#if those ain’t the ugliest hands I’ve ever drawn

[ghostofthejungle]

Quick and ugly sketch to remind y’all this is how it truly went.

I mean, it’s obviously canon, I don’t make the rules. *sniffs loudly*

Cherishing the happiness of a distant memory that never happened…

[the--blackdahlia]

You’re All That I Need Chapter 2 (Tommy x Nikki)

Title: You’re All That I Need Chapter 2

Summary: It’s the early 80’s and Nikki Sixx is in need of a band. There’s one condition: no other alphas. That should be fine, since he found three betas to fill up the lineup to become Motley Crue. Or, at least he thinks they’re all betas.

Series Warnings: M/M smut (18+ only please), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, mpreg, language, slight drug use, protective Nikki, (might add more as we go)

“What the fuck is that?” Nikki groaned as the beta who was playing guitar went way too slow. Tommy sighed and threw his head back before heading outside to get some cigarettes from his car. Nikki’s eyes followed him. He told Robin to take five and he would be back.

“It’s...unique…” Tommy sighed as he lit up his cigarette and took a drag before passing it over to Nikki.

"It’s shit," Nikki growled. “We can’t do that with him man.” He took a puff before passing the cigarette back to Tommy.

Tommy opened his mouth to reply when his attention was grabbed by the ugliest car he had ever seen pulling up to the curb. The car was unceremoniously thrown in park and a short, angry looking beta got out. 

“Dude, get a load of that,” Tommy nodded to the car. Nikki stayed put on the patio, sizing him up, while Tommy went down to help him get his equipment out of the car.

"Going by the looks of you two, this is where the band tryouts are?" He grumbled as he pulled his amp out of the back of his borrowed hatchback. 

"Yeah, I’m Tommy. I’m the drummer. And up there is Nikki. He’s the bassist,” Tommy explained to him. Mick looked Tommy up and down before nodding.

"Mick Mars, give me a second and we can get started."

“Okay, cool dude,” Tommy helped him get an amp out of his car, feeling Mick size him up. He was obviously a beta, but Tommy felt the chill of an alpha staring at him.

“Pretty scrawny for a drummer,” Mick commented after a couple beats of silence.

“Well, I was in Suite 19,” Tommy was pretty proud of himself. Suite 19 had played at the Roxy not too long ago. And he loved to brag to the guys he went to school with about it. Nikki had London and Sister, Tommy had Suite 19.

“Suite 19? Shitty band,” Mick told him, pretty much crushing Tommy’s heart when he said that. Nikki just shook his head.

“Did you ever even see us play?” Tommy asked.

“Don’t need to,” Mick told him. “Shitty name? 10 times out of 10, they’re a shitty band. I should know. I’ve been in plenty of bands with shitty names.”

"Here let's do this," Nikki said handing music to Mick and Robin once Mick got settled and hooked up inside. Tommy smiled and got ready to play, but it all felt like it was going way too slow. That was until Mick hit the pedal and started blasting into it. Nikki looked back at Tommy. They both had the biggest grins on their faces. Until Robin stopped playing and turned to Mick and asked, "can you turn that down? I can't hear myself?"

Mick walked over to Nikki and Tommy, "what's with this hippie? Can he go?"

Nikki smirked, "you want him gone, tell him yourself."

Mick looked over to where Robin was trying to work out the chords. 

"Hey," Robin looked up, "you need to go, there is only room for one guitar in this band..." Mick said brusquely. 

"What.... Nikki?Tommy? Really? I was here first...." Robin was close to tears as he packed up and left. 

"Who's gonna sing, it definitely ain't me" Mick asked, turning to look at Nikki and Tommy as Tommy got beers from the fridge to celebrate the forming of the trio.

“No way dude,” Tommy told him. “I gotta focus on my drums. Plus my sister lovingly tells me I sound like a bear going through a woodchipper.”

“I gotta meet this sister.” Mick laughed. Tommy shook his head.

“What about you Nikki?” Tommy asked. “Think you could sing?”

“Voice is too deep to get the sound we need,” Nikki admitted. “We need someone who can stand up there, belt out the words and bring the chicks in. Think we could still Diamond Dave from Van Halen?”

“I don’t think that’d go over too well.” Mick shook his head. “I don’t have any singers in mind.” Tommy’s eyes lit up then and he had a big smile that spread across his face.

"I know a guy I went to highschool with, I think he's in a cover band now, but they're playing at a party tomorrow we should go check it out." suggested Tommy.

“Depends,” Nikki told him. “Is he a…”

“He’s a beta,” Tommy told him. “I know you said no alphas. He’s a very, very slutty beta. Trust me on this one. He can bring girls in like an alpha, but he shouldn’t be fighting you like an alpha, you know?”

"Ok, let's check him out," Nikki agreed. 

******

“What are we doing here?” Nikki asked, groaning a little as he heard the music being played. “This...doesn’t look like our kind of place.” He saw all the tan girls walking around with shirtless guys. Then he looked at himself and Mick; pale as could be, wearing long sleeves and leather jackets.

“Free booze I think is our kind of place.” Mick told him, nodding to the bar. Nikki marched over and grabbed a bottle of Jack from a guys hand before heading back over to Mick and Tommy.

“There’s fucking Billy Squire playing,” Nikki groaned, taking a big swig of the booze. “Please tell me that’s not him.”

“Hell yeah it’s him!” Tommy said, excited. “Dudes, isn’t he awesome? I went to high school with him. He’s exactly what we’re looking for!” Tommy wrapped an arm around Nikki’s shoulders. Tommy smiled at Nikki before walking away, heading towards the stage where the skinny blonde fucker with moves was dancing and singing.

“His voice is good.” Mick stated. Nikki nodded.

“Look what he’s doing to those chicks.” Nikki pointed out, watching the way that all the girls at the party were just drawn to him.

“I think he’s having that effect on Tommy too.” Mick chuckled, his eyes falling to the drummer who was watching the blond singer with intensity.

“Thank you! We’re Rockandi!” The band got done with their set and Tommy followed with the swarm of girls, heading towards the bar where the singer was heading.

****

“Tommy Bass?” Vince asked, his eyes lighting up as he saw his friend from school. He pulled Tommy in for a hug.

“It’s actually Tommy Lee,” Tommy told him.

“You got married? Who’s the lucky guy?” Vince teased with a smile on his face. Tommy laughed and shook his head.

“No man. Just dropped the last name. Sounds cooler,” Tommy smiled. “I’m in a band with those guys right there!” Tommy said excitedly, pointing at Mick and Nikki. Vince looked over at the pair. By the way Nikki was standing, Vince just knew he was an alpha. The other one, he wasn’t too sure about.

“Right…” Vince nodded. Tommy held out a homemade tape.

“This is us,” He told him. “My number is on the label. Listen to it and call us. And, just ignore mine and Nikki’s singing. It’s not pretty.”

“Okay, okay,” Vince laughed, taking the tape. Tommy smiled and headed back to Mick and Nikki, giving them a thumbs up.

“What’d he say?” Mick asked.

“He said he’d call us!” Tommy smiled. “Isn’t that exciting?!”

“Fantastic. Can we go now?” Nikki asked.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go,” Tommy had a big smile on his face as they left.

****

A week later Vince called them up and came by to audition, he'd gotten into it with his other band mates about the direction of the band. Vince showed up with a leggy blonde he called Lovie. Nikki handed him a sheet with some lyrics as they made their way in and Lovie settled herself on the couch.

“Live Wire?” Vince asked, looking over the words.

“Yeah dude! Nikki wrote it! He’s like, So-crates or something.” Tommy told him.

“It’s Socrates,” Mick rolled his eyes. “Dumbass fucking teenager.”

And the band started, they'd barely gotten 2 minutes in, when Lovie called for the band to stop, complaining that the sound was too heavy for Vince. Tommy could see Nikki’s alpha starting to get angry.

“She’s right. It is heavy.” Nikki smirked an angry alpha smirk.

“We could drop and raise these chords.” Mick said, pointing at the crudely drawn up music.

“And play it louder.” Tommy added with a big smile on his face.

“Just hit these lyrics here like you’re punching a fucker in the face,” Nikki told Vince, who nodded. “And muzzle that.” He added, pointing over at Lovey.

“Hey asshole! He doesn’t tell me what to do! I…” She was cut off by Mick’s guitar then. She was silenced as she watched the song come to life before her eyes. She sat back down, watching as the guys completely changed the song from what she had just heard. “Woah.”

Tommy looked up at Nikki after they finished the song. He expected anger for him suggesting things to change the song, but there was nothing like that there. Joy, amusement, and a little bit of lust was all mixed up into those green irises. 

And Tommy felt his cheeks gets hot.

“I’ll be right back,” Tommy told them, heading to the bathroom to get a drink of water.

"Let's take 5,” Nikki commented as he watched the drummer walk away. He felt a strong urge to check on Tommy, worried that something was wrong. Nikki knocked on the bathroom door, "Tommy? You ok?" 

"Yea, Nikki, I'll be out in just a minute," Tommy called. He was sitting on the floor, trying to pull himself together. Nikki's look caused him to get hot, and start dripping.... That wasn't good he would need to start doubling his suppressants. 

He reached into his pants pocket to a small bottle. His parents had always taught him to keep it with him just in case. He took a couple of the emergency pills and swallowed them down with water from the tap. He closed his eyes as he felt them working. He always felt sick after using them, but he’d rather do this then jump Nikki. He opened the door, a little surprised to see the bassist standing there.

“Oh, hey,” Tommy told him, offering a smile.

"You sure you're good to keep going? You don't look so good?" Nikki questioned, he wasn't sure where this was coming from but he felt he needed to make sure the teen was ok. 

“Yeah dude! Let’s get through this. I wanna take a nap,” Tommy joked with Nikki as he headed to his kit. Vince and Lovie were making out and Mick looked disgusted. But, then again, Mick looked disgusted by everything, so it wasn’t just Vince and Lovie.

"Let's get to this" Nikki directed, getting Vince's attention, " Let’s just keep doing the suggestions from earlier, but with this song.” He handed Vince the lyrics to “Take Me to the Top”. “I want “Live Wire” and this one to put on our demo to send into the labels. I think they’re our two top songs.”

“Sounds good,” Vince nodded, reading over the words. “Good song here So-Crates.” He gave Nikki a smile before Tommy started the drumroll that would kick off the song.

The band kicked into gear, and with Vince's vocals it was like magic - Lovie was certain they were gonna be huge! 

And suddenly, everything fell into place. 

Forever Tags:  @anathewierdo @dekahg @marvel-af-imagines @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogarukes @xxwarhawk @sandlee44 @shatteredabby @caswinchester2000 @supernaturalwincestsblog @lauravic @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @teller258316 @horrorpxnk

Motley Crue Tags:  @primal-screamer @waywardprincess666 @twistnet @saint-of-los-angeles @vader-kai @motleyfuckingcruee @sharon6713 @kawennote09 @2dead2function @nikkisixxwiththebass @iamtiber-andtiberismusic @jayprettymuchomw @charlyallise @you-know-im-a-dreamer @livingdeadharley @estxxmotley @arianareirg @the-normal-potato @nikki-sixxtynine @jjjjjjjoshdun @just-a-normal-fangirl18 @stella20131991 @tarahell @wowilovenikkisixx @i-want-to-shoot-myself @motleycrueee @sams-serialkiller-fetish @getbackhonkycatt @are-you-reddie54321 @flamencodiva

[imaginetonyandbucky]

In Search of Something

Prompt: imagine tony and bucky in steampunk au

A/N: Dear readers, I am conducting an experiment, so to speak, and I beg you will indulge me. After having this prompt in my queue for quite a while and not being able to come up with a story, I found myself, this weekend, unraveling the knot and coming up with what will probably end up being a 60 – 90,000 word piece of Steampunk/Noir style WinterIron fiction. That being said, I don’t know that there’s a lot of demand for a Steampunk Noir story. 

Consider this first chapter to be the pilot episode of a television show, so to speak. If there’s enough demand, I’ll write more. – tisfan

Chapter One:  For Want of Aether 

“That might well be the ugliest velocipede I’ve ever seen,” someone said. 

Tony Stark, genius, inventor, rake, philanthropist, nearly spat out a mouthful of coffee. He hadn’t heard anyone come into the shop, although that wasn’t surprising. He was often lost in his own headspace when working, and he’d completed the amplification process for his Amberola a few weeks ago, which made the musical cylinders in his workshop particularly loud. He’d been replaying the Tchaikovsky recording several times, testing with a diaphragm sensor to measure the volume of cannon fire, to see if it was actually replicable at anything remotely resembling the normal level of sound.

“Probably good it’s on commission then,” Tony said. He wiped his hands off on a rag and came around the side of the workbench to look at the interloper. “What brings you to my humble ‘shop?”

There wasn’t anything humble about Tony’s shop and he damn well knew it, but at the same time, he was expected to keep up the generic merchant pater. Too many customers walked away and people might start wondering if he was actually running a shop, and if he wasn’t, what was he, instead, doing?

Tony couldn’t afford some snotty government official poking into his business, so… playing the humble inventor.

“Lookin’ for the son of Maria Carbonell?”

Yeah, fantastic. Tony reached under the bench and pulled out one of his gauntlets, being as casual as possible in attaching the connections to the tubes in his sleeve rig.

He leaned against the side of his work bench, crossing his legs at the ankle and presenting an utterly relaxed front to the newcomer.

Dark, ragged hair tucked under a fisherman’s cap, the man dressed like he was carrying his entire wardrobe on his back; undershirt, two button downs over it, a vest, a jacket and an overcoat. Despite the layers, he wasn’t sweating as far as Tony could tell. The evenings were starting to get cool, it was early October after all, but the afternoons were still fine. Perhaps the so-called customer hadn’t heard of suitcases.

Tony smirked. “There’s a name I haven’t heard in a long, long time,” he said, thoughtfully. “Who’s been name-dropping?” The arc-reactor finished charging the gauntlet repulsor with a dull whump. It was an old password, compromised almost a year ago when SHIELD was disbanded. Tony had managed to stay out of the crossfire, had hidden and protected a number of SHIELD’s agents, but it had been a mess.

The man jerked, as if he’d heard the repulsor whine, but the sound was nearly impossible to detect under the music and banging that went on in Tony’s shop. Or should have been. But even if he had, so very few people knew what the repulsor’s signature sounded like, and those who did weren’t usually in a shape to report it.

“Word gets around,” the man said. He raised his chin enough to look at Tony through ragged cut hair. He had eyes as gray as storm clouds and the sort of luminescent beauty that belonged in a painting by the old masters. Tony was somewhat of an expert on beauty in both the male and female forms.

How had that man wandered the streets and not drawn abundant attention? Just the sort that Hydra would send after Tony, if they were going to send someone. Knowing what they did of Tony’s eye and appetites. Knowing what everyone knew about Tony’s rake-hell lifestyle.

“Does it.” That wasn’t even a question.

The man could be hiding any number of weapons under that coat. Blades or guns or even some of the smaller, delicate explosives. He licked his lips nervously, eyes flicking in Tony’s direction and then away. “I can pay you.”

“I’m sure you can,” Tony said. “The question remains -- who sent you, and what do you want?”

“No one sent me,” the man said. “I’m here because you might b’ the only person in the world who can help me who ain’t gonna stick me back in a cage.”

“Fascinating as undoubtedly your story is, and pitiful as your plight,” Tony said, raising a hand and letting the repulsor show, “I think you should leave. I… don’t usually have the patience to ask more than once.”

“Wait, wait! Please,” the man said, and raised his left hand hastily, as if he was going to a sleeve-clutch weapon or to defend himself. The motion was accompanied by the distinct sound of gears and plates clicking together. Tony blinked; the man didn’t look like one of Vanko or Doom’s automatons, but the sound, that sound…

Bugger it. Shoot first, ask questions later.

The repulsor screamed defiance and the shock wave pulsed across the shop, sending loose papers flying like dirigibles, throwing small parts to the floor. And knocking Tony’s unwelcomed guest to the floor.

“Well, fuck.” Tony stood over the unconscious man, staring down at him. “Now I gotta carry you somewhere.”

He sighed. “Dummy, get over here!” Tony went to the shop door, hung out his By Appointment Only sign and locked the gate.

(more below the cut)

Panic surged and Bucky almost puked when he roused and realized he was locked down. He was locked down and seated.

“No, no, no!” He jerked at the restraints, struggling, although he knew it never did him any good to struggle. Once he was in the lab, once he was in the chair…

Except he heard a distinct sound of creaking wood and he was… sitting upright, not pushed over on his back, staring up into the too-bright ceiling gaslamps. And he was screaming, shouting, his mouth was free, not locked with a bite-strap or muzzle and…

He managed to focus, tamp down the panic long enough to look around.

What he saw was nothing like those industrial gray walls, the bank of nixie tubes and punch cards, the white-coated scientists with their shining steel tools.

Instead what he saw was a brick-lined room, a dozen wall sconces giving the room light. Bits of unidentifiable machinery littered almost every surface and the quicky, sarcastic little inventor was sitting on one of the tables, just looking at him. At some point, the man had stripped down from his merchant’s coat and was wearing a thin, white undershirt, plain dungarees, and a pair of suspenders, one on and one off his muscular shoulders. A round, blue light shone underneath the shirt and tubes with glittering strands of the same light were held to his arms with leather bands. He had a set of welder’s goggles perched on top of his messy black hair and there were grease and soot smudges on his face.

He was, absolutely, the man Bucky was looking for. Anthony Stark. Bucky hadn’t been sure before; the few daguerreotypes that Bucky had seen of the man were blurred -- Tony Stark was not a man to stay still long enough to get a good tintype made. But there was no doubt, now. The few files Bucky had liberated spoke of the artificial heart, what it looked like. What it could do.

He opened his mouth to say so, but found himself giving voice to a more pressing question. “Why am I naked?”

Tony scoffed. “What did you expect? I was checking you for weapons and you’re carrying a god damn arsenal. Didn’t know what to do about that--” He jerked his chin at Bucky, or more specifically, at Bucky’s arm, a mess of copper plates and brass wiring. “But it doesn’t seem to be functioning right now anyway.”

Bucky nodded. “Out of aether,” he admitted.

“Well, that’s both impractical and primitive. What little I could figure out on a quick inspection showed me that the refueling pod is in the back, too. Difficult to reload yourself.”

“I ain’t s’posed to be working without a handler,” Bucky said.

“Which is why you came to me,” Tony said. As if that made perfect sense. Which it did, because it was true, god damnit.

“Which is why I came to you,” Bucky said. “You’re th’ only one who runs independent that might even be able to produce such a thing.”

“You know running an aether mill without a license is illegal,” Tony pointed out. “Not to mention such a radical body modification should only be attempted by biomechanical professionals.”

“Let’s just say there’s more’n a few laws I’m on th’ wrong side of,” Bucky said. “What’d you shoot me for?” He was fair certain what he’d been shot with. Raza wasn’t a member of the Hydra camps, but Ten Rings had a tentative alliance, and after the brass-and-balls mess that had been Gulmira was over and done with, some remaining members of Ten Rings had taken shelter in Hydra safehouses. Zola had gotten a full report, and, still assured of compliance, had left the file somewhere that Bucky had been able to read it.

“You’re not the first pretty person that’s been sent after me,” Tony said, easily. “If people can’t tell the difference between SHIELD and Hydra anymore, that may say more about SHIELD than anything.”

Bucky managed a croaking laugh. It was almost too easy to flirt with the man while he was naked. Tony expected vulnerability, fear, or anger. Teasing and tension might disarm him, figuratively speaking, a little bit. “You think I’m pretty?’

“Actually, I think you’re Hydra,” Tony said.

I am. I was. I will be, if you don’t help me. But that was putting too many cards on the table, too soon. “But still pretty.”

“I didn’t say that,” Tony spluttered. “What are you, a virgin planning your coming out ball?”

“Yeah, actually, you did say pretty,” Bucky said. He licked his lower lip, giving Tony his best bedroom eyes. It was scarcely a chore. Tony Stark was a good looking man, muscular, compact. Smart as a whip, from everything Bucky had heard. Rumor hadn’t mentioned how sarcastic and quick he was, but those were traits Bucky had found attractive. Once. When he was enough in his own mind to find someone attractive. “I heard you. No takebacks.”

“Yeah, well, poison comes in pretty bottles, pal.”

“Infiltration’s not my speciality,” Bucky told him.

“Yeah, what is?”

“I’m a sharpshooter,” Bucky said, bleak. ��Aether long rifle. Mostly. But knives, if I have to.”

“As well as a whole variety of other little nasties I found in your coat. You’re well prepared.”

“Not really,” Bucky said. “Most of it runs on aether, and I been cannibalizing it so I can keep movin’ my arm for almost a year now.”

“No handler to call on?”

“Got away from my handlers durin’ the battle of the Potomack. Been on th’ run ever since.”

“So you are Hydra.”

“I was, yeah,” Bucky said, sliding his eyes left, not able to meet Tony’s gaze. “Not by choice.”

“You’re a serum-swiller?”

“Not by choice,” Bucky repeated. “Prisoner of war. Captured. Altered.”

“Who were you before you became Hydra?”

“James Barnes, 107th Infantry,” Bucky said. “Look, if you ain’t gonna shoot me, or fuck me, can I get a blanket or somethin’? It’s cold down here.” Which wasn’t quite true, but he was practically starving. It’d been days since he’d eaten and while his body could run for a long time without human needs -- food or sleep or comfort -- he got cold, ice cold, if he went too long without. Eventually, those needs would kill him, the same as any man, but he’d freeze to death, and if Hydra could find him, they’d bring him back from the dead. Again.

Tony climbed down off the table and uncovered a tattered blanket from a long sofa. “Dummy, wrap him up.”

The automaton wasn’t human-shaped, but Bucky recognized the type; wind-up probably. It seemed old, creaky. Clicked and hummed as it crossed the room, a single mechanical arm with a three-prong gripper on a wheeled platform. Dummy, which seemed to be the wind-up’s name, apparently had a babbage engine of some sort, able to follow simple directions.

“Amazing,” Bucky said, as the claw-arm draped the blanket over him, and tucked the ends around gently, as if it was used to doing such a thing. Bucky had an instant’s picture in his head of the wind-up covering its maker, if Tony fell asleep in his workshop. “You make him?”

Tony nodded, once. “Comes in handy,” he said. “He’s a helper clockwork. My first.” Dummy retreated to Tony’s side, and he ran a hand down the arm, as if petting it for a job well done.

“So… you ain’t gonna shoot me,” Bucky said, not bothering to mention the other thing. “What’s your plan?”

“I’ve only got about twelve percent of a plan,” Tony told him. “It’s a work in progress. All things considered, I think I’m doing pretty well.”

“Well, while you got twelve percent, do you think maybe I could trouble you for somethin’ to eat? I ain’t seen a meal in three days, I’m ‘bout to perish of thirst, and someplace I can fall on my face t’ sleep wouldn’t go amiss, neither.”

“You’re pushy, for a self-invited house guest.”

“Call me a prisoner if it makes you happy,” Bucky suggested. “But ‘less you wanna compare unfavorably to Hydra, y’ might want to feed me. Look, I ain’t gonna hurt you, that’s self-defeating. This damn thing don’t work right now and a child could knock me over. I jus’... I jus’ need some aether. I have money, I have--”

“I can’t make aether. I don’t have the facilities for it,” Tony told him. “So if that’s what you want, I’ll share dinner and you can move along. But you said you’re Hydra, and that doesn’t give you much trust to put a leash on someone who’s as obviously dangerous as you are. Weakened state or otherwise.”

Bucky sighed. Tony Stark was his last hope. Without him, without the arm… Bucky was going to get caught, he was going to end up back in Hydra hands. “Then I need you to kill me,” Bucky said. “I can’t fall back into their clutches. I can’t go back t’ killin’ on Zola’s word. And they will. They can make me, an’ there’s nothin’ I can do about it. I’d rather be dead. Consider it a mercy.”

“Zola, huh?” Tony scratched his chin. “You say that name like you have a lot of hatred for him.”

“Buddy, you don’t even know the half of it.”

“Well, I can’t make aether, but if we can come to some arrangements, I might be able to help you,” Tony said. “If you can be trusted. And we’ll have to see about that, I suppose.”

“How?”

Tony made a face, then pulled up the thin shirt, showing off a muscular chest and--

“It’s called an arc-reactor. It makes power. Power enough to run my heart, enough to run your arm. Enough to run… well, quite a number of things. That being said, it’s killing me. And Zola… well, your old friend Zola has the one thing I need. To make a new core, so that the thing that’s keeping me alive will stop killing me. If you want to help… well, I can think of a few ways we can help each other.”