who just spat in my face!" David yelled, drying his face with his shirt.

"Only because you just called my brother and I sluts!"

"It's the truth! How the hell did you even get into this school?"

"Because I'm smart and mind my business, unlike you. Now fuck off before I pour this whole water on your head!" Sammi ordered, standing up again. David didn't say another word, storming out of the classroom, almost being able to see smoke come out of his ears. Sammi shook her head, nostrils flaring with anger, slamming her book shut. She shoved all of her belongings angrily into her satchel, storming out in the opposite direction of David. Sammi didn't care about studying today, only wanting to go back to sleep in her own bed.

After a nap and a long relaxing bath, Sammi strolled over to the answering machine with green tea in a warm mug, remembering about the blinking red light when she got home. She knew it was something that could pile up if she let it. Sammi pressed play, sitting down on the loveseat as she blew on the drink before taking a sip.

"Hola Sammi! It's Em, just wanted to let you know, it's been a full two weeks of living with Sabrina, and we haven't killed each other! Maybe we can live together in harmony. Call me back. Love you. Miss you." Sammi giggled along at Emma's voicemail, happy to hear her voice again.

"Hi Sam, it's your sister that you need to call back because I'm bored and mama is worried. Please call her at least! Bye, love you," Sammi rolled her eyes, making a mental note to call her parents and Athena. Maybe even Tommy while she's at it.

"Hey Sam, I know you were probably in a hurry to leave this morning. Just wanted to say it was great seeing you. Hopefully, you come down to L.A soon. Skylar says bye-" Sammi deleted the message fast, waiting for the last one.

"Hi, Princess," Nikki slurred. Sammi froze in her place, eyes darting to the answering machine. "I know it's been a while. I'm sorry about that. Tommy just gave me your new phone number, in your new apartment, in a new city," Sammi could hear in Nikki's words; he had been crying, his voice sounding broken and rough. "I just wanted to call and let you know... Nona passed away a while back in the summer. I know she loved you," Sammi almost dropped her mug right from under her hand, warm tea staining the carpet. Sammi quickly felt the tears creep in her eyes, thinking of Nikki's grandmother. Gone.

"I'm sorry I'm high right now, but I just needed to call you. I want you… I miss you. Please-" Sammi let out a shaky breath, tears blurring her vision. She took off her glasses, placing them next to the mug on the coffee table, tears cascading down her face. Nikki's feelings couldn't leave Sammi's mind, even after a night that shouldn't have happened. She wanted to call back. She tried her hardest to call back but knowing Nikki was still high stopped her. If what Vince said was even a quarter of the truth, Sammi couldn't handle it. Sammi curled onto her side on the loveseat, weeping out a sob, almost as the ones she let out when she couldn't say goodbye to Nikki.

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write-place-write-time · 5 years

Text

Found It

[ Can be read as a sequel/companion to "Lost It", or as a standalone ]

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

“Bit busy, mate.”

“Baker Street. Come at once.”

“Sherlock, I’m trying to -- No, Rosie, no biting! -- change Miss Nibs here--”

“Bring her along. I need you both.”

“For what?!”

Click.

John Watson pulled the mobile away from his ear with a resigned glare. Young Rosie babbled and grabbed at it, wriggling herself out of the 18 month frock he’d just wrestled her into. John turned his glare to his daughter, who giggled at him unashamedly.

“Between you and your godfather, nudity is trending at an all time high,” he grumbled, though there was no heat in it.

****

Upon arriving at 221b, the Watsons were met with a perturbed Mrs. Hudson, dashing out the door with her brolly and handbag.

“That boy is a menace, I tell you,” she said in between cooing at Rosie. “Got himself all aflutter and refuses to tell me why.”

John frowned at that. “Aflutter? Is he…?”

“He’s clean, of course, but he’s also cleaning. Sherlock Holmes, cleaning the flat!” She tutted, striding off towards a cab. “Good luck, you two!”

John and Rosie shared a look, making their way in and up to the flat.

The faint scent of lemon cleaner and fresh sugar biscuits wafted down the stairs as the Watsons entered their home away from home. The flat was clean. No sign of newspapers, weaponry, abandoned teacups, nor assorted baby-care items strewn about the space. Any paraphernalia of Rosie’s was organized in a designated area that John was impressed to find both conveniently out of the way and visible from all angles of the living room.

The yellow chair from the corner was positioned across from his, angled in companionship with Sherlock’s own. There was a soft, cherry red afghan that John had never seen before draped over the back. The mirror above the mantle was clear of any chemical residue or hand-swipes (from clearing off residue to use the mirror for its intended function); even Billy the skull looked especially clean, as though the teeth had been brushed. The bison skull was free of dust, and the headphones had been replaced by a -- “Flower crown?”

“John, Rosamund, hello!”

John turned from the baffling sight of the bison and its floral corona to where Sherlock’s voice had sounded behind him in the kitchen, and his jaw dropped.

The consulting detective stood barefoot in jeans -- jeans -- a button-up white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, purple dish-washing gloves, and a flour-powdered green tartan pinny. John gaped, trying to gather and understand the sight before him.

“Lock!” Rosie squirmed until her confused father set her down.

“Yes, hello, Rosie,” Sherlock grinned down at her, shucking his garish gloves and tucking them in the pinafore pocket before reaching out to assist the toddler in her steps toward him. “Your father’s gone quite fish-faced, hasn’t he?”

“And your godfather has gone domestic,” John shot back, fighting a grin. “What’s all this then? Have you finally had one-too-many nicotine patches? Therapist electro-shock you?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he scooped the girl up and brushed a kiss to her chubby cheek. “Shut up, you’re late.”

“Yes well, little Nudist Nancy refused to cooperate with her wardrobe. What’s the urgent business then?”

“I want to have sex with Molly Hooper.”

John sputtered, “Oi! Tiny ears, Sherlock!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but his retort was cut off by John’s second sputter of, “Why the hell do you think Rosie -- a toddler, mind you -- and I would be able to help you with that?”

Sherlock maintained his same passive look, but the creeping pink tinge on his ears gave John insight to his friend’s nerves. “Well, seeing as you have experience -- three continents, was it? -- and the proof of said experience is currently chewing my apron strings, who else would I call upon for aid in such a matter?”

John blinked. “Irene Adler. Your mum. Mycro--”

“Please don’t mention my brother in this context lest I subject myself to eternal celibacy,” Sherlock grimaced. “The Woman is not a wise decision, as it would be ‘not good’ to consult a lesbian dominatrix in love with me about intimacy with another woman. Mummy is right out. She explained the whole ordeal when I was twelve and made Father blush so hard I think he still looks sunburnt. No, it has to be you, John Watson.”

He grinned and made his way back to the kitchen, setting Rosie in her high chair with a freshly baked and cooled biscuit that she immediately set her eight new teeth into. John followed, still baffled.

“Does Molly know you want to… y’know?”

Sherlock shot him an annoyed look.

“Fine,” John capitulated. “Does Molly know you wanna get off with her?”

Those ears grew pinker as Sherlock busied himself with washing the baking materials like a normal adult human. “I don’t suppose how she’d know. She hasn’t asked.”

“She hasn’t asked? Christ, Sherlock. You two have been dating though, right? Coffee two weeks ago, dinner at Angelo’s last Friday?”

“Yes.”

“Did you by any chance, oh I dunno, kiss her goodnight?”

Ears were now pink to the bottom of their lobes. “Last date, yes.”

John grinned behind his friend’s back, snagging a cooling biscuit. “Did you snog?”

Huffing, Sherlock turned. “What’s the difference?”

Through his biscuit, John said, “Kissing is just kissing. Snogging is a bit more involved.”

Sherlock made a face and crossed his arms. “Juvenile.”

“Which means it wasn’t a snog, then?”

Sherlock shrugged. “It was satisfactory.”

“Oooh, ‘Dear Penthouse Forum’--”

“Oh shut up, John.” Sherlock dropped into one of the kitchen chairs, in a full pout-soon-to-be-sulk as he face-planted into the tabletop.. “It’s pointless and you are deplorably unhelpful.”

Daughter of deplorably unhelpful friend reached out with her tiny hand and patted her godfather’s curly head. “Lock! Okay?”

John sighed and sat opposite Sherlock. “Look, I’m taking the mick. You’re not the sexual deviant Janine crowed about in the tabloids, and you’re not the unwitting virgin that Mycroft and Moriarty claimed you to be.” He paused. “Are you?”

Sherlock’s answer was spoken low and into the tabletop. “No. The Woman once in Karachi. Janine… sort of.”

John blinked, fought off a triumphant I-knew-it grin, and cleared his throat. “Right, well, sex with Molly is a different beast, though. Molly Hooper is a friend. She’s your pathologist. You did say the L-word to her two months ago.”

Sherlock hummed, Rosie still petting his head.

“She’s not like Janine -- you actually want Molly. She’s not Irene -- you trust Molly.”

Sherlock mumbled something.

“What?”

Sherlock’s head popped up. “With my life, my body, my very soul if such a thing should exist. She matters most. She counts.”

John’s lips quirked up in the corner. “Yeah. And then Sherrinford…”

“I am quite wholly aware that I love Molly Hooper, John. It’s why I want this to go further. It’ll-it’ll mean something. For the first time.”

“Have you told her since then?”

The brief silence was answer enough. John nodded. “Well then that’s it.”

“Hmm?”

“You need to find it.”

“It?”

“Your courage,” John smiled softly. “You admitted you loved her under extreme, traumatic duress. Not ideal. But it is what it is. And what it is is terrifying.”

Sherlock held his gaze, not quite understanding.

“Look mate, Mary…” his voice caught on his wife’s name, his eyes sliding to their daughter who was peering at Sherlock in a very uncanny Mary-like way. “Mary said it first. She knew I loved her by our third month anniversary. She beat me to the punch, and what I never expected was the fear in her eyes right before she said it.”

“Fear?” Sherlock frowned. “Out of the two of you, Mary’s penchant for fear was far less likely than yours, army training notwithstanding.”

“Right. But Mary was like you, and affairs of the heart affect psychopathic geniuses differently than us poor mortals.” John fixed him with a knowing grin. “Mary was afraid of rejection, as anyone would be. But she did it anyway, like she always did.”

At this, Rosie slammed her little hands down on the table, demanding both men’s attention. “Mawee!” she crowed, proud to know her mother’s name.

They chuckled at her, Sherlock kissing her pudgy hand. “So I need to just… to just say it?”

“Well, don’t spring it on her like a booby trap or pop out of a cake with it,” John advised. “But yeah. Boiled down to its bare essentials, she’ll either return the sentiment and snog you silly, or she won’t.”

His friend blanched. “And if it’s the latter?” he whispered.

John smiles sadly. “Then you’ll at least know, and can begin to move on. But Sherlock?”

“Mm?”

He reached over, and in his awkward way, patted Sherlock’s hand. “It won’t be the latter.”

The men shared a look that only brother-in-arms and former flatmates would understand.

The look was was broken by Rosie clapping her hands and giggling madly. John tickled her belly. “Yes, all right, Miss Nibs, let’s treat ‘Lock to some chips.” He looked to Sherlock, who smiled gratefully. “This kind of battle needs a well-fed soldier.”

****

🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵🎵

Sherlock was playing his violin when Molly arrived that night, a soft melody she had yet to hear. Possibly a new piece for his sister? He looked up as she came into the flat and dropped her bag and scarf on the coffee table. Hmm, she thought, the entire flat is spotless. He definitely wants to impress tonight.

“Hullo, Molly.”

She smiled at him. “Hi.”

He nodded to her yellow chair, still playing that light, tender song. She slid out of her flats and curled up into the chair, her oversized jumper pulled over her bent knees. As she settled in, she looked over the detective. He was so casually dressed, jeans and a white button up with sleeves rolled up, feet bare and warmed by the small fire in the hearth. Molly hugged herself, happy to see him so relaxed. He’d been through a lot since Sherrinford and their phone call. She too was still coming back to life from the ordeal and the knowledge of what happened on that horrible island and at Musgrave Hall. A particularly sweet note rang out, and she watched him feel it. Oh but she loved him. Doomed to, it seemed. Well, doomed might’ve been harsh -- destined sounded better.

The song ended as her ruminations did; she clapped quietly, smiling at him. He gave a small bow and set his violin aside, turning and gazing at her intently.

“Did you want me to order a takeaway?” she asked, curling her toes as he held that same searching gaze. “Maybe Chinese? My treat.”

“I love you.”

Molly froze. “Well, er, you got our cheque at Angelo’s, so this one is on me--”

“Molly Hooper.”

She stopped rambling, tears pricking at her eyes. “Sh-Sherlock Holmes.”

He came to kneel before her chair, his eyes still on hers. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

She didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Sherlock’s hands, warm and sure, gently grasped hers. His pulse beat erratically under his skin, she could feel it match hers. Her heart was screaming, her mind refusing to remember the last time she’d heard him say it. When it’d been torn from him by his sister and her own pride. She simply stared at him, let his confession wash over her and through her like a sea breeze after a storm.

Sherlock slowly let her hands go, and he stood gingerly. John’s voice, so sure that Molly would requite Sherlock’s affection, taunted him in his mind. He cleared his throat, a curious and unfortunately familiar lump forming, and made for the kitchen, scrounging for the takeaway menus.

“Chinese, yes?” he called back to the quiet pathologist, his mouth working fast to fill the silence and not panic. "I’ll get it ordered. With rain imminent, it’s best to order now. You’re probably craving that house lo mein you like -- always are when you’ve worked in the lab, can’t figure out why though it isn’t exactly a mystery, probably just a chemical reaction to the, well, chemicals you’re working with that have you ravenous and craving sodium and carbohydrates and various proteins--”

He stopped abruptly at the feel of her small hand on his. He looked up and Molly’s cheeks were damp, tears slowly spilling down, but her eyes were kind, dark, and calm.

“I love you,” she said simply. “I love you, Sherlock.”

She came up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, taking advantage of his relieved shock to -- as John Watson had predicted -- snog him silly.

****

The takeaway was never ordered, but the fresh-baked biscuits were consumed heartily.

The imminent rain arrived.

The tidy flat remained so, save for the shed clothing upon the bedroom floor of a consulting detective and his pathologist.

#sherlolly #sherlock holmes #molly hooper #john watson #rosie watson #mrs. hudson

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vincess-princess · 4 years

Text

ex malo bonum

behold, the dumpsterfire of a fic i’ve been obsessing over for the last week.

Fandom: Motley Crue Characters, pairings: demon!Nikki Sixx, demon!Tommy Lee, demon!Mick Mars, fallen angel!Vince Neil, Nikki/Vince, elements of Tommy/Vince and hints of Nikki/Tommy Rating: Explicit Warnings (please pay attention!!!): violence, non-con, drug use mention, alcohol mention, self-harm tendencies, suicide attempts, murder Summary: Vince thought he knew where fallen angels go and what they become. But he never expected to go through something like that. A/N: I’m not religious at all and my entire knowledge of Christian canon comes from Jesus Christ Superstar and Bulgakov’s Master and Margarita. I was making up lore on the go and I dare assume almost all of it is completely wrong. If you’re offended by this, please don’t proceed!

As always, huge thanks to @polska-tankietka for editing this, love ya!

Chapter 1.

Word count: 2677

Warnings (for this particular chapter): violence, suicide attempts mention, alcohol mention, drug use mention

“Did it hurt?”

“What?” Vince blinked and looked up from his shot of whiskey. He was already on his fifth, but was only slightly tipsy (must have something to do with the quick regeneration thing). The shitty bar where he was drinking himself into oblivion was dimly lit, and he had to squint to make out the face of a stranger standing behind his shoulder. The stranger’s voice was pleasant, but there was something… unsettling in it. Off-putting. Hostile.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” he repeated smugly. His hand crawled onto Vince’s shoulder and clutched it. A hot, blinding spike of something that felt like electric shock went down Vince’s spine, and everything became so clear he wondered how in the world he hadn’t seen it coming. In his defense, they were faster than he thought.

“It did,” Vince raised his head and looked the demon straight in the eyes, curving his lips in disgust. “A lot.”

The first was a car, a truck going down a busy highway with a very convenient pedestrian bridge over it. Vince figured out the right moment and jumped, his white Heaven robes flapping like wings behind his back. When he woke up they were no longer white, but a dark red, the color he would have assumed to be his blood if he had found a single injury on his body. But there hadn’t been any.

He had to change his clothes after that, partly escaping humans too curious for their own good, partly no longer wanting to be reminded of what he had had and what he had lost.

“Drowning your sorrows in whisky, huh?” The demon pulled up a chair and plopped down on it, his hand sliding from Vince’s shoulder down onto his arm and staying there, grazing over the skin with his claws occasionally, oh so carefully. Vince didn’t pull his arm away from the grip, although every fiber of his being protested to the touch. He could reach that one pocket of his jacket with another hand just as easily. “If I were you, I would celebrate.”

“You aren’t me,” Vince retorted indifferently, turning away from the demon and focusing on his almost empty glass.

“Not yet, sweetie.” The demon grasped Vince’s chin with his fingers and turned his head back to face him. Vince shook his fingers off his chin with clear revulsion. “What a pretty thing you are. You know that? Have you already come across the human concept of beauty?”

“No,” Vince said listlessly. He couldn’t care less about the small talk, but the demon’s intentions still weren’t clear to him and asking directly felt weirdly untimely.

“You will,” the demon promised, moving closer to Vince, almost breathing into his ear, and Vince couldn’t help casting a quick look over him. Despite the lack of light, the demon’s eyes looked unnaturally green. “They’re completely obsessed over it. Starving themselves to death, wasting their entire salaries on beauty products, painting their faces until they are unrecognizable, squeezing their bodies into uncomfortable clothes. It’s so much fun. How did you manage to get such a good-looking body, though? All the angels I met looked like middle-aged accountants at best. Heaven is really obsessed over its employees’ purity.”

“Random distribution,” Vince murmured and downed his shot. The demon waved to the barista and showed him two fingers. A few moments later two shots of whisky were sent their way.

The second time, it was the height. Vince stood atop a twenty-story building and looked down at the busy street beneath, and everything was so little and insignificant. He didn’t have his wings anymore, but he could feel the rapture of flying one more time.

Vince woke up in the hole on the pavement the shape of which resembled that of his body. He had only a few scratches and not a single bone broken. He kept touching those scratches for the next hour until they healed.

Last time there were no injuries. Progress.

“I’m paying, baby.” The demon pulled a wallet out of the pocket of his leather jacket and slid two dollar-bills the barista’s way. “Enjoy your downfall. Did you already get the concept of money? Those humans turned pieces of metal and paper into their literal gods. They’re ready to die for it. How many of them, you think, are ready to die for an actual God, like real Jesus Christ, nowadays?”

His name out of the mouth of this despicable creature was like a string snapping in Vince’s chest, badly cutting his insides. “Don’t you dare speak His name,” he hissed, jerking his arm away from the demon’s grasp and moving his chair farther down the bar counter. If his gaze could kill, the demon’s body would already have been sprawled on the floor under the counter.

“Or what?” the demon stretched out his hand and wrapped his fingers around Vince’s elbow again, dragging him back in place. The chair legs gritted across the floor loudly, and Vince felt like all the eyes in the bar were on them now. The demon’s claws, painted in chipped black nail polish, were digging deep into his skin, but this time Vince didn’t try to wrestle away from his grip. This creature isn’t worthy of your anger, he reminded himself. “You’ll tell him and he’ll punish me? Funny. He no longer needs you, honey. That’s why he got rid of you. Threw you out like a toy he got fed up with.”

“Shut up,” Vince bit his lip and looked away. Every word slashed his soul like a sword, leaving deep, bleeding, unhealable cuts. “Stop that. Just-“ too early, a warning flashed across his mind, but he shook it off. The demon was clearly mocking him, and Vince wasn’t going to put up with that. “just tell me what you want from me.”

The third time, there were drugs. He tried regular pills from the pharmacy first - he heard they can cause death when consumed in excessive amounts. He woke up in the public toilet of some fast-food restaurant, in the puddle of his own vomit, with people banging on the door and shouting. Then there were other drugs, which people buy not in clean, white pharmacies with smiling women in doctor’s robes, but in dark alleys and night clubs. People didn’t want to give it to Vince without money, and he could no longer use any of his previous powers, so getting them was one hell of a job. All of which was in vain, because Vince only got a short and sharp sting of pleasure across his body before descending into darkness, and then woke up, this time in a hospital, surrounded by dumbfounded doctors.

“Nothing much,” the demon smiled sweetly and almost gently tucked a stray golden lock behind Vince’s ear. The demon’s own hair was pitch-black and wild, framing the sides of his face and falling onto his forehead, but still not managing to hide the uncanny gleam in his eyes. “You’re a pretty little thing, and I like pretty little things. Let’s hook up, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Hook up?” Vince frowned, and the demon laughed sincerely.

“Sweet innocence. Don’t worry, you’ll learn. It won’t take long. You’ll enjoy it. It’s one of the things humans do all the time, to have fun or kids or both, or aiming for one and getting the other.”

Vince gave him a long, hard look, for the first time this evening. He foresaw that – well, not exactly that, but something of a kind – and the blade dipped in holy water was now warming in the pocket of his jacket, reacting to the demonic presence. Killing a demon was hard and usually disapproved of by the authorities – the privilege of killing belonged only to high-ranked angels, ones who could withstand the temptation of sin inevitably coming with it. It was even harder for a fallen angel devoid of the Lord’s blessing. But it was possible.

His human vessel was shorter and weaker than that of the demon. But he had the blade. He had the advantage.

“Checking me out, huh?” The demon traced his fingertips along Vince’s jawline. Vince didn’t flinch back. “I gotta say, I am extremely lucky with my current vessel. It gets me all the chicks.”

“My human form is male.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re pretty, you qualify. Blond too. Love blonds.” The demon grinned, his teeth slightly sharper than human’s, a little bit too many of them. Devil is in the details, Vince recalled.

“Why don’t you get any other human then? Why me?”

“Honey, what demon wouldn’t want to bang a freshly fallen angel? It’s not every day that we have visitors from up there. You reek of Heaven, blondie. There’s still a lot of it in you. I wanna know how it feels.”

The demon licked his lips, eyeing Vince up as though he wanted to eat him whole. Vince shuddered but didn’t look away. He wasn’t afraid of him, after all.

“Sweetheart, I’m not gonna wait for you to come to terms with it. Don’t test my patience.”

“What if I refuse?” Vince carefully moved the untouched shot away, barely brushing the glass with the tip of a finger. The demon didn’t comment on it, but his gaze lingered on the rejected whisky a little longer than necessary.

“Then there will be a very loud and unpleasant scene that will surely feature in every newspaper by the end of the day. I feel like you still don’t fully understand,” the demon leaned closer to Vince and almost whispered in his ear, “I will get you anyway. You can only choose how, by force or by your own will.”

Vince closed his eyes, suppressing the urge to grip the handle of the blade through the jacket. He knew, of course, that demons couldn’t be trusted with a conversation, let alone an agreement. He shouldn’t have answered him in the first place. On the other hand, in this case. the demon wouldn’t have left him alone and would have forced him to answer. He couldn’t get rid of him with God’s power – he was no longer able to use it, neither could he deal with him with the help of simple, brutal force. Because he, as any angel, was against violence in general, not because the demon was half a head taller than him and had claws and sharp teeth.

Maybe it was better to just submit. Maybe the demon would be too distracted during this “hook-up”, whatever he was going to do to him, and wouldn’t notice Vince pulling out the blade. Maybe.

Submit and just let him do whatever he wants? something whispered quietly to him inside his head, something the invisible presence of which Vince could feel but only now got to hear. So you would let the forces of evil run amok because you’re not supposed to beat them?

Yes, Vince cut the something off and turned to the demon.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “It won’t take long, will it?”

“It will take as much as I need, angel, and by the end you will beg for more,” the demon promised complacently and pulled him up from the chair. “Come on. My car is in the parking lot.”

“Isn’t that kinda… uncomfortable?” Vince raised his eyebrow, for a second actually trying to imagine two whole people trying to find enough room on the backseat.

The demon burst into laughter, but the grip on Vince’s arm remained tight. “That’s the point, baby! Quick and dirty, exactly what you angels deserve. Come on.” He headed to the door, dragging Vince along.

Once they were outside, Vince lingered a little to inhale crisp, fresh night air - most of the Earth smells were still new to him, and some of them were quite pleasant. The demon interpreted it differently.

“Nervous? Don’t worry, all virgins are. You at least will probably be the first fallen angel to get rid of his virginity so quickly. Some never even get to experience it.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re ugly as hell, haven’t you heard me? I’m telling you,” he turned to Vince and poked him in the chest, “I’m telling you, this vessel is gonna be your best asset on this Earth. Everyone likes beautiful people. It’ll make your life down here easier. Actor, singer, model, hooker – choose whatever you want. Oh, here’s my car.” The demon pointed at a black, relatively small car in the farthest slot of the parking lot. “Seems small, but I can assure you, it fits our needs perfectly.”

“Your needs.”

“Eh, stop playing Virgin Mary. Mary Magdalene had a much better time before Jesus showed up. The girl was going places.” The demon grinned at the sight of indignation on Vince’s face. They approached the car, but instead of opening the door the demon backed Vince up against it, grabbed his collar and pulled him into a sloppy kiss.

Vince didn’t get to know what it felt like. A belt wrapped around his throat and yanked his body backward, hitting his back against the car roof and pinning him down to it. Vince’s hands flew up to the belt, scratching on it in a fruitless attempt to loosen it, but the assaulter was strong, stronger than him. And a demon as well, because the mere touch of his hands sent another spike of hot, buzzing electricity down Vince’s spine.

“Hold him!” The demon who brought him here tried to grab his wrists, got a kick in the stomach and had to take a second to drag himself off the ground. The second time he tried to grab him Vince was prepared.

The demon gasped and recoiled, his hands jerking up to his chest where the blade was now buried, barely audible sizzling coming out from the wound. The one behind Vince’s back almost rushed to help him, loosening his grip, but was stopped by a fierce glare of then-green eyes, now a solid black. Instead, he grabbed a fistful of Vince’s hair and banged his head on the car roof so hard it dented - the head or the roof, Vince didn’t really understand, because the world blurred in front of his eyes.

The next thing he remembered was lying on the cold pavement, hot blood dripping onto his eyes. A stray lock was hanging in front of his face, all smeared in blood as well. His hands were tied by the same belt that had been wrapped around his neck. Two demons stood above him, both black-haired and tall, their eyes now pitch-black, both radiating rage so intense it heated up the air around them.

“Fucking bitch,” the one from the bar spit out. “Who do you think you are to use this?” he raised the blade carefully by the handle. It was still covered in his blood, which oozed slowly from the cut in his chest and stained his shirt. Apart from that, it didn’t seem to cause much harm. “You’re no longer the warrior of God, blondie. You’re the same as us now. Wanna see?”

He kicked Vince in the side to roll him onto his back and then drove the blade right into his shoulder. Vince thought he knew what it would feel like: he had tried cutting himself before.

He didn’t expect it to burn, the same way it did in the demon’s flesh.

The demons didn’t even let him scream out his pain. They put something sticky on his mouth and threw him onto the backseat. The new, taller one, whose face Vince hadn’t managed to make out, got behind the wheel, and the green-eyed one sat at the back with Vince, his hand gripping his arm firmly, claws digging into his skin and leaving deep red marks.

Vince didn’t notice the pain. Tears streamed down his face silently while he was frantically, desperately searching for that connection he had always had deep inside his soul, the connection to Him.

He searched, and searched, and found nothing.

#motley crue fanfiction #vince neil #nikki sixx #supernatural au #angel/demon au #ex malo bonum #motley crue slash fanfiction #tommy lee #(an honorable mention)#tw: alcohol #tw: drugs #tw: suicide attempt #tw: violence #please stay safe babes!#damn this fic just went and took over my life and i'm so for it #haven't written dark stuff in a while and damn did i miss it #vince is gonna suffer a lot #sorry baby :(#i still love you #my last updates got not so many notes and considering the number of warnings on this one there will probably be none #but please if you read it let me know if you liked it #this fic is important to me on some whole different level than wilwif #not that wilwif is not important: it is and just as much #just......they're so completely different #yes i will go back to wilwif once i finish this if anyone cares #i just need to get this one out of my system #anyway im shutting up #also will post it on ao3 #AH SHIT I FORGOT #tw: dubcon

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fckdiosmio · 5 years

Text

If I die tomorrow ✧ {Douglas!Nikki Sixx x Reader}

SUMMARY ✧ a oneshot of this request by anon – “ heyooo! so for the motley cruwu thing can you do a Douglas!Nikki Sixx imagine with the part of the movie were nik has the overdose and reader is at home and sees this on tv and start to freak out thinking that he's ded (maybe they're in a complicated relationship or she didn't confess to him yet?) so she runs to his home and find him alive and then maybe some angst / fluff with them confessing their love for each other pretty pleeeeeeeeeeease”

NOTE ✧ Feedbacks are always welcome! Anyway, requests are ALWAYS open, meet me in my ask box! I already want to apologize because English is not my birth language and I use Tumblr and imagines to improve it, so I’m not immune to grammar errors and if I commit them and you want to warn me, there’s no problem, I’m always learning and your help is very welcome.

WORDS ✧ 1.4k + words

WARNINGS ✧ angst, cursing, fluff, drugs mentioning

______________________________________________________________

You didn’t know you were going this far when you started working with Mötley Crüe. They needed someone creative enough to work with the scenario of their shows and then you showed up: you came with all the lights, all the fire, all of those fake rocks that Tommy used to play with, even his drum cage, you two idealized it together. You were together with them always since then, every venue needed a different scenario planning, and suddenly you became dependent on all this joy of being touring with a band. You needed them, all the afternoons that you spent with the boys around a table planning ideas for the decoration of the stage, all the nights after the shows that you got drunk with them because you were their favorite staff... and you needed that smile. That fucking smile.

Nikki Sixx. It started so completely odd. First, when you were not so intimate with the band members, you just used to walk around the venue of the night with comfy and wide clothes that always ended up dirty with something like paint or dust because you were commanding your crew with the scenario composition. Your hair was always a mess and you didn’t wear makeup since you always dirty yourself too. You were confident with yourself and didn’t need that to feel pretty, but Nikki was always on your back joking about the fact that you were always messy.

“Come on, Nikki. Just because I’m not like one of your groupies? Fuck off.” you used to play with him, but you liked when he used to smile and then touch your back like a friendly sign. You tried to hide the disappointment of not looking like the kind of girl he liked even if you denied being attracted to him. But he tried to hide his attraction for you too when you became closer with the band and started to attend their parties and, then, being well dressed like the gorgeous woman you were. You noticed his look changing for you, and you noticed that you were falling for his smile, his fucking hair, his perfect jawline... but you became good friends.

Nothing more than fucking close and intimate friends.

You two almost kissed one time. You were so fucking drunk that you gave up on pretending that you enjoyed being just the best friend, but Nikki stopped you from kissing him, placing one of his hands on your face and smiling sadly while talked “I respect you. I fucking respect you, (y/n). It’s not fair to treat you like one of the sluts that I get involved. Fuck. Sorry.”. He looked like Mick speaking like that. You just pretended that you didn’t remember being kicked for being too good(?), and Nikki tried to hide that he only did that because he cared so much for you to run the risk of hurting you for a one night stand.

Well, this didn’t matter anymore right now. Just because you were feeling like your heart was exploding, and, throwing a chair through your window, you screamed in despair. Things kept running on your tv while you refused to look at the image of Nikki getting into an ambulance: “Nikki Sixx, bassist of the band Mötley Crüe was found dead due to a heroin overdose.” you could hear the journalist's voice. You could hear, but not believe. The glass was all over your room now, and your telephone was ringing, but you couldn’t think straight now. Nikki was dead. The fucking love of your life was dead. You were never going to see his smile again, or his fucking messy hair, or going to hear his acid jokes. You tried to stop him on heroin, but you found out too late.

You reached to his home keys on your purse. You had a copy of it since you needed to take a drunk and stoned Nikki to his house a couple of times. He didn’t have a family, he wouldn't have anyone to claim his poor body. He would like to use his favorite clothes one last time... you just needed to justify your urge of going to his house and feel his smell once again. You ran to your car and went right to his home even if you couldn’t see anything in front of you because of the tears that were falling all over your face. You screamed a couple of curses and missed a lot of traffic lights while you thought of him sad and alone. How could you lose him?

You went through his front door incredibly fast just to find his home the way it always has been: messy, but still full of Nikki’s personality. You let out more tears escape from your eyes while you walked through his room caressing his pieces of furniture and things that you knew he loved so much. It was just so painful... you loved him. And it was like he was still alive. You sighed before entering his bedroom, but couldn’t stop crying before feeling his perfume smell all over the place. It was so dark and painful in there. Your heart was broken. You were fucking broken. You opened his messy wardrobe just to reach his favorite t-shirt. You picked it up from the coat hanger and hugged it like you were hugging him. You couldn’t stop crying while you smelled his sweet perfume from the piece of cloth.

“So... do I smell good?” You heard a soft voice behind you and you screamed before letting the shirt fall from your hands. You turned around just to see Nikki right in front of you and you screamed again, he smiling softly while leaning against the doorframe.

“SHIT! Nikki! What the fuck? Are you fucking alive? Nikki?” You screamed in shock while you tried to convince yourself that it was not a ghost that stood right in front of you. Nikki was thin, pale, with his hair completely messy, and it was a huge and dark purple mark on his chest. He breathed while looking down and laughing.

“Calm down, I’m not dead.” He stopped laughing when he realized that you were really scared. You were still crying and frozen on the same place, so Nikki took a few steps on your direction and touched your shoulders “(Y/N), I’m not dead.”

“How? I--” You were confused and couldn’t stop crying, this time just because of you were trying to figure out what was happening. Minutes ago you were feeling like half of your heart died and now Nikki was there again. Full alive. “I thought I had lost you, Nikki. I really thought I...”

“You didn’t, I’m right here.” He looked right into your eyes while raised one hand to dry your tears with his thumb. He caressed your cheek gently while smiled softly looking at you. “My heart stopped. My heart fucking stopped, but they brought me back with adrenaline.” He continued after you were silent begging for an explanation.

“What I felt... I don’t want to feel this never more.” You placed your hand over his on your face. “It felt like part of me died. I can’t... I can’t even imagine living in a world without you.” It was so peaceful to be able to look at his perfect face once again. You studied all of his details, and then lowered your hand to the purple mark on his chest, caressing softly the spot.

“The funniest about that...” Nikki whispered while looking at what you were doing “is that I thought of you before completely black out.” He seemed completely confused about feeling these types of things about a girl... especially you. But he was feeling. Since a long time ago. “I’m so sorry, (y/n).”

“I just... realized that there is no me without you.” You whispered, looking at his eyes once again. He was alive. You couldn’t lose him anymore. You were not going to do the same mistake once again. This time you weren’t going to hide secrets. “You’re alive. You’re alive and damn I love you so much.” You looked at him nervously before Nikki let out a short laugh and put his forehead on yours.

“I love you too.” He said before pressing his lips on yours. You suddenly passed your arms over his warm body while Nikki’s tongue danced through your mouth and made your heart beat so hard it almost exploded. It was different for him, different from all the girls that he made out in his life. You were his and he was yours, from heart and soul.

“Don’t leave me anymore, Nikki.” You said before hugging him. He hugged you tight against his chest, his hand running through your hair while Nikki rested his chin in your head, closing his eyes.

“I’m never going to, angel.”

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tommynikkivincemick · 5 years

Text

three way call — part 3

Summary: Tommy Lee and Nikki Sixx find themselves in the frustrating predicament of being infatuated with the same woman. This calls for a competition.

Author’s note: Y/N is a whole mess in this part, so sorry in advance. She gets a little too cozy with both of the boys. Lotta angst in this chapter, lotta fluff, lotta alcohol.

Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, no smut but sensual moments, messy drama.

Y/N leaned her head back and closed her eyes momentarily as the Twins bickered about something in the kitchen— they always acted like an old married couple, but something had been going on between them as of late that she just couldn’t figure out. It was obviously important, seeing as they nearly killed each other over it, and it seemed to be top secret because for the first time in a long time, they lied to her. She knew damn well that they weren’t being extra sweet to her out of the goodness of their hearts (though she did like it and would prefer if the affection didn’t stop) and she knew that they didn’t get in that big of a fight just because Tommy was talking shit; Tommy was always talking shit and if that’s all it took to get the living hell beat out of him, he would have been dead by now. But she knew they wouldn’t tell her— after all, you couldn’t make the Twins do anything they didn’t want to do.

“Man, what the hell has been going on around here? Is there something in the water? You guys have been acting so weird lately,” Y/N thought out loud.

“What ever do you mean?” Mick asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Tommy and Nikki constantly fighting, you and Vince being extra quiet around me; and that’s a feat because Vince never shuts up. You guys are just being... weird,” She shrugged.

“Oh, kid, if only you knew,” The guitarist chuckled, shaking his head.

“If she knew, she’d kill them for having this big plan and kill us for keeping their secret!” Vince laughed.

Y/N was floored. Since when did the guys keep secrets from her? Was she spinning off into an alternate dimension?

“What plan? What secret? Y’all are killing me!” She cried, pleading for answers.

“Can’t tell you; bros before hoes. If we told you, I’m more scared of what Sixx and Tom would do to us than what you’d do to us,” Vince said, hiding this big secret behind a wide grin.

“But she might be flattered— we haven’t considered that,” Mick commented.

She couldn’t stand this anymore. She couldn’t take the rhythm section fighting like cats and dogs and she couldn’t take the rest of the band talking in circles. Around her, anyway, Tommy acted the most normal, so she figured she’d just spend some time with him until the dust settled in the apartment.

“Tommy!” She yelled into the kitchen.

“Yeah?”

“Mama needs a drink. Let’s go,” she invited, putting on her shoes and grabbing her purse.

Tommy followed, grabbing his wallet and closing the door behind them with a wink to the other men. He followed her to her car and got in the passenger seat, moving it back and reclining it to accommodate his long legs. He loved this car— it was a perfect 1966 Ford Mustang, black with white leather seats. He loved even more the woman who drove it, especially right now in the summer sun, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her chest from the heat and the lack of air conditioning in the apartment and the hot air currently blowing from the vents in the car. He loved her tight daisy duke shorts and her red tube top and matching mule heels; he loved her big feathered hair that made it look like she was still stuck in the 70s and her glossy red lips and big curves of winged eyeliner. She was the most beautiful girl in the world.

“So what’s the problem, babe? You look stressed,” Tommy asked as she reversed out of her parking spot.

“You guys are just... ugh. I’m tired of the fighting and being sneaky. Mick and Vin keep talking in circles around me and Nikki’s being really sweet— which is nice, it’s just a little weird for him. You’re the only one acting normal with me but around Nikki you two have been fighting constantly for the past couple of days. What the fuck is going on with you guys?” Y/N ranted.

“It’s complicated. Guy stuff. Nothing we would wanna burden you with,” Tommy answered shortly.

It broke the drummer’s heart to have to keep secrets from her; he trusted her with his life and liked to think she thought the same. But in his mind, this competition was necessary to prove that she loved him more than Nikki. He was tired of seeing the bassist’s hungry eyes whenever he looked at her in one of her form fitting outfits like she had on today; and of seeing him slip his hand in her back pocket whenever she leaned against him at a party; and of him having her sit on his lap. She did those things with Tommy, too, but he wished it was only him. After a while of being lost in thought, she pulled the car up to the Rainbow, grabbed her bag, and got out of the car. He followed suit and held open the door of the building for her and took a seat next to her at the bar. She ordered a drink comprised mostly of vodka and he ordered just a beer for himself. It took a few hours and many drinks later for Y/N to be leaning against Tommy, spilling her soul on the bar.

“I just— I love you ‘n Nikki so much, y’know? Y’all are my favorite people, you’re both so han’some and s’ sweet ‘n funny... I’d fuckin’ wife both y’all up, put a ring on it,” She slurred, “Where’s a phone? I wanna call Nikki ‘n tell him to come to the bar. Need both of my bitches here.”

Tommy laughed and helped peel her off of the seat of the booth they had moved to and carry her to the phone booth.

“Tommy... Tommy, dial Nikki’s number, I can’t read right now.”

Tommy smirked and dialed the number, handing her the phone.

“Mötley residence, Vince speaking,” The singer greeted.

“Gimme Nikki!” She yelled into the receiver.

“Fuck, okay. How many drinks have you had?” She could bear the smirk in Vince’s voice.

“Vince. Nikki. Now,” She demanded.

“Alright, alright,” Vince laughed and yelled into the apartment, “NIKKI! PHONE!”

“WHO IS IT?” Nikki yelled back, his voice muted in the background.

“Y/N! SHE SOUNDS HAMMERED, SHE WANTS TO TALK TO YOU!”

“FINE!” In a few moments, Nikki was handed the phone, “Mötley residence, Nikki speaking.”

“Nikki, my love!” Y/N slurred excitedly.

Tommy pretended it didn’t feel like a knife to the chest to hear her call him her love.

“Yes, beautiful, what’cha need?” Nikki chuckled, smiling at the term of endearment.

“I need youuuuu—” She drawled, “— to get your ass over to the Rainbow! I want both my bitches!”

“Who’s the other bitch?”

“Tommy, obviously. The loves of my life!” She grinned, leaning against the younger Twin with most of her weight, “Tom-Tom, talk to Sixx, tell him to come over.”

Tommy took the phone and grunted as he shifted both his and her weight.

“Hey, Sixx,” He greeted.

“How’s the kid doing? Aren’t you taking care of her?” Nikki smirked.

“She’s trashed, but she tries to fight me every time I try to tell her no more. Besides that, she’s in a real loved up mood, wants both of us here. I think we’re gonna get a VIP room, we’re tired of being around the general public, so just grab a bottle and meet us back there when you get here,” Tommy explained to the best of his ability, himself slurring just a little bit, “You got some catching up to do, dude.”

Nikki rolled his eyes.

“I’ll be there in a minute, don’t get in too much trouble without me,” The bassist said, “Later T-Bone.”

“Later, Sixx.”

“BYE, NIKKI! I’LL SEE YOU IN A MINUTE!” Y/N yelled into the phone before Tommy hung it up.

“Alright, hot mess, come on, steady as she goes,” Tommy instructed, trying to guide her to a VIP room.

“Carry me. Don’t wanna walk no more,” She groaned.

“Fine, but you ain’t gonna like it,” Tommy shrugged and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

She groaned like she was sea sick, hooking her fingers through his belt loops for stability. He patted her ass, which was currently bent over his shoulder.

“You’re lucky you’re so pretty,” He sighed before letting her down onto the sofa in the VIP room, “I’m gonna go get us a couple of bottles, what do you want besides water?”

“Mmm... Rum. And I don’t need water, I’m not a little bitch,” She slurred, laying down on the sofa.

“I’m not letting you drink anymore until you get down a couple glasses of water. I’ll be back, you sit tight,” He said, turning to make a trip to the bar.

“Wait! Come here,” She drawled, drawing him near with a ‘come hither’ motion of her finger.

He did and knelt beside her. She took his face in her hands and pulled him closer, kissing him slowly and deeply. His eyes went wide before closing— he was officially ahead of Nikki in the game, and god she was a good kisser, even when she was wasted. She tasted like hard liquor, which he didn’t mind, and the strawberry lip gloss she layered on top of her lipstick. Heavenly.

“Now hurry back, ‘kay?” She grinned dumbly up at him.

He gulped and nodded, hurrying out of the room; the faster he got their drinks, the faster he could return to her. Y/N heard him exchange greetings with another man outside of the room before the door opened again to reveal Tommy’s partner in crime, Nikki.

“Nikki!” She squealed happily, “Come here, I missed you!”

He smiled and joined her on the sofa. It took her a minute, but eventually she pulled herself into his lap and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Mmm, I love you Nikki, so much,” She hummed, pressing soft kisses to his exposed neck, “You and Tommy, my favorite boys, y’all would definitely be my sister wives if it was legal in the state of California.”

“Well, you and Tommy both ought to know how I feel about sharing,” He said lowly, sliding a hand into her back pocket like he always did.

“But I love you both so much!” She pouted, “You’re both so... so good to me, y’know?”

“We both love you, too, sweetheart. But I’m sad to say you can’t have both,” He sighed.

“Not even on my birthday?“ She asked, her soft kisses moving closer to his mouth.

“Maybe on your birthday,” He chuckled, tilting his head to look her in the eyes, “But you want more than that, don’t you?”

She nodded and glanced between his eyes and lips as her breathing grew shallow. He rested a hand on the back of her neck, somewhat as a caring action and somewhat as a show of dominance. He observed her leaning into his touch and her eyes fluttering closed and her lips parting. Fuck it, thought Nikki, and took the plunge, kissing her deeply, with a little more force than Tommy had. She sighed against his lips before he pulled away.

“I can give you that. That something more,” He murmured.

“But Tommy can too,” She whispered, “You’re so different but so... the same. You both have so much to offer, it’s why I love both of you so much.”

Nikki could swear you could hear his heart crack a little more when she said the other Terror Twin’s name, but it was interesting to know that she had the same conflict that they did. He sighed and moved her off of his lap, onto the couch just beside him so she could lean against him.

“You’re drunk, pretty girl. I could never force you to make that decision when you’re like this. But just... keep in mind that you’ve never been truly loved by either of us. As a lover I mean— you haven’t experienced how I love, and you haven’t experienced how Tommy loves. You can’t make an informed decision, you know what I mean?” The older Twin explained.

She nodded and her gaze shifted to the door as it opened. Tommy returned with three bottles and a waitress carrying a pitcher of water behind him, as well as some glasses.

“Thanks so much,” He smiled at the waitress as everything was placed on a table and the girl left.

“Hey, Nik, hows she holding up?” Tommy asked, placing himself on the other side of the girl.

“She’s good,” The bassist said and motioned the drummer closer for a more private conversation, “She kissed me,” He whispered to the other man.

“Yeah, me too. She’s drunk, we can’t hold that against her,” Tommy hissed.

“I feel bad making her choose, man,” Nikki groaned, voice dripping with angst.

“Me too, but she’s gotta,” The younger man shrugged.

“Are you two talking about me?” Y/N piped up.

“No, baby,” Tommy shook his head, pouring a glass of water, “Drink. We gotta sober you up.”

Taglist: @jayprettymuchomw @kayladurin @crazysaladchopshop @iamtiber-andtiberismusic @loveofmyloif @saints-of-the-universe @tommyfuckinlee @oh-well1

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reflectionsofacreator · 4 years

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Get to know me meme

Tagged by: @autumnslance

Favorite colors: generally cool colors, like purples, blues, greens... I think right now it’s a green/blue mix.

Last song listened to: Listening to Sugaan Essena right now, by The Hu. I’m also technically listening to Eden Verse while I farm drops in FFXIV

Favorite song: uH-- fuck. Um. Shit. How about I just. List a couple.

Fractals -- Seven Lions Temperance and Vengance -- Mick Gordon (Killer Instinct OST) BangBangBUR!...n? -- Hiroyuki Sawano (Promare OST) Return to Oblivion / Twice Stricken -- Masayoshi Soken (Final Fantasy XIV OST) Take Me With You -- The Glitch Mob I Just Know (New Immunity Remix) -- Jacob Lee Runaway -- Krewella

Hm.... most of this is ... EDM... or some variation thereof...

Favorite musician/singer: MASAYOSHI SOKEN YOU MADMAN. Also The Glitch Mob -- I pretty much consistently always jam out to their music.

Last film watched: Last I saw in theaters was Rise of Skywalker, which ... i kinda want my money back. I think the last film I watched in general though was ... John Wick? I think?

Favorite TV show watched: Ergh I don’t... really... watch things. Like at all. I could just cop out and say Stargate SG-1 or Stargate Atlantis, but like. That’s something I grew up with, not really a favorite by deliberate choice. I’d say Gurren Lagann, maybe, but hmm. It was The 100 right up until they killed Lexa... that was a couple years ago... Neon Genesis Evangelion was extremely formative for me, but I’m not sure I’d say it was a favorite.

Favorite OC: [nervous laughter] I thought I had this figured out. Uhhh okay so it’s ... kind of a toss up between about four, given my mood.

Karla is my oldest OC, who’s had the most extensive work done. She’s actually about 14 years old now, and the most growth. She’s for an original story that I’ve had bouncing around in my head for just as long. She’s the Soul of a World, given human(ish) form. A lot of her character arcs revolve around her learning to care again, and realize that life is worth living, and that life is worth loving too. She’s quiet, but also sarcastic and funny, and kinda relentless in her kindness. But she also falls under the “good is not soft” category.

Strikefire is Karla’s lover. Originally she didn’t have much depth, as she existed mostly in conjunction to Karla. She was actually killed off a few years before the story starts, and then later it’s revealed that she’s the goddess of Death, simply taken mortal form. Aaaand that’s about as far as I got. It wasn’t until I started Triptych with two of my friends that she really started being fleshed out into a character. Strikey is a woman who is, largely, defined by her grief and loneliness, of losing those she’s cared for, to war or famine or time, and firmly believes that every life has value. She’s this cutsey tiny woman who intentionally puts on facade of being not as invested in what’s going on as she actually is, and she’s also a bit of a troll just for the sake of it.

Aiden is kind of ... my oddest oc? I specifically designed him to be able to fit into any world, any universe, whatever. He’s a danger magnet, generally voluntarily mute, long raven black hair, and bitingly sarcastic. He was an Angel of Silence in the heavens, in service to the god of Silence, but he was cast out of heaven when his lover made him laugh. Ever since then, he’s been cursed to wander the cosmos, constantly reborn. He has a mark on his soul that labels him as an oathbreaker, basically forcing his random encounter rate up to 85%. In universe people don’t like him, generally. Right now I’ve been having a lot of fun sticking him into Assassin’s Creed and seeing how that works out. It’s great.

Helisent is one of my three main ocs for Final Fantasy XIV, and I talk/post about them a lot over at @thecat-inthehat so go give that a look. As for why she’s one of my rotating cast of faves-- she’s like. Just a fun oc to work with, with lore and shipping, and I can comfortably throw her into almost any situation and have it turn out great. She’s a fun loving person, with a care free nature, but also has her own issues to work through. She’s kinda similar to Karla, now that I think about it, but she doesn’t have the cosmic destiny weight behind her, she’s just.. a person.

Sweet, spicy, or savory: Spicy!!! I love spice, and I’m annoyed that where I live now doesn’t have the right kind of spicy. I also like savory, but generally if I have a choice, I’ll go for spice.

Sparkling water, coffee, or tea: Uhhh I drink coffee and tea on the daily. However the tea I drink is iced, sweetened, so I’m not sure if that falls under the category. Of the two, I generally prefer coffee tho. Eyes my triple toffee nut lattes. Basically if it’s cold, iced tea. If it’s hot, coffee.

Pets: This is Mittens! She’s got scar freckles on her nose and eyes, and she’s a Certified Diva. She likes to cause trouble, and she climbs under the covers to lie between my legs every night, and if she can’t, she’ll claw at my blanket until I lift it up. She’s kinda chunky, but I’m working on slimming her down some. Thankfully feeding her wet food seems to help.

whoopsie this got. long. sorry.

I’m supposed to tag 8 people but hhhnnngh do I know 8 people, y’all don’t have to do it at all: @alphacactus @leavingsofthewolf @ivaan-ffxiv @beefbroganoff @yunkinko @589ish @barbariccia @yourdeerestnilion @quartercirclejab

#creator speaks #long post #get to know me meme #posts this in the dead of night and runs

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im-hiding22 · 5 years

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Travelers - 9:15 A.M.

Rascal reached the lobby, coming out from the empty stairwell. He looked around and examined the place. The lobby was a bit small, with dim lights only begin supported by a few generators. There were people set up around the grounds, either with their own personal camps or small, contained services like a mini hospital and food stop. It wasn’t very spectacular-- just a few people laying out towels and cans of food and water, some stretchers and trained Doctors tending to those laying on them, and small families sleeping and sharing a mattress. It was rather hectic, with Oz rallying up those who wanted to evacuate safely, and his voice projected quite loudly in the little area as he called out to them. There was a little crowd of people around him, some carrying small children, some hurriedly sorting through papers, some crying.

“H...hey, do you know where to get drinks around here?” Rascal nervously asked someone in the crowd. They turned and looked a bit disheveled.

“Huh? Yeah, just go to that lady. She gives out food and drinks. There’s also a bar, but you have to pay for those.” The individual was a woman, she looked like a mother.

“Where?” Rascal looked to where she pointed.

“Her, the old lady.” She held his shoulder and turned him to face where she was pointing. “Go ask her.” Oz called out for everyone to follow him, and the lady turned quickly. “Good luck, little boy,” She shouted as she ran to get buried in the crowd. Oz, carrying two small kids on his shoulders, started leading the way out the door. The people followed him and squeezed past the doors. Rascal made his way to the person the woman had directed him to. She was an old lady sitting behind a towel with different foods and drinks laid out before her. She was pouring cold tea into small cups happily, and another man sat nearby, watching her eagerly.

“Hey, uh...do you have drinks here?” Rascal asked, approaching her.

“Well, what do you think I’m serving here?” Her voice was gentle, and she laughed.

“Oh, right. Dumb!” Rascal smacked his own hand and crouched down. The man looked to him with wide eyes. He had bandages wrapped around his hands and some around his head. “Uh...do you think you have some hot chocolate around here? My friends and I...”

“Yes, yes honey. Sit down, I’ll get you some.” She smiled and finished pouring her tea and passed a little cup to the other man. He took it in his hands-- it shook slightly-- and sipped it.

“Thank you,” he said, voice like a single breath.

“It’s no problem.” She took a little thermos from her bag and shook it. “I managed to pack some more festive drinks as well for fall. I also have eggnog, if you’d like.’

“Oh, no thank you.” Rascal held his hands in his lap. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but where do you get all this stuff from?”

“I save up, and I scavenge.” She opened the thermos and sniffed it. “I decided to set up camp here to give to those in need, since I have lots to give. My grandkids are somewhere around here, helping as well.” She took out a little red cup from her bag and began serving. “We know how it feels to be in need, but thankfully we also know how it feels to be helped during those times of need. So, we decide to give back. I have gathered these supplies from around town, around the house, around my grandkids’ houses, around the motel.”

“Oh...that’s really kind of you.” Rascal tilted his head. “Thank you. Do I owe you anything?”

“Nothing at all, my love. Just a smile.” She looked up and smiled. Rascal couldn’t help but muster one for her as well. “I have a little jar of donations if anyone feels inclined to give, however.” She motioned to a small mason jar. There were some coins and dollar bills inside it.

Rascal eyed it and started digging in his pockets for something to give. He checked his jacket pockets and found some loose coins. He donated them to the jar. “Sorry, it’s all I can find on me right now. But I owe you a lot. My friend’s up there having a minor breakdown and I dunno what to do other than give him stuff and hope for the best.” He rubbed his hands. “It’s also pretty cold around here, and hot chocolate sounds real good.”

“Ah, I hear that. Just give him some space and let him know that he is not alone. It is a frightening world out there.” She poured out another cup and slid the first to Rascal. He took it in his hands, it was still warm. He sipped it. It was sweet, and the flavor curled around his tongue and filled his mouth with chocolaty goodness.

“Oh, that’s good.”

“Isn’t it?” She slid the other cup to him and began pouring a third. “Don’t finish it all, now. I can only pour out three of these, that’s your limit. You’d best share with your friends.” Rascal nodded.

“Will do.”

“Your friend, did he go out earlier? He must have seen something terrible.”

“Oh, he kinda...lost a lot of people. It sucks.”

“It takes everything,” said the bandaged man. “It sweeps through towns and takes everything, then leaves like nothing. Like a storm.” He sipped from his tea.

“He’s seen the beast before. Can you believe it?” said the old lady. “Seeing this thing once is enough.”

“Really? Where?” Rascal cocked a brow.

“Up north, in Rockport. I travel around quite a bit, so I’m used to evacuating and such.” He looked down into his tea.

“My friend wrote about that town. It was...in the forest, right?”

“Correct. It tried to wipe out a police force sent to investigate it after it had killed the town’s Doctor. One of them, though...I think he was a Sheriff? His name was Mick...Mick Rotner. He basically sacrificed himself for the team, he held it back while everyone ran. I’m pretty sure he’s dead, they couldn’t find his body.” He bit his lip. “Pretty tragic, huh?”

“Hm...” Rascal thought for a bit, then looked back up to the man. “Everyone else in the police force lived, right?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure it was a squad of Sheriffs, a Vigilante, and a Jailor out there. All lived except Mick.”

“Huh...that’s terrible.” Rascal took a sip of hot cocoa. There was another red cup placed by him now. “Our friend who was killed was a Doctor, too. He was taking notes, he took notes about that town.”

“I’m sorry, man.” The other man took a sip from his tea. “Rumor says there’s no way to get ‘em back via retributionist anymore, either. They say their souls linger in the beast and only add more to its power.” He shook his head. “I dunno if they’re true, but if they are...it’s a terrible fate. I can only imagine how much more powerful it is now than it was back then.”

“How long has this thing been around?”

“Probably a year by now. It’s traveled through Massachusetts and hasn’t been killed yet. It’s terrible.” He took another sip. “I remember when it first popped up, and everyone thought it was a myth, another cryptid. Gosh, I wish it were.”

“The rumors say that it was manmade, by a corrupt Necromancer who wanted nothing more than to see the world burn. One more despicable than an Arsonist or Serial Killer.” The old lady shook her head gently, capping up the thermos. “It’s horrible, what man can do.”

Rascal stayed quiet and sipped his drink. His eyes were a bit wide. The other man studied him curiously before returning focus to his own tea.

“Were you perhaps friends with that fellow passing by here on his own?” The old lady asked, breaking the silence. “He came by with the strangest thing strapped on his chest. It was like a big tea kettle.”

“O-Oh! Yeah, that’s my friend!” Rascal nodded. “I actually came down here for him. I’m supposed to be up there.” He stood and took all three of the cups in his arms.

“Is he alright? He went out alone in the tip top of the morning. I gave him some soup to make sure he didn’t go hungry, but I didn’t see him come back.”

“He’s good. He’s kinda having a breakdown but he’ll be fine after a sip of this.” Rascal smiled. “Thank you. Thank you a lot.”

“Tell him I wish only the best for him. I’m glad he’s safe. You take care of yourself too, sweetheart. Every soul counts around here.” She waved gently. The man seated in front of her turned and waved as well.

“Oh! You, what’s your name, by the way? I hope we can meet again. If my friend...comes back, he might be interested in hearing about you.”

“You can call me Vi,” he said, smiling. “I might not be here by then, I have to keep moving. But don’t worry, Rockport is safe by now, the thing’s down here, isnt it? You’ll find any information you seek there.”

“Thanks, Vi.” Rascal nodded and turned, making his way out and up the stairs once more.

He came back and was greeted to Farrow at the door.

“Took you an awful long time to get that chocolate, huh?”

“Sorry, I met a few nice people. You’re gonna have to share hot chocolates. Save this cup for Mendel and Mari.” He handed him a cup and went to the warmth indoors.

#; spacer 1. ;#; spacer 2. ;#; spacer 3. ;#( me: this bad boy can fit so many old ocs in it )#( jhfjkdhjdwkjdf )#txt #day #writing #post

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lenavonschweetz · 6 years

Text

The Bridges of Time - Part 5

Wondering/What Do You Call A Man Like That?

Summary: The tale of a man out of time, and the woman who never believed in Soulmates. When her husband and children are away, a mysterious man stumbles into her life and with a simple brush of skin against skin, their lives are never the same. The two share “a brief affair that is never sordid but instead one of two soulmates who have met too late.” - The Bridges of Madison County

Warnings: Sexual tension, partial nudity(?), angst

A/N: Things are starting to roll now for our wonderful reader and Mr. Barnes! What will happen next??? - Also, as usual, I don’t have a Beta so any errors you see please feel free to let me know so I can fix them :)

ENJOY

The Bridges of Time Masterlist

⏪ Part 4 || Part 6 ⏩

Bucky watches you through the window as he slowly makes his way back to his truck. The phone pressed up to your ear, the way you pinch the bridge of your nose to dispell whatever feeling was tugging at both of you right now. He memorizes every detail, never wanting to forget you. Darcy has since made her way inside, but the way Bucky’s hair stands on end tells him that she’s looking through her window.

Not safe here. He thinks, but then visions of your eyes dance behind his own and his heart thumps in his chest. Space. I need to put ground between us.

The sound of the engine turning over is unexpectedly loud, and he cringes at the noise. How had only a few hours with you made all of his nerves catch fire? And why was it so physically painful to put distance between your quaint little farmhouse and his beat-up truck?

He couldn’t come back. Aside from the fact that it was already time to move on, whatever had happened between you two was dangerous. You were intoxicating, and he needed to get you out of his veins.

Nothing’s gonna happen. He tells himself as he makes his way down the road. Nothing’s gonna happen...

So then why did he want something to happen? Why did he want to turn this beat up pile of junk around to pull you into his arms and pour everything he was feeling into a kiss? He wanted you, wanted to be the reason you light up like you do when thinking of your kids.

Nothing’s gonna happen...Nothing has to happen.

The night ticks by so slowly, Mickey curled up by your legs as you stare at the ceiling. You catch yourself wondering if that magnificent man is somewhere in his truck thinking of nothing but you.

The thought almost makes you laugh.

You’re a married woman, a mother. And he is a specimen. Why would he be thinking about you? But then again, why are you thinking of him when your family is gone.

The thought catches you in surprise. This was the first time that you hadn’t looked forward to Erik’s call when they reached Charles’s place. The first time you’d let the day slip away from you, the first time you’d spent time with a stranger who made your heart beat a mile a minute.

What kind of man was he? What had he been through to make him so jumpy and withdrawn? And what would it take to pull the sweet Bucky you’d seen briefly from the depths of those tortured eyes?

Those eyes that bore so deeply into your own and made you feel beyond exposed.

Could he be...?

No, you chastise yourself, soulmates don’t exist. I’m just lonely, and he is...so beautiful.

When you finally doze off, it’s with visions of red lips pulled into a smile and eyes that are impossibly blue in your head.

You’re not sure what time it is when Mickey starts to bark, but the sun is peaking through your curtains already. When you hear a few soft knocks, you groan.

“Mick!” You call after several minutes. “Hush up! I’m coming!” You rub the sleep from your eyes as you pad down the stairs, robe pulled tight around your nightgown. Preparing yourself for Darcy’s pestering so early in the morning, you start the coffee maker before finally opening the door.

Only...it’s not Darcy.

“Oh my god, it wasn’t a dream.” You say before you can catch yourself, and the chuckle that accompanies a dazzling smile at your outburst has you clutching the door to stay upright.

After several moments of silence, Bucky clears his throat. The gravelly sound of his voice so early in the morning is like music to your ears.

“Good morning to you too, ma’am.”

“Bucky, if you call me ma’am, I’m going to feel like your mother.”

“Now why would you say that, doll?” Doll? Now that you liked.

You raise an eyebrow at the younger (looking) man, gesturing to him before reminding him how old you are. He shrugs, as if the age gap doesn’t bother him, then smiles once more.

“Sorry, Doll. Old habits.” He says, winking. “Still hoping for some company?” You feel the smile stretching across your face almost instantly and you know you’ve already made up your mind.

“What’d you have in mind?” You’re gifted with a smile that makes your belly flip.

“There’s a bridge not too far from here that I found last night. I wanted to grab some photos with the sunrise.” He says, a sudden blush dusting his features and his eyes duck away from yours. “I got so excited to see yo-it, to see it, that I didn’t think about how early it really was.”

“It is a little early, but I’ve never been one to pass up a sunrise.”

You shared a smile, your heart leaping when he looked at you again.

“J-just let me change real quick.” You rush, suddenly remembering you were in all too thin pajamas. “Make yourself at home, I won’t be long.”

You swear his eyes travel down the expanse of your body hungrily, but quickly dismiss the thought as you make your way back upstairs.

What do you wear to take sunrise photos with the man of your dreams? A voice inside your head screeched. You’re looking too far into it! He just wants to take you with because you’re the only person he knows around here. It has nothing to do with the way he looks at you like you’re the first woman he’s ever seen. Like he can see straight into your soul...

“Mrs. Lehnsherr?” He calls up suddenly, breaking you from your musings. “You alright?” His voice is growing closer and closer, your heart picking up speed with every heavy footstep that echoes up your stairs.

“Yes, sorry! I’ll be down in a moment!” The footfalls cease, and you shake yourself from whatever spell he had cast on you to throw on the first outfit you lay eyes on. Your gown pools at your feet quietly as you pull on and fasten your bra, then lean for the blouse you’d just plucked from the hanger.

Bucky isn’t quite sure why, but something is tugging him up those stairs. You just said you’d be right down, but he can’t ignore the voice tickling the back of his mind, urging him to go to you. He isn’t even aware he’s mindlessly following the feeling until he’s rounding your doorway, reality slamming him back into the present.

The sharp inhale has you spinning on your bare feet, your capris clutched tightly in your hands as bluer than blue eyes lock with your own.

You are instantly aware of how much skin is on display as his eyes break from yours to drag down your body. He’d gotten more of a look than before when you came down in your pajamas, the thin material leaving little to the imagination, even under your robe, but this... He drinks in everything exposed to him, noting the way you’d barely buttoned your blouse before he came in. Your breasts are barely covered by the blouse, collarbones on full display. Soft skin is teasing him, peaking out from beneath your bra and down to your navel. You don’t miss the way his tongue comes out to wet his lips as this gaze wanders ever lower.

Your legs capture most of his attention, your curves peeking out from pastel cotton and going on for what seems like miles. A groan fills the empty air, low and rough and masculine and you have to squeeze your thighs together. The move does not go unnoticed, of course, and his gaze flicks back up to yours instantly.

Only now the blue has been swallowed by black pupils, blown out with lust. And all of it is because of you.

It is silent for far longer than you’d care for, neither of you moving an inch as Bucky devours you from afar and you memorize the way his fists clench and unclench along with his jaw in an effort to keep his distance. Then, his voice breaks the tension.

“I’m sorry,” though he doesn’t doesn’t sound it, “I shouldn’t have come in unannounced.” Clearing his throat once more and smiling as if he hadn’t just undressed you with his eyes. “I’ll be in the truck.”

TAGS:

TRUE LOVE TAGS:

@bxtchybrie , @sergeantjamesbarnes107th , @itsanotheravengersimaginesblog, @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme , @james-bionic-barnes , @mickeyl322 , @stank-tower , @lostinspace33 , @thecrownedrose , @nikkitia7 , @redroomproperty , @magpiegirl80 , @fifi1433 , @knittingknerdy , @specs15 , @justareader , @metalarmandredstar , @agentsofcap , @marvel-lucy , @pickylittlebitch , @shamvictoria11 , @twistedfate108 , @tori-medusa-belongs-to-bucky , @allinhishands , @hellomissmabel , @mizzzpink , @smexy-bucky-waifu , @annwhojumps , @avengerofyourheart , @saffreelove , @palaiasaurus64 , @flowercrownsandmetallicarms , @sexyvixen7 , @armenian-nerd, @thiddlestoff, @callingmrsbarnes , @avengebuckybarnes , @splaine-to-me , @to-be-a-sunshine , @heismyhunter , @miladycollie , @4theluvofall , @sebastianbarnesandchrisrogers , @writingourwildestemodreams , @imadandelion-yourearose, @sebbymylove16, @harrysbbby, @italyand5soslover283, @sebastianbarnesandchrisrogers,@httpbarnes, @subtletynotwithstanding, @panickingwiththefalloutboys, @hardcorehippos, @ryverpenrad, @stellarfairie, @nativesebby, @violentlyfarts, @dianelogan, @mrtinslydia , @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @unidentifiedanonfics, @microscopicmonsters, @elohunnie, @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x

BUCKY BABES TAGS:

@meganlane84 , @thewinterher0 , @winter-in-wakanda , @221bshrlocked , @iamkaties111003 , @castiel-barnes , @creideamhgradochas, @sebbytrash , @nykitass , @livenicebebeautiful , @slickblitz , @eyecandybarnes, @jarnesbrnes , @my-wings-will-heal , @octopishisahybridanimal , @harleyscheekheart , @leoberosis , @da-sebooty-be-plentiful , @jamesbarncs , @buckys-fossil , @mermaidinplaid , @gucci—garbage , @siliverin , @ageekybookworm , @nilly-willy , @musichowler, @mrs-squirrel-chester

#Bucky Barnes #bucky smut #Bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #erik lensherr x reader #x-men #magneto #James Buchanan Barnes #james barnes x reader #james barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #James Bucky Barnes #soulmate AU

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misslottiemockett · 6 years

Text

Don't imagine Ava’s beautiful heart breaking into a million pieces, her legs struggling to keep the broken mess of a human standing upright. Her eyes are reddening and tears are about to burst out, held back only by Ava’s last bit of willpower. Sara’s back is turned to her, her eyes tearing up too, forcing herself to not turn back around, because she knows she would take it all back and hold Ava until her arms gave up on her. (x)

Ava’s legs finally find the strength to move her away from a room, that was once filled with laughter only this morning, now a place she would never see again. The buzzing sound of the time portal is the only thing breaking an unbearable silence, and before stepping through it, Ava throws one last glance at the woman she was starting to fall in love with, hoping she had turned around and faced her to. But Sara stood firm, so Ava swallows back her tears once more and walks away.

The exact moment the portal closes, the captain finally turns around, losing the inner struggle with herself. But it’s too late, no matter how fast she would’ve turned around, the only thing staring back at her was the cold metal wall of the time ship. Ava was gone and she didn’t even know where or when. The pain of not knowing gripped her heart and squeezed it, there was no air in her lungs and she had forgotten how to breath, because Ava was gone, she had pushed away her one chance at happiness, the very thought of it almost made her throw up. But she had her reasons for doing so, this was the only way to keep the woman she loved safe. She convinces herself again, a deep breath escapes her lips. But regret circles her mind like a vulture lurking around, waiting for the perfect moment.

Ava finds herself standing in her cold, dark, empty apartment. It felt like she hadn’t been there in weeks, which was true, seeing as she had spent all her time on the Waverider. It had been a few weeks of perfection, filled with warmth and love. She can feel the back of her mouth drying up and she swallows hard to try and stop the tears from flowing out. But when her eyes catch sight of the crumpled dress she wore on her first date with Sara, she tries to be normal, but the tears start pouring out. She’s desperately trying to breathe between uncontrollable sobs, wondering how this all happened so fast, how she went from perfect bliss to this newfound hell.

Sara is the only thing on her mind right now, every memory they have made, up to this point, haunts her every thought, she’s trapped in an endless circle. Taking one long deep breath she manages to find her composure again and opens another time portal, not really knowing where to, she just knew she had to get out of her apartment that seemed to be suffocating her from every angle.

Back on the Waverider, Sara wasn’t doing much better, but she had put on her brave face, pretending to be fine. Inside she felt like she was the worst human being in the universe, how could she have completely broken the woman that owned her entire heart. Her own heart was being ripped from her chest every time she thought about that beautiful face tearing up, and the way she looked at her when she uttered the words ‘I’m sorry’. So she let herself fall onto her bed, the side Ava was sleeping on less than twenty-four hours ago.

She closes her eyes, hoping sleep will take her away from all this, her hands reach up under the pillow that still smells like the taller blonde’s perfume. The feel of slightly rougher texture surprises her, and she opens her eyes to see a small note stuck between her fingers. Sara sits up to read it and is immediately attacked by the vultures of regret, her throat tightens up and it gets harder to breathe once again. She’s not sure how much she can even withstand anymore, at this point, before she becomes a crying mess.

‘Sara, can you come to the bridge please?’ Ray’s voice rings over the intercom, not a moment too soon, Sara thinks, shrugging off her emotions and putting on her captain face.

The blinding light of the sun makes Ava wince and she turns her face away, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the sudden change. The sound of honking cars, yelling cab-drivers and the mixed smell of all kinds of food and exhaust fumes give her a first indication of where she has ended up. She finally manages to open her eyes that are still red and watery, making it that much more difficult, she can feel them burning. But it’s a physical pain, so she welcomes it over the emotional suffering. The sight of the city she is in brings back memories as she looks at her time courier to check the year she is in. As she figured, she had brought herself back to a time when she didn’t even know a certain captain, or not just yet, it was almost a pleasant idea.

She knew this block like the back of her hand, so she starts walking in the direction of this quaint little coffee shop, that sold the very best cupcakes of the entire country. The gentle sound of the doorbell as she opens the door and the smell of the freshly roasted coffee momentarily make her forget about Sara Lance completely. But only for a minute, which was a lot, considering it was still such a fresh wound. She orders a coffee and a cupcake and sits down in her usual spot; the nostalgia calms her down and gives her a pleasant feeling of home. The coffee is still hot and burns her throat, but she couldn’t care less right now.

After a while something catches her attention in the corner of her eye, and she starts to get an idea of when exactly she is. A brown file is lying on the bookshelf closest to her and everything comes flooding back. This is the exact day she found out about the very existence of Sara Lance. What was her mind thinking when it decided to drop her here? It was like some sick joke, wow she must really hate herself.

The file was from the Time Bureau Academy and it was the first of an incredibly thick pile concerning the captain of the Waverider. Ava was about to force herself to get up and walk out, but the file taunts her. She remembers how she felt the first time she ever laid eyes on the gorgeous, tiny blonde, even when it was just pictures. Butterflies start fluttering in her belly at the memory, but they quickly turn into moths desperately trying to get out.

She feels hollow as she opens the file she had forgotten all those years ago in the coffee shop, she needs to leave, before her younger version comes back, she quickly tells herself. In the first picture, the perfect blue eyes stare back at her, piercing her soul and shooting daggers into her heart. Her breathing becomes erratic and she can feel her eyes starting to well up again, the burn of the last cry had not even dissipated yet.

Ava can feel a panic attack rising and bolts out of the coffee shop onto the streets, where she is attacked by the sounds of the city. Everything is a blur because her eyes are burning and hazy, she just wants to get away from it all. She crosses the street in a rush, and someone bumps into her shoulder, hard. Ava turns around to see if he’s ok, but the man doesn’t seem to care. As she turns back, a piece of paper on the ground grabs her attention, it’s one of the crossword puzzles she had made with Sara one of those glorious mornings at breakfast on the Waverider. It must have fallen out of her pocket and she bends down to pick it up, not ready to part with it just yet.

Sara arrives on the bridge with her bravest captain face on, pushing all her feelings in a box and shoving it in the deepest corner of her mind. Everyone is standing around the screens in the middle of the room, except Mick, he’s distracted by his fire totem and is playing with it at a safe distance from everyone else. But at least he’s present.

‘What’s going on?’ Sara asks looking at everyone to see who would give her an answer. But everyone seems just a little more scared than usual and who can really blame them.

Ray is the first to open his mouth, he’s barely standing and still looks pretty bruised up, but he hides it well with his optimism. ‘Well, we were all worried about how you were feeling after all that happened and knowing you, you would want to jump right into action.’ Ray tentatively looks at Sara to try and guess her opinion, but she is not changing expressions at all. ‘So we have found a nice little level 2 anachronism for you.’ He finishes.

‘Look Ray, I get what you’re trying to do, and it’s very sweet, but I don’t think I should be in the field right now’ Sara says determined. She does not want to risk hurting anyone else, physically or emotionally. Ray’s face shifts to his typical sad puppy face and Sara responds with an eyebrow raise.

‘You can do this without me, should be easy enough! Momma needs some alone time! And Ray go back to the MedBay!’ Everyone just nods to each other as Sara leaves the room, her hand balling up in the pocket of her jeans, clenching the note Ava left behind.

She burrows her nails into her skin to keep her emotions from spilling out, at least until she has left the room. Tears are at the very edge of her eyes now as she swings herself onto her bed once again, loud thudding and laughter lets her know the rest of the Legends have left. She grabs Ava’s pillow and brings it to her chest, hugging it tightly, she has never wanted sleep to take her away from here as badly as she did right now.

Sara must have drifted off at some point because she can barely make out the words Gideon is saying to her. ‘Captain, wake up. I have an urgent message from Miss Jiwe.’ Gideon keeps repeating those 2 lines until Sara replies.

‘What is it?’ She rubs her eyes trying to make herself wake up, her eyes slightly burning and tired from holding back all those tears, and she is suddenly reminded of everything she did. Her heart drops down to her feet, a cold wave envelopes her entire body, making her shiver.

‘Sara, Sara! You need to come quick! Something went wrong!’ Amaya’s voice cracks and Sara swears she can hear slight sobbing. In the background there’s the sound of the siren of an ambulance, cars honking and people yelling. Sara doesn’t need any more encouragement than that to rush out of her room. ‘Gideon, watch Ray!’ She manages to yell before jumping out of the cargo bay door.

She steals a motorcycle that was conveniently placed near the Waverider, begging to be ridden, and is tracking Amaya’s position. ‘What’s your status Amaya?’ She yells into her comms.

The line cracks and Amaya is silent for a second or two. ‘…it’s Ava,’ Sara’s heart stops beating instantly, she cuts off the motorcycle for a second, before coming back to herself. ‘…it’s bad, Sara…’ Amaya barely seems to be able to get the words past her lips, ‘hurry.'

Sara jumps off the bike and lets it fall wherever it is, the past few minutes after she heard the name Ava she can’t even remember, it’s just all dark and empty, like she wasn’t even in control of her own body. Mick is standing closest to Sara and points his finger to the middle of this mess of crashed cars, people and ambulances.

She has no clue what she’s going to discover when she gets there, but she runs as fast as she can and as she gets closer she sees Nate first, his eyes are red and tears are running down his face, his hands bloody. He’s standing a few feet away from Amaya who is down on the ground bending over the lifeless body of a blonde woman in a suit. Sara freezes in disbelief and Nate holds up his hands, not sure what he wants to do, or what he needs to do, so he combs his fingers awkwardly through his hair. Amaya turns around to face Sara, there’s tears in her eyes and she is covered in blood, she’s holding Ava tightly, desperately trying to keep her from slipping away. Sara slowly moves closer, her legs and the rest of her body completely betraying her.

Sara swears she can’t even feel her heart beating anymore, her breathing is reduced to short bursts, all blood has drained from her face, her blue eyes are a shade lighter, staring into nothingness. Because now she sees her happiness completely covered in blood and dead, her legs can’t hold her up anymore and she scrambles to fall down next to Ava’s body. Amaya places a supportive hand on Sara’s shoulder and moves away to give Sara more space. Everything around them seems to be happening in slow-motion now, the sound muted. Sara grabs Ava’s bruised, dirty hand, it already feels cold against her own skin as she intertwines their fingers.

‘Aves?’ Sara tries, her voice barely a whisper. She tries to shift herself closer to Ava and puts her other arm underneath her neck, pulling her in towards herself. The former assassin knows by looking at Ava’s injuries that there’s no way for her to come back from this, but she can’t stop herself from trying to shake her awake.

‘Come back to me!’ Sara raises her voice slightly, as much as she has the strength for anyway. She’s getting angry and is starting to pound on Ava’s chest.

‘Come home…’ The tears Sara desperately had been trying to hold back are streaming down her face now, an unstoppable force of emotion. She buries her face in Ava’s neck, everything just feels empty, there’s nothing but just the two of them lying there. Amaya squeezes Sara’s shoulder trying to get her back, when it doesn’t work at first, Amaya tries again with her full force.

‘Sara we need to leave, we could still fix this,’ Amaya shakily whispers to Sara, who turns around to face Amaya now with a hint of hope in her eyes.

‘We need to go, now,’ Amaya urges her on and drags Sara away from Ava’s body. Sara reluctantly let's go, not looking away from her for one second and keeping their fingers intertwined for as long as possible.

When they arrive back at the Waverider, the Legends explain the situation as best as they can to the grieving captain. The level 2 anachronism was about this guy who invented some kind of pretty important technical gizmo, but was never able to do so, because he died in a car crash that was never supposed to happen. The idea of what probably happened was almost too much for Sara to handle, that was her Ava that died, the one she had only moments before broken up with. For some reason she went back in time, caused a car crash and died, because Sara Lance had to screw up another relationship. She felt completely worthless and wanted nothing more than to go fight some random thugs to let all her anger out.

‘You can take the jumpship and go back to before we all arrive and convince Ava to go back to 2018! Hereby saving Ava and fixing the anachronism at the same time.’ Nate states with half a smile trying to get his captain’s spirits up. Sara seems to be thinking it through, her eyes focused on the screen in front of her.

‘Ok, I’ll go back before all this happened and wait for Ava to show up.’ Sara says, still not looking away from the screen. Her mind is all over the place right now, between seeing the love of her life dead in her arms and seeing her heart broken in a million pieces. She doesn’t even know what she can possibly say to Ava when she sees her, maybe she’ll see her and run straight into a car. This is all too much to handle, but she knows she definitely never wants to see a dead version of Ava ever again. So, she clenches her fists and takes a deep breath before turning away and heading to the jumpship. Out of nowhere she feels a warm pair of arms wrap around her neck. Amaya was pulling her in for a hug, whether she wanted to or not, she was going to have to accept it.

‘It’s gonna be ok Sara,’ She whispers in her ear. She backs away to face Sara and puts her hands onto Sara’s face to reassure her. ‘It never has to happen,’ Sara gives Amaya the smallest of nods, but it seems to be enough. Sara puts her hand in her pocket as she walks away, the paper still there to remind her that her Ava, her girlfriend can still be saved.

Ava walks through the portal, she winces and turns her face away from the sun. She looks tired and all cried out, her eyes are red and darkness surrounds them. Sara’s eyes just about tear up as it takes her right back to that moment and she instinctively turns her face away because she can’t bear to see Ava like this. But she has to face her, to save her, what a turn this has taken. It’s been an emotional rollercoaster that even Sara thinks she’s going to need to recover from for a few days. She gathers all the courage and strength she has left and walks towards Ava.

‘Hello jerk,’ Sara blurts out without even thinking about it, she just remembered Ava dying and forgot that this Ava probably doesn’t want to see her ever again. Ava quickly turns around, her face confused and angry at the same time.

‘What? How?’ Ava asks, her mouth staying half open.

��It’s a long story, but I need you to stay exactly where you are.’ Sara carefully states, not wanting to make it seem like an order.

‘Is this some kind of weird Legends thing?’ Ava is getting a bit agitated.

‘No, it’s not, this is actually work related,’ Sara says, cocking her head a little arrogantly.

‘What kind of messed up mind game are you playing here Sara? Because I can’t take much more at this point,’ Ava’s voice starts cracking up and the wetness starts showing in her eyes again. Sara cringes at the sight of it, she can’t go through this again. She can’t lose this woman ever again. With her thumb she wipes away a single tear that managed to escape Ava’s eyes.

‘I’m sorry, I love you Ava,’ it just slipped out, it was so easy, everything else be damned. She loved Ava and she didn’t ever want to lose her again or see her hurt like this period. Ava’s mouth hangs open and she seems stuck. Sara’s getting a little worried, this woman could still do a good job at kicking her ass. But all that worry dissipated when Ava wrapped her hand around Sara’s head and pulled her in for a kiss. It’s soft and wild at the same time, it feels like coming home. Sara wraps her arms around Ava’s waist and pulls her in closer, she needs to feel Ava’s warmth and needs to feel her breathing and her heart beating, she doesn’t ever want to let her go again.

Ava pulls away eventually, her eyes still red and teary, but this time at least it’s tears of joy, there’s a smile on her face going from one ear to the other. It warms Sara’s heart to see that face so happy instead of the misery she made her go through. Ava squints her eyes and looks around, not having fully grasped where or when they are. ‘Oh my gosh, we need to go to that coffee shop over there, it is the cutest and it has the best cupcakes!’ Ava says all giddy and cheerful. Making it very difficult for Sara to say no, completely forgetting what she came here for in the first place. Ava died on the street after all and not in a coffee shop, so this should be fine.

They order coffee and cupcakes and they enjoy each other’s company. It’s the actual second date come to think of it. And it’s simply the cutest, Sara’s nose covered with cupcake topping and Ava having to take it off which ends up in the cutest, softest kiss ever. They forget all about time and Sara forgets all about the reason she was there.

Eventually they leave hand in hand, giggling as they walk out into the street, only paying attention to each other. Ava pulls at Sara’s sleeve to stop them for a second.

‘I love you too, Sara,’ she says softly, smiling. This time it’s Sara that pulls Ava in for a kiss.

They don’t notice that there’s a young tall blonde walking towards them from the other side of the street, nose buried deep in the file she’s holding. She looks up from her file for a second to check her watch, but is shocked when she sees herself kissing Sara Lance…

A loud crash interrupts their kiss and they both look in the direction of the noise. Ava’s grey eyes are filled with worry as she seems to know instantly that it was her younger self and quickly turns to Sara who is still looking at the crash. Ava puts both her hands on Sara’s shoulder and turns her towards her, her heart is beating so fast, it feels like it’s going to explode. It might as well, she knows what’s about to happen. All she can think about now is telling the woman she loves how much she means to her. She can feel something weird happening to her, she looks at her hands on Sara’s shoulders and notices her fingers starting to vanish into nothingness. Sara’s face is still focused on the crash, like she’s considering if she needs to go help. But Ava gives her a gentle slap in the face.

‘Sara I need you to listen to me!’ Ava says anxiously, Sara looks at her and notices for the first time how scared Ava looks.

‘What’s wrong Aves?’ Sara’s eyes are filled with worry and the sight of Ava so scared and being unable to help her is clutching her heart. Ava lifts one of her hands to see how fast her fingers are fading, almost her entire hand is gone now. She didn’t think her heart could beat any faster, but it is. Sara sees Ava’s hand now too and grabs it, but there’s nothing there anymore, it’s a ghost hand. Now Sara is terrified, she looks back at the scene of the accident and sees the blue time bureau outfit lying on the street and she connects the dots. But as soon as she does, she wished she hadn’t figured it out.

‘We can fix this!’ Sara shouts nervously, she grabs Ava’s lapels and pulls her closer trying to keep Ava grounded to her, holding on for dear life, cause that’s what Ava had become to her, her life and happiness.

‘I need you to know that the last few weeks have been the best of my life, I’ve never been happier,’ Ava says, words interrupted by sobs as she can’t hold back the tears. How cruel is the universe that she would come here to a time before she ever even heard about Sara Lance and now about to be completely forgotten by the love of her life. ‘I don’t want to go…’ Her knees give out and she drops to the ground, pulling Sara down with her who goes willingly.

‘I don’t want you to go! I can’t lose you now, I just found you, my happiness!’ Sara went from scared to angry, she wants to be able to fight whatever is killing her girlfriend, but this time there is just nothing to punch or kick! This is the cruelest goodbye…

Ava is fading quicker and quicker, or so it seems to Sara, who refuses to accept this. She needs to feel Ava’s lips on her own at least one more time, if this really is the end. Their mouths crash together as they both seemed to have the same idea, they want to pour everything they are feeling into this one kiss, this last kiss. It’s impossible, there’s so many feelings between them, there’s so much left to say, but no time left.

‘Don’t forget me’ Ava whispers in Sara’s ear before completely disappearing.

‘I won’t remember anything else,’ Sara mouths to the empty air in front of her. She’s sitting on her knees, tears dripping down from her chin onto the cold, hard pavement. Someone is going to have to come pick her up at some point, because she doesn’t believe she is ever going to be able to move away from this spot. Her entire being is screaming at her, her limbs are simply too heavy and the weight of the world is pushing down on her chest, her heart crumbling under the pressure. She can’t breathe, she’s choking on her own tears.

She doesn’t know how much time passes but she regains her composure and hears the sound of the ambulance arriving at the scene. She’s a bit dazed and looks around, there’s some people staring at her weirdly, but most of the attention goes to the car crash. Her eyes shift from the empty spot in front of her to the people around her and she gets up slowly. Instinctively she runs towards the accident to try and help if she can. She sees the young woman on the ground, covered in blood, she feels for a heartbeat, but there is none.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sara whispers and slowly walks away from the scene as the paramedics arrive. She puts her hands in her pockets, but there’s nothing in there. There is no longer anything left of her relationship with Ava Sharpe, she doesn’t even know that name. A Legend has never gone quieter… (x)

#Avalance #ava sharpe #sara lance #legends of tomorrow #ANGST #MINE #fanfic #YOU ARE NOT READY FOR THIS #JUST A WARNING #repost from ao3 #comments welcome

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yeahwehadatime · 7 years

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Letter to My Younger Self - Noel & Julian

What would you say to your 16-year-old self if you could go back in time?

Noel Fielding - surreal comedian, 38

20-26 February 2012, by Jane Graham {x}

I was obsessed with football when I was 16. I was skillful winger and plating regular semi-pro. I hated school, except drawing, so I thought I’d either go to art school or become a footballer. I looked like a girl. I had long blonde hair and was very skinny. I remember being in a pub with my mate when I was at college and a woman came up to him and asked if he’d like to buy a rose for his girlfriend. I was furious.

I was definitely a late developer. But I think that’s quite good. There were boys in my year who looked like big massive men and they went out with grown-up women. They seemed to peak when they were 15. But you see then now and the look much older. You have all the time in the world to grow up. I don’t think you should rush it. it breaks my heart seeing kids at 11 these days, all grown up – is that it then, childhood’s over in 10 years?

If I met the teenage me now and someone told me he’d go on to do stand-up comedy and be quite outgoing and be on telly, I’d think, no way. I was quite sweet but I was very shy. And I didn’t look cool – I wore some bad chavvy clothes and had a terrible wedge haircut. But I think I’d see a glimmer of hope in that boy’s eyes, a sign of the art student, the beads and the strange ponchos to come.

The first time I did stand-up I was terrified. I did some performance art at college where I dressed up as Jesus, jumped off a big cross and danced like Mick Jagger. I had a water pistol with holy water in it. That went well so I booked some real gigs, but I constantly worried my stuff wouldn’t work. In those early days of stand-up I made myself ill worrying. I got hepatitis, which is made worse by stress. I’d do a spate of gigs and knock myself back and end up on the sofa for six months.

When I met Julian [Barratt, Fielding’s partner in The Mighty Boosh] it felt a bit like meeting a soul mate. My friends had told me I’d love him. They said he was a bit crazy and jazzy and he had no jokes. I thought he was amazing. I went up to him and said: “I’m just like you!” I think he just thought I was some weird kid but a couple of years later, of course, we were working together. Somehow out chemistry was there from the beginning.

I came from a working class background and I wasn’t very academic so I always thought everyone else knew more than me. I’d tell my younger self not to worry about that – no one knows what they’re doing. I think there’s a little bit of an attitude in some working class areas – “What, you’re going to go off and be a comedian are you, mate?” I’d tell the younger me not to listen to anyone lese. Take some risks – you’ve only got one life and it goes faster and faster.

If I could relive one day it would be the day I got into Croydon Art College. I didn’t get in at first, I was on the reserve list. I was hanging round with other people who didn’t have jobs and didn’t know what hey were going to do. Then I got a call telling me someone had dropped out and I had got into college. It was like a tiny door opening, an escape, and I thought – yes!

Julian Barratt - comedian and actor, 48

27 April 2017, by Jane Graham {x}

At 16 I was into jazz fusion. Not even jazz, just jazz fusion. Rock instruments played like jazz. Really not fashionable in any way. People like Weather Report, Jack Pastorius. My dad was bang into it, so I thought it was normal. Until I played some to my mates. Then when I saw their reaction, it became my dirty secret. I could play guitar pretty well. Or pretty fast anyway. Me and my mate had duels, trying to outspeed each other to become the fastest guitarist in Yorkshire. That was all that mattered to me.

One of my first pieces of advice to the teenage me would be not to go with the white Whitesnake-style suit for his first live gig. Though it did have the benefit of disguising my dandruff. I got into heavy metal because you could legitimately play solos. Van Halen was a big influence. At my first live gig I wore a white suit and I had long hair, quite curly but not much of it, quite thin hair, all round the front, parted just behind, with just a sprinkling of dandruff. And I played a lot of long, fast guitar solos. It wasn’t a very good look. And it didn’t get me any girls.

I was obsessed with particular girls, a feeling often unrequited needless to say. I remember a field geography trip to the Isle of Arran, when I was so in love with this incredible goth girl, Katie Kinaid. She was really into rocks. Not rock, geology. She didn’t notice me. But I was besotted. I just thought about her all the time, hoping for a glance. I was a late starter, quite naïve. Later on, I could see how being a comedian did help in that area. When you’re funny people sort of feel you must be nice, or at least not frightening.

I tried to leave home at 17 to become a jazz guitarist. We went to stay with a friend of a friend’s uncle but we came back after three days. We thought we’d make inroads into the jazz scene in London – we’d read biographies about guys who got gigs at Ronnie Scott’s and got spotted and immediately taken into someone’s band. So we told our parents we were leaving home. They gave us two days and we lasted three, so we outdid expectations.

If I met teenage Julian now, I’d see this shy person, with long hair, into odd music. But he is also becoming interested in comedy. I found it quite magical, finding people who made me laugh, thinking about how they did it. I remember seeing Vic and Bob and thinking, ah yes, that’s just what my mates do, that absurd humour, making an in-joke a public joke. Controversially, I quite like Bernard Manning. He had this particular kind of Northern delivery and timing. And when the jokes weren’t horribly racist, they were so funny. I mean, my grandad was a racist. You can’t do anything about these people, they’re from a different time. I remember Bernard Manning was shown a clip of The Mighty Boosh on a TV show, which was a great honour in a way. He said: “These two don’t have a fucking clue. As funny as a burning orphanage.” He had a real way with radical imagery.

I always hoped I could do comedy. I was never like Noel [Fielding] or Lee Mack, who are just funny all the time. No one ever said to me, you should be a comedian mate. But I watched a lot of stand-up at uni – people like Mark Lamarr, Sean Hughes, Eddie Izzard, just standing on a stage doing these phenomenal routines. And I could see how you could do it. So I started doing it myself, and I was so shocked when it worked. I remember one time I completely forgot what I was about to say, and I just ran out of the venue. There was a big lake in front of me and I thought about just running into it. Then the manager came out after me and said: “Get back in there, it’s going well.” So I went back. I suppose that was a big turning point for me.

I’m looking at a big poster of myself now and I know my 16-year-old self would see that and think, what is going on there? He would be amazed that people actually like what I do. When Noel and I started gigging together and found people were really enjoying it, it was such a thrill. It was a validation of what felt like a long process of growing up, coming up against all these difficulties if you’re shy and you have all these dreams and thoughts you can’t communicate. It was very exciting to finally find a way to express myself, and seeing people enjoying that. I suppose I’m interested in communicating a pretentious, pompous person a lot of the time, and I have to recognise there is that in me. I did a few serious things before I got into comedy, which make me shudder now. I remember having my mate film me, all shadowy, doing performance poetry. My goodness.

All the clichés about becoming a dad changing your life are true. When you don’t have kids and think about having this little creature to look after, you worry about it, you panic. But you just can’t imagine the amount of love you’ll have for these little things. You still worry but there’s such joy in it. I don’t tend to watch my own stuff, that’s a bit creepy. But when I watched The Boosh with my kids, it was like discovering it for the first time. I saw that we were making a childlike universe where you could be silly and go on adventures. Like Mr Benn. Lots of people think Noel and I just took lots of drugs and did whatever came to mind but we took it very seriously and worked very hard on it. I had this feeling that it paid off when I saw my kids enjoying it. ’Cos my other half, Julia [Davis, of Nighty Night, Hunderby, Psychobitches] – her shows are not appropriate for children at all.

If I could go to any time in my life I would just be swimming in the ocean in Majorca with my nine-year-old twins. That is it for me. I just love that. The thing about the media, the shows, the films… It does feel great when it works. But there’s an anxiety too. I don’t know about that stuff. It’s very exciting but it’s not what you have when you’re just floating about in the sea with your kids. That’s as good as it gets.

#noel fielding #julian barratt #THE BIG ISSUE #letter to my younger self #full interview #the link in noel's goes to boysandvoodoo's posting of the scanned copy - I didn't want to repost #the link in Julian's goes to the website for the interview - if anyone has scanned the hard copy plmk #sometimes we lose articles and i'd just like to work on helping us archive things so we can find them later

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one-soul-two-brothers · 7 years

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one-soul-two-brothers’ ultimate fic recs: wincest edition (part III)

Wincest fics are my (other) absolute faves to read First time fics are the best (but not imperative) I like them to keep some semblance of canon A fic doesn’t have to have sex to be good (but it doesn’t hurt) They have all been thoroughly vetted (aka I’ve either read them all at least twice or will definitely be reading them again) And the most important: happy endings are a requirement

ENJOY!

best LATE-SEASON FIRST-TIME

title: The Exodus rating: explicit word count: 14k relationship: first time summary: So. Dean left with Cas over a week ago on some sort of recon mission, and yeah, Sam has been trying to bury himself in research, but he's just not coping all that well with the long-term separation. He wakes up early one morning, expecting the day to be like all the rest: brother-less. Oh, except, it's even worse than all the rest, because he's completely and totally alone on his brother-less thirty-fourth birthday. His bleak outlook quickly changes with an unexpected phone call, and he has to admit that maybe someone, somewhere answered his embarrassingly needy birthday wish, despite his lack of candles to blow out. excerpt: “Yeah,” Sam breathes, trying to convince himself he’s not dreaming. It’s just-- Dean is only sweet like this, open like this in Sam’s best dreams, so… how on earth could this be real? “I missed you,” Sam adds, breathing it shyly into the air between them, watching how the words affect his brother.

title: O Brother, Where Art Thou? rating: explicit word count: 6600 relationship: first time summary: Over the last fifteen years, Sam Winchester had walked away from his brother more times than he cared to count. This time, Sam couldn’t come up with a legitimate excuse. At least, not one that was appropriate to tell his brother. He knew that, as much as him leaving would hurt Dean, staying here would lead Sam to making choices that could hurt Dean so much more. Could push Dean away permanently. Because Sam Winchester was in love with his brother, and he couldn't hide it any longer. anna’s notes: Shameless self-promo.

title: The Claiming rating: explicit word count: 6900 relationship: first time summary: At age 32, Sam Winchester presents as an Omega. No one is more surprised than Dean, the Alpha who's been pining over his little brother all his life. Canon divergence after scene with Piper in 11x04, "Baby." anna’s notes: Look...I think I’ve read this like five times (at least) since I discovered it (like, a month ago). I know, it’s ridiculous, but it’s just SO GOOD. And yes, it’s an a/b/o fic, but if you’ve never read one or don’t really like them, I still think you should check this out. There are absolutely no dom/sub or non-con components that are often in a lot of other a/b/o fics. And IT’S LATE SEASON FIRST TIME WINCEST, OKAY? THE BEST KIND OF WINCEST. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH.

title: The King and The Lionheart rating: explicit word count: 53k relationship: first time summary: After the disastrous but effective removal of the Mark, facing a life without allies or a reason to keep hunting, Sam and Dean Winchester leave their old life behind them in flames. They re-emerge from the ashes as Sam and Dean Wesson, residents of Misty Luna, Maine-- a town with a personality all its own. As they settle into civilian life, they gain careers, a home, good friendships and the kind of fulfillment they never thought possible. But with nothing left to fight, the underbelly of their particular kind of love is thrown into sharp relief, especially considering the whole town thinks they’re married, anyway. After dancing around their feelings for the past twenty years, Sam and Dean find a peace they never knew existed, and through it all, they find each other again. And maybe, just maybe, forever. Curtain!fic. Canon divergence after 10x21, “Dark Dynasty.” anna’s notes: THIS IS SO FUCKING GOOD.

best PLOT WHAT PLOT

title: Coupons rating: explicit word count: 5730 relationship: established summary: This could, quite possibly, go down as the most ridiculous thing he's ever done. He feels all of ten years old again, in a grade school where he doesn’t know anyone, creating a coupon book for Mother's Day that he plans to give to Dean. Only this time, he's 29 and his brother's turning 34, and the coupons aren't for chores around the house. anna’s notes: I mean...there’s a little plot. And plenty of fluff. It’s so good.

best MPREG

title: Not A Curse After All rating: explicit word count: 23k relationship: established summary: Dean didn't understand how his life always seemed to take the oddest turns. Another case with a witch and it was official, he was dying, not just dying, but a slow torturous decent into his worst fears before he went. He was eating like a teenage girl on a date, sleeping like a middle aged man in a mid-life crises and he hadn't wanted sex in....shit he didn't even know how long.

title: It Only Takes One Oops... rating: mature word count: 20k relationship: established summary: Someone gets pregnant. excerpt: “How, I mean, when… fuck,” Dean mumbled, his speaking ability currently matching his thought process.

“You’ve got the ‘how’ down perfectly,” Sam said as he sank down on the bed next to his brother. “The when? Oh, cast your brain–your upstairs brain–back about six weeks to that weekend at the Grand Canyon. The night with the full moon, the back of the Impala, NO condoms, the ‘come on Sammy, just this once, what can one time hurt, it’ll be fine, please Sammy, please.’”

“I didn’t beg--”

“You sure as hell didn’t use a condom! And, yes, you begged.”

title: Settling Up, Settling In rating: explicit word count: 38k relationship: established summary: Dean's been running himself ragged keeping Sam from scratching at the Wall Death put up in his little brother's head, and things are not okay between the brothers because Sam won't let Dean anywhere near him, and the only thing Dean really wants now? To retire. Because it's the only way to keep Sam safe. But a routine salt and burn leads to a cursed object that causes Sam to go into a sexual frenzy and get Dean pregnant, which is okay with Dean because that seems like the perfect ticket out. Until the Hell in Sam's head starts to spill over and he freaks out when Dean tells him about the baby.

best CRACK

title: SAMpala rating: explicit word count: 12k relationship: first time summary: Sam wishes he was the damned Impala, at least he might get some Dean love that way. anna’s notes: This is both hilarious and sweet at the same time.

best SEASON 12 CODA (episodes 12-20)

title: 12x13 summary: When Mary tells Sam and Dean that she's been working with the British Men of Letters, neither of the boys takes the news well. anna’s notes: Shameless self-promo.

title: Coda to 12x13 excerpt: He tries. He tries. He watches Dean scowl every time they see their mother and he works, honestly works to try and smooth things over, talks to Dean and talks to Mom and tries to help them see the other point of view. And if he catches Dean texting surreptitiously, later, he’s pleased about it. It’s good, right? That was the point, and there’s no reason she should message them both.

title: Dragged Up (12x17) summary: Sam's still so unsure of what he and Dean have. Drinking one night with Dean and Mick, Sam's thoughts spiral down into a deep pit of despair.

title: Through These Walls (12x18) summary: When Ketch put a bug in the bunker, he was looking for usable intel. What he got? Well, that is something else entirely.

title: You’ve Got Mail (12x18) summary: Sam's been getting an awful lot of emails from his brother lately... anna’s notes: Fluff and schmoop and a first kiss!

title: But We Can’t Punch Ourselves Awake (12x19) summary: Sam is sure this, too, will be forgiven. excerpt: Sam isn't like his brother. Dean forgives and forgets once you're back in his good graces. Sure, he's ruthless and can hold a grudge like no other but once you've proved yourself? He forgets it all. Sam is living proof of that. Still alive after all those years after Dean had planned on killing him. Sure, they'd made up after that but there are things in Sam's mind that he won't ever be rid of. It's evident even more by Dean's constant forgiving of Castiel.

title: Coda: The Future (12x19) excerpt: “I know what you’re gonna say, Sammy, but no. Not this time. He’s messed with my car, the Colt and my baby brother on the same fucking day. You are not making any more excuses for him. We’re done with him, you hear me? We’re done.” Dean pushes Sam’s hair out of his eyes. “You doin’ OK? Can you stand?”

title: Untitled 12.20 coda excerpt: Max won’t tell her anything. Bad witch is all he’ll say. Bought her power from a demon, used it against Mom, used it to make Mom turn on you. He won’t explain why he burned Mom without her. Won’t explain how she was healed, why there isn’t a bloody gash in her abdomen. Natural magic. Don’t worry. You’re fine. Everything’s gonna be fine. anna’s notes: This isn’t actually wincest, but it was too good not to add to this list.

title: Coda: Twigs and Twine and Tasha Banes (12x20) summary: Written mostly because I'm so worried that Sam wouldn't wake up at the end of 12.20. *chews nails*

For all my other ultimate fic recs (j2 non-au, j2 au, and wincest), go here.

#i'm putting together this post when i should actually be working #the perks of working from home #IT'S THE FUCKING BEST #anyways #ultimate fic recs #fic rec #wincest #w fic rec #wincest fic rec #i'm about to make a j2au one now too #oops

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years

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Fic: Don't You Forget About Me (Ao3 Link) Fandom: DC's Legends of Tomorrow, Irish Mythology Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: After Len, nothing seems to be going right for Mick. He keeps going listlessly -

- at least until something cold as death starts crawling into his bed.

(In which Mick Rory braves the Sidhe to win back his True Love)

A/N: For @jq-piccadilly - happy birthday!! (also special mentions to @ice-whisper who inadvertently gave me the idea and @oneiriad, for who this fulfills another Coldwave Bingo Board entry)

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After Len died, everything sort of stopped, for Mick.

Oh, he kept going, kept fighting, kept up with the great and noble mission to which he had been consigned by destiny and by Len. The flesh of him kept right on going.

It was the spirit of him that came to a halt.

He stopped caring about the things that made him happy, before; stopped caring about the game, or food, or even fun; stopped caring all too much about being alive.

But he kept going and time, wicked time, starts healing even his most dire wounds.

Mick had a chair in his room - big, comfy, just the way he liked it. It was good that it was so comfy, because he slept there, now, forsaking the bed in his cabin.

The bed that had been his and his Lenny's both.

Not even Kronos had dragged on his soul like Len's death - a hundred years and a day disappearing like a wink in the salt of Len's tears, but no salt would save him from this loss. Nothing but time could help.

He doesn't sleep in the bed.

He remembered with terrible clarity how it was, that bed, a touch too small for two grown men but comfortable regardless. Reminded them both of a prison bed, when they'd first seen it, and it had made them laugh.

They shared that bed, just like they'd shared all their beds. Mick always went to bed first, pointedly, because Len's brain whirled so fast and so hard it needed to see good behavior to model it, but he liked to stay awake, dozing, until Len crawled into bed with him, cold from the air outside the bed, and wrapped a chill arm around his chest.

Len liked to put his icy fingertips – terrible circulation, that man – under Mick’s shirt, to warm his hand on Mick’s heart. It was one of the things Mick loudly complained about but secretly enjoyed.

It’s one of those thing Len will do no more, because he’s dead.

Mick doesn't sleep in the bed.

Mick kept on with the Legends. They treated him badly, and he let them. He encouraged it, even, playing up his stupidity, his brutishness, his uselessness, wanting the emotional spikes of pain under his nails, under his skin. He would never harm himself physically - Len would turn over in his grave, if he had one - but he could torment himself in other ways.

He doesn't sleep in the bed.

Time passed, and passed, and passed, until he was lighting a year's time candle for Len and watching a false version of the man disappear like the illusion he was.

"Do you think he sleeps uneasy, what with no grave?" someone asked at one point.

It may have been Mick, come to think about it.

He doesn't sleep in the bed.

But in that year, time passed and time healed and even the worse wounds can become scars, and at any rate when Mick swore to Len's ghost that he'd care for the team that Len'd died for, he'd meant it, and he took such oaths seriously. Keeping the Legends intact was a trip and a half, and more work than he'd ever done before, and it just didn't stop.

The work he let himself be made to do, the abuse he'd once invited and now resented -

He was tired, damnit.

And one day, a day after he lit that blasted candle that he can still see gutted on the desk, a day he should’ve had for grieving but instead spent out fixing yet another stupid aberration, he's so tired he just staggers right into his room, eyes barely staying open, and he collapses in the bed where his feet and his friends - Ray, he thinks, though it could be Sara - help him, and he curls up in the bed, which is sweet and perfect.

If he'd fallen straight asleep and never repeated the act, well, he might've fared better.

He doesn't.

He has just enough time to realize he's in the bed, the bed and not the chair, and he yields to his exhaustion and doesn't rise up and leave.

Time heals all wounds, he thinks blearily, thinks sadly, thinks regretfully, and he closes his eyes and he sleeps.

He wakes up in the middle of the night to a footstep.

A single one, but even in his exhaustion, watchfulness is part of who he is, and so Mick is awake if still reluctant to move.

It's probably one of the Legends, looking for something and not bothering to knock.

Another footstep.

The blanket lifts behind him.

Mick expects to be roused with a shove.

He isn't.

A cold body crawls in with him, cold as ice, cold as - Len - and Mick shivers. He doesn't turn. He doesn't want to. It would ruin the illusion. The dream.

The nightmare.

A chill arm wraps around his body, and the hand finds his heart.

Mick knows that hand, knows that arm, knows that chill, and he would weep for the fact that he's clearly gone and lost it at last, but he doesn't want to disturb the dream.

He closes his eyes and dreams -

He dreams of blue.

The next morning, he's more tired than the night before, but he's upright, he's mobile. The Legends will have to make do with that.

"Wow, Mick, you look like shit," Sara says, eloquent as always.

Mick grunts and grabs the coffee. He has it Irish, of course. He's Irish.

"You do look positively haggard," Amaya says.

Mick grunts again and ignores them both.

He doesn't expect it to happen again.

It does.

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

Mick Rory's ma was Irish even in a town filled with Irishmen. She was a proper mac something-or-other, some other child told Mick solemnly once; she might even be descended from a queen.

She certainly carried herself like one, marching through town with a straight spine and steel in her gaze, making pennies stretch for miles, raising her gaggle of children - six all together - with no family around to lend her aid, and not too shy to challenge even the big department stores when she felt she wasn't getting her money's worth. She was tough as dirt and just as practical.

Except, of course, when it came to the faeries.

The aos sí, the daoine sídhe, Tuatha de Danann, or whatever they were called.

Ma Rory's boys went around with salt in their pockets and iron nails, too. No one else did, but Mick's ma insisted.

And, to be fair, there were some moments where it seemed the rest of the town didn't disbelieve as big as all that.

See, Mick's ma was the seventh daughter, with six older girls that had nearly bankrupted her poor father, and Mick her sixth son, sons all in a row. There was talk in town, anticipation, when she got pregnant again.

"A seventh son of a seventh daughter; that's powerful magic," one of the children at school tells Mick. "A seer, a mage. A portent of great things."

He looks at Mick, then, all beady-eyed. "Not that you really matter," Mick is told. "No one ever pays attention to the mage's older brothers. Except where they fail first, of course - but that's usually in threes."

There are sighs of relief and disappointment when Mick's ma gives birth to a girl instead.

When Mick turned ten, his ma ordered his brothers away, sends her husband out with his baby sis, and brought him into the house.

"Michael," his ma says.

Mick blinks, indignant. "I didn't do nothing!"

For once, it's even true.

His ma sighs. "It's not about what you've done," she says. "It's about what I've done."

Mick frowns. That's not how the lectures usually go.

"Before I married your da, I got myself in trouble," she says bluntly.

Mick's eyebrows go up. He's always heard that nice girls ought to about that mysterious pre-marriage 'trouble' as much as they should. Of course, he never thought of his sharp-tongued, bull-headed ma as particularly nice...

"It were a boy, too," she says. "Sickly, he was, but he survived, and the nuns at the convent took him away. But he was mine. My first boy. After that, my parents took me around and I met your da, and I came here."

Mick nods. "So Jacky ain't the eldest." That'll show Jacky, who's always boasting about it and claiming it gave him special privileges.

"Jack is my second," she confirms. "And you, my baby boy, are the seventh, not the sixth."

Mick frowns. "But ain't a seventh son supposed to have the Sight?"

His ma chokes back an unhappy laugh. "My baby boy," she says, and it annoys Mick that that's the nickname she picked for him for all that it's technically true. "I wouldn't have told you about this, 'cept for the fact you need to know it. Weren't you telling me just last week about how you stopped your big brother from going to rescue the horse from that flooded river, all 'cause you saw it had gills?"

"I thought it were like in the comic books," Mick says. "Radioactive."

His mother shakes his head. "We call 'em kelpie. Horse-spirits that drag boys to their deaths. You saved your brother that day."

"I got sent to bed without dessert!"

"You did punch him in the face. And a year ago, do you remember the day you went up to the governor's house with your school? And you got lost and went to the kitchens and spent a few hours with the cook and the cobbler and the handyman, all of 'em complaining about how their wages been cut? And the governor got all pale when you mentioned it?"

Mick nods.

"They cater at the governor's house," she says gently. "They don't have a cook."

"But -"

"T’were the brownies, my boy."

"Is that why they liked my chocolate?" Mick had felt bad for them, their wages all cut, and he'd given them the chocolate bar in his pocket, all cut up in equal size portions, just enough for all of them if he didn't take one for himself. He'd regretted it - a chocolate bar of his own was a rare indulgence which he'd saved up two months' allowance for - but they'd been so happy he couldn't bear to keep it for himself.

"I think they liked the milk in the milk chocolate," his ma says. "But that's why I'm telling you now, you've got to be careful. You've got the Sight, just like everyone said, and people with the Sight get themselves in trouble."

"I get in trouble all the time."

"You just keep telling me if there's anything weird," she instructs. "Right off."

Mick sighs, but he's a good boy, and he obeys.

Well, he tries.

"We should take him to see a shrink," his da says, watching him guiltily clean up after another fire.

"Won't help," his ma says. "The fire comes from inside of him."

When Mick is ten, he starts getting into fights. He has broad shoulders that he'd grow into one day, but right now he's still skinny as a rake and his fists aren't strong enough to defend his temper.

The boys at school jump him after school, strip him bare, and pitch him into the local pond, hollering insults the whole time. Mick hollers them right back, but what's he to do? They ran off with his clothing, and he's got to get home before dark.

Mick grits his teeth against the slight. It won’t be too bad, getting home; it's getting cold as the summer draws to a close, but it’s not so cold as to hurt. He's embarrassed, sure, but embarrassment won't hurt him. Not on the outside, anyway, only in the soft gentle parts inside of him, and men weren’t supposed to have those anyway.

He's walking home, head held high because why not, when he sees the cat.

Big and black and beautiful, she is, with eyes as wild as stars, and she's got six little babies curled right up at her side, nursing, and a mate at her back, smaller, licking at her shoulder in homage.

She's near as big as a dog, she is, with a white stripe dead center on her chest.

One little runt is sitting not far from the others. It ain’t nursing or anything, but it looks fine.

Mick smiles a little at the cats. He likes cats.

Somehow, they notice him looking and all of a sudden the big cat starts to wail, and the little cats all wail, too, and the mate, too, all of them, all but the little runt who starts to cry, softly, instead.

Mick feels cold, all of a sudden, scared. "You stop that, right now, you hear me?" he snaps at them, and suddenly three more kittens run from the mama, what keeps a-wailing. The little kittens scatter off, sticking together, but they don’t go anywhere near the runt.

The fear is still there. He runs the rest of the way home, pride be damned.

"Mickey, my darling, what's happened? Where are your clothes, and why are you so scared?" his ma asks.

He tells her everything, and his ma goes pale as a ghost.

"What was it, ma?" he asks.

"The Cat," she says. "Oh, that ain't no good, no good at all."

She gnawed at her lip. "Only one runt, all alone," she says. "Crying where the others are wailing."

"Until I said something," Mick corrects her. "Then there were four."

"And I'm glad you said something. The Cat Sidhe is a collector of souls. Did the kittens run together?"

"No, the runt was still alone."

"And so alone you will be, my baby boy, but you have saved all their lives."

His ma sends away his baby sister to her parents, his brothers whoever she could. The oldest ones laugh at her fears and refuse to leave so close to the harvest, but the youngest she can insist upon better. In the end, she sends away two boys and the girl.

That's why they don't die in the fire.

Mick hates his Sight for not letting him save more.

He ain't all too fond of cats after that, neither.

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

Mick always did wonder why he'd started seeing Len those days before the false version came to him. It wasn't grief, like Stein claimed; he'd never seen visions in his grief before. It wasn't what was in his head, courtesy of the thrice-damned time-stealers, the fickle monarchs in their palace three steps removed from the regular flow of time.

In Ireland they spoke of people who'd gone sideways into the hills, and how they never returned the same.

Mick's not impressed. He went sideways, as sideways as you get, and they tried their absolute hardest to make him forget who he was so that he'd stay with them forever - but he rejected them.

Oh, Mick swore himself to them, he played the role of the Knight, but when a hundred years and one had passed, his Tam-Lin Len had grasped his soul tight, grasped him hard through rage and pain and hate, had offered up his life and so won Mick's freedom.

And the time-stealers had no hold on Mick anymore.

He's not the same, no, but he's not as different as all that.

He's still himself.

"The story's supposed to end with a wedding," he tells himself, a year of death come and gone. The ring of platinum - spell-cursed silver that it was - was warm beneath his clothing. "The story's supposed to end with a wedding after the rescue. Not a funeral. Even I know that much."

No one responds, of course.

But every goddamn night Mick goes to sleep in that bed, and every goddamn night something crawls in beside him and curls that cold chill arm around him.

"You look sick," Jax says. "Have you gotten checked out by Gideon?"

Mick rolls his eyes, but Jax is not so easily deterred.

In the end, Mick admits that he has - sure, it was only because Sara insisted at knife-point, certain that that zombie disease was coming back or something, but it isn't his fault his eyes have bags under them large enough to steal something in, or that his skin's gone grey with exhaustion.

He sleeps every night in his bed.

Every night.

"You should go again," Jax says.

Mick goes again.

Gideon returns a clean bill of health - but for the exhaustion, which she cannot explain, and the fact that everyone around him can see that Mick's dying.

They make him sleep in the med bay that night.

Mick doesn't want to. He can't sleep anymore, not without that arm curled around him - him, who used to sleep anywhere and anytime! He can't even nap anymore.

Not without Lenny.

Oh, it's not Len, Mick knows it can't be Len. He held the hope of Len's resurrection in his hands and he let it go, and he put that illusion back on the road to perdition where it belonged, because he couldn’t let a Len live that lived under that type of brainwashing.

He didn't tell any of them that he knew that the mind-wipe would fix the brainwashing, where nothing else would. He didn't see why it mattered.

He didn't want to sleep anywhere but the bed.

Their bed.

The Legends made him. "Your skin is grey," they said, "your eyes are red, you look as though you're a corpse risen up."

"If only, if only," Mick says.

They looked uncomfortable. "Corpses can't rise up," Stein tells him, using different words, fancy words, but the meaning is clear enough. "You know that best of all."

It's a lie, of course. Many a corpse has stood once more - monsters, the lot of them, but standing tall and proud. Mick’s ma told him all about those, and she told them their names: the red cap, the washer-woman, the screaming in the dark.

The Legends make Mick sleep in the med bay.

But joy of joys, that night he feels the chill hands on his shoulders, spreading down the blanket, crawling in, wrapping the arm around him.

Putting a hand on his heart.

Mick smiles and sleeps.

The next morning he looks even more wretched than usual.

Gideon has nothing.

No explanation, no cure, nothing.

Mick wouldn't take it if they did.

The Legends give up and let him go back to his room.

Mick sleeps in his own bed.

And smiles at the cold.

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

"Mick."

Mick grumbles. He's tired, damnit. Let a man sleep.

Sure, it's all he does these days, but really, people should accept that.

"Mick."

Mick has thirty years of training to drop everything and respond to that insistent nasal whine.

He sighs and opens his eyes.

Len is perched on his goddamn chest, straddling him, peering down at him.

"Y'weigh a fucking ton," Mick tells him, slurring with sleep. "Gerroff."

"Can't," Len says, not without regret. "You're almost dead, you know."

Mick murmurs agreement. He'd accepted that already, hadn't he? Why is Len kicking up a fuss about it now?

Wait, since when have his hallucinations started to talk again?

"I'm not a hallucination," Len grumbles. "I wasn't then, either; I stole a mirror to talk to you, all those times."

Seems like a Len thing to do.

Len prods at him. "Mick."

That one means 'Pay attention to me'. Mick is very familiar with that variant of his name.

He forces himself more and more awake, or as much as he can, nowadays. "What issit?"

"You're almost dead," Len repeats, as if that's important. "I want you to stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop being almost dead, of course," Len says snippily.

"Can't," Mick says, because it's true. The Legends have tried - fancy future doctors, changing locations, even took him to see John Constantine, who had taken Mick aside in private and told him "if you want to die, it's easier to blow out your brains, you know", which hadn't been all that helpful and so Mick had declined his offer of an exorcism.

"Exorcism wouldn't have helped anyway," Len says. "I'm not a ghost."

Mick's not too tired to pull up his cheeks in a bit of a smirk. "Not a hallucination or a ghost. What are you, then?"

Len blinks down at him, inhumanly blue eyes luminous. "I'm a hag."

A what?

Mick wakes the rest of the way up, all at once, and he stares up at Len. Len, who doesn't look like any of his neat hallucinations, like his brainwashed former self, nothing.

Len, with glowing blue eyes with pupils shaped like stars, with teeth that are long and filed to a sharp point, whose skin is grey like a corpse but for the black shine of his long and deadly claws, his beautiful fingers curving into terrible talons, his clothing dirty rags that fall off his frame.

Dirty, but familiar. He'd been wearing that outfit when he'd gone to the Oculus, over a year and a day before.

It had been exactly a year and a day, in fact, when the dreams had begun.

"Bean sidhe," Mick gasps.

"That's a woman," Len sniffs. "I'm still male. Well, non-binary with a preference for masculine pronouns, whatever. Not like the Underhill cares."

"You've been?"

"The Time Masters were something of a renegade bunch," Len says, baring his sharpened teeth. "Changelings all, you know; they trapped a Queen in a labyrinth so she could fashion them more of the same. We met her, remember? In that orphanage, where we put our past selves within her grasp."

Stolen children from all the ages - of course.

Of course the bastards were changelings. Human-born but raised beneath the Hill, who aped mastery of magics they could never hope to truly control. Jealous, bitter creatures; they helped steal more of their kind to spread the misery further, hoping it would be lessened and failing to understand why it didn't help. All they ever wanted was for someone ranked lower than themselves to step on.

Somehow Mick's unsurprised that they ended up forming a bureaucracy.

"And you?"

"They went too far," Len says. "A Queen more or less - well. There are Queens in every nook and cranny, you know; male and female, strong and weak. You get enough followers willing to call you a Queen and a bit of land, that's good enough. But they weren't satisfied with that. They wanted the power to raid and rule the Hill itself."

Mick knows enough of his folklore. "They wanted the power of the High King."

Len grins. "They wanted his throne. I don't think they entirely understand the concept of an elected monarchy, but in fairness, Oberon ruled a thousand years in his time. They might've gotten confused."

"What happened?"

"I unbound the wellspring they'd created. A cat jumped across my corpse and snatched my soul - same cat as what tried to warn you before, as it happens - and the King built me a new body of straw and silver. It's silver what runs through my veins now, Mick, not iron. That dream that the changelings all wanted, and he gave it to me - to spite them, I think."

Mick swallows. "And you're - what are you?"

"I'm a hag," Len says. "The mara, the banshee, the night-mare - whatever you want to call me."

A night-hag, bearer of nightmares, who rides you in your sleep and drains your soul - and indeed, Len is perched upon his chest, a crushing, draining weight, and Mick may have been talking but his arms lie paralyzed by his sides.

"I haven't had nightmares," Mick says, his only protest.

Len looks at him like he's lost his mind. "Of course not," he says. "You're my partner. I took the nightmares, and gave you dreams of peace."

That was always the way of Len: throwing himself in front of the bullet he himself fired at you.

As fickle as Fae, Mick had thought before, amused.

Not so amusing now.

"Why can I see you now?" Mick asks. "When I couldn't before?"

"I have the strength, now," Len says. "I've drained you near to death."

Mick nods. That makes sense.

"If you weren't who you were," Len continues, "it might still have not been enough. You shut your eyes to the Sight long ago - but the Sight doesn't forget you."

"What's the purpose of this visit?" Mick asks, because Sight or no Sight, he knows his partner.

Len's waiting for him to ask.

Len gives a sigh of contentment, tension relaxing; he must have needed Mick to ask the question. Probably one of the strange laws of the Sidhe that Mick doesn’t know about.

"I'm a hag and shall remain so till the tides come no more," Len says, wrinkling his nose at his own poeticism - undoubtedly words of ritual, based on his expression. "But a hag is not a lord, and may be bound into service - and taken from the Hill."

"Taken," Mick says, his heart leaping in his mouth.

"You're no singer, and your violin playing would scare away dead souls," Len says dryly. "But you're the seventh son of a seventh daughter, and though it has been hidden from sight and memory, there have been six such generations born before you. If you die now, there will never be a seventh, and magic throughout the land will be the weaker."

Mick frowns. "I don't have -"

Len makes a face that says he's trying not to laugh. "Did you really never think about the consequences of sperm donation, with your family line?"

Oops.

"Six daughters you have sired - their families are very grateful, just so you know, the kids are great, all very happy, and those with mental illness are getting it seen to properly - but you will never sire a seventh if you die now."

Mick raises his eyebrows. "You asking if I'll trade my kid for you?"

"Like I would ever agree to suggest that," Len replies, rolling his eyes. "No - we give you a chance to win me back, if you promise that, if you are successful, you'll go about having that seventh kid. What you do with her beyond that is all on you. Free will, you know, that sort of thing. Magic loves it."

"And I'll have you."

Len smiles, and his teeth are sharp and pointed and shine in the light. "If you still want me."

Like that's a choice Mick has to think hard about.

But Mick's ma was Irish, in a land filled with Irishmen, and she didn't raise a fool.

"I think," Mick says, "that I'd like a written contract, if you will. And I'd like my lawyer to look at it first."

Len throws back his head and laughs.

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

Mick knows the stories, well and good. He’s no singer to charm the Lords of the Sidhe to give back what he’d lost, and – as Len so succinctly put it – his violin skills would scare off spirits of the dead, and not in a good way. But he’s the seventh son of a seventh daughter, and his mother a seventh daughter of a seventh son, and so on and so forth, hidden from Sight by magic and from memory by lies, and his child will be a marvel should she ever be born.

Marvels can also be terrors, of course.

No wonder John Constantine offered him the path of the bullet.

Mick sleeps three days and three nights in his bed, overriding Gideon to lock his door, and each night at the stroke of midnight, Len comes to him. The second night, Len brings a negotiator, a woman so pretty that it hurts Mick’s eyes even to look at her; but Mick’s heart belongs firmly in Len’s pocket and he declines her overtures in favor of negotiating long and hard into the night. When they finally reach an accord, she offers him a hand to shake, grudgingly impressed, and Mick refuses: Len came once to make the offer, twice for the negotiations, and so the bargain would be sealed on the third night, not the second.

She's even more impressed with that.

That night Mick writes down all he can remember of their agreements and made Gideon send it to Lisa with strict orders to get it back to him before nightfall. It’s all he can manage before his bed drags him back into the arms of sleep.

He wakes up, once, to Gideon telling him that he has a reply. Lisa took his contract to all the lawyers they knew, and the sharpest minds out of the lot pointed out a few clauses that Mick might want to be wary of – after all, the Underhill does so love its tricks, and giving a man his every wish while denying him his hearts’ desire is their favorite.

Mick considers the matter, and slips back into sleep.

Midnight comes again, and with it Len and his negotiator, who today was a hideous crone wearing a cloak of crows’ feathers and yet was the same as yesterday – Mick suspects that if she had come with Len the first night, she would have been a child – and Mick lays out his requirements.

“A what?” the negotiator says blankly.

Len howls with laughter.

“A best efforts clause,” Mick repeats. “Means you gotta try your hardest to make it live up to the spirit instead of the letter.”

“We don’t agree to those!”

Mick shrugs. “I was willing to let the hag –” He doesn’t use Len’s name; he’s not so stupid. “– sit on me for months and months before agreeing to hear you out. You want this, bad as I do; I figure we ought to meet all equitable.”

Her eyes glow like the moon. “And if we refuse, and claim you for our own without relief for your insolence?”

Mick smiles. It’s not a nice smile. “I’ve spent a hundred years and one beneath the Hill,” he says. “Kronos, they called me, 'cause they could not break my true name; a hundred years and one as a Knight before my true love held me fast and pulled me out. You cannot claim me – you’ve already tried that, and failed. You want my magic to reach its fulfillment?” He points at the contract. “Then sign.”

“Or else?”

“Or else I go tell all the bards I know that the Lords of the Sidhe no longer keep true to their deals - and are cowards, too.”

The negotiator laughs, a wretched thing, long and lolling and gruesome, but she plucks a crow’s feather from her cloak and she signs the contract with her own blood. Then – much to his surprise – she offers him the same feather.

“Didn’t know we were on such close terms,” he says, accepting it. You don’t turn down a gift kindly-meant from the aos sí.

“Any man, seventh son or no, would can out-stubborn the Morrigan deserves blood-brothership,” she replies gleefully, and really, if Mick had realized he was negotiating with the goddamn goddess of war maybe he wouldn’t have been quite so rude, but he’s not going to say no.

He cuts his hand – a prick at the base of the thumb, which has no impact on mobility, rather than on his fingers, which he actually uses – and signs his own name besides hers.

“Well done,” the Morrigan says. “I wish you the best of luck in the battles ahead.”

Mick inclines his head in thanks.

And so they go –

- and so he awakens.

He gets up, dresses, and walks to the bridge.

The Legends all gawk at him: standing tall, hearty and hale and flushed red with the blood of a goddess.

“I need to borrow the ship,” Mick tells them. It’s not a request. “Strap in.”

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

Mick goes first to visit John Constantine.

“You freed yourself from a haunting,” Constantine observes. “That’s rare.”

“I need a map to the Underhill,” Mick replies.

“Oh hell no.”

Mick shrugs. “I’ve got seven days and one to make it to the meeting place. Want to see my contract?”

“You contracted with the buggers? You’re right fucked, you are,” Constantine says, but he takes the contract.

After he reads it, he squints at Mick. “You’re a seventh of a seventh and you never thought to mention it?”

“A what?” Jax asks.

“Seventh of a seventh of a seventh,” Mick confirms, ignoring him. “Six times over.”

“And I suppose you’ve got seven of your own?”

Mick smirks. “Six, apparently.”

Constantine groans. “Now I see what you have to trade that they’d want.”

“Is someone going to explain this to the rest of us?” Sara asks.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” John asks, following Mick’s lead and ignoring her. “Even though you get to keep the kid, the Gentlemen are going to have a vested interest.”

Mick shrugs. “I’m on my way to rescue my True Love who has been transformed into a night hag.”

“…I take your point.”

“Wait,” Ray says. “Mick’s fallen in love? When?”

Mick isn’t even going to engage with that.

Constantine gets him the map.

“Really?” Mick says dubiously. “A strip mall?”

“Don’t doubt the value of liminal spaces,” Constantine says. “Also, have you seen those places at night? Even I think they’re creepy.”

Mick shrugs. “I’d say thank you,” he says, “but I don’t do that.”

“Because you have no manners?” Stein suggested.

“Wise man,” Constantine says. “You keep up with that, especially if you're playing games with the Fair Folk. And if I ever need something that requires a drop of blood from a seventh of a seventh, I’ll call you. You have no idea how many useful things call for that.”

“I have some,” Mick – who had totally been kidnapped a few times by foster parents with an eye towards genealogical records, albeit ones who hadn’t read the fine print of ‘disturbed juvenile arsonist’ and had no idea what they were getting into – replies. “Guess I’ll be on my way.”

“You’re going nowhere without my agreement,” Sara puts in. “How’d you even get Gideon to bring us here, anyway?”

“He’s a seventh,” Constantine says, stressing the syllables. “And you’re in a time ship.”

The Legends all blink at him.

“Think adoring puppy dog and someone who smells of bacon.”

Any technology sufficiently advanced will be mistaken for magic, Mick thinks, amused; looks like the other way is true as well.

Time ships always did answer to him particularly easy when he was Kronos, a matter of some great frustration to some of the other bounty hunters...

Map in hand, ignoring the Legends' protests, Mick goes on the next leg of his trip.

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

This place had no name, no place, no time - by those that knew it, it was the Floating Market, but ask any of them what that was and they'd deny they'd ever heard of such a thing.

Indeed, many said it was impossible to describe, even if you were willing to spill its secrets.

Mick thought of it as a time traveler's Mos Eisley.

The greatest collection of thieves and vagabonds in the timeline.

Today, it was in Rome.

Mick doesn't actually pay much attention to where and when - no togas and no t-shirts, so somewhere in the 1000s - because it didn't matter, not really. You don't find the Market by looking for it, you find it with a dowsing rod reserved especially for the purpose.

Mick's never needed one.

"The Floating Market is one of the places that even Captain Hunter feared to go," Gideon tells him.

"Probably because Time Masters aren't treated like gods there," Mick says.

More like pests to be stomped out, actually; their arrogant and high-handed ways had no place in the Market. The Time Masters' bounty hunters, on the other hand, were welcomed as fellow-travelers.

Mick likes the Market.

"I wouldn't go, if I were you," he tells Sara. "They'll peg you for the League in a minute and black-ball you."

She frowns. "They know the League?"

"The League picked a fight with the Market once. I'm pretty sure the League calls that period of time the Great Disaster."

Sara's frown deepens. She recognizes the name. "Why are you going there now?"

"I need to see a man about a cat," Mick replies.

His favorite of the Market's watering holes, of which there were an infinity, is still there. Mick's sure that for some of his fellow travelers, he only stepped out for a minute; such is the way of things.

Underhill's not the only place that knows how to play with time.

He heads in with Jax at one side and Sara - who never listens - on the other. The others were guarding the ship: they'd already gotten six offers to purchase it, and two attempts to steal it.

"Good to see ya, Kronos," one of his old drinking buddies calls out. He's big and tall, wearing black leather pants and a matching vest. His shaggy black hair is as wild as his smile. "The Main Man missed having a challenge."

Mick can't help a smile.

"Lobo," he says. "Just who I wanted to see."

"How can I help ya?"

"I'm looking for Cat Anna," Mick tells him. "I need to know how to care for a hag, once you've got one to care for."

Lobo belches from his beer and roars in laughter. "Cat Anna! Care for a hag! You'd better not be getting romantic on me, Kronos - and even if you were, Jenny Greenteeth or Canrig Bwt is far more, heh, feisty."

"Canrig Bwt eats brains, Lobo," Mick reminds him.

"So? Who needs 'em?"

Mick grins. He likes Lobo. "You got me a lead on Cat Anna?"

"Oh, sure. And you're in luck, too - she's just about to make the switch to Black Annis. Look for her by the witches' feet."

Mick nods acknowledgment. "Good hunting, Lobo."

"And you!"

Mick drags a gaping Jax and Sara out of there. He's not sure what the big deal is.

Kali always has that many skulls tied onto her belt.

The witches' feet is another part of the Market, best identified by the bunches of chicken's feet at every stall, done the same way hookers hang red lanterns.

Finding Cat Anna is easy enough. Not many black cats are being given the royal treatment.

"I wanna talk to you," Mick says to her, ignoring the way Sara seems to be doubting his sanity and how Jax appears be considering purchasing some newts' eyes for some godforsaken reason.

Cat Anna stretches, long and lithe, and in a blink of an eye she becomes Black Annis, the one-eyed, long-haired, sharp-toothed hag of the hills.

"You've been ridden hard," she rasps. "But gentle. That's not like a hag."

"I'm seeking my true love," Mick tells her.

She snorts. "You and the rest of humanity."

"He's the hag."

"Now that's interesting! Human-born, I take it?”

Mick inclines his head.

“Well done, well done. And what need you with Black Annis, then?" she bares her teeth. "Lest you've got some children you don't need."

"He ain't for sale," Mick says, swatting her reaching hand from Jax. "I need to know how to care for one. What'll you charge me? And you can get your own kids."

She snorts. "Oh, hell, I ain't gonna charge you, not for bringing another hag into the world - assuming you manage it. Tell you what, m'boy - you wrestle your hag out of the sidhe and you'll have all you need to know, and all I'll ask is to spread his name."

She looks at him expectantly.

"Captain Cold, they call him," Mick tells her.

She cackles. "Oh, that's a fine one! We ain't never had a Captain before."

She shoves her wrinkly hand at him and Mick kissed it in thanks. He feels the knowledge settle into his mind where it ought to be, locked away until he's fulfilled the conditions on his side.

Getting the Legends out of the Market before they spend every penny they have and some they don't is yet another battle.

And with that done, their eyes still dazed, he goes to claim himself a hag.

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

The stories don't differ.

Oh, some are charmers, some are singers, some are poets, but in the end the job's the same.

You want to take something out of the sidhe, you'd better grab it tight and hold it to your heart, no matter how it burns you.

Lucky for Mick, he has plenty of experience with things that burn.

The Legends follow in his wake, silent and unjudging, less as support than as witnesses.

He’s warned them not to eat or drink and not to say their names to anyone, but to accept any gift they are given. He hopes that they’re wise enough to listen, but his focus has to be on his challenge.

The strip mall at night becomes a Queen's Court - one more in the style of Mab than Titania, if Mick had to guess. The bean sidhe coo when they see Mick and a familiar cat the size of a dog - all black but for the stripe of white at her heart - brushes by his feet, all approving.

Len's his prize and his challenge both, and he stands at the center of the .

"Welcome, Kronos," the Queen says. "Seventh son of a seventh daughter, Hunter of the Timeline and Rover of the Waves, Knight of the Summer’s Shadow, Victor of the Battle of Bet-Adon, Trieste, and Atlantis-Ouest, Master of The Leviathan, Destroyer of the Renegade Court –” By which Mick assumes they mean the Time Masters. Nice to know that that’s been added to his list of titles. “– and guest at our court.”

“Don’t forget Heatwave,” Mick reminds her.

The Queen inclines her head gravely. The Lords love etiquette more than anything else; the best way to get the upper hand is to point out a flaw in their approach. This must be a young Queen indeed.

“Heatwave, Supervillain, Member of the Rogues, Enemy of the Flash, Commander of Absolute Heat,” she recited. “I did not forget; I was unsure if you had reclaimed those titles.”

“I have,” Mick replies, just as solemnly.

Though not without worry. The stupid “Rogues” idea Len had actually comes to fruition?

Ugh.

Mick would say he’s having second thoughts about winning this contest, but he can’t even joke about that; the wound is still too fresh.

Len grins as though he knows what Mick’s thinking, because he’s a dick. He’s totally going to take advantage of this to make Mick join his stupid Rogues.

But on the other hand: he’ll be around to do that.

Mick will take it.

“You will face three trials,” the Queen says. “To rescue a soul from the Sidhe requires love and hope and faith. We will try all three.”

Mick nods, unsurprised.

She waves her hand, and suddenly there’s a dozen Lens standing there, all the same.

“Tell us which of these is your true love,” she demands. “For love will know love, even in disguise.”

Mick gnaws on his lower lip, staring at them. “Might I test them, your Majesty?”

“You may,” she replies haughtily. “Ask your questions.”

Questions? Mick doesn’t need questions. Besides, changelings-constructs have the same memories as the original. Questions won’t help, as the Queen well knows.

No, love needs a different test.

Mick pulls out a hammer.

The collected Court withdraws from the stench of iron, which causes them pain even at a distance.

Mick steps forward, puts his hand on a nearby surface – a squat barrel which he suspects spends its daylight hours as a garbage can – and spreads his fingers wide. He lifts the hammer up high.

“What are you doing?” the Queen asks.

“My love gave up his hand for me,” Mick says. “Seems fair.”

He brings the hammer down, as hard as he can.

The iron never touches his flesh, caught instead by one of the Lens darting forward, his face flushed with rage. He ignores how his own hands sizzle at the touch of iron, too focused on Mick, too focused on yelling, “What the fuck are you doing?! You don’t need to smash your own hand, you - you - you asshole! We already had it out about the hand! What the fuck?!”

“This one,” Mick says to the Queen dryly.

“Well played,” she responds, equally dry. A wave of the hand vanishes the remainder.

Mick pries the hammer out of Len’s hands before they burn any more. “I’m not going to smash my hand,” he assures his partner.

“You’d better not!”

“The next of your tests is this,” the Queen says, and she waves her hand. A table appears, with a wooden cup filled to the brim.

Len’s eyes go wide. “What? No!”

“Drink of the forgetting water,” the Queen says. “It washes away all care, and with all care all memory.”

Mick raises his eyebrows skeptically. “So I’m supposed to drink away all my memories?”

“All your cares,” she corrects. “If your love is true, then have no fear: you will remember him. But if not, you will leave without him and without the memory of him; and ne’er will you meet again.”

“Damnit, he’s already been brainwashed enough!” Len snaps. “And he hates it, too; that’s a terrible test.”

The Queen frowns thoughtfully. “If he will not trust to his own love, he cannot pass the test. And yet I have some sympathy to your plight: it is indeed an old wound. Very well: swear to me your services for three tasks of my will, and he may forgo the drink.”

Mick reaches out and takes the cup.

“Mick!”

“The test is for both of us,” Mick tells him. “And you know it.”

Len falters, just long enough for his brain to start to work – logic overcoming concern, his cold heart overcoming the heat of his emotions.

“I see,” he says. “She can’t bind a hag to her will without their oath, and I ain’t giving her no oath – not for anything but this.”

“She’d trade it and then laugh at us for failing her test,” Mick agrees. “You’ve got to trust me that I can do this, and I’ve got to trust in myself. That’s what hope is.”

“Then go ahead,” Len says. He looks like he’s regretting it.

Before Len can say another word more, Mick lifts the cup to his lips and drains it.

It is –

A blaze of flame surrounds him but does not burn him, soothing his innermost pain, the oldest of all his friends. It welcomes him, calls him to rest, a peaceful slumber.

It wipes away all cares: the old hurt of his parents’ loss, the newer stings of the Legends’ cruelties, even his disagreements with Len over all those years.

But Len is more than just a care, more than just a worry, more than just a disagreement.

He's everything.

Mick opens his eyes. “You ought to market that as an antidepressant,” he observes. “What’s the third test?”

Len punches him in the shoulder, smiling. “They’re still looking to get FDA approval,” he jokes.

“Well done,” the Queen says, ignoring their levity. “Your hope and love is true. And now there is only the test of faith.”

She says no more.

That’s fine.

Mick knows what to do.

He reaches for Len and he takes him into his arms and he holds on.

Holds on through leopards and foxes and spitting cats, through flames and blistering cold, through hurricanes, holds on as his hands hurt and his gut feels like it’s been ripped out, holds on, holds on, holds on –

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

“Is anyone going to explain what just happened?” Sara asks, a little plaintively.

They’re back on the Waverider.

Len is by Mick's side, where he belongs.

He has on that wretched blue parka that Mick would've sworn was lost on some time-traveling jaunt - and indeed that might be so, because this parka gleams subtly in Mick's sight like maybe it wasn't made of fabric from this plane. Also like maybe it could hold off a bomb.

Mick reluctantly approves. He’s in favor of Len being bomb-resistant.

Len also has a bag that seems to contain more things than it really ought. He says he won it off - someone.

He refuses to give more details than that.

His smile is still too sharp, his pupils still star-shaped, but his eyes have returned to their original shade and his talons have reshaped into familiar fingers and at any rate judging from the way none of the other Legends have commented, Mick is pretty sure that he's the only one who can see Captain Cold in his full, newly-inhuman glory.

Mick is -

Mick is content.

No.

Mick is happy.

He's also getting a shit ton of information on the care and feeding of night hags - 'mara' is apparently the preferred name for the singular, Len was just being a dick - so he's not really in the mood to answer the question.

"I'm back," Len says in belated response, when it becomes obvious that Mick has no intention of answering. "Obviously."

"And it's the you we knew?" Jax asks cautiously.

"Mr. Blow-Yourself-Up, in the flesh," Len confirms.

"Oh," Jax says. "Uh. Good to see you again?"

As if that's the switch, the rest of the Legends start crowding around with greetings and smiles and introductions to Nate and Amaya, stories and comradery and all that. Several of them step around Mick to do so.

"I'm a little tired," Len says pleasantly. "As I'm sure Mick is. Perhaps later?"

Human or not, Len's charisma is a force of nature.

They are left alone.

"You're back," Mick says, finally letting himself believe - really believe - that it's true.

Len smiles, his secret, honest, hidden smile, that only Mick and Lisa get to see. "You saved me."

Mick snorts. "You saved yourself, with my assistance."

"Maybe," Len concedes.

"You have plans already, I take it?" Mick asks. He knows that look in Len's eyes.

It's so familiar, so wonderfully familiar, that his chest hurts.

"Oh, yes," Len says. "Many - the Rogues, of course, and finding you just the right woman to bear our child -"

Because of course it's their child.

Mick objects not at all.

"- and maybe having a bit of a snack off our dear friends the Legends, who seem to have grown disrespectful of you in my absence," Len continues. "But that's for later. For now I have other plans."

"I'm all yours," Mick says.

Dangerous words, to say to one reborn among the Sidhe.

Mick finds he can mean it no less. Everything he is, the flaws, the virtues, all the powers he was born to, the full sum of him - it's all nothing without Len.

Len's eyes glitter with pleasure and he takes Mick's hand, and he leads him to the bed.

The bed where they slept together when Len was still a man, the bed that Mick avoided so much that year they were apart, the bed where Mick gave himself, body and soul, to the hungry nightmare Len has become.

Mick smiles and climbs into the bed.

Behind him, a cold body climbs in.

A chill arm wraps around his body.

A hand rests upon Mick's heart.

"Sleep," Len whispers in Mick's ear. "I'll watch over your dreams."

Mick closes his eyes.

And sleeps.

#dccoldwave #my fic #mick rory #leonard snart #lobo #john constantine #coldwave creature au extravaganza

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