#with him now that he is an older version of himself jackie never met

[nataliesscatorccio]

nobody callie breaking up with her boyfriend posting?! nobody kyle as jeff lite? nobody callie afraid of what her mother could do to him? nobody callie afraid of what She, her mother's daughter, could do to him? nobody kyle as a version of jeff that shauna doesn't have anymore? nobody kyle, jackie taylor's version?

#no im sure it has been said but still let's talk about kyle some more! #Callie breaking up with him the way Jackie would have ofc broken up with Jeff #''I was the high school boyfriend'' #and he WAS the high school boyfriend when he was jackie's and now he's a man and if you wanted him because he was jackie's what do you do #with him now that he is an older version of himself jackie never met #now that he is more yours than hers! #the parallel between jackie looking at the photo of shauna and shauna looking at a photo of kyle #is not for nothing #kyle is the jeff that jeff was when he was jackie's #and now he's just shauna's. #so the marriage starts to fall apart the more jeff becomes a person jackie wouldn't know #and kyle becomes the reminder of that #meanwhile callie is caught between deciding if she's ''like mom'' or jackie or both or neither #and either way kyle has to go for it to happen #he – or who he represents – can't get in the middle again #yellowjackets #callie sadecki #shauna shipman #jeff sadecki #kyle yellowjackets

[beebubbly]

Ever After

Prince Ethan x MC  

A twist on A Cinderella story 

SUMMURY: Casey, a beautiful young woman, is treated as a servant by her stepmother and stepsisters. One day, she crosses paths with Prince Ethan, heir to the kingdom, who falls in love with her.

There are those who swear that Perrult’s telling of Cinderella with its fairy godmother and magic pumpkins would be closer to the truth than many of the other versions, one including the legendary slippers to be made of fur.

Perhaps its time to set the record straight; what’s that phase?

Once upon a time...

There lived a young girl who loved her father very much. Her father was a merchant who went abroad and often brought a tribute back for his darling daughter. Casey missed him terribly when he was away, but knew he would always return. 

Casey’s mother had passed away not long after Casey was born. Her father had started to believe it was time for change, hopefully for the better. Upon his travels he met and fell in love with Baroness Rodmilla de Ghent and the two married quickly making their little family complete with the addition of Rodmilla and her two stepdaughters.

But like all stories, there is an unhappy event. One day as Casey’s father was leaving for a new trade, he had a heart attack and sadly passed away. It would be ten years before another man who would enter her life, a man who was still a boy in many, many ways.

In the years that passed since her father’s passing Casey became more of a servant than a member of the family. She worked hard, allowing the hard chores as a distraction from the grief of losing her father.

Luckily, she still had the other servants who she had grown up with and loved like family. Unfortunately, Rodmilla was used to the luxurious lifestyle and the household fell into debt, one of the servants- Elijah had been sold in attempt to pay off some of the debt.

Casey found herself in the forest that was near the house, she picked apples for the household to enjoy. Casey picked an apple and was studying it when the sound of hooves caught her attention. The palace guards rode past her paying her no heed.

Once satisfied with the apples Casey made her way back to the house when a horses whining caught her attention. Curiously, she paused in her walk.

“Come on, you stupid beast” she heard a man’s voice follow.

She watched as a man on the back of one of the families horses jumped the hedge and galloped near.

“Oh, no, you don’t” Casey shook her head running towards the man, dropping most of the apples from her hold.

Taking one of the apples Casey threw it hard at the man effectively knocking him from the horse. The man tumbled from horseback and fell into the hay. Casey grabbed more apples from the ground.

“Thief!” she yelled at the man, attacking him with apples. “This will teach you for trying to steal my fathers horse!”

Another satisfying hit to the man, who attempted to scrambled to his feet, a cloak covered his head and face.

“Please, my own slipped his shoe. I have no choice” The man said as Casey attacked him with more apples.

“And our choice is what? To let you?” Casey asked him.

“I was borrowing it!” 

“Get out, or I’ll wake the house” Casey warned him pelting him with another hit.

“Ow!” 

The man managed to get the cloak from his head, and stand up enough for Casey to see his handsome face, dark hair and blue eyes. Imminently, she recognised him to be the prince. With a gasp, Casey fell to her knees, dropping the apples.

“Forgive me, your highness. I did not see you” Casey said bowing her head to the ground, not daring to look up at the man before her. Prince Ethan looked down, realising he was wearing the royal coat of arms- clearly visible.

“Your aim would suggest otherwise” Ethan said, rubbing at the welt that was forming on his head. She had a powerful arm.

“And for that I know I must die” 

“Then er-” Ethan hesitated, he was not about to be caught by his guards. “speak of this to no-one and er- I shall be lenient”

Ethan climbed back onto the horse, he glanced down at the young woman. She had long dark brown- almost black hair with a thin braid. She glanced up at him for a split second.

“We have other horses, Highness” she told him. “Younger, if that is your wish”

 “I wish for nothing more than to be free of my gilded cage.” he found himself telling her. “For your silence”

He tipped a number of gold coins onto the ground in front of her, with one last look at the young woman he clicked his tongue and rode off.

Casey looked up watching the dark haired prince ride off with her horse. She wondered what had brought him to  run away from home. Glancing down at the coins before her, Casey sucked in a deep breath.

There was a lot of money, quite possibly enough to buy back Elijah! But the only problem was her stepmother, if she caught wind of money- it would be gone in a heartbeat. Casey picked up the gold coins, carefully tucking them into her dress before she stood and started to pick up the apples.

This might just be her lucky day, first the prince speared her life and now she would be able to help her family, with Elijah back, his girlfriend would be reunited with him and that would mean the world to her.

Casey made her way quickly to the house once she finished picking up the apples. She had just entered when she heard her name being yelled by her stepmother.

"Coming!" Casey called back, tipping the apples into a basket.

"Ooh, she's in one of her moods." Jackie warned her as she entered the room with the two older women.

"Did the sun rise in the east?" Sienna asked looking at Casey's bright smile.

"Yes, Sienna, it did" Casey said tipping the gold coins onto the table. "And it is going to be a beautiful day."

The two women gasped at the sight, taking a step closer to the table.

"Look at all those feathers! Child, where did you get this?" Jackie asked.

"From an angel of mercy. And I know just what to do with them." Casry smiled at Sienna.

"Elijah?"

"If the baroness can sell your boyfriend to pay her taxes, then these can certainly bring him home." Casey told her. "The court will have to let him go."

"But the king has sold him to Cartier. He's bound for the Americas." Sienna shook her head.

Casey moved around the room, picking up a cup of salt and the bread.

"This is our home, and I will not see it fall apart." Casey told her firmly, putting a hand to her shoulder.

"We are waiting!" Rodmilla called.

"Oh, take heed, mistress, or these coins are as good as hers." Jackie warned her putting the coins back into Casey's dress handing her another plate.

"Morning, madam." Casey greeted as she entered the room where her mother and two stepsisters sat eating breakfast. "Marguerite. Jacqueline."

"Hello." Jacqueline replied softly.

"I trust you slept well."

"What kept you?" Rodmilla questioned as Casey put the salt carefully on the table.

"I fell off the ladder in the orchard, but I am better now." Casey told her.

"Someone's been reading in the fireplace again. Look at you, ash and soot everywhere." Marguerite commented in distaste.

"Some people read because they cannot think for themselves." Rodmilla said as Casey put the bread onto the table.

"Why don't you sleep with the pigs, cinder-soot, if you insist on smelling like one?" Marguerite told Casey.

"Ooh, that was harsh, Marguerite. Casey, come here, child." Rodmilla grabbed Casey's hands. "Your appearance does reflect a certain crudeness, my dear. What can I do to make you try?"

"I do try, Stepmother. I do wish to please you." Casey told her. "Sometimes, I sit on my own and try to think of what else I could do, how I should act-"

"Oh, calm down, child. Relax."

"Perhaps if we brought back Elijah, I would not offend you so." Casey suggested.

"It is your manner that offends, Casey. Throughout these hard times, I have sheltered you, clothed you and cared for you." Rodmilla said. "All that I ask in return is that you help me here without complaint. Is that such an extraordinary request?"

"No, my lady."

"Very well. We shall have no more talk of servants coming back. Is that quite understood?"

"Yes, my lady." Casey nodded as she turned to leave.

"After all that I do, after all I have done, it's never enough." Rodmilla turned to her daughters as Casey left the room.

If Rodmilla wasn't willing to help get Elijah back, then she was going to do it herself. Casey had a plan.

Dressed in a nice light blue dress and her face clean, Casey made her way to the castle where she knew Elijah would be. She spotted the cage where men were being pushed into. It set off.

Casey ran up stopping the men from leaving by grabbing the rein of the horse.

"I wish to address the issue of this gentleman." Casey told the man on the waggon with the cage, motioning to Elijah.

"He is my servant, and I am here to pay the debt against him."

"You're too late. He's bought and paid for." The man told her.

"I can pay you 20 gold francs."

"Madam, you can have me for 20 gold francs. Now drive on!" the man ordered but Casey stood her ground.

"I demand you release him at once, or I shall take this matter to the king." Casey demanded.

"The king's the one that sold him. He's now the property of Cartier."

"He is not property at all, you ill- mannered tub of guts." Casey said furiously. "Do you honestly think it right to chain people like chattel?"

"I demand you release him at once." Casey repeated stepping closer to the cage.

"Get out of my way!" the man yelled in her face.

"You dare raise your voice to a lady, sir?" a voice called out to them.

Casey turned to find Prince Ethan sat on a horse watching them. She bowed her head at him respectfully.

"Your Highness." the man chuckled. "For- Forgive me, sire. Uh, I meant no disrespect."

"Uh, it's just, uh, I'm following orders here. It's my job to take these criminals and thieves to the coast."

"A servant is not a thief, Your Highness, and those who are cannot help themselves." Casey turned to look at Prince Ethan. The attention of the many people were now on them.

"Really? Well, then, by all means... enlighten us" Ethan motioned a hand for Casey to continue.

"If you suffer your people to be ill- educated, and their manners corrupted from infancy, and then punish them for those crimes to which their first education disposed them" Casey told him passionatly.

"What else is to be concluded, sire, but that you first make thieves and then punish them?"

"Well, there you have it. Release him." Ethan ordered the man after a moment.

"But, sire-"

"I said release him."

"Yes, sire. The man nodded getting down to release Elijah. Casey followed behind, but sent Ethan a thankful smile over her shoulder.

"I thought I was looking at your mother." Elijah said as he hugged Casey, she handed the man the bag of gold coins.

"Meet me at the bridge." Casey whispered to Elijah.

"Prepare the horses. We will leave at once." Casey announced in a louder voice. Elijah, curious nodded and walked off quickly.

Casey made her way over to Prince Ethan, she curtsied slightly.

"I thank you, Your Highness." she told him sincerely before she set off wanting to get away in case he recognised her or someone realised she wasn't a courtier.

Ethan climbed down off his horse and followed after the woman that had peeked his intrest.

"Have we met?" Ethan frowned at her.

"I do not believe so, Your Highness."

"I could have sworn I knew every courtier in the province." Ethan told her.

"Well, I am visiting a cousin" Casey said thinking quickly as Ethan walked alongside her.

"Who?"

"My cousin."

"Yes, you said that. Which one?"

"Th-The only one I have, sire."

"Are you coy on purpose, or do you honestly refuse to tell me your name?" Ethan almost huffed.

"No. And yes."

Casey paused for a moment before she continued walking briskly.

"Well, then, pray, tell me your cousin's name, so that I might call upon her to learn who you are." Ethan said walking in front of her and backwards so he could still see her.

Ethan stopped for a moment letting her brush past him.

"For anyone who can quote Thomas More is well worth the effort."

This made Casey stop and turn to face Ethan. She was intrigued that he knew of the book.

"The prince has read Utopia?"

"I found it sentimental and dull." Ethan told her as he took a few steps towards her.

"I confess, the plight of the everyday rustic bores me."

"I gather you do not converse with many peasants." Casey noted as Ethan stepped closer again.

"Certainly not. No, naturally." Ethan gave a light scoff.

"Excuse me, sire, but there is nothing natural about it." Casey shook her head lightly, frowning at him as she walked away.

"A country's character is defined by its 'everyday rustics,' as you call them. They are the legs you stand on, and that position demands respect not-"

"Am I to understand that you find me arrogant?" Ethan raised an eyebrow as he stepped in front of her again, standing close to her.

From this distance Casey could see the prince had bright blue eyes and feel the warmth from his body.

"Well, you gave one man back his life, but did you even glance at the others?" Casey glanced back at the others who were still imprisoned, Ethan followed her gaze.

She had a point.

Casey started walking again making Ethan follow.

"Please, I beg of you. A name. Any name."

"I fear that the only name to leave you with is Comtesse Sophia de Lancret." Casey told him.

"There now. That wasn't so hard." Ethan smiled at her.

"Ethan!"

The pair paused again for a moment, Ethan turned to find his mother heading their way.

Casey used this distraction to slip away from the prince. A small smile stayed on her face as she and Elijah made their way home.

#choices #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #open heart #au

[that-gt-and-vore-stuffs]

Strawberry Lemonade

Here is the story version of this, just for you anon, because fuck school and sleep

(Please take better care of yourselves then I do)

Vore under the cut

These little sessions with Katherine were odd enough as is. His point was only being proven more and more as the time dragged on.

The red head seemingly appeared at his window about a half an hour ago, asking to be let in. Unable to say no, he did just that. He watched as she dusted herself off before she turned to him. Oh no. Not the reporter spark-

“David, could you you shrink me?”

There it is. He shouldn’t have expected anything else of the girl. She was a strong young woman, and that in turn only aided her ability to persuade him. Like with Jack. Both of them were stubborn and could be very intelligent. Both often wouldn’t stop until they got what they wanted. Jack’s only upper hand was the crush strong friendship he had with him. That aside, he couldn’t stop himself from staring at her with wide eyes.

By her expression he had to guess he looked absolutely shocked. “David,” she started. “This shouldn’t be much of a surprise. We planned this, remember?”

It took Davey a good minute to find the memory she was talking about. Two weeks back when he pushed her off and said in two weeks. Well that time was up. Great. He sighed. “Kath, do we really have to-“

“Do you want to be feared?”

“N-no!”

“They let’s do this.”

Ok. Straightforward and blunt much? What was worse was that in those few short sentences she had a point. Damn it. He sighed, forcing himself to his feet. Two sluggish steps later and he tapped her shoulder with two fingers. Not even a minute later she was small enough to fit in his palms. That’ll work. Scooping her up he went to go sit back down on the bed.

“Alright. Now could you bring me to your mouth and open it up?” Katherine’s smile never faded. She had to be the one person he’s met who was eager to get into a pred’s mouth. Absolutely insane. Not bothering to argue though, he did just as she asked.

Stepping right in, Katherine got to work. Poking around here and there, jotting down as many notes she could about the layout of Davey’s maw. She sure knew how to keep busy. Though a picture could be of use....maybe she could ask Jack. Yeah.

Davey was having a hard enough time as it was. Holding his jaw open, inner Pred constantly teased with the taste of cinnamon, not to mention it now being around lunchtime. Still, he waited.

Until his door burst open.

Jolting upright, Katherine flying backwards, he can only swallow and hope that Katherine won’t be to mad as he looks to the intruder.

Seeing the small legs disappear down her brothers throat told Sarah enough. She shut the door behind her before failing to fight off laugher at what she had just walked in on.

Almost immediately Davey felt himself go red. His expression something like a hybrid of shock and pure annoyance. The pleased little gurgle signaling that Katherine had arrived at her destination didn’t help at all either, only serving to ignite more laughter from his sister. “S-Sarah! Did you never learn to knock?!”

“Yep!” Sarah wheezes, trying to calm her laughter. Wiping a tear from her eye she smirks up at her, only by a few minutes, younger brother. “Buuuut, dearest brother, I’ve also learned what a predator in action looks like. Who was it this time? Was it your little Jackie~? Did you just want to keep him real close and have him give you belly rubs and praise you like the good boy he says you are-“

“SARAH!” Blushing ear to ear and throughly embarrassed, the teen pushes at his sister. He can feel Katherine shaking lightly in his stomach, only going to show that she is either trying to or not bothering to hold back laughter. Great.

Sarah stumbles to her feet, shoving her brother back onto his bed. “Oh please. You know it’s true! I’ve seen how you look at him. How every little word he speaks hypnotizes you. How with a single look he can turn you into an obedient little puppy dog at will-“

“Can you not be quiet? For five minutes?” Davey groans, pushing himself to sit upright yet again. The look his twin gives him says it all. Wonderful. How in the world can he shut her up?

“You and I both know that isn’t possible. You just have to face the facts, dear brother mine. You are head over heals for Jack Kelly and are too chicken to confess!”

“Oh I don’t see you having a crush on anyone! You don’t know what it’s like!”

“Well I just haven’t met the right girl! Sorrrrrryy!”

Grumbing somethung incoherent under his breath, Davey reaches over and flicks Sarah in the shoulder. The girl doesn’t flinch though. Like she knew what was coming.

Like it didn’t matter when her now much taller brother picked her straight off the floor, looking highly unamused.

“Trying to make me see things from Jack’s perspective, ey?”

Davey huff. “No. Teaching a lesson.” Before Sarah can ask what in the hell that means Davey shifts to lay on his back, dangling her above now very much open jaws.

Her heart drops a bit at seeing that. “H-Hey David. We can talk about this, r-right? No need to resort to this.” She stutters, trying to reason with her brother.

“I don’t know. Can we? If you ask me, this is the most efficient way to get my point across. Help you remember.” Davey takes a moment to lick his lips, opening him mouth again soon after. To get the blood pumping, he rubs together the two fingers pinching the back of Sarah’s outfit. The only thing keeping her in the air.

A squeak sounds from Sarah’s throat. That isn’t good. No sir. “Hey...you wouldn’t eat your own sister, would you?”

“Seeing as you’re a switch, I’m hungry, and I need to get a point across I find it perfectly suitable to hold you there for a little bit. Sound right?”

“I- Come on, David. You’re not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

Sarah grumbled and reached up, trying to push her brother’s fingers away. Davey holds a “strong” grip on her for a while. He should have payed more attention in hindsight, seeing as the moment he looks away she prays herself free.

It doesn’t take long to realize her mistake.

Davey’s not paying attention, the first mistake. His mouth is still open, the second one. He doesn’t notice right away when his sister slips, the final one. Seemingly in a flash, everything goes down. Something makes contact with his tongue and starts to slide back while a fruity-citrusy flavor he would come to identify as strawberry lemonade blooms across where said thing slips. Then it slips too far and he’s left with no choice but to swallow.

At the sound of a thick gulp above her Katherine knows what happened. Sighing, she moves out of the way, now sinking into the wall behind her. It isn’t long before there’s another presence in the darkness. Wonderful. Might as well let Sarah know who she was. “Hello.”

Sarah wasn’t ready at all to be swallowed down. To be pulled into the unfamiliar, right, wet confines of Davey’s throat. It wasn’t like she slipped back that fast. Was Davey just that out of it? In the darkness of the chamber holding her she wasn’t at all expecting a female voice. “H-Hello?”

“You’re Sarah Jacobs, are you not?”

“Yeah. That’s...me. Who are you?”

“Katherine.”

Sarah’s mind began to search. Search for a Katherine she knew Davey knew. Who did.....was it- no way. “Katherine as in the Katherine who helped the boys win the strike?”

“That would be me, yes.”

“Well then pleasured to meet you. I’m Sarah Jacobs, as you seem to know, David’s older twin sister who’s taste he apparently COULDN’T RESIST!”

A groan from above shook the room, seeming to vibrate in their bones. The world shifts, sending them tumbling onto each other as Davey shifts. Despite their limbs being tangled in each other’s and them being squished together thanks to Davey’s new position they can’t help laughing.

“Oh don’t be like that, David!” Sarah shouts, making sure her brother can hear her. “Just admit that you like the taste of me- scratch that, the taste of people more then actual food at times!”

There’s another groan and the sound of fabric shifting faintly outside. Davey burying his head in a pillow. Could this get more embarrassing? Hopefully not. In a last ditch attempt to shut his sister up, he huffs. “Shut up.”

Once again, the laughter of two young women can be heard, albeit, muffled, from his stomach.

Just his luck.

#safe vore #soft vore #idiot boy tries to teach his sister a lesson #proceeds to fail miserably #someone help him please #tada! #:)

[loving-jack-kelly]

Javid story where Davey is slowly going blind and Jack is determined to show david all the beautiful things in his life

When Davey was little, his eye doctors had been hopeful that his vision wouldn’t get too bad. As he got older, they got less hopeful, and by the time he was twenty, they’d told him he’d probably be unable to see anything more than light and dark by the time he was thirty.

He met Jack when he was twenty-five and had to wear glasses as thick as his thumb to be able to see. He was an aspiring writer, somehow making a living in journalism while working on a book he hoped he could publish someday.

Jack was an artist who’d suddenly made it big with one sale nobody could have predicted.

At first, Davey was worried his vision had gotten worse since he woke up when he saw the painting in question. The colors were nice, but the shapes were hard to make out and honestly he had no idea how it was supposed to be a cityscape, though that’s what the label called it.

He hadn’t realized he’d already found the artist when he’d said that out loud and the person standing next to him started laughing out loud.

“You know, I almost didn’t put this one up for sale. I painted it in two hours at three am. I like the others much better, but hey, if you have enough money only ugly is worth it.”

Jack was much closer to a work of art than the painting they were standing in front of, in Davey’s opinion. He was dressed up for the occasion, some fancy gala hosted by the person who bought his painting, and he looked like he fit right in with the crowd around them. When he laughed, he threw his head back, and his hair quickly escaped the styling he’d obviously spent time on and left him with curls falling in his face no matter how many times he pushed them away. His smile took over his entire face, making it easy to picture where the creases would form as he aged, and he never stopped moving. His hands fluttered when he talked, and when they ended up sitting next to each other near the end of the night, he was constantly tapping his fingers or jogging his leg. He was easy to talk to. Funny. Charismatic.

Easy on the eyes, too.

Davey had always looked at his vision loss philosophically. He might have been going blind, but he’d had plenty of years to see things, and he’d chosen and was enjoying a career that he didn’t really need sight for. There were people who had it worse, and he had managed to stay pretty content with his lot in life.

But he was glad he got to see Jack Kelly.

Jack seemed glad to see him too, if their conversation was anything to judge by.

Jack made a joke, and reached out to brush Davey’s hair away from his face. Jack listened to what Davey had to say, and leaned in close in a way that could be excused by the noise around them but just a little bit closer than necessary.

And when the party was finally dying down, which Davey was surprised to notice since he’d been planning on leaving long before most people, Jack extended his arm and an offer to walk Davey home.

And like something out of a movie, or a scene Davey would never write into a book because it just seemed too cheesy, Jack kissed him outside his apartment’s door. There was a florescent bulb flickering overhead, and Jack gently cupped Davey’s cheek and stayed so close when he pulled back that Davey could feel his breath, and then squeezed Davey’s hand before letting go.

He put his number in Davey’s phone with a heart-eyes emoji and responded immediately when Davey texted him.

And dating Jack Kelly was the easiest thing in the world.

He hadn’t quite expected it to be, the first time Jack had asked if he wanted to go out. He’d kind of expected it to be awkward and weird and probably to fizzle out after a couple of dates. And instead, Jack asked Davey on a first date and it was to a planetarium and Jack whispered facts the program didn’t include into Davey’s ear. He held Davey’s hand and took him for ice cream while the sun was setting. They walked the High Line and Jack picked a flower and tucked it into Davey’s shirt pocket.

“You know, I forgot that I’m lactose intolerant,” Jack said thoughtfully, looking down at the last bite of his ice cream cone. After a second, he shrugged and popped it into his mouth. “Oh well.”

“Oh, well?”

“I’ll take a pill when I get home. Ice cream is too good to live without, you know.” He smiled and took Davey’s hand again, both of their fingers sticky from melted ice cream.

They dated for almost two months before Davey fully explained his eyesight.

Jack didn’t do the annoying thing a lot of people did where he suddenly started treating Davey differently, or throwing Davey a pity party he didn’t ask for.

Davey knew he would be blind eventually. He’d known that for a long time, and he was used to it.

Instead, Jack asked a couple of questions about it, and then he asked one Davey had thought about a lot but never been asked by anybody else.

“What do you want to see?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have time, right? So what do you want to see before you can’t?”

Davey listed off a few places, a few sights that had always been on on his bucket list, and Jack hummed thoughtfully, and then their conversation had moved on and Davey pretty much forgot about it.

Until he found an envelope slid under his door with a hastily written note covering a little doodle obviously done by Jack.

I wanted to see your face but I had to literally run but I know you’ll be home soon so happy Start of Jack’s Grand Plan.

Davey opened the envelope not exactly sure of what to expect. A clue to a scavenger hunt, maybe. A sweet drawing, a longer note, something small and sweet and romantic, the type of gesture Jack loved to give.

There wasn’t any kind of note. Not a single doodle in sight, other than the one on the envelope which Davey was pretty sure was somebody feeding the pigeons in the park.

Davey opened the envelope and pulled out two plane tickets.

Round trip, three days and two nights, from JFK to Flagstaff Pulliam Airport.

And under the tickets in the envelope was printed off receipt for a two night stay in the Grand Hotel at the Grand Canyon.

And then there was a small piece of paper with a list of places with a bold strikethrough cutting through “Grand Canyon” at the top with a bunch of other places listed underneath.

Five minutes into reading and rereading the tickets and the room receipt over and over again, Davey’s phone rang with the ringtone Jack had picked for himself (a frankly very strange cover of Never Gonna Give You Up that made everyone do a double take when it rang in public).

“Hey! I wanted to wait for you but Crutchie called and said he was having an emergency.” Davey could hear the smile in Jack’s voice and also Crutchie yelling something about fresh baked cookies very much warranting the emergency label Jack Kelly they needed to be enjoyed warm. “Do you like it? They’re far enough out that I can move them if the dates don’t work, but I’m pretty sure they do.”

“Jacky…I…you can’t-“

“Already did. Davey, I sold a painting for enough money that I bought an apartment. In Manhattan. And then I sold another painting for even more money. I want to spend it on something good. And you’re good. Plus, I get to go too. It’ll be wonderful, Davey darling, and you can’t convince me otherwise.”

Davey heard Crutchie say something to Jack and Jack laugh in response.

“Crutchie says if you don’t go he’ll go in your place and that would be weird because we’re brothers so you have to go.”

Davey laughed back.

“And you know you want to see the Grand Canyon. And it’ll be fun to get away for a little while. And-“

“Okay, okay, Jack, I’ll go with you.”

“We’ll hash out the details later, then. Love you, Davey, but more cookies came out of the oven three minutes ago and if I don’t start eating them soon Crutchie might murder me and that would spoil everything, now wouldn’t it?”

So they went to the Grand Canyon for the first week of April, and it was absolutely wonderful. Jack was wonderful, the trip was wonderful, and the view was wonderful and everything was wonderful.

And two months after that, Jack handed him a birthday card and inside of it were two tickets to Paris that Jack excused with “I’m going anyway for a show, so you might as well come, too.”

And over the next three years, Davey got tickets to Moscow, Hawaii, Yosemite. They drove to Maine and went through Niagara Falls on the way home. When they moved in together, Jack hung a bigger version of Jack’s Grand Plan on the wall and made a big dramatic deal out of crossing out every place they went to.

Davey laughed at every speech and pretended to protest every time Jack planned a new trip, but he knew he wouldn’t win any argument against going and he didn’t really want to stop going, either. He loved going on trips with Jack. He loved that Jack was determined to show him as much of the world as possible and wouldn’t take no for an answer.

How did he get so lucky?

Slowly, though, his vision was getting worse. He was getting tunnel vision, not in the figurative sense but in a very literal sense, and by the time he was twenty-nine, he finally stopped being able to see anything other than light and dark.

There was one stop left on Jack’s Grand Plan, and Davey was sure it wasn’t going to happen, but Jack still insisted.

So even though Davey wouldn’t be able to see the sights, he and Jack books tickets to Norway complete with a two day cruise in the fjords.

Jack was an artist, and he was just as good with verbal descriptions as drawings and paintings. He spent the entire trip describing absolutely everything he could see to Davey, from the outfits of the people around them to the towering stone surrounding them while they were on the boat.

It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was still pretty good.

Two weeks after they got home, Jack woke Davey up early and dragged him into the living room.

“I have a surprise and you’ll love it,” he said, offering no other explanation until Davey was sitting on the couch. “As you know, we recently completed the last stop on Jack’s Grand Plan. However, I can’t help but feel it wasn’t the same, and therefore, I have decided there has to be one last step before the plan can be declared complete. And that step happens…right now.”

Davey heard Jack pulling paper off of something.

Setting something down on the coffee table. Something big.

Jack took Davey’s hand and squeezed it before setting it down on the thing he’d put on the table.

It was rough. All ridges and texture, nothing smooth about it.

“It’s the fjords,” Jack said, obviously bursting with excitement. “It’s oil paints but it’s almost a sculpture instead of a painting, so you can touch it to see it. It doesn’t look like the fjords at all because I painted them and got the texture right and then added black on top because it’s meant to be touched, not seen.”

Davey ran his fingers over the entire painting, tracing the edges along the frame and feeling for details, surprised at how much he could identify. There was a patch at the bottom that felt the way choppy water looked, and tall patches of rough stone. Swirly clouds.

“It’s beautiful, Jack.”

“With that, Davey, Jack’s Grand Plan is complete. We’ve been to every place you listed, and you’ve seen them all. How was it?”

“Perfect, Jacky.”

Jack sat down next to him on the couch and kissed his cheek, wrapping his arms around Davey’s waist.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cause I was thinking we could maybe do a couple repeats. I could paint more like this. Still get to go on vacation together all the time but this time call it a business expense.”

Davey laughed and leaned into Jack’s arms.

“Sounds perfect to me, Jacky.”

#newsies #i wrote this #javid #i love them #Anonymous

[crashy31]

Secrets Chapter 4

Early Update!! Hope y’all are enjoying this... 

Once Gabby was happily occupied in the living room, they all gathered into the kitchen to discuss why they were a there. Jesse sat next to Sam and gave her hand a quick squeeze before they got into it all. She looked to her left where Happy had decided to sit. She was surprised to see him as calm as he was since the last time she saw him was almost five years ago and the last time they spoke they were screaming at each other. She’s be lying if she said that she didn’t miss him. She thought about him every day and what their life would have been like if she had stayed. She pushed those thoughts away as the others sat across from her. Happy cleared his throat and looked at her expectantly. When she didn’t say anything, Juice’s kind eyes looked at her.

“What happened, Jess?” he asked. He tried searching her face for any hints as to why she needed their help.

She finally got the courage to explain herself to them. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. “I ran into some shit with an ex. His name was Jeremy Whitmore. A recovering addict. He relapsed and shit went south. Fast.” Jesse explained. Noticing the look on Happy's face she trained her eyes into the tabletop. “At first it was small things. He'd get angry quicker, come home later, grab me. But soon after that it escalated. He started to hit me. Then one night he rapped me.”

She heard the grumbles from her old friends and felt a squeeze to her shoulder. Raising her head, she met Happy's eyes. They were the darkest she had ever seen them. “I called the cops one night after he had hit me, with Gabby at home. He was removed and cops interrogate her and I for hours. Mostly about if I knew anything he was doing illegally. Which I didn’t. He stayed away after that for awhile.” She went on. “One day I saw him at the bank. He looked good. He’d been sober for a couple of months, was going to meetings. Then he asked if we could get coffee. I agreed and he was the man that I fell in love with again.”

Happy’s whole body tensed at the mention of her falling in love with another man. She was his. The tattoo she still had on her back was proof of that. “Why did you go back to him if you knew what he was capable of?” he asked a little more harshly than he had intended.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair and looked up to meet his hard glare. “I loved him. The man that was sober. I loved that man. I gave him another chance.” she explained. “I didn’t let Gabby around him anymore, though.”

“So what happened that you had to call us?” Tig asked, looking at the two. “And how does Trevor factor into all of this?”

Jesse looked t Sam and continued her explanation. “I started to find baggies around the house. I knew he was using again. I sent Gabby with Sam for the weekend to deal with Jeremy. He came over about a week ago to talk and I told him we were done. Next day, I came home from work with him in the house, with a gun.” tears began to well up in her eyes as she replayed everything that happened that night. “He hit me, raped me, and I passed out from a blow he landed to my head. When I woke up I left. Went to Sam.”

“When she got to my place she was a mess. It was the worst he had ever done to her.” Sam took over. “When I was trying to get her to go to the hospital, Trevor woke up and saw the damage done to her face. He went to the room, got dressed and left us to deal with Jeremy.”

“So wait, how do you know Trevor?” Juice asked.

Sam gave him a sad smile. “Trevor and I had been seeing each other for a couple of years. I had no idea he was a Son though.”

Happy sighed heavily. “What’d Trevor do?”

Sam looked up to Happy and shook her head. “We waited at the house for Trevor to come back, but he never did. A few hours after he left, Jeremy pulled up to the house.” she said through tears. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to see it was Opie. “The asshole got in through the backdoor before I could lock it. He forced himself inside and tried to get to Jesse. I held him off long enough for her to hide Gabby.”

Jesse took her hand in hers and looked to Happy. “I knew Sam kept a gun in a lockbox under her bed. I grabbed it and went for him. Put a bullet in his goddamn head.”

Happy felt a sense of pride when he heard those words come out of her mouth. “What’s you d with him?” he asked as he leaned in closer to her.

“We buried him in her back forty. No way anyone will dig him up there. We cleaned up the house, used a shit ton of bleach. Sam watched Gabby so I could get rid of the truck. Wiped it down and torched it.”

Happy nodded and for the first time since he laid eyes on her, pulled her in and hugged her. Her body immediately relaxed into him, like it had done a thousand times before. “You did good.” he whispered into her ear.

She nodded and pulled back, “We headed out after I got back. We didn’t go back to the house. Her’s or mine.”

“What happened to Trevor?” Juice asked. He looked between Jesse and Sam. Both had the look of grief on their faces. He closed his eyes and cursed under his breath.

“After I called Happy to help us, I was at a diner around the corner from the motel we were staying at and saw the news. He was found dead at Jesse’s.”

“Who found him?” Tig asked, visibly shaken up.

Jesse shook her head. She had yet to find that out. It didn’t make sense. “I don’t know.” she said quietly. She stood from her seat when she heard Gabby call her. She wiped the tears from her face and headed out of the kitchen.

Happy sat at the table with the others and looked to Tig. “Call Lee. See if he’s heard anything. I’m gonna call Jax. Let him know what’s going on.”

Tig nodded and got to his feet. Before leaving, he laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, doll.”

She gave him a sad smile and nodded. Looking down at her hands once she felt him leave her. She fought back the tears that were threatening to spill again. She heard Happy speaking to someone on the phone so she excused herself and walked back down the hallway and stopped at the picture hanging in the hallway. She recognized another one of the men in the photo standing proudly beside Trevor. She couldn’t place a name to the face though. She made a mental note to ask Jesse later. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t feel Happy’s presence beside her, jumping when she heard his raspy voice.

“How do you know Jesse?” he asked, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes were searching her face, trying to get a read on her.

Sam smiled for the first time in a week at the memory of meeting Jesse. It was just over four years ago when she waddled into the hospital she was working at. “I was her nurse when she came to the hospital for an ultrasound. We would talk everytime she came in for a check up and soon we were getting coffee together. Just blossomed into a great friendship.” She explained. “I was off the night she went into labor with Gabby. She called me. Said she was alone and needed someone. I didn’t think twice.”

Happy didn’t know what else to say. He was so hurt that she didn't tell him she was pregnant, “Why didn’t she tell me?”

Sam sighed, “I don’t know, Happy. She didn’t tell me who you were until one night I saw her telling Gabby about you, showing her pictures of you and some of the others.” Sam rested a hand on his arm. “Jesse has kept her time in Charming away from everyone that has been in her life since she left. There’s only one other person who she ever talked to about it before she told me the condensed version.”

Happy looked at her with a confused look. “Who?”

Sam didn’t elaborate anymore and looked into his eyes. “Talk to her.”

Back in Charming Jax was pacing as he spoke to Lee. He had heard from Happy earlier that afternoon and was seeing red when he heard about what had happened to Jesse. He didn’t know how the others were going to take it. He listened to Lee explain what the Bellevue police had to say about Trevor’s death.

As he hung up, he headed for the clubhouse, his nostrils flaring. Jesse and Sam were both wanted for questioning. There was a state wide APB for them. The one person he needed at the clubhouse was in Oregon. “Church! NOW!” he called as he walked into the clubhouse, getting the attention of the remaining members.

Jax took his seat at the gavel and waited for everyone to file in. As everyone took their seats, he went over everything that has happened in the last twenty four hours. He couldn’t believe the shit that was going on. He had to break the news to his brothers that they had lost a member, then explain to them what happened to Jesse. His jaw clenched as Phil closed the double doors and took his seat.

“What’s up, Jackie boy?” Chibs asked from his seat on his left.

Jax looked at each of his brothers and sighed heavily. “I just spoke with Hap.” he began. “He’s with Jesse in Oregon. Shit went sideways with an ex of hers. He beat her, and raped her. When she tried to leave him, she was forced to kill him.”

He listened to the men in the room curse and turned to Chibs who was fighting back the tears in his eyes. He was close to Jesse. She looked up to him as a father figure. “There’s more I need to tell you. The man that her friend was seeing, went to take care of her ex. He was a Son.” He went on to explain.

Bobby shook his head at the information. “If they knew where she was, why didn’t they reach out?”

Jax shook his head at the older man. “That’s something we need to find out. Trevor from Tacoma was dating her friend. She had no idea he was a Son.”

“It makes sense that Jesse hadn’t figured that out. He was a Nomad.” Quinn explained to the group. “I knew he was seeing someone that he kept away from the club. Lived up in Bellevue, I think.”

“I do have to tell you that Trevor didn’t make it. Looks like her ex put a bullet in his head.” he said with a sigh. “The girls have a state wide APB out for questioning. Hap’s got Juice looking into it.”

“What are we doing?” Bobby asked him, leaning back in his chair. “If they’re wanted for questioning, they have to be suspects in it. What happened to her ex?”

Lighting a cigarette, Jax smirked. “He’s dead and in the ground. He went looking for Jesse, showed up at her friend’s place and she took him out. The two of them buried him in her back forty and torched the guy’s truck.”

There was a round of hoots and hollers. “Good to know the kid still had it in her.” Chibs smiled proudly.

Jax sat at the head of the table running through what they had to do in the next twenty four hours. They needed to make sure that whatever threat that may be following the girls didn’t land on their doorstep. “Listen, we gotta buckle down. Finish whatever deals we have coming up and stay clean for the next little while. Shit’s gonna be tight, but if shit follows them, we have to make sure our noses stay clean.” he explained.

“Chibs and I will meet with the Niners, I know Tyler has been waiting for that new shipment.” Bobby spoke up.

“Quinn, you go with them. Montez and Rat, you’re with me. See if we can get shit settled with Alvarez.” Jax ordered. “T.O. stay here, keep shit locked down with Phil and the new prospect.”

After the meeting was over, everyone filed out of the chapel and headed their own ways. Jax made his way across the lot to the office of the garage in search of his mother. She was in the depths of filing invoices and hadn’t noticed him walk in. When he cleared his throat, she jumped slightly, and took her glasses off to look at him.

“What have you heard?” she asked, searching his face for some sense of what was going on with Jesse.

He ran a hand through his hair and took a seat on the arm of the old couch that was against the wall across from her desk. “Shit went south with a guy she was with. Her and her friend killed him.” he explained.

Gemma cursed under her breath and looked to the floor. She took a second to gather her thoughts and looked to her son. “What’s her next move?”

“Hap’s bringing her back here with him. We need to buckle down on a few things before they get here. I have a feeling the feds won’t be too far behind them. I’ll let her explain everything when she gets here. But Hap wanted to know if you could send some croweaters to his place and clean it up.”

Gemma nodded and smirked. He hasn’t spent one day in that damn place sense she left. I’ve been going there a few times a month to keep the dust and cobwebs at bay, just in case he wanted to sell.”

Jax smirked at his mom and gave her a kiss on the cheek when he stood. “I gotta head out. See you later, Ma.”

#sons of anarchy #happy lowman #Jax Teller #juice ortiz #opie winston #tig trager #bobby munson #chibs telford #rane quinn #soa #SAMCRO #redwood original #reaper crew

[papermoonloveslucy]

LUCY AND RUDY VALLEE

S3;E12 ~ November 30, 1970

Directed by Coby Ruskin ~ Written by David Ketchum and Bruce Kelly

Synopsis

Famous crooner Rudy Vallée is waiting tables to pass the time until his music comes back into style.  Lucy convinces Kim to help update his look and sound while Harry gets him a booking at the local teen hangout.  

Regular Cast

Lucille Ball (Lucy Carter), Gale Gordon (Harrison Otis Carter), Lucie Arnaz (Kim Carter)

Desi Arnaz Jr. (Craig Carter) does not appear in this episode, although he does receive opening title credit.

Guest Cast

Rudy Vallée (Himself) started his career as a saxophone player and singer and became a popular bandleader, hosting a hit radio program in the 1930s.  His first film was 1929's The Vagabond Lover. He also wrote a popular song of the same title.  He was known as a crooner, and often depicted singing through a megaphone. On Broadway he appeared in How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying and repeated his role in the film version in 1967.  That same year he played “Batman” villain Lord Marmaduke Fogg. Vallée played himself in “Lucy Takes a Cruise to Havana,” the first episode of “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour” in 1957.  He died in 1986 at age 84.

Herbie Faye (Luncheonette Manager) was a character actor whose first major role (at age 56) was Corporal Sam Fender in “The Phil Silvers Show” (1955). He also appeared with Silvers on Broadway in Top Banana (1951) and also did the film version (1954) with Silvers. He appeared in a 1968 episode of “The Lucy Show.”  This is the first of his four “Here's Lucy” episodes.

Phil Vandervoort (Steve) appeared in two episodes of “The Lucy Show” where he met Lucie Arnaz. The two were married from 1971 to 1977.  This is the first of his three episodes of the series.

It is fairly obvious that Vandervoort, then Lucie Arnaz's fiancée, was cast to fill in for the absent Desi Arnaz Jr. Also, a character named Steve had already appeared on the series played by Steve March. It is unclear whether this is a recasting or a different character named Steve. 

Vanda Barra (Rudy Vallée's Maid) was Lucille Ball’s cousin-in-law and married to frequent day player Sid Gould. This is just one of her over two dozen appearances on “Here’s Lucy” as well as appearing in Ball’s two 1975 TV movies “Lucy Gets Lucky” (with Dean Martin) and “Three for Two” (with Jackie Gleason). She was seen in half a dozen episodes of “The Lucy Show.” Off-camera background singers are Marnelle Wright, Gloria Wood, George Bledsoe, Thomas D. Kenny, Mack McLean, and Sue Allen.  

The diners in the luncheonette, patrons of the Hungry Hippie, and Steve's band are all played by uncredited background performers.

The first draft of the script was date May 25, 1970.  It was originally titled “The Rudy Vallée Show”.  

Interestingly, Lucy read the script and made notes aboard United Flight #196 on June 6, 1970 and made extensive notes about how to ‘fix’ it.  

Two days after this episode originally aired (December 2, 1970), Lucie and Desi Jr. appeared on NBC’s “The Kraft Music Hall” with Robert Young and Jane Wyatt hosting. Lucille Ball does not appear.

This is the first of 68 episodes directed by Coby Ruskin. He previously directed episodes of “Gomer Pyle” and “The Andy Griffith Show,” both filmed at Desilu. Ruskin was hired after Herbert Kenwith decided to leave the show after an incident between Lucille Ball and guest star Ruth McDevitt.  

According to Lucille Ball, Rudy Vallée had the foulest mouth of anyone she's worked with and was very difficult while filming this episode.  He would blame every person around him for anything he couldn't do. If he made a mistake, it was always somebody else's fault. On the DVD introduction to the episode, music director Marl Young confirms this opinion. Vallée was well-known in Hollywood for being difficult to work with and to work for, often referred to as a “slave driver.” 

When Harry asks Vallée (who is waiting tables) if he's busy, Vallée responds “My time, is your time.” This was also the title of a song recorded by Rudy Vallée and His Connecticut Yankees in 1929. This was the theme song of “The Fleischmann's Yeast Hour” for many years, and it is heavily associated with that show.  When Lucy and Kim visit Vallée's home, the doorbell plays the first five notes of the song.

To prove his identity to Lucy and Harry, Vallée sings “I'm just a vagabond lover.” The song was written by Vallée and Leon Zimmerman for the 1929 film The Vagabond Lover.

Vallée says he was “the Tiny Tim of the roaring '20s!” The soundtrack then plays “Tiptoe Through the Tulips.”  This is one of many references to “Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In” and the third to reference singer Tiny Tim, an eccentric ukulele player with a similar crooner style who appeared regularly on the program and made the 1929 song popular again.

When Vallée says “Hi Ho” (his signature greeting) to Kim, she guesses he is the Lone Ranger. The Lone Ranger was a masked avenging cowboy who appeared on radio, in movie serials, and on television.  

Lucy: “Oh, this modern generation!  Some of them don't even know who Bing Crosby is!” Vallée: “Who's Bing Crosby?”

Vallée and Bing Crosby were rival crooners during the 1930s.  In “Lucy Takes a Cruise to Havana” (1957, above) Lucy Ricardo tells Vallée she was a member of his fan club but her friend Susie MacNamara (Ann Sothern, left) was trying to recruit her as a Crosby fan instead.  

When asked by Vallée what songs she knows, Kim mentions “Octopus’s Garden,” “Polythene Pam,” and “Mean Mr. Mustard.”  All of these are Beatles songs from 1969. Coincidentally, the day this episode was first aired former Beatles member George Harrison released his triple album set All Things Must Pass.

Kim, Steve, and the band perform "She Came In Through the Bathroom Window" by the Beatles. Vallée also takes a stab at the song which prompts Kim to say “I've never heard it sung quite that way before.”

Considering Lucy's infatuation with diamonds demonstrated in “Lucy Meets the Burtons” (S3;E1) and “Lucy and the Diamond Cutter” (S3;E10), it seems an opportunity lost not to mention or perform the Beatles' 1967 hit “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.”  Ah, well.

The set for Vallée's home was decorated with items brought in from Vallée's private collection, including a Wiffenpoof Trophy and a small red megaphone with a letter “Y” on it.  Both of these were likely given to him by Yale University, home of the Wiffenpoofs.

When the full length portrait of Vallée in a raccoon coat is revealed, Vallée says he wore the coat in his first picture, Varsity Hero. In reality, Vallée's first film (aside from two shorts playing himself) was The Vagabond Lover in 1929. Vallée himself was not a fan of the film. In a 1980 interview, he mused 

"They're still fumigating the theaters where it was shown. Almost ruined me. In fact, I think it's only shown in penitentiaries and comfort stations.”

Performing with Lucy and Kim at the Hungry Hippie, Vallée sings a traditional version of “The Wiffenpoof Song” that morphs into an up-tempo rendition.  

The 1909 song was the signature tune of the Yale University a capella singing group. Vallée did not have a hit with it until 1937.  

He then segues into “Let the Sun Shine,” a song from the 1967 rock musical Hair. The number then becomes a medley with the addition of “Winchester Cathedral,” a 1966 song by The New Vaudeville Band, a British novelty group.

The statue of the bearded and caped man was also seen decorating Jack Benny's home in the previous episode.

Craig also wore a raccoon coat in “Lucy, the Co-Ed” (S3;E6) and Fred Mertz wore one in “Lucy Has Her Eyes Examined” (ILL SE;E11).  

Time Warp!  Rudy Vallée says that his style of music is bound to come back into style in 40 or 50 years time.  As of this writing it has been 50 years since he spoke those words.  Any day now...

Birds of a Feather!  Kim mentions a song called “Tennessee Walking Bird” but she probably means “Tennessee Bird Walk,” a 1970 novelty song by Jack Blanchard and Misty Morgan that hit #1 on the Billboard Country Charts.

“Lucy and Rudy Vallée” rates 2 Paper Hearts out of 5

This episode attempts to continue the “generation gap” themes of the series so that's a plus. The sad backstories about Vallée's attitude reflect his somewhat distracted and unenthusiastic performance here. The final medley with Vallée in hippie duds is just plain cringe-worthy. The writers also give Kim and Lucy some pretty insipid dialogue.  

Lucy to Vallée: “You mean kids today don't like your music?” Kim to Vallée: “Nobody can teach modern music to the older generation. The older generation just doesn't seem to have any soul.”

#Here's Lucy #Lucille Ball #Rudy Vallee #Gale Gordon #Lucie Arnaz #The Beatles #Herbie Faye #Phil Vandervoort #Vanda Barra #Marnelle Wright #Gloria Wood #George Bledsoe #Thomas D. Kenny #Mack McLean #Sue Allen #Coby Ruskin #David Ketchum #Bruce Kelly #My Time is Your Time #The Vagabond Lover #Winchester Cathedral #Polythene Pam #Mean Mr. Mustard #She Came In Through the Bathroom Window #Octopus's Garden #Lone Ranger #Bing Crosby #Abbey Road #Wiffenpoof Song #raccoon coat

[paigenotblank]

A Little Bit of Hope (version 2)

Rating: General

Pairings: Eleventh Doctor/Rose, Thirteenth Doctor/Rose, Eleven x Clara (friendship)

Note: originally written before I joined tumblr, but I’ve tweaked it since the 13th Doctor’s casting has been announced and figured I’d post this and the rest of the series here, even though it’s not new. (more author notes on AO3)

AO3

Part of my As It Should Be series.

The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS and straightened his bow tie. He glanced back at his companion with delight. “Here we are, Clara. A whole planet dedicated to amusements.”

Clara laughed and her smile grew. “You're sure they have roller coasters?”

“All of Quadrant Four.”

“Well then, lead on!” Clara pushed the Time Lord into moving forward.

“We’ll just pop on the--” The Doctor stopped abruptly. “The, uh, the tram...” He tilted his head as if listening.

“Doctor? Is everything alright?”

His gaze swung to Clara and he smiled. “Of course. It's just, well, I think...I think I might be here already.”

Clara looked at him puzzled.

“I mean another me, a past or future me.”

“Oh! Can we go find you and say ‘hi?’”

The Doctor shook his head. “I'm sorry. It's never good when there is more than one of me in the same place.”

Clara looked disappointed, but didn't argue.

The Doctor pointed to a sign. “Follow the signs to the tram. Get on the one heading northwest, it’ll take you to Quadrant Four.”

“But what about you?”

“I'll be right behind you, just want to make sure there’s no crisis first. Get rid of the other me. I'll meet you at the Mega Dragon Coaster.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to--”

“Just go on, Clara. I won't be more than a few minutes.”

“Fine.”

Clara walked off in a huff toward the entrance to the tram and the Doctor spun and looked around. He didn't see anyone that he had been and there weren't any probable future hims that he could see. There were several families and couples and groups of friends. He closed his eyes and focused inwards to see if he could get a sense of how far away his other self was.

He vaguely heard a mother calling out for her daughter before he tuned out all the ambient noise. His eyes opened with a gasp as he realized he could feel not only his own mental signature but that of two other Time Lords. He whispered, “impossible,” right before he was grabbed around his knees from behind by some sort of little creature.

“Daddy!”

He looked down in confusion at a little humanoid girl holding a Barbie doll. She looked up at him with honey colored eyes and dirty blonde pigtails. She reached up and said, “Up, Daddy.”

He stood frozen until the little girl stomped her foot and pouted. “Up!”

He reached down in surprise and lifted her up in his arms. “Why do you keep calling me ‘Daddy?’ That's twice now you've done it. Don't you know what your own father looks like?”

She played with his bow tie and giggled. “Of course, I know what my Daddy looks like.”

“And I look like him, I suppose?”

The little girl shook her head. “Not if I look with my eyes.”

“Well, what else would you look with if not your eyes?”

“My hearts.”

The little girl looked at him with a sweet little smile and the Doctor felt a pang in the region of his hearts. Hearts? “I'm sorry did you just say, ‘hearts?’”

The little girl giggled and cupped his chin. “You're silly. I like your chin.”

He opened his mouth to respond when a blonde woman and a sandy haired boy with bright blue eyes ran up to them.  

“You are in so much trouble.” The boy was talking to his sister and when he looked up the Doctor his eyes grew round. “Oh.”

The girl's mother scolded, “Jacqueline, how many times do I have to tell you that you're not to wander off and talk to strangers.” She reached for her daughter and got her first good look at the Doctor. “I'm so sorry. She--” Her head tilted in confusion. “Professor Smith?”

The Doctor looked at her in astonishment. “Rose.”

“What are you doing…” Rose trailed off when she realized how her maths tutor from when she was 14 could be on an alien planet in the year 3208. Her hand flew through the air and slapped him across the cheek. Both children cringed in sympathy.

He raised his hand to the side of his face. “Ow, what was that for?”

“Mum always said she didn't like the way you were always starin’ at me. Thought you were a pervert. Little did she know.”

“I resent the implication, Rose Tyler. I just wanted to help you pass your maths class.”

Rose laughed and then hugged the Doctor tightly. “Oh, Doctor!”

The Doctor pulled back. “What are you doing here? Are these your children?”

Rose nodded and pulled the boy closer to her. “This is Alistair and you've got Jacqueline.”

The Doctor looked at the boy. “Alistair?” And then at the little girl in his arms. “And Jacqueline, eh?”

The little girl nodded. “Jacqueline Amelia Susan Tyler. I'm four.”

Rose cleared her throat and looked at her daughter with a raised eyebrow.

“Or I will be four in 26 days.” Jacqueline glared at her mother. “Daddy and you and Jamie lie about how old you are all time.”

Rose shook her head at her precocious daughter and the Doctor couldn't stop his own laugh.

“You're the sweetest little Jackie Tyler I've ever met.”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Mum’s slapped you once already today, do you really want to push your luck insulting Gran?”

Rose ruffled her son’s hair and smiled down at him.

Jacqueline examined the Doctor’s cheek with her hand. “Does your face hurt?” She leaned in and gave him a kiss over the handprint. “I kiss it better, Daddy.”

The Doctor had to clear his throat before saying, “Thank you, poppet. It doesn't hurt anymore.” Jacqueline beamed at him. “Why are you calling me ‘Daddy?’ Surely you know that I'm not really your father.”

Jacqueline’s bottom lip began to quiver. “Yes, you are.”

The Doctor was looking at Jacqueline with such longing that it brought tears to Rose’s eyes. He pulled his gaze away from the child and pleaded with Rose. “Rose, please…”

Alistair tugged on his sister’s leg to get her attention. “Don't cry, Jackie. He just means that this body isn't the Daddy we know. He isn't our father yet.”

The Doctor looked in shock at the boy. “Yet?” He gasped. “You're both Time Tots! You're the other Time Lords I sensed when I got here? But how?”

Alistair looked guiltily at his mother. “I, uh…I didn't mean to say that.”

Rose kneeled down and faced her son. “It's okay. He’s going to have to forget this anyway, no harm done. It's the first time you've crossed your father’s timeline and you did way better than I did when I crossed my dad’s.” She gave him a quick hug and kiss before she stood to face the Doctor who was gaping at them.

“What? How? What about the meta--”

Rose held up her hand stopping him. “You’re gonna hide these memories, yeah?”

He nodded.

“They are your children. Properly yours, or will be. The...the human Doctor isn't their father. He...let’s just say...he died and I didn't.”

“Oh, Rose. I’m--”

Rose shook her head and wiped away tears, stopping him from finishing that sentence.

“But you're here...in this universe?”

“I am, but I can't tell you how or when I come back. Just that I do...come back to you.”

The Doctor looked from Alistair to Jacqueline. “Two of them? We have two children?”

Rose nodded and smiled. “Kinda have four, but the older ones are on their own adventure.” Rose laughed at the Doctor’s shocked expression and wiped away her tears. “Amusement park was too tame for ‘em. Gonna be sorry they missed seeing you...this you.”

The Doctor held Jackie in one arm and hugged Rose close with the other. He kissed the top of her head. “My girls. I don't know how I'm going to walk away from you again.”

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Doctor.”

“That’s usually my line.”

Rose gave him a small grin and pulled away, taking Jackie from the Doctor. “You're going to walk away and forget about us because you know as well as I do that you'd never endanger their existence.”

The Doctor smiled brightly at Rose, pride and love evident in his gaze. “You always know the right thing to say to me.”

“Have a lot of experience with that.” Rose gave him his favorite tongue touched grin. With a groan he leaned in and kissed her.

“Mum! Dad! Gross.” Alistair looked around, embarrassed by his parents’ public display.

Rose and the Doctor broke apart in amusement.

The Doctor kneeled in front of Alistair. “Can I have a hug goodbye?”

The Doctor had hardly a second to brace himself before Alistair flung himself into his arms. “I'm sorry I messed up and told a spoiler.”

“Oh tosh. How are you supposed to learn if you never make a mistake? I make loads of mistakes...all the time, just ask your mother.”

“But--”

“No buts. I can tell you are a brilliant Time Lord and am very proud to have you as my son. I can't wait to be your dad.” The Doctor squeezed Alistair tighter before reluctantly pulling back and standing up.

“And you, Miss Jacqueline Amelia Susan Tyler, my precious girl, I can tell you're gonna keep me on my toes. It was an honor to meet you.”

The Doctor leaned in to give Jackie a hug and she wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of sugar and spice.

Once again, he reluctantly pulled back. Sadness flashed in his eyes before he steeled himself and grinned. “Well, it was lovely to meet you, but I really must be off. Until we meet again.”

The Doctor spun on his heels and started off toward the tram.

“Daddy, wait.”

He stopped, but paused before turning around. “Yes, poppet?”

“I want you to have Mummy-Doll.” Jacqueline held out her Barbie to the Doctor.

“I couldn't possibly take your dolly away from you.”

“I have Mummy to make me feel happy when I'm sad. Mummy-Doll will stay with you and make you not sad until Mummy finds you again.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I'll keep her safe for you.” The Doctor looked down at the pink and yellow doll and smiled, it did indeed remind him of Rose. He put it in his bigger on the inside pocket and gave Rose and the two children one last kiss goodbye. “Goodbye, my darlings.”

With a wave, the Doctor turned and went off to find Clara.

Rose and the children stayed until they couldn't see him anymore.

“I believe it's time for ice cream.” Rose startled at the sound of her wife’s voice. Rose looked at the Doctor holding a tray of ice cream cones, smiling smugly, and leaned in for a kiss.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Do you two have to kiss all the time?"

The Doctor laughed and ruffled her son's hair. Jackie reached for her. “Daddy!”

The Doctor handed Rose the tray of frozen treats and took Jacqueline from her. “I have something for you, poppet.” She took Jackie’s Barbie out of her pocket and handed it back to her. “Thank you, my sweet, sweet girl. I didn't always know why, but your dolly always gave me a little bit of hope when I needed it.”

Rose held out her hand to the Doctor; young or old, male or female, human or Time Lord, it was always a perfect fit. “Let's go home.”

The younger Doctor finally made it to the Mega Dragon Coaster. Clara had her arms crossed when he spotted her.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

Clara glared at him. “Well did you find yourself? Was there a crisis that needed averting?”

The Doctor paused as memories settled into place, or no, were locked away. Best not think too much on that. He shrugged. “Oh no, not at all. Ran around looking for him, but never actually found him before he left.”

He rubbed his hands together in glee. “Right then, Clara, Mega Dragon Coaster. It's won best roller coaster in this galaxy 3 years in a row. Twenty seven loops, 14 droops, 7 anti-grav jumps, 3 free falls…”

Clara shook her head at the Doctor. “Leave a little bit of surprise. Come on.” She took off laughing, the Doctor racing her to the entrance.

#eleven x rose #thirteen x rose #ficandchips #eleventh doctor #thirteenth doctor #rose tyler #clara oswald #original child characters #doctor who #fanfic #paigenotblank #ladypaigec #fluff #kid fic #my fic

[robininthelabyrinth]

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.

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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.

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"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

[doctor-who-hears-a-horton]

The Fob-Watched Detective (Ten x Rose)

Rating: Teen

Chapter 12/?

The Doctor, having rewritten his biology to get away from the Family of Blood, tells the TARDIS to take himself and Donna to a safe place, and the TARDIS drops his new human persona, Alec Hardy, and Donna Noble, in the one place she knows they’ll be safe: Rose Tyler’s backyard

(This is still a TenxRose story, but Ten is fobwatched as Alec)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

It was different, waking up like this when the night before had been so eventful. She was laying in his arms, him spooned up behind her, his heart beating irregularly against her back.  She closed her eyes, hoping that his heart wouldn’t hurt him at any point during this adventure.  Especially if the Family found him. How would he react? What would happen to him?  If he died as a human, did he come back as a Time Lord and carry on?  Or was death final, now that he was human?  She bit her lip and turned over in his arms, wrapping her arms around him without waking him up.  He grunted and burrowed closer to her in his sleep, burying his nose in her hair and shoving his leg between hers to get closer to her.  

She hadn’t had a moment like this in a long time, she realized.  Even when she’d woken up with him before, it hadn’t been anything like this, and she closed her eyes and pressed her nose to his chest, wishing that everything could be alright, hoped the Doctor wouldn’t hate her when his Time Lord version woke up.  

It was all so confusing and unfair. Why would the TARDIS come here?  There had to be a crack in the universes for it to be possible, sure, but how would the time ship come here, and why?  Why, out of all the places in the world, would the TARDIS choose to crash land in the backyard of her parents’ mansion? It didn’t make any sense and it upset her a bit, simply because she didn’t know the answer.  

Instead of trying to think about it any further, she burrowed closer to him, locking her hands behind his back.  He started to stir a little and she pretended to still be asleep, doing her best to ease out her breathing and keep herself steady.  He rubbed one of his hands up and down her back soothingly for a moment and kissed the top of her head, the motions clearly tender, before falling back into what appeared to be a light sleep. Rose blinked against his chest, clearing unbidden tears from her eyes, and tried to will herself to fall back asleep. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work, as her brain was working at a mile a minute, and Alec was very warm and cuddling her closely to himself, and Rose found that she really never wanted to move again.  It was so comfortable, to be right up against him like this.

He breathed in and out slowly, slowly waking up for sure this time, kissing the crown of her head and pulling back to look her sleepily in the face.  He blinked at her. “Good morning.’ She reached up and touched her fingertips to his bottom lip, just needing to touch him a little more.  “Good morning,” she said softly, moving her fingers to push his fringe out of his face.  “There you are.”

“Thank you,” he said, curling his fingers against her back. “For staying.”

“It would seem that I can’t stay away,” she admitted, looking up into his eyes.  He searched her eyes carefully and nodded, his face still terribly solemn.  He leaned forward and kissed her, and Rose curled her fingers into the back of his neck and kissed him back, feeling hungry for it, like they hadn’t done plenty of it the night before. He rolled her over onto her back, opening his mouth over hers to kiss her deeper.  She knew she didn’t have to leave for another couple of hours, so she wrapped both her arms firmly around him, dragging him down so his chest pressed against hers.  

He framed her ribs in his palms, tugging her against him as he arranged himself on his knees over her.  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered against her neck as he kissed his way to her collarbone.  She sighed and carded her fingers through his hair, letting him continue to kiss her how he liked. And how he liked was to kiss her quite a lot.

***********

Later, he stayed over her, one hand cupping her cheek as he regarded her with a  sort of wonder that she’d never seen on a man’s face before.  “I’m… I don’t think I’ve been happy for a long time, Rose. But you… You make me happy.” She responded by tilting her chin up for another kiss, which he greedily took, before sitting back a little.

He dropped his gaze from hers. “I had another dream,” he said cautiously, rolling onto his back, away from her. She propped herself up on her elbow on her side so she could peer down into his face. “So, what did you dream about, then?” She asked, reaching her hand out to lay over his chest.  He breathed in deeply through his nose for a moment and then turned his head to look up at her.  

“We met the devil himself,” he said, “Which… I feel like I’ve dreamed before, but this time, I knew that I couldn’t be away from you.  It was like… I was so afraid to lose you, that you’d leave me. Or him, I suppose.”

She sighed softly. “You’ll never lose me,” she said.  “Even in your dreams, I don’t ever leave you willingly, do I?”

“No,” he admitted, “No, you’re… Forced.  And it’s painful.”

She ran her hand over his chest and shifted to lay half on top of him, head on his chest.  “We’ll have a bit of a cuddle then, yeah?” “Okay,” he said, though it wasn’t like it took a lot of convincing to get him to cuddle with her.  

************

She shouldn’t have been surprised, when it did happen.  She, Donna, her mum, Tony, and Alec had all gone out to the chippy one night when Pete had a meeting to go to.  Alec was sat at her side, his arm around the back of the booth, innocuously settling near her shoulders.  It made her ridiculously happy, and so she didn’t say anything about it, simply had her hand resting carefully on his thigh.

It was nice, to have him so close, almost pressed up against her.  Jackie watched the two of them with a measure of sadness, not knowing how this would end for Rose, what was going to happen. The uncertainty was what was going to kill her, and Rose as well, if she wasn't careful.  And with as close together as they were sitting, Jackie had a feeling she wasn’t being careful.

“So, Alec, are you planning on staying in London?” Jackie asked, trying to keep control of the questions she really wanted to ask to try and pry the Doctor out of this man.

Alec nodded, stabbing one of his chips with his fork.  “For now,’ he said, glancing at Rose. “I’d like to stay, if they don’t relocate me.”

“Relocate?” Rose frowned and looked over at him. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “My heart.  They want to take me off active duty, I told them to wait until I solved the murder. But the body up and walked off on us,” he scratched his cheek, fingernails rasping through his beard. “Sorry, Rose tells me that the murder isn’t proper dinner conversation,” he said, glancing over at her.

“No, wait, I’m interested,” Donna said, “Where’s the body?”

“There was a body, having an autopsy done, and the next day… Gone,” Alec shook his head. “No trace at all. Like it up and walked out of the station without anyone noticing.”

“Did you check the CCTV?” Rose asked softly.

He nodded. “Nothing.  One second on the footage she’s there, then the the next the footage gets all… Fuzzy, and then she’s gone.  It’s… incredibly unsettling.”  

Rose squeezed his knee. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

He sighed, staring down at his basket of chips.  “I hope so.” He glanced up. “I don’t mean to ruin dinner.”

“It’s something on your mind,” Jackie said, tapping on Tony’s plate to make him eat.  “Of course you’d want to talk about it.”

Donna watched him carefully, not for the first time worrying about her best mate.  The Doctor was under here, inquisitive, trying to find an answer for something that didn’t seem to make any sense.  Just like he always was.  With Rose at his side, looking at him like he hung the stars himself.  Donna smiled to herself a little. Despite Rose’s fears, she had a feeling that the Doctor was going to be overjoyed to wake up and see that Rose Tyler was back in his life again.  He had yearned for her, after all, desperately.  He’d been very lost without her, and Donna had seen that more than anyone that had met the Doctor since Rose’s departure.  Well, perhaps Jack Harkness had seen it as well.  Donna sighed a little and exchanged a glance with Jackie.  It was going to be an ordeal, if nothing.

The door to the chippy slammed open, and the odd little boy that had come to Alec’s house twice entered, his limbs stiff as he walked towards the counter, but stopped about halfway there. Rose’s hand tightened on Alec’s knee and he frowned.

“Ow,” he said softly, tapping the back of her hand.

“Sorry,” she said, releasing him.  “That… I’ve just seen that little boy before, that’s all. He’s really unsettling.”

He frowned. “He’s just a kid.”

Rose glanced to Donna meaningfully.  “I’ve seen him before.”

Donna’s face went sheet white with understanding. She looked over at the little boy, saw the darkness lurking behind glassy eyes, the stiffness of him as he turned his head.  He beckoned with an awkward hand over his shoulder.

“That’s-” Jackie said, and Donna shook her head, not wanting Jackie to say anything about it.  It was brutal, watching and not being able to say anything, not having any way to communicate about anything that was going on.

After a few moments, an older man walked in behind the little boy and put his hand on his shoulder, and both of them turned at the same moment to look at Alec.

Alec frowned. “What the hell?” He said softly, looking at Rose. “You know these people?” “No,” Rose shook her head. “I’ve seen the little boy, but not that guy,” she frowned.  

“Why are they staring?” Jackie asked, sounding a little afraid.  

“I dunno,” Donna said honestly.  They all looked at the two, and a woman walked in behind them.  Alec sucked in a breath.  She had markings on her face like she was going to be cut open, her hair was dark and straggly, her skin ashen.  Her eyes looked even more barren than the little boy’s, and Alec ran his hand through his hair, breaking eye contact with what was clearly the Family.

“Well,” he said, “I don’t understand it, I really don’t, but… We’ve found the body.”

Rose blinked. “What?” “That’s her, the girl that was murdered.  I don’t understand it, this is some sick joke.  Jackie, take Tony out of here.”

“He’s right, mum,” Rose said, “Get out of here.”

Jackie understood the true meaning behind it, and scooped up her son, hurrying out the side door of the chippy, already ringing Torchwood on her way out.  

“We’re looking for the Doctor,” the little boy said, and Rose put her head in her hands, letting out a shuddering sigh.

“Rose,” Alec said softly, “You didn’t… Tell anyone about my dreams, did you?  This isn’t a prank, is it?” “No,” Rose said, looking him in the eye.  “I would never do that to you.”

“I don’t think you all heard us,” The man said, louder. “Has anyone seen the Doctor?”

“Rose. Donna. What is this?” Donna snapped her gaze to him.  “Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “Just stop.”

“Why? What’s going on?” “There’s something we haven’t told you,” Donna said carefully, “And you’re either going to love us or hate us for it, and I’m not sure which.”

Alec stared the both of them down. “I don’t understand it,” he said coldly.  “You need to tell me what’s going on. Both of you.”

“The Doctor!  The Doctor! Bring us the Doctor!” The dead woman shrieked.

The people in the chippy were starting to get uncomfortable, people ushering their children out, and couples trying to hide away from whatever was happening.  Rose swallowed hard and looked to Alec, tears shining in her eyes.

“Please don’t hate me,” she said softly.

“Rose,” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t hate you.  I wouldn’t.  Just tell me what’s going on.” Donna frowned.  “Those dreams you’ve been having,” she said, “They’re real.”

“What?” Donna let out a shuddering breath. “You are the Doctor.”

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