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geekydane · 4 years

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Talk to me - Tommy Shelby x reader - Chapter 13

Masterlist

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You walked down the street that you only remember in glimpse. John had parked the car the same place last time and he reassured you that he would be right outside the house at all times. He asked if he should go inside with you but you declined. You wanted to do this yourself. You had gone over everything with Tommy. Every little part of the plan that was relevant and what you should offer to Lady Isabella. You could do this. Just knowing that John was right outside was enough for you. He opened the door to you and helped you step out. Tommy had requested a beautiful dress to be made for you to the occasion. It was much more modern and extravagant. It was floor length even when you were in high heels which made it a little harder to walk in. It was a dark blue that would fit perfectly into the dark fall evening, if it wasn’t for the gold thread that made a symmetric pattern on the entire upper part of the dress. It was very Art Deco.

John offered you his arm and you put your little handback on the other arm as you walked.

“Tommy has some wild ideas. Letting two women decipher our future.” John said in a sarcastic tone and made a face.

“Are you scared?” You nudged him in the side with the arm that was resting on top of his. He sighed and caught your eyes for a moment before he smiled.

“No, not if Tommy trusts you to do this.”

You arrived at the stairs leading up to the old Victorian house and John let go of your arm. He nodded to you, tilting his cap before leaving into the small front garden and disappeared into the shadows. Damn he was good. You knocked a few times and it didn’t take long for the usual butler to open the door.

“Miss y/n. You are expected. Lady Finch has another visitor and it’s dragging out. Please do came in and wait.” He stepped aside and you walked into the front hall. Like an instinct you looked up and around in the hall, mesmerised at the place and the size. The golden chandeliers light reflecting beautifully on the marble floors.

“This way, miss.” The old Butler said, nodded to you. You followed along and were enchanted with the sound of your heels on the floor echoing on the walls. All these things were new to you but the place was exactly the same as last time. You just had a sense of calm around you that you had never felt before. Instead of jumping at peoples touch and react negatively to every little sound, you were taking in all in as a wonderful experience of something new. You were really starting to overcome yourself.

“You can take a seat here if…” You had stopped on the hall that led to the same dining room you had visited before. But as the Butler gestured to the sofa to the side, the door to the dining room was thrown up in an aggressive manner and hit the wall behind it.

“Guards!” You hurt Lady Isabella yell and in the same second Mick King walked out of the shaking door. It was like the pure sight of him provoked a curtain action in you and you reached down you purse and pulled out your little gun and pointed it at his face before he even got to register that there were someone in the halls with him. He stopped in front of you and brought his hands up. You saw how his expression changed when he realized who he was standing in front of. The shock of the gun pointed at him changed to a smug smile.

“What a pleasant surprise miss y/n y/l/n. Where is your guard dog Mr Shelby?” He asked and dropped his hands down again.

“I can look out for myself.” You said grimly and it was very amusing to see how his eyes widened in shock of you actually speaking. He recovered quickly and huffed.

“So I’ve heard.” He said as the guards came running down from the other end of the hall. You kept pointing the gun at his head when they started to grab him. He tried to shake them off but the bigger of the two grabbed him by the neck and forced him down. Lady Isabella finally came out when the guards had their hold in the man and she looked to you, still with your gun out.

“Ah good. The meeting dragged out but it’s good you are here. Gentlemen, will you escort the mad man out and find a maid to bring me and miss y/l/n some new tea?” Lady Isabella tossed her hand at the guards. Mick send you one last dirty look and he sneered when he was dragged out.

“You better put that gun away. My men don’t like them inside.” She said and winked at you. You put the gun in your purse again and stepped with her inside the familiar dining room. Maids were running around cleaning liquor from the table. It looked like Mick King have had a rage fit like a child and thrown around with everything. Even the biscuits were knocked off the plate.

“I think I need to start with an apology for the last time you were here. I didn’t hear it myself, but my employees told me that you were attacked upon leaving my property.” She spoke as she sat down in the chair at the end of the table. The maids dismissed themselves with a curtsy.

“It’s okay. We handled it ourselves and Tommy is doing okay again after some time at home.” You spoke and the older woman pressed a hand over her heart in shock.

“Oh my! Listen to you! It is so nice to hear your voice, it is just as sweet as I imagined.” She beamed and reached out to touch your hand. You didn’t remove your hand, which was a victory for you as this woman was practically a stranger. You smiled at the older women.

“I guess I’ve gained a little more confident since the incident and taking care of Tommy and being around him all the time has helped me a lot. He’s a good man.“ You said and blushed because of the thoughts that was invading you of the time you had spent with Tommy since the last time you visited Lady Isabella. The older women got a knowing look in her eyes.

“I guess he finally made claim to you?” She said smugly and you nodded.

“I see. That’s why he send you to me instead of coming here himself. He’s a smart man.” She nodded to herself and leaned back in the chair.

“Actually, it was my idea because I wanted to be more involved.” You said which was partly true. You wanted to be more involved, but that was involved with the downfall and potentially death of Mick King.

“And here you are. Sounds like that man of yours is pretty smart too. What do you have for me?” She winked at you and it was your cue to find your purse and go through the plan you had made with the Shelbys.

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“For y/n!” Arthur roared out in the Garrison and the rest of the Shelby family and the other invited lifted their drinks and toasted for you. Your cheeks were flaming red as the attention was on you. You weren’t used to be the centre of attention so you were relieved when Tommy put his arm around you waist and pulled you into his side. You put your hand to his chest to steady yourself as he pressed a kissed to the top of your head. That caught the attention of many of the men, or that was at least the ones that reacted as they started howling.

“Don’t be a wuss, kiss your girl properly!” Someone yelled and a lot of people laughed. You didn’t know how to react to it because you had a hard time figuring out if they were mocking you or cheering you on. They just sounded like raging baboons in your ear. Tommy stepped in front of you like he could sense you were starting to listen to the voice in back of your head. He placed his glass on the bar and pulled you into him, now with both his hands on your hips. He placed a gentle kiss on your lips that you responded to immediately. You could feel him deepen the kiss without it being inappropriate. You both smiled as you pulled away.

“Welcome to the family.” Polly said is a hush voice as Tommy was pulled away by his brothers and some of the other Peaky Blinders. Polly put a hand on your arm and pointed to the table where Ada and Esme had just sat down and started to lead you in their direction. It was an amazing feeling to sit down with the other ladies of the family Shelby family. It felt like an accept of you and who you were. Your trauma and odd behaviour hadn’t scared them away. They had taken you in from the start and healed you. Even though it was a family with a lot of problems and their own shady business, they held together and were loyal to each other. Everyone would be able to see how lucky someone would be to be accepted into this family and you didn’t even want to imagine where you would be at that moment, if you weren’t sitting across from Polly and cheered with the Shelbys.

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Your days didn’t change much but it still felt so much different. You never really went back to your apartment anymore. Almost all your clothing you used from day to day were in Tommy’s and yours room now and the maid hired to do the laundry had started to put it in the drawers, instead of putting it on the chair by the desk. When you got up, you walked down to the dining room in a rope and drank your tea with Polly. Sometimes John and Esme would be there with the kids and you would help Esme get the kids ready for school. You loved the way Tommy looked at you in the morning, when he walked into the dining room. You could feel how much he cared for you as he smiled and made his way towards you and either intertwined your fingers or wrapped his arms around you.

Doing the day you were both very professional and didn’t put on a show in the office. You did imagine locking yourself into his office and sit across his lap and dig your fingers in his hair. You knew that if you did so he would immediately play along and grab your ass and press you even closer. Every time you had those thoughts you looked down into the table and collected yourself. No, in the office it was only stolen glances and maybe a kiss on the cheek. It was lucky that there wasn’t much more than a walk upstairs to get to the bedroom as soon your shift was over.

Miraculously Tommy almost always accomplished to be home in the time of your shift ending, even though he had been out the whole day. He would walk through the doors when you were cleaning up your desk in the end of the day. He would politely greet Lizzie before he put a hand in the small of your back and guided you upstairs. He was on you as soon the door was closed. Many days you didn’t even leave the property but you didn’t care. You were in cloud nine and felt like you didn’t need anything more to be happy than Tommy and the rest of the Shelbys.

One of the rare days when Tommy and his brothers were out late doing business in Manchester you were sat in the dining room with Polly and Esme. You had finished eating and the children were running around the table playing with their toys. Esme had her arms full of the youngest of the children. With 6 children it was quite a job to handle them all but Esme did a great job with a little help from Polly and now you. It was also why Esme and John spend so much time in the family house instead in their own private home. At some point one of the girls, Katie, fell over as she ran around after her brother. She immediately sat up and started crying. Esme looked to you as her arms were full and Polly was taking out some of the plates with the maids.

“I’ve got it.” You said to calm her. You went to the little girl and your heart swell a little as she reached her arms up to you so you could pick her up. It meant a lot for you that she trusted you enough to let you take her up and comfort her. You clung to you and you sat down rocking from side to side in your seat to calm her down. Her big brother that wasn’t more than 8 years old came up to you and his sister. He must have felt guilty for her tripping while running after her because he wanted to give her his teddy bear.

“See Katie. Who is that?” You ask her and poked her in the side to make her giggle.

“Teddy!” She exclaimed and had all but forgotten that she was sad the moment before. She look from you to her brother like she wanted your accept to take the bear.

“Go ahead. He wants you to have it.” You said and the little girl took the bear and hugged it tightly and buried her face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry it took so long. The meeting dragged out.” Tommy had cleared his throat before he spoke and got all of yours attention. He smiled at the scene he had arrived to. John and Arthur were right behind him and the boy ran to his father and was picked up. Tommy went to you and gave a short peck on the lips and looked at the girl in your arms. You still rocked from side to side because you could feel how she was growing heavy in your arms. It was getting late too so it was only expected.

“I think she’s very tired. I’ll take her to bed then I’ll be right up.” You both said to Tommy and Esme. Esme nodded and got up with you to take the rest of the kids with her. Tommy gave your arm a little squeeze as you left with the sleepy girl in your arms.

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When you entered the room that you and Tommy was now sharing, Tommy was waiting for you. Not in the way he’d done before by almost throwing himself at you. He sat on the sofa with a glass in hand, swirling the copper colours liquid around. He was only wearing his trousers and a white sleeveless undershirt. He downed the drink and got up. He spread out his arms for you to walk into. It was a cozy atmosphere in the room. The only light coming from the fireplace that warmed up the room. It gave the whole room a warm yellow tint.

“Did you help Esme put the children to sleep for so long?” He said kissing your hair.

“They are quite stubborn even though they were very sleepy. They are afraid to miss anything.” You chuckled.

“They are wonderful, aren’t they?” He mumbled into your hair. He started to sway a little from side to side in a playful manner.

“They are.” You agreed and closed your eyes and let him sway you around. It was a very blissful moment. The only sound that could be heard was the crackling from the fireplace and the creaking from the floor when you stepped around. You were pressed so firmly against Tommy’s chest as he started humming. You had never heard him humming or singing, ever. It startled you and you looked up to him. A wide grin was on his lips as he continued humming. He was so beautiful when he was happy and smiling. You wondered what had suddenly gotten into him. Whatever it was, you really didn’t mind.

He finally leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. Your arms immediately snaked around his neck to deepen the kiss. Your fingers exploring the close shaved hair in the back of his head and further up into the soft longer hair that was slightly curly after he’d been wearing a hat all day.

“Jump.” Tommy got out between kisses and it took your brain a moment to figure out what he meant. He let his hands move down to rest at your ass and you bent down slowly to jump up and wrap your legs around his waist. This was new. He was so vibrant and he even laughed out loud when he caught you and held you up by a firm grab on your butt cheeks. You kept your mouth moving against each other in an comfortable and longing rhythm. He swayed you from side to side and you giggled at the silly position you found yourself in.

“If you don’t put me down soon you will forever remember this moment by a chronical back pain.” You reminded him. He snorted but started to move the two of you towards the bed. He lay you down softly on the bed and he pulled his undershirt over his head, leaving his torso exposed. You removed your dress shirt and unbuttoned the skirt you were wearing and slid it down. You have got to your girdles but Tommy was already crawling his way up your body. Placing small kisses from your stomach, up to the skin between your breasts and started attacking your neck. You buried your fingers in his hair and let out a moan as he bit down.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful…” He started but stopped as he moved from one side of your neck to the other, kissing his way there.

“What?” You said under a breath.

“…to have our own children one day?” He finished and you froze. This was not what you expected the conversation would be in the middle of a make out session. It wasn’t something you had been talking about at all and it wasn’t like you were married or had been together for that long. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid the conversation forever but you had thought it would have taking much longer for him to even talk about having children. Your relationship being so new only made it so much more difficult to talk about.

Tommy could feel the shift in the mood and stopped what he was doing and lifted his head so he could look at you.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?” He said with a frown. The worry was auditable in his voice. As soon as your eyes met you started to tear up and turned your face away. This was not a conversation you were prepared for at all.

“I didn’t mean… I mean we can wait as long... I don’t want to force you into… Please don’t cry.” He lifted himself from you and you sat up against the headboard with your legs tugged close your body.

“Y/n. What is happening?” He asked slightly panicking as he sat down next to you. Your shoulders were touching and it was almost too much in the state of stress you were placed in. You had never thought that you would have been placed in a position where the subject would ever be relevant to you. After everything you thought that you were unable to ever find someone who would even touch you. Your voice was shaking when you spoke.

“Tommy. I want you to know that I’d never considered that I would ever be in a relationship after the… assaults I have experienced.” You closed your eyes and a single tear slipped down your cheek. Tommy took one of your hands in his and kissed your knuckles.

“I understand that.” He said but he sounded a little hesitant.

“I don’t think… Tommy… I don’t think I’m able to have children.” You finally said and sniffled. There was a very long silence that followed. You breathed out heavily and opened your eyes to see his reaction. Tommy stared at you dumbfounded. His jaw was tensely shut.

“Why do you think that?” He finally said. His voice didn’t hint of any emotions and you were a little scared to figure out what this was going to mean.

“I… I was at the hospital when I was freed. They examined me but not for long as I was struggling against the touch of the doctors. But I needed stiches… down there… so he had to examine me. I remember him telling me something about me being damaged and that he thought that I would never be able to carry children after what happened.” You were explaining this through hiccups as the tears kept coming by then. Tommy’s facial expression never changed doing your explanation. He just sat there staring at you.

“Tommy, please say something.” You said as the stare was becoming too much for you. He stood up in one aggressive movement and went over to the window. He opened the window and leaned his elbows on the windowsill. He stood there for some time before turning towards you again. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something but thought better of it and closed his mouth again. He paced restlessly back and forward in the room and his behaviour was starting to freak you out, but you didn’t dare to speak again, before he did.

“Do you know how important family is to me?” He finally said and stopped at the end of the bed. You looked at him in shock.

“Yes of course.” You knew he loved his family more than anything. He once said that everything he did was to provide for his family and make sure that they never had to experience poverty.

“Then you must realize how important having children are to me? I’ve always seen children in my future. At least a few. So I cannot forgo this. What do you expect me to do with this?” He sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands. You really didn’t know what to do about this. You couldn’t do anything then just sit there. You couldn’t promise him children but you would if you could. You had never had those dreams yourself but you have gotten there eventually if you stayed with Tommy. But when he sat there with his head in his hands, you were very uncertain if that was going to happen. So much had turned in just a moment.

“I don’t know Tommy.” You whispered, just loud enough for him to hear it too. Everything was just going so well before this. But you didn’t want him to feel he needed to be with you if you couldn’t give him what was most important to him.

“Just tell me if you want me to leave. You don’t owe me anything.” You said as your mind started to clear up after the shock. You were grateful for what Tommy had done for you, but if you couldn’t make him happy the way he made you happy, then you didn’t want to force him to be with you.

“Ne, I just need to think.” Tommy finally said and got up and grabbed his shirt. He left before you could even react.

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You didn’t leave. You couldn’t leave when Tommy said that you didn’t need to and most of your thinks was in the room you shared anyway. But you couldn’t sleep either. You tugged the duvet up over you but you turned and started into the dancing flames in the fireplace that doing the night became small embers. Tommy never came back. When the sun started to set you sat up in the bed again. It was weird how you for only months ago couldn’t sleep because your mind was racing and was full of thoughts about everything that had hurt you and could possibly hurt you. Think that was lurking in the dark. Now you couldn’t sleep because you couldn’t think at all. Your mind was numb. When it was time to get up and get down to breakfast it was like your body reached by habit because without realizing you were fully dressed and sat down at the table in the dining room, waiting for the others as a maid served you your usual bread with butter and jam.

Polly was the first to get up and join you. She smiled at you sweetly and went up behind you, squeezing both your shoulders and but her cheek to your hair, as a very motherly greeting.

“Good morning dear. Did you sleep well?” She asked as a simple question like she did every morning but it was like her calm voice made something break in you. If Tommy decided at that the two of you should be together, you wouldn’t be in the house surrounded with Polly, Esme and the rest of the family. You could lose them all. Not just him. You started to tear up and Polly looked shocked at you. When the maid came with her breakfast she waved her out of the room with a shake of her hand. She stood up and went to the other side of the table to sit down next to you and took your hand.

“What did he do?” Was her first words and you were surprised how she immediately thought it was Tommy who had done something. In reality he hadn’t done anything but gotten his dreams crushed by you. You had fallen for each other in such a complicated way that not all of the card had been placed on the table from the start and you were now facing the consequences.

“Tommy didn’t do anything. It is me who disappointed him.” You explained and she started to look really angry.

“He should not force you into something you don’t want to do.” She said harshly and her lips was in a thin line, like she tried to hold something in that wasn’t very nice.

“Oh no. It’s nothing like that. I just… I told him that I might not be able to have children. It means a lot to him.” You took a deep breath to try and stop the tears. It wasn’t fair to him that you sat there and kind of forced his own aunt to be on your site of this.

“Might not?” She just said inquiringly. You noticed how she didn’t let go of your hands and with what you were about to tell her it felt kind of too intimate to be touched at the same time.

“A doctor looked at me after I was liberated. He wasn’t very gentle even though the circumstances were… brutal. I fought against him and they held me down while he was checking me. He just told me that I should count on ever getting children. He wasn’t more specific than that. But I didn’t think of it at all because I couldn’t imagine ever having someone wanting to touch me ever again after what I’ve been though. I wasn’t even sure I would want someone to touch me, you know. If I’m really not able to carry any children I don’t want to force Tommy to be with me. He has done so much for me and I want him to be happy. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I knew I would be unhappy with me.” It was so relieving to pour out your heart to someone like Polly. It was like she was the mother you never had to talk to about this kind of stuff. She squeezed both your hands and leaned a little closer to you.

“Y/n. I know that Tommy cares deeply about you and I’m sure that this will not scare him away. He might be in shock but he will not leave you. You will find a way.” Polly said reassuring and smiled a little at you.

“Thank you Polly.” You didn’t know what to believe but it was nice that she wanted to comfort you. But neither of you could decide what Tommy would do next.

“If you want me to, I can take you to a doctor. One that could check you properly.” She offered.

“I don’t think I can do that. At least not yet.” You simply said and Polly nodded understanding. She knew almost better than anyone else what you had been thought. It did also scare you a little that another doctor would possibly give you the same answer as the first one.

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tommynikkivincemick · 5 years

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three way call — part 6

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

Author’s note: I am so sorry this took so long!! Firstly, I’ve been very busy this week with things for my cousin’s wedding (who as of last night is happily married) and secondly I have no idea why this chapter was such a bitch to write. As for the ending of this chapter, SOME OF Y’ALL BOUT TO BE REAL MAD AT ME, but fear not, for three way call is far from over!! Without further ado: three way call part 6. Enjoy xx

Warnings: Language, smut, alcohol consumption.

Once they got out of Los Angeles, it took Tommy and Y/N just over an hour down the scenic pacific coast highway to arrive in Malibu at the mountainous state park— just far enough out of the city to see the stars. Once they got to a someone secluded place they could park, the pair climbed into the back of the van and Y/N looked up.

“Since when do you have a skylight in your car?” She asked amusedly.

“One day Nikki sawed the roof off my car and obviously I can’t drive around without a roof on my car, so I took it into the shop and asked if they could replace it with glass and they did,” He explained as he went through the cooler for drinks.

“It looks cool,” She complimented as he handed her a bottle of beer, “Look at all the stars...”

“Yeah... beautiful,” He smiled softly, not looking at the stars at all but instead looking at the girl who was staring up in wonder at the celestial bodies.

She was gorgeous like this; mesmerized and starry eyed. Her lips were parted and painted red, her cheeks were rosy, her eyes were sparkling, and her long lashes added an ethereal effect. He remembered he stole some votive and pillar candles from Nikki’s room to set the mood and went to get them, abandoning his own bottle. He moved around the van, setting out candles and lighting them until the van looked something like a small cathedral with all of the flames illuminating it.

“Hey, Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Not to kill the mood, but where’s the food? I’m starving,” She giggled and sipped her beer.

“Oh! Let me get it, I think I’m done setting up anyway,” He said sheepishly, realizing how carried away he had gotten in setting the mood.

He dug through the cooler until he found two hot dogs, handing one to her.

“Mulholland dog, right?” He checked.

“Yes sir, I’m impressed you remembered,” She smiled and took a bite.

“I don’t see how you can eat mushrooms on a hot dog,” Tommy said, scrunching up his nose in mild disgust.

“There’s guacamole on yours, I don’t wanna hear it.”

She carried on as she ate about how good hers was and how she couldn’t believe the toppings he got on his. Tommy, of course, argued that she had the grosser toppings by far and that she shouldn’t knock it till she tried it. She rolled her eyes and finished her food before leaning her head on his shoulder and placing a hand on her stomach.

“I am... so full,” She groaned and laid down on the soft floor of the van, “I feel pregnant.”

“I sincerely hope that I never make you feel pregnant unless it’s with food or you want me to,” He joked and joined her on the floor.

“You should be so lucky to have me mother your children,” She laughed, “But I don’t want kids for a long time. I’m too busy taking care of the Crüe.”

“Some of us more than others.”

“Yeah, but I don’t mind it. I love you assholes... some more than others.”

She rolled onto her side and kissed the drummer’s cheek.

“Yeah, Vince and Mick are your favorites, you’re really obvious about it,” Tommy deadpanned, also turning on his side to face her and placing a hand on her waist.

“Yeah, totally, Vinnie can get it any time.”

They laughed and moved a little closer to one another, listening to the music on the radio in silence for a few minutes.

“Why do you love Nikki?” He whispered, not wanting to completely shatter the silence.

“Well, I’ve never really thought about it. I’ve known him for a long time and he’s always been so nice to me; even when he’s being an asshole he goes easy on me. He’s smart and creative and funny... And I mean, he’s pretty easy on the eyes, you know? A lot of the same reasons I love you.” Y/N replied in equally hushed tones.

“Yeah, but what’s unique about him that makes you love him?”

“Well... I know his story. He’s gone through a lot of shit, you know? And I think that’s made him a lot stronger than he would be otherwise, and has shaped him as a person, and all that. And he’s got a dark side— the other day I was cleaning his room because someone’s got to, and I found witchcraft and satanic books and candles and ritual knives and stuff. It’s fucked up but it’s kind of hot.”

“Okay, and what about me? Why do you love me, too?”

“You’re a little rowdy and kind of a pain in the ass, but you’re a sweetheart. You’re like owning a giant Great Dane; you’re big and obnoxious and loud and destructive and sometimes I wonder if keeping you is worth it, but you’re so sweet and cute and lovable that I could never get rid of you. And you make me want to come out of my shell, you know? With Nikki I just wanna chill, but you make me feel like I could take on the world every time I’m alone with you. I could fight every girl in every bar in Hollywood, I could drive to Venice at four in the morning and go skinny dipping in the ocean, I could do anything with you. You’re fun and exciting and spontaneous. You’re the funniest, sweetest guy I know. And you’re pretty, which always helps,” She listed, “I mean look at these cheekbones!”

She reached up to caress his sharp jawline, running her thumb over his cheekbone. He smiled and she gazed into his eyes to see what she could find in the hazel pools. There was trouble in Tommy’s eyes of many different kinds; there was the usual kind that meant he wanted to get into some trouble, but there was something underneath that. Tonight he wasn’t just trouble, he was troubled.

“What’s wrong, T-Bone?” She asked quietly.

“Everything, sweetie. Fucking everything. But I don’t want you to worry about me, you make me feel alright just by laying here with me,” He said reassuringly.

“Talk to me, Tom. What’s wrong?”

“Well, in short, I love you and I love Nikki, but you love Nikki, too, and I feel like I can’t love you without hurting Nikki and we love that you love us but it hurts us that neither of us can have you fully without hurting each other. And you know, when I think about it, it makes so much sense to me just to both have you and maybe even have each other and let me tell you, thinking about that awakened some crazy feelings inside of me that scare me and that I do not like. And no I am not going to talk about those crazy feelings because they’re gross and make me feel like I’m going insane,” Tommy said quickly, pouring his soul on the floor of the van.

Y/N took a moment to process everything. She understood the painful love triangle they were in and Tommy was absolutely right; it made perfect sense to her to be in an actual love triangle where all three partners participated and were in love. But those wild feelings the drummer was having were news to her. She thought both twins were as hetero as they came; Nikki and Tommy loved the ladies and the ladies loved Nikki and Tommy, simple as that. But in retrospect, they had been practically married since they met. They could have any kind of relationship, be it best friends, lovers, brothers, or band mates, as long as they were together. Because the connection they had was tangible; Y/N could very well be the love of the Twins’ lives, but the Twins themselves were soulmates. Tommy would do anything for Nikki and Nikki would do anything for Tommy.

“I get it,” She nodded, “I kind of feel the same way, aside from the crazy feelings. If Nikki weren’t such a jealous bastard, I bet that would be the case. But, you know, it’s not. So we just have to live in the little moments like we have now.”

She smoothed a few strands of hair out of his face and moved her hand to rest on his shoulder instead of his cheek. The hand on her waist pulled her closero to the drummer until they were lchest to chest and nearly nose to nose.

“I love you,” Tommy whispered, glancing down gs

to her lips.

“I love you,” Y/N repeated, her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned forward to meet their lips.

Tommy squeezed her tight against him as they kissed, almost as if he was trying to fuse their two bodies. While Tommy didn’t have the depth and darkness of Nikki, he had the same fire and passion; when either of them loved, they loved hard. The younger Twin displayed this as his lips moved in sync with Y/N’s and his tongue played gently with hers. She couldn’t help but softly moan into the kiss and wrap her arms tightly around him. As they kissed, she thought about how fucked it was that she had just hooked up with Nikki the night before. The two were practically brothers; it was wrong, sinful, but it felt so deliciously right. Tommy kissing his way down her neck and across her collarbones felt just as good as Nikki doing it. The drummer rolling her onto her back and pulling her top down felt so similar to Nikki pushing her shoulders into the mattress and taking her shirt off. Both of them were their own original brand of paradise.

Tommy left a dark mark on the side of her neck and licked and kissed his way down until he got to the topmost hem of her top. The only thing on his mind was making her feel good, so he pulled it down and exposed her breasts, kissing the tops of the twin globes.

“No bra? God, you’re perfect,” He groaned and took a nipple into his mouth.

Y/N moaned softly and tangled a hand in his hair. His lips were soft against her skin and his hands were a little rough, but in a good way. He slowly lifted her shirt off and kissed down her stomach until he got to the waistline of her pants.

“Can I eat you out? Please, I’ve been wanting to forever,” He pled with big doe eyes.

“Oh, that’s subtle, Tom. I bet you tell that to all the girls you bring to your van,” She teased.

“Only the ones who look like you,” He laughed, “But can I?”

She bit her lip and nodded. His fingers deftly unbuttoned her skirt and hooked his fingers in her fishnets, dragging them slowly down her legs, her boots having already been kicked off so she could comfortably sit cross legged. When she was fully undressed and Tommy had a chance to marvel at her for a second, he went to dive in but was stopped by a small foot pressing against his chest.

“What?” He asked, confused by her halting the proceedings.

“I don’t wanna be the only one naked,” She said simply, “Strip.”

His jacket had been abandoned long ago, seeing as the car was warm enough, so he pulled his shirt off and began the strenuous process of unlacing his leather pants. Y/N rolled onto her side and admired the drummer as he undressed. He was the tallest and lankiest of the boys, but his build suited him. Mick always said Tommy was skinny for a drummer, and maybe that was true, but it really worked in his favor. She thought he was attractive almost in the way one would think a thin model is attractive; he had a thin waist she could comfortably wrap her arm around (because if he was standing, putting her arm around his shoulders wasn’t an option), slim hips that made every movement look obvious and exaggerated, and long legs that somehow made him look graceful and clumsy at the same time. His shoulders were broad and paired with his slim hips, gave him a desirable inverted triangle shape. His collarbones and hipbones jutted out and if he hadn’t eaten that day, sometimes his ribs were slightly visible, but this wasn’t to say that he was skin and bones; he was skin and bones and muscle. He had nice biceps for his build, his flat stomach was toned, and what shape his thin thighs had was all muscle and no fat. He would always say that he didn’t know how he hadn’t gained thirty pounds with the way he drank, and she would always say that the coke and cigarettes kept him skinny. But she thought he was beautiful, anyway.

One of the great things about leather pants, in Y/N’s opinion, was that the boys never wore underwear with them. As soon as Tommy loosened the laces on the pants and pushed them down, her eyes widened at the view before her.

“Jesus Christ, Tommy!” She gasped.

“What?”

“How did I not know you were that... that big? Holy shit,” She stared unashamedly, her eyes full of wonder.

“Babe, it’s not like you haven’t seen my dick before. I’m pretty sure I‘m naked like forty percent of the time,” He laughed.

“But not when you’re hard, fuck, I can’t get over this,” She giggled gleefully.

“Well you can have it in a minute, I’m just getting started with you,” He smirked and parted her legs to get a taste.

He began torturously teasing her with his tongue like he had done to so many girls before, but he enjoyed it a little more this time. Y/N was a little sweeter, and he wasn’t sure if it was because she just was or because he was desperately head over heels in love with her. But at the same time, he didn’t care why she was so sweet on his tongue; he just knew he could eat her for the rest of his life and die happy. Tommy understood in that moment why Nikki had to go in for seconds.

Shit, Tommy thought, what about Nikki? He really wanted to sleep with Y/N tonight, and he knew that would allow him to win the bet, but he couldn’t help but think to himself that it was unfair to the bassist and unfair to Y/N. Nikki hadn’t gotten a fair shot yet and Y/N hadn’t gotten to fairly weigh her options. He wished she didn’t have to choose. It had only been a few days and the drummer was growing tired of this stupid game they were playing with her heart; he loved competition and he loved to win, but at what cost? Nikki would be heartbroken and would probably physically fight Tommy, and if Y/N found out about the bet, she would probably beat them both within an inch of their lives. Either way, something was getting broken, whether it was hearts or bones. But as Y/N came undone on his tongue, he had to think hard about if he really cared.

“Oh my god, Tommy, that was amazing,” She panted and leaned up to kiss his lips, “Can I return the favor?”

“I mean, if you want,” He replied, kissing her again.

“Or do you just want to get right to it?” She asked and bit her lip as she climbed into his lap.

No, Tommy thought, he did not care.

The drummer nodded eagerly and looked around for a condom. Surely he had one in here—

“I’m on birth control, you know,” She said, noticing his eyes frantically moving around the van.

Tommy could have died right there.

“Jesus Christ, you’re perfect,” He smiled like a kid on Christmas morning

She lifted off of his lap and he positioned himself underneath her, leaning back against the wall of the van and keeping one hand on her ass to steady her. As she lowered herself onto him, they both moaned loudly and once he was bottomed out within her, they both looked each other in the eyes with the same thought: wow. Tommy was a good sport so he fully intended to give his fellow competitor a fair shot. Nikki would give him hell tomorrow, but got damn it—

He won.

Taglist: @jayprettymuchomw @kayladurin @crazysaladchopshop @iamtiber-andtiberismusic @loveofmyloif @saints-of-the-universe @tommyfuckinlee @oh-well1 @cranberribread @princesadeltoro @prostidudes-for-justice @miriampraez @tarahell @n-osebleed

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thedirtpreferences · 5 years

Text

Preference #6 - Long Day (Request)

Vince: It had taken approximately three seconds for Vince to realize you were only moments away from an emotional outburst. From your soaking wet frame that dripped into a puddle at the entrance of your home, all the way to your quivering lip and wide eyes, he could already tell today had been a long day for you without evening asking. “I missed the bus.” You muttered, dipping your head to the side as you rung out your hair, cringing at the sound of water pouring to the hardwood floor. “Oh, baby.” Vince tutted, outstretching his arms in a way that told you that it was okay to hug him even if you were soaking wet. At first you hesitated, not wanting to get Vince wet and soggy like yourself, but decided against it at the thought of your boyfriends arms finally being wrapped around you after your incredibly long day. Taking two strides forward, you leaped on the third step crashing into Vince. Instantly, his arms wounded around you as your body went rigid from the foreign feeling. You were so tense from the bad day, that it took you a second to fully register that everything was safe and secure now; that in his arms nothing could ever be too bad. Sighing in relief, you nuzzled your forehead in his chest as he kissed the top of your head. “Let’s get you out of these clothes, yeah?” Vince mumbled into your hair, as you nodded silently allowing him to steer you down the hall and into the bathroom of your master bedroom. It was there where Vince prepared a steamy lavender, bubble bath for you and helped you undress, peeling each article of clothing off you one at a time. “You’re so fucking pretty.” Vince whispered lowering himself into the tub, motioning you to follow. Vince held your hand as you lowered yourself into the tub, pressing your back against the front of his body as you sat between his legs. You couldn’t help but to moan in relief, the hot water managing to loosen the last of your tenseness as Vince kissed the side of your head lovingly. “How is it you always know how to take care of me?” You murmured to Vince as he began to wash your arm and shoulder with your loofah. “Because you’re my girl and it’s my job to make sure you’re happy.” Your heart warmed at his words as you sunk further into the bath, letting your eyes slip close in bliss. This was worth the bad day.

Nikki: “Rough day?” Nikki mused, setting his notebook and pen down upon see you walk through the threshold of your bedroom. You looked a mess: hair ratted into multiple knots, mascara streaked down the apples of your cheeks, clothes wrinkled and worn out from the incredibly long day you had just experienced. It was undeniable that you worked very hard, in fact, it was one of the many things that Nikki loved the most about you. You were independent and self-sufficient to a near fault; furthermore, seeing you come home dead on your feet was not an uncommon thing in your household. Even though the exhaustion took a serious toll on you after a long work day, your work ethic was still nothing short of amazing in the eyes of your boyfriend. “You have no idea.” You responded slowly, as you began to strip from your work clothes scanning your dresser for something to wear to bed. Finally deciding on one of Nikki’s oversized shirts, you slipped the article over your head and clobbered onto your luxurious bed where Nikki laid. “Hi, sweetheart.” He murmured as you cuddled into his side, leaning up for a short kiss on the lips. “Hello, love.” You yawned back in response. “Whatcha’ writing?” You peered at the notebook inquisitive as Nikki, handed it to you letting you scan over the words carefully. Your boyfriend was always writing new songs for the band, and somehow they never failed to amaze you. How had you ended up with a person so creative and so talented? You were so lucky. “I like it,” you nodded, wincing when Nikki squeezed your shoulder in a way to show you his appreciation for the compliment. “Did that hurt?” He asked in shock, noticing your wince as you smashed your lips together in a straight line. “Lil’ bit, just a little tense is all.” You assured him, but Nikki was not having it as he shook his head furrowing his brows. “Lay down on your stomach, let me work at those muscles.” He insisted as he wiggled his fingers, implying a massage. You were in no position to deny the request and instantly flipped over onto your stomach, humming softly when you felt your boyfriend straddled your backside. “Just relax, baby.” He murmured into your ear as his fingers started to knead into the deep rooted knots in your shoulder, before slowly moving down to your shoulder blades, then your back, then back up to start again. After about two minutes of this, your eyes grew heavy before fluttering close; you swore Nikki had magic fingers. “Y/N?” Nikki inquired once your breathing steadied and soft snores began to leave your mouth. Leaning beside you to examine your face, his heart warmed when he realized that you were sound asleep. “Goodnight, Y/N.” He whispered, laying down beside you before turning off the lamp with a smile on his face knowing that he was responsible for the deep slumber you were currently in.

Tommy: “Welcome home, baby!” Tommy shouted from the couch upon hearing the front door open, a heavy sigh following shortly after from you. Today had been a long day; an unreasonably, unusually cruel day. It just seemed like one thing after another had managed to happen to you and you weren’t able to catch a break at any point of time. It was so bad that even now after you had just made it home, you were still wrapped up in the stress the day had brought. Decompartmentalization was often a struggle for you. Walking into the living room, you stepped over Tommy’s outstretched legs that rested on the coffee table in front of him. Tommy looked serene, calm; you could tell his day had been stressless and for some reason that annoyed you even more. Plopping next to him, you emitted an exasperated sigh as you dramatically turned towards him, smacking your hands against your thighs. “Go ahead.” You snapped, Tommy turning his head to look at you with a raised brow. “Go ahead, Tommy. Ask me about my fucking day,” You snapped, scowling as your boyfriend who began to laugh. “How was your day, Y/N?” He asked sarcastically, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips when you scowled. “Fucking awful.” Jutting your lip out, you exhaled heavily causing the hair covering your face to move away for a brief second. “Did you want to talk about it? Or did you want to continue being mean to your boyfriend who has done nothing but wished for this moment all evening?” Tucking the hair behind your ear, you couldn’t help but to roll your cheek into his hand, smiling sadly at him. After second thought, you had felt mortified that you had managed to take your bad day out on the person that was able to make you smile no matter what the circumstance was. “I’m sorry, Tommy. Today just really fucking blew,” you sighed. “I bet I can make you laugh,” Before you could even answer, Tommy was suddenly running his fingers across your torso, hovering over you as he tickled you against your wishes. “Tommy quit!” You squealed as you broke into hysterical laughter, begging for him to stop. This only made him proceed as he laughed with you, only stopping to nuzzle his head into the crick of your neck, tickling you with his unruly hair. “See, I know how to make my girlfriend laugh.” Tommy grinned as he peppered your body with sporadic kisses, eventually making his way to your lips. “It’s a good thing your girlfriend knows how to get you back though,” You challenged as you wiggled your fingers at your boyfriend, chasing after him when he jumped over the back of your couch, declaring a tickle fight. Your relationship was undoubtedly childlike, but that’s what made it so special; furthermore, your relationship was able to bring a smile to your face even on the worst days.

Mick: You were fighting back the tears as you unlocked your front door, finally walking into your house after your twelve hour shift at work. Today was long; probably one of the longest days of your entire life. You had been scheduled for your typical eight hour shift, but due to short staffing and your idiot coworkers consistently not showing up to work, you had ended up staying four hours later to compensate for the lack of people. By ending up in this situation, you also had to unfortunately cancel your dinner plans with Mick. Where he had been nothing but understanding on the phone, you still felt incredibly guilty and disappointed that these plans didn’t work out as they had been in the works for awhile. That is until you walked through your front door and noticed your surroundings. “What is all this?” You whispered in awe, taking in your surroundings carefully and graciously. In your living room, scattered around in various spots and locations were tea lights. The flame from each candle was responsible for creating a lush, ambient glow in the room that took your breath away in an instance from its undeniable beauty. The second thing you noticed upon walking into your house was that there was a rich, savory aroma hanging in the air that made your mouth water. Your bewilderment was unexplainable at first, but then it all made sense when you noticed the display of food sitting on your coffee table and your husband to be standing sheepishly behind the display. “Mick...This is so sweet.” You bit your lip, trying to disguise your trembling bottom lip. Nobody had ever done anything like this for you before, so needless to say you were overwhelmed with the feeling of being loved and admired. “I wanted to do something nice, you sounded upset on the phone.” Mick explained, looking down at his feet as his cheeks began to warm under your intense gaze. “Mick, you really didn’t have to do all of this, especially when I cancelled on you last minute.” Walking towards him, you smiled when he snaked his strong arms around your waist and pulled you closer to his body. “You deserve to be spoiled, Y/N. You work hard.” Just those words alone made your heart sputter like a helicopter propeller in flight. You couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have a boyfriend who took such good care of you even on your worst days.

(I am currently half asleep, so I’m sorry if this sucks)

#the dirt #the dirt imagines #the dirt imagine #the dirt preferences #the dirt blurbs #colson baker #mgk #douglas booth #daniel webber #iwan rheon

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pattie-remembers · 5 years

Note

A lot of programmes about the Beatles have Tony Bramwell in. Did you know him? What was he like?

When I started going out with George it seemed like a dream come true. I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. I soon found out everything about being with George wasn’t sunshine and roses. When I met him on the set of A Hard Day’s Night, it was love at first sight for both of us. He asked me out several times that day. At first I thought he was joking, but his persistence finally convinced me he was serious. Feeling sick about it, I had to turn him down. I had a boyfriend and I didn’t feel right accepting a date with another man.

I noticed Paul, and some guy, I later learned was Tony Bramwell, laughing and teasing George about his obvious attentions towards me. I didn’t think too much about it. It had been a whirlwind day and my head was so full of everything I wanted to tell my roommate, Mary Bee, that I ignored it.

The next week, when I saw George again, I was hoping he’d ask me out once more. I had broken up with my boyfriend, Eric Swayne, and if George asked me out, I could, with a clear conscious, say yes!

We met during a break outside and, as he lit my cigarette, he asked, “So, how’s your boyfriend doing?” He cupped my hand so the lighter’s flame wouldn’t blow out, and I remember feeling a spark, run through my body, at his touch.

“Oh,” I said as nonchalantly as possible, “he’s not my boyfriend anymore, I broke up with him.” I took a drag off my ciggie and stared straight into his dark brown eyes.

“Then how about dinner tonight?” he asked. His eager grin was so endearing. My God, he was gorgeous.

“Sure,” I told him. He wrote down my address and said he’d pick me up around nine. Our heads were together but out of the corner of my eye was that guy Tony and he and Paul and John were laughing. I couldn’t be certain but I distinctly remember feeling it was directed at me and George. But the Beatles were always kidding each other and poking fun, so I didn’t really think too much about it.

That night, at nine sharp, I answered the knock at my door. To my surprise George was not alone. He’d brought along the Beatles’ manager, Brian Epstein. I was a little taken aback, but it turned out to be a wonderful night. George and I sat together on one side of the booth while Brian sat across from us, telling stories that made us laugh and relax.

Just being next to George was electrifying. Every time his hand would touch mine or his leg would brush against me, I thought I would faint. Brian sent us off in a taxi and our first kiss was long and wonderful. I know the meter was running and George joked how that kiss cost him ten pounds. But I guess he wanted another, because we made plans for the next night and from then on out we were together.

How my life changed in an instant! From being with an older man who wasn’t that exciting, to George Harrison of the Beatles made my head spin. Even if George hadn’t been famous, he was way more fun than Eric had been. He was funny and attentive. He made me laugh and gave me presents. He told me constantly I was beautiful and sexy. He couldn’t keep his hands off me. And I didn’t want him to. For the first time sex was great! I threw myself at George and wanted him as much as he seemed to want me. I had no idea what making love was about, but soon I was getting lessons every night.

At first, I thought it would always be exciting. Trips to Ireland and the South Pacific were a dream come true. John and Paul and Ringo were very friendly and so were their girlfriends and John’s wife, Cynthia. It was, in a way, a fun new family. George went house hunting and wanted us to live together. Of course I said yes! I was totally besotted.

Then the trouble started. After we moved to Esher, George wanted me tostay home while he headed to London almost everyday, or went on tour or played shows around England. And to be even more bossy, he wanted me to stop modeling. “You don’t need the money,” he’d say. “I can take care of you.”

Which was fabulous except I loved modeling and I didn’t want to stay home alone in Esher while all my friends were having a good time in London. I’d see lots of people. Mick Jagger and Brian Jones were always out and about. Tony Bramwell always seemed to be clubbing where ever I was. And Keith Richards turned me on to quaaludes. I danced with guys and girls. London was swinging and I wasn’t about to miss a minute of it.

In the beginning, George accepted that I wasn’t a stay at home kind of girl. But soon he was acting quite jealous, questioning me about who I’d seen and what did we talk about, and why did I let so and so touch me. I was flabbergasted and angry. I was a very social person but I would never cheat on George. I was stunned at his insecurity. I was so put out with him, I took to pretending to be asleep when he came to bed. After one horrible fight, I slept in the extra bedroom. I was furious to be challenged on wether I was telling him the truth or lying about what I’d been doing.

Smutty

Not long after, I was at the Alibi with some girls I knew from modeling. To my surprise Paul and Tony Bramwell were there as well. I was glad to see Paul, but not Tony. I’d over heard him one too many times making fun of George. And once when he hadn’t seen me, I heard him say, “George won’t stay with that gapped toothed ninny. He’s already got his eye on someone else.” I hated him! I should have confronted him, but I didn’t want to spare a moment for him.

“Why aren’t you at the studio,” I asked Paul. “Where’s George?”

Before he could answer, the manager of the club told me I had a phone call. I went in his office and was shocked and embarrassed that it was George calling me from EMI. He was furious and said he was coming to get me. I gave up,in defeat. I told my friends goodbye and went outside to wait for George.

He roared up and squealed to a stop. I jumped in and experienced the scariest ride of my life as he yelled at me all the way home. His rantings made no sense but finally it all dawned on me. “Who exactly has been telling you these stories?” I demanded to know.

“Tony,” he growled.

“Tony! I shouted. “Tony Bramwell is a fucking liar.” I turned in my seat to face him. “First, slow the fuck down or I will kill you when we get home, and secondly, how can you believe anything that asshole says?”

I don’t think George had ever heard me curse so many times and was so shocked he slowed down.

“Well, you won’t shag me anymore,” he kind of whined. “There must be someone else. “

“Because you have been mean! You aren’t ever home. I understand you have to work. I get it. But after all this time together you act like I’m a stranger. You believe lies about me and never ask me what the truth is.” I hit the dashboard with my fist.

“Well, what is the truth, Pattie?” George snarled. “And don’t hit my car!”

“The truth, George Harrison, is I love you. I don’t want another guy. I only want you.” I whispered it so he’d have to listen. I picked his hand up from the gear shift and kissed his fingers. “I love you and I want to be with you. And I’ll admit it, I want to go out and party. I can’t stay home alone in the country all night, every night.”

We turned into our drive and when he’d parked the car, I leaned over and kissed him. “You are the only man for me, George.” When he went to grab me, I jumped out and ran. The chase was on! We had a huge garden and it was dark. When he got close, I sprinted towards the house and didn’t let him catch me until we were in the sitting room. I laughed as he tackled me and we both fell into the pile of pillows we were thinking about using instead of a sofa or chairs.

We started kissing like it was the first time. He was on top of me his hands were under my dress and before I knew it my knickers were across the room. I pulled my dress off and laid back while George undid his tie and took of his dress shirt. I pulled his tee shirt off and unsnapped his trousers. His boots went flying and soon he was naked and his cock was huge. I started stroking him and he pushed my bra down and freed my breasts and started to kiss them, sucking my nipples while his hand went down and the rough tips of his fingers felt me up.

“Sit on my face, “ he ordered and I willingly straddled his head and lowered myself down on his mouth. I unhooked my bra so I could feel myself and I kept looking at George’s hard on with the usual fascination. I knew he was dying for us to 69 it, as they said, but I had been too shy. At that moment I couldn’t imagine anything I wanted more. So, I did what he’d been begging me to do. I leaned over and started sucking him off. I was so excited. Why had I been so hesitant? No wonder he’d been trying to convince me to do this. His moaning was a huge turn on and I wanted him as far down my throat as I could take him. I had no shame. If this is what it took to convince him I loved him, then I was happy to do it.

“Come on my face, luv, “ he urged and he gently slapped my ass as I wiggled so his tongue could hit the right spot. With my mouth busy, my only answer was to squeeze his balks as I licked his cock while moving him in and out of my mouth. I wanted to come and I wanted this to go on forever. As soon as I thought “don’t stop”, I could feel the first wave of ecstasy and then George picked up the tempo and for the first time we came together.

I couldn’t call his name but I moaned as he shot off and I swallowed before I had time to think. I was still having tremors and finally had to stop. Sometimes it just hurt too good.

Though we were spent, I think we wanted, needed more. We both fell among the pillows and George spooned up behind me. His hands cupped my breasts and I could feel he was getting hard again. I reached behind me and guided him inside me. He pushed against me and I pushed back wanting him so badly to be as deeply inside of me as he could get. He let one hand slip between my legs and fingered me until we both came again.

I rolled over and looked into his eyes. “Do you believe me now, George?”

Of course he wouldn’t say anything! Men! We just stared at each other, nose to nose and soon we fell asleep.

But that was the end of Tony Bramwell mucking things up between me and George. I had finally convinced George he was the only man for me.

#george x pattie #pattie remembers #pattie boyd

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ladyshandioftheendless · 5 years

Text

Royal Pains

HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS this is one of @ashestoashesvvi ‘s crowning achievements!! Have you ever wondered what it would be like if Steel Panther invaded the KISSteriaverse? No? WELL TOO BAD HERE IT IS ANYWAY!! So in this Michael Starr is Vince’s cousin and a constant thorn in his side. This time the Panther boiz assume to role of party crashers! Placed under a cut for length and dirtiness~

“W- We’re gonna what now?”

“We’re gonna bring some heavy ass metal to my favorite blond richy bitchy cuz! It’s gonna so fuckin’ rock, man!” Michael declared, jumping on top of their pool table in the middle of the room. He downed his open beer in one go and tossed it down on the floor when he was done with a pumped grin. “Woo!! Alright, bitches, c'mon, who’s game to party hard tonight?”

Lexxi blinked, and blinked. Then blinked again. Then he looked back at his mirror, shaking his head and fluffing up his hair. “Ahh, ahhhhh, you can go, but… but…” he paused, rolling the words around in his head. Beside him, Satchel just rolled his eyes as his bandmate’s mind was as lost as ever. “But I- I don’t think I’m for it after we jus- just snorted aaaaall, and I- I mean aaaall, the fuckin’ coke we had, dude. Kinda just wanna stay here and pet my turtle– you guys kno- know my turtle, yeah?”

“Lex, no damn turtle talk.”

“No one wants to hear where you shoved him up.”

“Guys!!” Michael groaned, “Duuuuudes, focus! Party time! Yeah or fuck yeah?”

Stix sighed, flopping down next to Satchel and Lexxi on their demolished, once lavish, black leather couch. “Eh, why the fuck not? It’s been a while since we had some fun, man.”

“Yeah, a whole fuckin’ six hours.” Michael nodded, grinning ear to ear. “C'mon, Lex, don’t you want to have some fun this weekend?”

“I- If by fun, you mean work on my highlights and fu- fuckin’ update our fashion style, then yeah. Ahhh….. What was I– Oh, yeah, just fuckin’, other than that, I- I don’t feel like going to some big party.” he said. He winced when Michael pouted then came running up to him, putting his head on his shoulder, whining and hugging onto his arm.

“Come on, please?”

“Bitch, you’re getting between m- me and the mirror- the mirror, man!” Lexxi pouted, pursing his lips out even more. He swung his mirror around in his hand to keep it out of Michael’s way and more focused on his own beautiful face.

Satchel laughed, “You’re gonna drop that, and that’s gonna break, and you’re gonna cry like a little girl in front of all of us, dude.”

“Then I’ll be careful- duh!” Lexxi sighed, wriggling out of Michael’s strong hold.

“Lexxi, you’re coming with us. It’s not a bitchin’ party until the whole band shows up!” Michael laughed.

“Mmmh…..”

“Lex, c'mon, c'here.” Stix sighed, shifting and standing to grab his taller bandmate. He forced him to lean down so that he could put his head on top of his, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Come and have fun, okay?”

“Wh- Wha- What’d you say?” Lexxi blinked. He tried to consecrate and think about what he was just asked, but all he could manage was a confused, cute squint.

“Come and have fun, okay?”

“Ca- Can you say the last work- word different?”

“…okie?”

“Ooh, see that’s what I th- thought you said.”

“Lexxi, stop being a dumb fuckin’ blonde– no offence Michael– for like two seconds and focus, man. Think of it, think of the tiddies! The booze! The drugs! I heard they’re importing these new blue lines straight outta Jendell! Jendell, man! I heard that shit makes electricity shoot right up your spine!” Satchel smirked, rubbing his hands together.

“Better yet,” Stix laughed, catching Lexxi’s short focus again. “Think about it, man… Prince Vince has an entire hall of mirrors in his crib~”

Lexxi’s eyes widened. He’d forgotten about that. He hummed, thinking about it now, debating on the pros and cons before giving in. “Alright, okay. I- I’ll go.”

Michael squealed and hugged him. “Fuck yes! For a second, I thought we had to bring your mother in this.”

“Y- You fuckers leav- leave my mom outta this shit–”

“Heh, she wasn’t out of this,” Satchel motioned to his crotch. “last night, dude.”

“Shuddap!!”

“Oh fuckin’ grow a pair and get over it, Lex. Can’t give her AIDS twice.”

“Or thrice.” Satchel added with a nod of his head.

“Or frice?” Stix said, smiling. “Or whatever the fuck it is.”

“Can y- you guys not gangbang my m- mom?”

“Too late!” Michael said, reaching for his microphone. “I gotta summon us a bitchin’ ride…. Hmmm… what’ll it be tonight, boys? One big limo or…?”

“Flaming limo with flames painted on the sides, and nachos when we get in. I want some fuckin’ nachos right about now, dude.”

“Annnnnnd hookers.” Stix said, letting Lexxi go finally.

Michael nodded, “Oh man, this is so tits. Vince is gonna be soooo fuckin’ happy to see us.”

“Or he’ll banish us from the kingdom again.” Stix shrugged, cracking open a beer.

“Eh, fuck that. We always come back, just like a bad STD.”

“Lexxi would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Lex?” Satchel laughed, poking him in the side.

“Stooooooop, I- I was cleared ages a- ago, man!” he pouted, sitting back on the destroyed couch as they chuckled and relaxed against each other.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Prince Vince watched his party’s performance in the palace’s throne room. Mick and Tommy sat to his left and Nikki sat to his right. Their eyes all watched as the ceremonial warriors and dancers of the Order of the Golden Pyramid from the realm of Sphynxia performed for them. They watched the sharp blades twirl in their hands and the air with ease in their finest silks and robes.

The normally rowdy court was calmed and entertained by them, and they even cleared the way for the belly dancers to take the main floor of the throne room. All the dancers in the troupe were women, and each one was catching the Prince’s and his friends eyes. Except for Mick, but he had been around enough to not fall so easily and forget that they were still warriors under those black halter tops adorned with gold jewels and beads, long black skirts with high cut slits, gold anklets and gold bangles.

As a final motion, the dancing warriors twirled and all did a ‘death drop’, leaping up into the air, doing a full turn which almost fully exposed their lower bodies, falling to land on one of their bent legs, and spinning around a few times before slowly rising and posing. The kingdom and all the entire court attending burst into applause for their performance. The members of the Order of the Golden Pyramid all gave a short bow of appreciation at the applause.

The leader of the group, Asim, stepped forward to Vince and knelt down in front of him, offering up a sword. “Prince Vince, this is a gift from the Order in honor of our alliance with Anarkia. May it be fruitful and prosperous for both of us.”

“Holy fuck, that’s a big ass sword!”

“Duuude, look how Vince is holding it like it’s his penis.”

“Nah, that blade is waaaay bigger than his tiny dick, man.”

“I- I’m confused… aaaahh, which way was the bathroom? Oh fuck it. Forget it, Imma just go over here.”

“Oh no,” Mick groaned, making a face. “They’re back.”

“Hell yeah! Can’t fuckin’ go and invite the whole kingdom to a huge ass mother fuckin’ party and not invite us! Just cause we’re on the Steel Pantherian moon doesn’t mean you get to skip out on our invite, cuz!” Michael shouted, bounding straight up to the throne. He seemed unaware of Vince’s reddening face of anger and embarrassment. Or he just didn’t care. “Oooh! Sweet! We’re cool with the Sphynx people? Awesome! Cause I need to go there to tan. See, I’m getting a bit pale and–”

“What are you doin’ here, you fucker!?” Vince growled, trying to keep his cool during his important alliance set up. “I banished you fifteen times!”

“….And?” Michael giggled, then caught sight of the lovely warrior beside them. “Oooooh~ Hello, baby~ Hey, hey, don’t get with this bratty prince, c'mon and hang out with a duke and his boys, honey. I got a real swollen member, and I really need to cum in an ass tonight~”

The olive skinned warrior scoffed, then snatched the sword straight from the prince’s hands. “Master Radames will hear of this behavior and this- this vulgar offering. He had thought you Anarkians had matured after assisting the KISSterians in battle so many times.”

“N- No! Th- This fool is not affiliated with us!”

Nikki growled, nodding in agreement with Vince. “These bastards are just a buncha crossbred, inbred fucks! C'mon! You can’t just–”

“There is a certain level of respect that we expect during such ceremonial events, and this,” Asim motioned to the long hair blonde taking a piss behind a potted plant. “This is not something I can allow to happen on my first mission of alliance.” She shook her head, signaling to the rest of her troupe to pack up and head out.

“Hey, hey,” Michael said, grabbed the warrior’s wrist. “Listen, please. I’m sorry… I guess I messed up… Lemme restart, c'mon, how about I make it up to you and my cousin by offering to let you both blow me. You don’t even gotta worry about the rest of the band. Trust me, compared to the rest of the guys, I’m less likely to cheat, too, if you wanna meet up a second time and make it a thing.”

Rolling her eyes, she pushed him away harshly. “My master will certainly hear about all of this.”

“Michael, I’m gonna fuckin’ strangle you and banish you to a damn realm without pussy!!” Vince screeched, putting a hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

“Hey, dude, fuck off!” he snapped, “I’m trying to help things!”

“You’re making it worse!” Vince growled, his grip on Michael’s shoulder growing tight.

“Hey, let go of our Michael, you royal fuckwad!” Satchel shouted, darting in from the side, swinging a fist back and punching Vince square in the nose.

The crowd gasped, and the members of the Order of the Golden Pyramid quickly fled before an infamous Anarkian battle broke out right in their palace.

Vince growled at the punch, coming at Satchel angrily. With one quick motion, he slammed the guitarist’s head toward the floor, then felt the hardest hit he’d ever had in the ribs. Stix smirked at him as he gasped, standing there frozen and a little shaken from what had just happened.

Tommy came up from behind and kicked the bulkier drummer to the wall across the throne room. “You fuckin’ assholes!! You ruined everything– again!!”

“Ugh… Fuck you! We just came for fun and a good time!”

“BAD FUCKING TIMING, FUCKERS!” Vince shrieked, recovering, then leaping to try and claw his cousin’s eyes out. Michael laughed, holding his wrists an inch from his pretty face.

“Awww, hey, I missed this!!” he giggled, staring into the blazing pits of hatred of the prince’s gaze. “Jeez, I’m just sorry we didn’t show up sooner!”

“IMMA KILL YOU ASSHOLES!!!”

“Nah! You’re just gonna banish us again!” Michael smiled at him, “Make it a tiddie beach this time, though, would ya? I get bored just jerking it off to Lexxi’s girly face.”

“D- DID YOU JUST NOT HEAR ME—!?!” Vince shouted, then cut himself off in an angry roar. “AAAAAAAARGHHHH!!!!!”

“I’m too old for this shit…” Mick growled, sinking down in his chair, glaring at Lexxi off to his side. Blue electricity protectively crackled around him as the tall blonde just stared at him like he let a hamster borrow his last brain-cell. “I’m not gonna do a fist fight, you lil’ shit.”

“Nah, I- I’m just… ahh, well… fuck, someone said something about a mirror hall…. yeah, mirrors.”

Mick squinted at him, then jerked his thumb back behind the throne. “Down the hall.”

“Thanks, old dude.”

“Ugh…” Mick rolled his eyes, watching the court explode, then actually explode into fire and flames. “There goes another perfectly good alliance.”

#I'M STILL FUCKING LAUGHING #never change Steel Panther we love you guys~#KISSteria guest writings!#A SHIT TON OF SEX JOKES #submission

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sweetsmellosuccess · 5 years

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TIFF 2019: Day 4

Films: 4 Best Film of the Day: Marriage Story

The Burnt Orange Heresy: Elizabeth Debicki, rightfully lauded for her role in Widows, proves to be anything f but a flash in the pan in Giuseppe Capotondi‘s smartly sophisticated art forgery thriller. She plays Berenice, despite her stunning, willowy beauty, a small town girl from near Duluth, who falls in with an egoist opportunist art critic, James Figueras (Claes Bang), who’s just published a book called, hilariously, The Power of the Critic. He is given an opportunity to meet and interview a famously reclusive artist (Donald Sutherland) who lives on the estate of a wealthy art baron (Mick Jagger) but the catch is, he also has to procure one of the recalcitrant artist’s works, for his conniving benefactor, or suffer the humiliation of having his criminal past exposed by the blackmail-positive millionaire. As Berenice gets unwittingly sucked into Figuera‘s sordid scheme, she befriends the artist and is opposed to doing anything that crosses him. Sweet, breezy, and charming, Debicki acts as the soul of the film. In a milieu in which nearly everyone is one sort of masked monster or other, she is refreshingly candid without being naive. Based on the novel by Charles Willeford, the film briskly moves through its paces, clouding the waters with the schemes of duplicitous men, who’s have sold out any love of art for their greater obsession of cash and prestige. A literary thriller in the vein of The Talented Mr. Ripley, it’s become a genre all too rare in the era of blockbuster bravado. This film will remind you what a mistake that is.

Color Out of Space: At this point, I feel that it’s actually in Nic Cage’s contract that every film has to somehow result with him screaming as blood spatters his face. He doesn’t so much as act anymore, as he produces quick, quirky sound bites that are almost certain to go viral. His new film, a bloody sci-fi mess directed by Richard Stanley, based on an H.P. Lovecraft story, has him as a family man living on his father’s old country house. When a meteorite strikes his front lawn, things start shimmering a lot and morphing into gelatinous, rabid monster mutations. Naturally, the meteorite also affects the family’s mental grip – or at least Cage’s anyway (actually, maybe that one you can’t pin on the meteorite) – such that the actor has many chances to speak his lines as outrageously as possible. It has nearly always been Cage’s penchant, rather than developing full-bodied characters, to rely upon his nuthouse delivery (much mileage is attained simply by having him say the word “alpaca” over and over) to do the work of making his performance interesting. It has worked out pretty well for him, I suppose, but it actually tends to diminish the work of those around him, which seems like a raw deal.

Marriage Story: Noah Baumbach’s latest film, about the dissolution of married couple – played extraordinarily well by Adam Driver and Scarlett Johansson – will no doubt get comparisons made to Bergman’s brilliant Scenes From a Marriage. But whereas that 1972 film concerned the relationship itself, its highs and lows and metamorphoses, Baumbach’s film is much more about the logistics, legal and otherwise, of ending a very much shared life together. Driver plays Charlie, a driven avant garde theater director of a small troupe in Brooklyn, of which Nicole (Johansson) is a starring member. When Nicole gets an offer to shoot a TV pilot in L.A., she jumps at the chance to go back home, taking their young son with her. As the film begins, they have already agreed to the split, Charlie wanting to eschew lawyers and keep things amicable as possible. Nicole, however, quickly hires a high-power lawyer (Laura Dern), forcing Charlie to do the same, and thus ensues the brutal obscenity of having lawyers set the narrative back and forth of what used to be a committed, loving relationship. As with Scenes, there is one extraordinary scene near the end in which the characters lay bare their darkest feelings for one another. In it, Driver, who is known for his enormous power and force as an actor, is matched in authority by Johansson, in what has to be considered a command performance from the pair of them. It’s a fantastic film, laced with Baumbach’s usual mixture of pathos, humor, cringe-making truths, and unflinching vulnerability. While it has its harrowing moments, thought to be at least semi-autobiographical (the director divorced actress Jennifer Jason Leigh a few years back), it’s interesting to note the film doesn’t end in depressing finality; but rather on a more hopeful note, speaking as to the ways in which two caring people can ultimately redirect their lives.

Ema: To be fair, by the time I made it to Pablo Larraín’s film, about a young dancer, Ema (Mariana di Girolamo), who, along with her estranged husband (Gael García Bernal), her choreographer, return a difficult child they adopted back into foster care, and regret the decision, I was utterly exhausted. Thus, Lorraín’s intentionally obtuse storytelling method (for reasons only really made clear in the film’s last minutes, Ema keeps donning a flame thrower and burning things throughout Santiago), in which characters do and say confounding things, was particularly difficult for me to interpret. I was more than ready to throw the towel in on it, but in the end, I’m sincerely glad I stayed, because it’s only at the end in which all of Ema’s bizarre, seemingly random actions, prove to have been part of a much more coherent plan than the audience is expecting. It is visually striking, and structurally formidable, but I would strongly suggest having a good amount of rest before tackling it.

Tomorrow: I begin my day with Cory Finley’s Bad Education; flit over to the documentary, Desert One; and then a public screening of Steven Soderbergh’s The Laundromat; before closing out with another public screening, the Safdie brothers’ Uncut Gems.

Photo: Marriage Story

#sweet smell of success #ssos #piers marchant #films #movies #tiff 2019 #toronto international film festival #marriage story #noah baumbach #scarlett johansson #adam driver #ema #Color out of space #nic cage #h.p. lovecraft #the burnt orange heresy #elizabeth debicki #charles willeford #arkansas democrat gazette

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lastbluetardis · 5 years

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Chemical Potential (8/11)

Summary: Slightly homesick and stressed about her abysmal chemistry grade, Rose Tyler meets quirky James Smith, the boy who sits in front of her in their chemistry class. They become fast friends as James makes it his personal mission to help Rose get through the semester.

Ten x Rose University AU

This chapter: ~5200 words, teen

Notes: This was written for the lovely @thegreenfairy13 as part of the @dwsecretsanta gift exchange. Also tagging @doctorroseprompts.

I foresee about two or three more chapters after this one.

AO3 | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | epilogue

“Hey Mick! Come on in!”

Rose moved back and let her oldest friend step through the threshold into her flat. He was in town for a conference, and had promised to stop by for a visit before flying back to New York.

The scent of grease, cheese, and bread wafted from the large cardboard box in his hands, making her stomach gurgle hungrily.

“Make yourself comfy,” she said, taking the pizza box from him to set on her cluttered kitchen table. “S’cuse the mess.”

Rose grabbed plates from her cabinet, then opened her fridge for two bottles of beer. After she and Mickey plated their pizza, they sank onto her couch.

“How have you been, babe?” he asked, knocking his knee against hers. “How are you enjoying America?”

“I’m good,” Rose answered. She took a bite of pizza but winced when the hot cheese and sauce scalded the roof of her mouth. “America is fine, I suppose. Different from London, but I like it.”

“And school?” he prompted.

“It’s… okay,” she said carefully. “I’m taking a chemistry class. Stupidest decision of my life. I’m rubbish at it. But my other classes are all right, I s’pose. I’ve only got one art class. Well, I mean, I’m also in an art history class, but I don’t particularly count that. My art class is a painting class, which isn’t really my specialty, but I like it well enough.”

“What have you been working on?” Mickey said, slouching back against the sofa. He took a lazy swig from his beer, then used the bottle to point to Rose’s opened but sleeping laptop which was perched atop various loose papers and her sketchpad.

“I was touching up a few photos before you arrived,” she answered vaguely.

“Can I see?”

Rose bit her lip. Mickey had always supported her art. While she knew he thought it was a difficult career path to try to follow, he’d never voiced his doubts aloud. He was always game for taking a look at her work, especially if she was trying a new technique.

But she knew that James would be the only thing he’d see on her computer screen. The two of them had gone on a walk during a sudden snow squall a few days ago, and Rose had taken photos of him and the two of them walking around the snowy campus. The snow hadn’t lasted longer than a day, but it had been beautiful as it came down.

“Oh, come on,” Mickey goaded. “You’ve never been shy before.”

“Shut up,” Rose said lightly, smacking his thigh.

“Were you working with a nude model?” he teased.

“Shut up!” she said again, laughing. “No, I haven’t worked with a nude model.” She gave him a sly smile. “That’s not ‘til I get to the advanced courses.”

“Well then, lemme see,” he said.

Rose bit back a sigh and stood up to grab her laptop. She woke it up, logged in, then pulled up the photos she’d been touching up. The first one made her heart squeeze. James had his head tilted back, his eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth wide open as he caught snowflakes on his tongue. It was a close-up shot; bits of snow clung to his lashes and she could easily see the smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose. He was utterly beautiful.

The next photo was of James crouching beside a mini-snowman he’d made. It had taken him ten minutes to scrape up enough snow to build the six-inch-tall snowman. Nevertheless, he was beaming proudly as he squatted beside his creation.

“And who’s this?” Mickey asked, raising an eyebrow at her when he realized her subject was the same man.

Her cheeks burned as she muttered, “James.”

“And who’s James?”

“Nobody,” she lied. “A kid in my chemistry class. He’s helping me study.”

Mickey stifled his grin around a swig of beer. “Uh huh. Sure babe. ‘Cos study buddies definitely go on snowy walks together.”

Rose’s face was on fire, but she couldn’t quite get the denial out. She knew she and James were more than friends. Well. She felt more than friendship towards him. But she still didn’t know where he stood, or what he thought or felt about her.

The buzzing of her phone gave her the distraction she desperately desired. It vibrated again, then again. The texts came through in rapid-fire succession that immediately told her it was James. It was endearing that he sent a series of back-to-back texts rather than one long message.

A smile crossed her lips when she saw his name on her phone, then she read his texts and her smile grew after each one.

Hey! Hope you’re having fun with your mate. Sorry if I’m interrupting. Ignore me ‘til you’re free, if you want.

But I’ve got a question. Well. An invitation. Thanksgiving is the week after next.

I know you’re not American and probably don’t give two shits. But still, when in Rome, y’know.

Anyway, I was gonna have a few mates ‘round my place for dinner. Mates who live far enough away that they aren’t going home for the break.

Turkey and potatoes and stuffing and veggies and pie. Basically it’s Christmas, Part One. Gluttonous Americans.

Oh, the dessert-y pie btw.

There’s gonna be loads of food.

What d’you say Rose Tyler?

“Is that him then?”

Rose jolted, then her cheeks flamed. She’d forgotten she wasn’t alone, and she was painfully aware that she had the daftest grin on her face.

“Maybe,” she said. She grabbed her bottle of beer and took a long pull from it, hoping the motion would help get rid of her smile.

“What’d he want?”

“To invite me to Thanksgiving dinner in two weeks,” she said. Mickey waggled his eyebrows, and she reached over and pinched his arm. “He invited several people, Micks.”

She turned back to her phone and typed, “That sounds great! Count me in!”

Woohoo!!

Then he sent three grinning emojis and three thumbs-up. She smiled and sent back, “Can’t wait! I’m excited to see what the hype is all about.”

“You really love him, don’t you?”

Rose whipped her head around to face her friend, who was watching her closer than she was comfortable with.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” she mumbled, but her voice was thin. “We’re just mates.”

But Mickey was looking at her dubiously, and Rose didn’t bother to deny it again.

“Have you told him?”

“Course not,” she scoffed.

“How come?”

“Because what if he doesn’t feel the same way? Or what if he turns out to be another Jimmy?” That was her biggest fear. She was already so in love with James, even more than she’d been with Jimmy. It was exhilarating and terrifying. The stakes seemed much greater this time, and she knew that if things went badly with James, it would hurt even worse than last time.

“Has he given any indication that he’s a lying, cheating wanker?”

“Well, no, but neither did Jimmy at first,” Rose argued. But she couldn’t picture James becoming like Jimmy. She was sure there were warning signs with Jimmy, but her stupid teenaged self had been too besotted and naive to see them. She knew better now, and yet James wasn’t showing any signs of being anything other than his adorable, goofy, kind, lovable self.

“Are you gonna go through life assuming the worst about people?” Mickey asked carefully. “That’s not the Rose Tyler I knew.”

“You knew the Rose Tyler who didn’t have her heart broken,” she sighed.

Mickey gave her an appraising look. “You’ve got it bad,” he said softly. “For someone who’s insisting you’re ‘just friends’.”

Rose sighed as she began gnawing at her thumb cuticle.

“Maybe a bit,” she admitted. “He’s just… he’s amazing, Mick.”

“Then why haven’t you snogged him yet?” Mickey asked.

“We’ve gone over this,” Rose huffed. “Jimmy sort of put a sour taste in my mouth regarding relationships.”

“That son of a bitch wins if you let yourself be miserable and alone. Do you really want to be moping about that wanker when he’s out there shagging that bimbo he left you for?” Rose winced. “Sorry, babe. But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. And no, I don’t. I’m not miserable, Mickey. And I’m not lonely.” She hissed as she bit her cuticle down too far and it began to bleed. “I just… what if it doesn’t work? Or what if he’s not attracted to me and things get awkward. He’s my best mate. Apart from you, of course,” she added hastily when Mickey let out a grunt of protest. “I love being around him, and I love our friendship. I don’t want that to go away.”

“Have you ever considered the idea that he’s as in love with you as you are with him?” Mickey asked.

“I… no, not really. Because that means getting my hopes up.”

“What wrong with that?” Mickey shrugged. “Rose, I know you’re scared of being hurt again. I know. But think about what you might be losing. Eh? What if you’re both in love with each other and are perfect together? Remember how happy you were with Jimmy in the beginning? Imagine that, but deeper. And forever.”

“Being with Martha has made you soft,” Rose teased, even as a lump lodged itself in her throat.

“Oi, don’t knock it,” Mickey said, jabbing his elbow into her ribs. “Being in love is the best thing that’s happened to me. I want that for you, too, Rose. I want to see you happy.”

“I am happy,” she stressed.

“I want to see you happier,” he amended.

Rose loosed a long, low breath. “I never thought I’d see the day when Mickey Smith gave me dating advice.”

Mickey chuckled, but sensed that Rose was done with the conversation, and stood up for another beer.

He stayed for another few hours before calling a taxi to take him back to his hotel room.

Even after Mickey had long gone, his parting piece of advice still rang in her head. Instead of imagining the worst-case scenario, imagine the best.

oOoOo

Rose was eager to go to her chemistry lecture on Monday morning. She hadn’t talked with James much over the weekend, between hanging out with Mickey and working a ten-hour shift at the grocery store on Sunday.

But when she sat down for class, James was nowhere to be found. He didn’t stroll in at the last minute, like he sometimes did, and when she checked her phone after the period was over, there were no texts from him letting her know he wouldn’t be in.

She headed to the library to pass the time until her noontime class, and when she sank into a plush sofa, she pulled out her phone and sent James a message.

“I hope everything’s all right.”

She spent the next fifteen minutes opening and closing various apps, waiting anxiously for James to reply. It wasn’t like him to go suddenly silent.

Yeah. Fine. Why?

She exhaled with relief.

“You weren’t in class today.”

Am I not allowed to skip class just because I feel like it? I didn’t realize I needed your permission. Or to check in with you.

Rose started, then her chest caved at his un-James-like rudeness.

“Of course you can. Sorry. Didn’t mean to nag.”

Tears burned behind her lids and she pressed her palms to them. The last thing she wanted to do was break down in the library. But she was self-conscious and upset by James’s behavior.

Towards the end of their ill-fated relationship, Jimmy had used to tell her to stop nagging him. That she was being paranoid and suffocating him. That she shouldn’t have been surprised he found another girl who was more trusting and less paranoid.

Her phone buzzed on her thigh.

No, I’m sorry. I’m being rude. Really. I’m sorry. I appreciate you checking in. For all you knew, I was dead in a ditch. I’m sorry.

Rose sniffled and wiped her stinging nose against her sleeve.

“If I’m being overbearing, please tell me,” she said, even though it would hurt if James asked for distance from her.

You’re not. I promise.

I’m just. Not feeling well.

“Sick?”

No. Emotionally. Having a shit day.

I’m actually gonna go back to bed now.

I’ll see you Wednesday.

Sorry I was an arse.

Rose frowned at her phone, but didn’t reply.

She was worried about him for the rest of the day. He must be having a truly awful day if he skipped school. Sure, she’d seen him on the days when he was short-tempered or sullen, but he was always pleasant and polite with her, even if he was sometimes quiet and withdrawn. And she’d always managed to make him smile on those days.

But this seemed different. She didn’t know why, but she felt it deep in her gut.

Finally, she was done with classes for the day, glad that Monday was her early day. At two in the afternoon, Rose stood at the bus stop, but rather than catch the bus to her apartment, she instead rode it to the stop near the grocery store. She had a list running in her head, and it was a quick trip in for the ingredients to make her Nan’s old homemade chicken noodle soup. As a little girl, that had always been one of her favorite meals, and as she grew older, Rose often made it as a comfort food.

While James wasn’t physically ill, she hoped the soup would cheer him up even a tiny bit. Or at the very least, it would be a quick meal for him if he wasn’t in the mood to do any cooking.

For the next two hours, Rose slaved over an enormous pot of boiling chicken, adding seasonings and chopped vegetables and lastly noodles to the pot. Her flat was filled with the scent of the cooking soup, and it made an ache of nostalgia ping in her chest.

The soup was eventually ready, and Rose ladled half of it into a different pot. Then she called for an Uber and made her way to James’s house.

She argued with herself for the entire ride. Was she crossing some sort of boundary? Would he be annoyed that she showed up? Would he think it was weird? Would he think it was overbearing and suffocating, no matter what he’d said earlier?

Her heart thudded rapidly against her ribs as the driver pulled into James’s development. Well, there was nothing to do but go for it. At the very least, she’d drop off the soup then go back home.

“This house here?” the driver asked.

“Yeah. Could you wait for a few minutes? I’m dropping off food for a friend. I dunno if he’s even home or anything.”

Even though Rose could plainly see James’s car in his driveway.

“Sure thing.”

Rose clambered out of the back of the car, vat of soup in her arms, then she walked to the front door. Her hands were full, so she pressed the doorbell with her elbow.

Long seconds passed, and Rose was about to try the bell again when the door opened. James looked awful. His hair was unkempt, his eyes were red and glassy, and he was still in his pajamas.

“Rose?” he asked, his voice hoarse. He blinked rapidly a few times, as though he didn’t believe it was actually her standing there.

“Er, hi. I- I just wanted to check that you were okay.” Then she raised her arms a little, showing him the pot in her hands. “I made soup. If you want.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

Rose frowned. “It’s nearly six o’clock.”

He shrugged.

“Are you… all right?”

He shrugged again.

“Do you want to be alone?” she asked quietly.

“Why would anyone want to be alone?” he asked bitterly. She’d never heard him use that tone before, and the combination of anger and agony made her stomach twist into knots. She wanted to drop the soup and take James into her arms until that haunted look left his face.

“I meant… do you want me to come in and hang out for a while?”

“You don’t have to,” he said wearily, rubbing his fingertips into his eyes. “I’m not going to be good company.”

“You don’t need to be,” she said. “We can sit on the couch in complete silence if you’d like. I’m actually here to see your cats, anyway.”

The tiniest of smiles tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. Okay.”

She grinned. “Kay.”

Rose turned towards the idling driver and balanced the pot of soup on one hip to free up a hand. She waved him off, and he raised his hand in recognition before pulling away. She then turned back towards James and followed him into his house.

“Hi, Pip,” Rose said as the tabby zoomed straight into her legs. Pippin chirped and wove between her feet, nearly tripping her as she walked to the kitchen. “I’m gonna start heating this up, if that’s all right? It shouldn’t take long. I just made it so it’s still warm.”

James nodded and followed her as she set the pot of chicken soup on the stovetop and turned on the burner.

“We’ll let that heat through, then we’ll eat,” she said, more to fill the silence between them than anything.

With the soup beginning to warm up, Rose had nothing else to keep her attention. She turned and rested her bum against the counter and looked at James.

“What’s wrong?” she asked gently.

James had mirrored her position and was intently watching little tufts of steam rise from the pot.

“Today’s the day my parents died,” he said, his voice flat and toneless. “It’s always a hard day. Usually my aunt comes by, but she couldn’t get the time off this year.”

“Oh, James.”

“Don’t,” he bit out. “Just… don’t.”

Rose tried not to let her hurt show on her face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pajama bottoms as he scuffed his socked toes across the floor.

Rose tentatively stepped up to him, and she reached out to touch his arm. The muscles of his forearm stiffened, but she kept her hand on his skin and rubbed her thumb through the fine hairs on his arm. After a moment, his muscles loosened.

She leaned back against the counter and moved her hand to link her arm through his. She hugged it to her chest and rested her head on his shoulder.

He sighed, then rested his head atop hers.

“It’s been nine years,” James murmured. “And I’m still… so angry. I’m furious with them. Both of them. Why did my mum have to bother with our stupid dogs? Eh? And why did my dad go back in? Why did he just… leave me? He left me outside. He left me alone.”

James’s voice broke, and so did Rose’s heart. Her eyes burned, but she squeezed them shut, forcing her tears back.

“Why did they leave me?”

Rose shuffled until she was standing in front of him, and she wrapped her arms around his waist. She lifted onto her tiptoes until she could set her chin on his shoulder. His cheek scraped across hers, then his ear pressed into her cheek as he hugged her back tightly. He was trembling slightly, and Rose stroked his back in what she hoped was a soothing manner.

“I’m so sorry, James,” she whispered. “So sorry.”

He didn’t say anything, but he tightened his arms around her.

Rose didn’t say anything more, nor did she drop her arms from around James. She’d hold him for as long as he needed it.

Eventually, he gave her a single squeeze then straightened. Taking his cue, she dropped her arms and took a step back.

His eyes were red-rimmed, but she pretended to not notice. She gave him a tentative, tight-lipped smile, which he returned before he turned away from her to find a tissue. As he blew his nose, Rose went to the stove and stuck a ladle into the pot of soup to stir it.

“I think it’s done. Want some?”

“Yes please,” he said, his voice somewhat raspy. He cleared it. “I’m starved and it smells amazing.”

“Bowls?” she asked, gesturing to his cabinets.

She skated to the one he pointed to, and she grabbed two bowls for them, and scooped soup into it. She then grabbed spoons and walked to the dining table.

“Pippin,” Rose sighed when the tabby leaped gracefully onto the table and lifted himself onto his back legs to try to see what was in her hands. “You’re gonna burn your little nose.”

James lifted his cat into his arms. Pippin nuzzled into James’s chest, but then began to cry when he realized James was walking him out of the kitchen. Rose giggled at the pathetic cat while she set the bowls onto the table and slid into a seat.

“The idiot acts as though I never feed him,” James grumbled when he walked back into the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Wine? Beer? Other?”

“Water’s fine,” Rose answered. “Thanks.”

James grunted in acknowledgement, then passed her her beverage and sat in the chair opposite her.

They slurped at their soup, and apart from James complimenting the meal, he didn’t say anything. The silence was only somewhat uncomfortable, but Rose didn’t want to force him to make conversation if he didn’t feel like it. So she simply stared at her own bowl, pushing the contents around after each bite.

Rose was pleased when James ladled himself a second albeit smaller helping. He finished the entire thing, then cleared their dishes and stacked them into the empty sink. That task done, he turned to her and stared intently at her for a few uncomfortable seconds.

“Why are you here?”

Rose frowned.

James’s eyes widened. “I mean, obviously I’m glad you’re here. You’ve made today as bearable as it can be. But… why?”

Her face softened. Because I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you, and my God, my heart is breaking for you today and I can’t bear the thought of you being upset or lonely.

His gaze was on her, expectant, as she swallowed down the words she wished she could say.

“Because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend,” she modified. “And it hurts me to see you hurting. And I know I can’t erase all the pain you’re feeling, but the least I can do is be here so you’re not alone.”

James’s expression was unreadable and his eyes were glassy. But he blinked and they cleared, but the unidentifiable gentleness remained on his face.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “You’re… I…” He clicked his teeth shut, then ran his hand through his limp hair. “Do you want to watch a movie or something? Or do you need to be getting home?”

“I can stay,” Rose said immediately. While she had a stack of work to do, she knew it would be there for her tomorrow.

Rose followed James into the living room, and she lowered herself onto the couch beside him as he turned on his television and opened the Netflix app.

“Find something for us to watch,” he said, giving her the remote. “I’m gonna free Pip from his prison.”

Rose chuckled and scrolled through the list of films, unsure of what James was in the mood for. Probably something light and funny.

She finally settled on a rom-com, hoping James wouldn’t mind. She’d never been able to watch those kinds of movies with Jimmy. He’d always moaned until she flipped it to a superhero or action movie.

“Excellent choice,” James said, making her jump. She hadn’t heard him return. Pippin jumped onto the couch and into Rose’s lap, kneading her in a rhythm she thought too quick to be soothing. But he was purring loudly and blinking lazily.

James plopped down beside her, then she hit the play button and they settled in to watch a woman travel to Paris to try to win back her fiancé’s heart.

They didn’t speak at all though the movie, but they each laughed to themselves at certain scenes. Rose was pleased whenever she saw James smile out of the corner of her eye.

“Wanna watch another?” Rose asked when the end credits rolled.

“We don’t have to,” James said quietly. “It’s getting late. You can go home if you’d like.”

“I’m up for another movie if you are,” Rose answered. “Or if you’re subtly trying to tell me you want me to leave, you’re gonna have to be a bit more obvious.”

James snorted and rolled his eyes, but she saw his entire body relax as he picked up the remote and sifted through the movies. He landed on a Disney film—Tarzan. She was a little surprised by his selection, considering how the movie began.

As they watched the flames eat up the ship and Tarzan’s parents flee in their lifeboat, James began to speak.

“That night was the worst night of my life. I can still remember everything perfectly, no matter how hard I try to forget.

“My dad came into my room and shook me awake, saying the house was on fire. None of the alarms were going off. The batteries were probably shot. I don’t ever remember my parents checking or replacing them. Half the house was already in flames. The police still don’t know what caused the fire. Anyways. Dad grabbed me and ran. He literally… He hoisted me over one shoulder and carried me outside.

“He waited with me for about a minute. But he was terrified for my mum. So he went back inside. He hadn’t been in for more than five seconds before the whole house just… exploded. Literally. Blown to bits. I got knocked to my arse and hit my head and passed out.

“When I came to, I was in the hospital and couldn’t hear anything. I think I started screaming, ‘cos they knocked me out. Then when I woke up, Aunt Sarah was there. When my head was healed, she took me home with her to Croydon.

“It was hard for both of us at first. I hated her. It wasn’t fair, but I resented everything about her. I hated her house. I hated Croydon. I hated my new school. I hated myself. I hated my parents. I hated my stupid, fucking, arsehole dogs. And I especially hated my mum for wanting to save them instead of herself, and for making my dad go back inside.

“Bless Aunt Sarah, though. She let me rage, but she also held me accountable and told me off when I was being a bit too dramatic. She made me go to counselling, which I grudgingly admit helped after a while. Eventually I woke up one day and my anger was gone. More or less. But then the depression set in.

“It scared my aunt to death to see me go from emotional to numb seemingly overnight. But I worked through that, too. It took a damn long while. But funnily enough, moving to the United States helped. Aunt Sarah had wanted to move here for so long, but put it off because she didn’t want to upset me with too many changes too quickly.

“But when I was sixteen, she asked if I might like to come to America, and I jumped at the chance. I figured I could remake myself. I didn’t have to be the boy whose parents died. I could just be James, the cool kid with a cool accent.”

James blinked, then his cheeks turned red. “Sorry. I kinda word-vomited there.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Rose said, reaching over to thread her fingers through his. “I don’t mind listening.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, then kept their fingers interwoven as they lapsed back into silence.

About half way through the movie, James’s fingers began to twitch in hers. She glanced over and saw his head was tipped back and he was half asleep. He jerked himself awake half a dozen times before he fell into a deeper sleep and didn’t stir for the remainder of the movie.

It was almost eleven o’clock, and Rose was drowsy but still awake. James, however, was completely out and snoring softly. She carefully lifted herself up off the couch, then took the blanket they’d been sharing and tucked it higher up on his chest. He didn’t stir.

She straightened, then chewed on her lip as she tried to figure out what she should do. Should she stay with him? Or should she call an Uber to take her back to her flat? She wanted to stay, but perhaps that was too presumptuous. But she also didn’t want James to wake up and not know where she was.

After she tidied up the house—putting the leftover soup in the fridge, washing up the few dishes in the sink—Rose went back into the living room. James was still dead asleep, though Pippin had curled himself into his side. The cat chirped, then the sound morphed into a yawn as he rolled closer to James and went to sleep.

Rose smiled. Then, making a potentially rash decision, she took the blanket that was draped along the back of the couch and sat down in the recliner. She pulled the footrest up and leaned back to get comfy. She curled up on her side to watch James.

His chest rose and fell slowly as he breathed. The deep lines that had been present all night on his face her smoothed over. He looked like any other untroubled twenty-two-year-old boy.

A warm ache bloomed inside of Rose, swelling through her chest and stomach as she watched him sleep. She could get used to this.

Instead of imagining the worst-case scenario, imagine the best.

Unbidden, Mickey’s piece of advice clanged through her head.

What was the best-case scenario?

She would profess her love for James, and miraculously, he would admit he felt the same way. She would kiss him, and he’d kiss her back. She would promise to love him forever, and he would give her that same promise, and they both would uphold the vow for the rest of their lives. She would find her soulmate in him, and he would find his soulmate in her.

Rose yearned for that fantasy to come true. She wanted so badly to tell James how she felt. Even if he didn’t feel the same way, she found that she didn’t want to hold anything back. In fifty years, she didn’t want to look back and regret not saying anything to James and potentially miss out on her great love story.

After finals, Rose vowed to herself. Let me get through this class. Then I’ll tell him. Let me get through this semester, and I’ll talk to him. It’s only four more weeks.

A sense of calmness settled over Rose, and with her resolve strengthened, she slipped into a dreamless sleep.

#thegreenfairy13 #doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #university au #my fic #chemical potential

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robininthelabyrinth · 5 years

Text

Fic: An Internal Affair - Chapter 22 (Ao3 link)

Fandom: The Flash Pairing: Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: Leonard Snart, the CCPD Captain of Internal Affairs, is known as Captain Cold for a very good reason: He hates corrupt cops with a merciless vengeance, and once you’re on his list, you’re in serious trouble.

His next target?

A CCPD lab tech named Barry Allen who’s developed a suspicious habit of disappearing at random intervals.

—————————————————————————————————

Barry's not fast enough.

He's not sure he even can be fast enough, ever - the thought that Wells might've deliberately sabotaged his development as a speedster, ensuring that he's always going to be second best, has gone through his mind more than once - but he knows he's not fast enough now.

And now is when it matters.

He comes to a brief stop, panting for breath, for the fourth time in the last two minutes. He's being worn down, just trying to keep up with Wells' superior speed, and he knows it.

He wonders if Wells is trying to run him into exhaustion, and only when Barry can no longer move his legs, when his will to move is utterly broken, will Wells destroy everything Barry has ever loved.

His dad.

Iris.

Len.

Wells will kill them all.

He'll kill them all because he knows that promise or no promise, Barry would agree to anything Wells wanted if Wells showed him how to get them all back.

Or maybe - maybe Wells doesn't know that.

Maybe he'll just kill them because he can.

"Slowing down again, Mr. Allen?" Wells tsks, coming to a stop a dozen feet ahead of him. "For shame - and you were so promising when you were under my guidance."

"Still happier not to be," Barry spits at him. He can feel his muscles recovering, happy for the break. "You murderer."

"You take it all so personally," Wells says. "The deaths of these unimportant people. You’re always taking it to heart, even though they lead uninteresting, unimportant lives that ultimately mean nothing. You always have. That's a weakness, you know - a weakness that will always be your undoing -"

The wall behind Wells' head explodes.

Even when you can move at speedster speed, you still need a second to process shock.

Barry, who's further away, gets thrown back a few feet, skittering onto his feet and looking around in confusion - Wells is buried in the rubble, too surprised to dodge it properly, but that's temporary, Barry knows -

"Barry! Come here!"

Iris!

He's at her side in a moment.

"You need to run around Iron Heights," she tells him, breathless. "All around the outside corridors; Snart has a plan. It might hurt you, you can't know what it is, but it has to be done and he's sorry and he loves you."

"Why didn't he tell me himself?" Barry asks, surprised.

Iris smiles. "Because I'm your best friend, Bar; I'm your anchor and he knows that. He knows I'll always be there for you, even when you go and fall in love with the second hottest guy in Central City -"

"Eddie being first?"

"Pssh, Eddie, I'm talking about Rory. Have you seen those muscles?"

"Iris!"

She laughs - Iris, beautiful and wonderful as always, and at last, at last, he can love her whole-heartedly without any jealousy or resentment or longing; Iris, who is his anchor, his lightning rod, and of course Len would know whose voice Barry would be automatically drawn to, of course he knows - and Barry can hear the crackle of lightning that is Wells back on his feet and before Iris even finishes laughing, Barry's off again, twisting to tackle Wells right around the midsection before he goes anywhere near Iris.

And then they're running again.

Only this time, Barry's leading - not because he's faster, no, but because Wells saw him heading away and followed, drawn after him like a moth to the flame.

"Where are you going, Barry Allen?" he calls, mocking, darting in front of Barry's path to try to trip him up. Barry dodges and keeps going. "I never took you for a coward!"

Barry grits his teeth and focuses on running. He's not as fast. He needs every ounce of willpower just to stay ahead.

Not that Wells is trying to stop him, not really.

Clearly mockery is much more fun.

"Run, Barry, run," Wells calls, his voice jovial, "Yes, run away from me! Just like you always have - from the very beginning!"

The man who murdered Barry's mom.

The man who put Barry's dad into a cage – into the prison where he spent half of Barry’s childhood and into the cage where he is right now both.

The man who is going to kill everyone if Barry doesn’t find a way to stop him.

Run, Barry, run.

"I'm not stupid, you know," Wells says conversationally, only a foot or two behind Barry now. "I know what you're up to."

Crap. How?!

"You can't hide anything from me," Wells says. "I've been studying you my whole life - even in the far future, before I ever met you."

"Creep," Barry can't resist saying.

"And once I met you, well, that just made it easier," Wells says, the flash of red lightning from his eyes the only sign he heard what Barry said. "For someone who lies as much and as effectively as you do, Barry Allen, you really are an open book to anyone who knows you."

Wells - Eobard Thawne - is probably right.

He knows Barry.

But Barry never knew him - not until it was too late.

Just the way Wells wanted it.

And yet -

Wells is still running.

So the plan, whatever it is, is still on.

Barry focuses on running.

"I know you," Wells says again. "You'd never run from me, not really. You've been running to me your entire life, Barry. The Man in Yellow, the genius of STAR Labs, your mentor...I'm everything to you."

Seriously, does Wells not get how creepy he sounds?

"And you, Barry Allen, are everything to me -"

Yeah, no, he's definitely doing the creepy thing on purpose in an attempt to get under Barry's skin.

It's working pretty well.

"- because you're my only way home. And you're going to get me there."

"I'm really, really not," Barry says. He's panting again, damnit. He really hopes whatever plan Len's working on won't take much longer. "Why would you think I'd help you? After everything you've done?"

"Because that way we'd both win! Yes, I killed your mother, but I also give you a chance to get her back!"

Those things are really not equal and Barry has no idea why Wells thinks they are. A lifetime without his mom, versus a chance to destroy every important relationship he's built during that lifetime and possibly himself to save her?

Okay, Barry's not going to lie, he's super tempted.

But they're not the same.

Only a psychopath who doesn't actually understand that the worth of a person is in the time you get to spend with them would think that they were.

And anyway, Barry promised Len he wouldn't.

He's really glad he did, too, because otherwise he might've fallen for Wells' bullshit the way he always has, and then Wells would get everything he'd ever wanted.

Everything he's done, all of that horror and death, would actually have been worth it, in Wells' eyes.

And there'd be no reason that he wouldn't just keep going.

Keep killing.

For all of time.

"Know this, Barry Allen," Wells says. "You will help me achieve what I want. Whatever stupid little plan you and your friends have concocted -"

He doesn't know what it is!

...probably because Barry doesn't know what it is.

Good plan, Len.

Barry knows that there’s probably something bad at the end of it, but he also knows that Len is cold enough to make the call he needs to. He knows that Len knows him well enough to know that Barry would agree to anything, anything at all, if it meant stopping Wells.

Stopping Wells is worth anything, even Barry's life.

Barry just really hopes it doesn't end up killing him before he can tell Len that it would be worth it, because Len will feel awful about it, just the way he felt awful about Mick, and that would suck.

“- just know that it won’t be enough to stop me,” Wells continues. “It will never be enough.”

Is he still talking?

Ugh.

Can’t a guy have a minute for some introspection about his boyfriend right before he potentially dies? Seriously.

They keep running the endless loops around Iron Heights. It's all vacant, now, with all the cons having slipped out and most of the guards safely evacuated as well, so the only time Barry sees anyone is when he passes by the room his friends are in.

Even in that room, though, the speed he's running at makes it seem almost unreal - a series of snapshots, separated by a few seconds, like one of those spinning visor toys that mimics video.

Snap: Mick raising his gun as Nimbus looms above him.

Snap: Mick's gun blasting out a giant wave of flame, all at once.

Snap: Nimbus alight, screaming, a gaseous form lashing out with tentacles aflame.

Snap: Mick ducks.

Snap: One of Nimbus' now-partially-solid 'arms' whips into Mick's belly.

Snap: Mick goes flying, his midsection aflame.

Snap: Kara catches him.

Snap: Mick's midsection is somehow covered by a thin layer of frost.

(Yeah, Barry has no idea how that happened either - he's clearly missed something.)

Or take Iris, instead -

Well, no, it's not quite the same thing. Barry got one snap of Iris standing triumphantly over Tony Woodward's semi-conscious frame, that's basically going to be his mental screensaver from now until he heals from his middle school trauma.

So, like, forever.

After that, though, Iris ran over to help Eddie fight Mark Mardon, which Barry personally thought was not exactly good news. Mardon hates Joe West, might know who Iris West is, and he literally caused a tsunami.

As much as Barry loves Iris, neither she nor Eddie has powers. They shouldn't be fighting Mark Mardon.

Except apparently they should be, because less than ten rounds later they're no longer fighting - he's helping them move wires around or something.

No, Barry has no idea what’s going on there.

He doesn't even know where those wires came from!

Maybe they have something to do with the plan?

Maybe Len is off getting more wires.

That would explain why in all the snaps so far, Barry still hasn't seen him - not since he started running.

Barry would really like to see him.

Especially if he's going to die.

Damn, Barry's a superhero, he should get a dramatic last moment. Ideally with a nice goodbye kiss.

Ideally with magic resurrection happening five minutes later, while he's daydreaming.

Which he shouldn't be, because he's in the middle of a supervillain boss battle against the guy who killed his mom.

Bad time to let your mind drift.

Personally, Barry blames the running - he's always found it easy to daydream while he's running -

"In the end you will come to understand -"

Holy crap, Wells is still talking!

"Seriously?" Barry demands, not breaking pace. "Could you can the monologue already? It doesn't matter what you say -" Like Barry was even listening. "- it doesn't change a thing! I'm never going to help you get back to your time period!"

"Oh, you will," Wells says. "You see, because of your refusal to help me, I'm going to brutally murder every one of your friends - and it'll be your fault that they die."

Ouch. Right in the sore spot.

"And because I'm a speedster, too, I can keep you from going back to save them - let the timeline settle - make it permanent - or, at least, permanent enough for you to only be able to change it if you agree to aid me. What do you think about that, Barry Allen?"

"Honestly," Barry says, "it's about what I thought you were going to say, so - mostly bored?"

"Bored?!"

"It's the running," Barry says, faux-apologetically. "I'm so used to daydreaming, my mind drifts if there isn't anything worth paying attention to -"

Why yes, Barry can do some damn good passive-aggressive bullshit if he does say so himself.

(He might be an Allen, but he was raised a West.)

Wells looks murderous, which to be fair is how he normally looks when Barry is tweaking his nose, so Barry takes the moment to leap onto the wall and catapult himself forward for a little speed advantage.

That gets Wells' attention back on the race.

But he's still scowling, still murderous, and if Barry doesn't keep his attention, he's going to stop and Len's plan, whatever it is, will be ruined.

He has to keep running.

All his life, everything he loves, comes down to this race.

He runs.

"Faster, Barry!" he hears Iris shout.

He stops daydreaming, puts his head down, and runs faster.

Faster and faster, till he's going as fast as he can go -

"Faster, Barry!"

That was Len.

Huh, look at that.

Looks like Barry can go faster.

Even Wells is concentrating now, mockery gone as he focuses on keeping pace, his eyes crackling red lightning, his steak of light besides Barry's.

Faster, Barry.

Faster.

"Run, Barry," he hears his dad say. "Run."

(Run, Barry! his mom shouts in his mind. Run!)

Barry puts everything he's got into his legs.

His heart, his soul, his mind -

Everything he's got.

He runs.

He doesn't even see snapshots of his friends anymore - it's all blurring together around him, streaks of light turning into smears of color. It's beautiful and unearthly, an impressionist painting gone mad, and it's something Barry knows at once he'll never be able to show anyone who isn't a speedster, that this is their secret alone. This is how it looks when he's about to travel in time, but there's no other-Barry running beside him to signal that he's broken that barrier, no sign of any time travel, of any anomaly.

Just Barry.

"The Speed Force!" Wells hisses behind him, his voice half-awed, half-jealous, and Barry realizes that this is what Wells couldn't achieve on his own: this detached euphoria, this moment where his mind is empty, his heart is at peace, and everything he is has been given over to the pure act of running.

Where everything, everything at all, is speed.

There's no space for other people here. No room for fear, no room for care - no room for anything at all.

It's suddenly easy. The running, the movement - it locks into place, a runner's high like no other, and suddenly Barry feels like he could do this forever. It's all clear now: how he could run through time if he wanted, how he could return Wells to his time or to go back and rescue his mother in hers, how Barry could do whatever he wanted, but why would he ever want to?

Why would he ever do anything but keep running?

Keep running.

Keep accelerating.

Keep moving.

No one can touch him here. No one can hurt him, or disappoint him, and make him vulnerable. No one to make him care about them. No one to disturb his perfect equilibrium, no one to knock him off his stride, no one to make him stop.

Perpetual motion.

Perpetual speed.

Perpetual peace.

And no one can touch him again, not even another speedster, because Wells is trapped in his own euphoria just beside Barry - visible but separate - distant - and who cares, anyway? This is why Wells doesn't care, Barry suddenly understands, this is why he murders with impunity those people who could never understand this, because what's it worth, what's any of life worth, in comparison to this bliss, this unending perfection? Nothing else matters, not anymore. All that matters is here and now.

All that matters is the speed, the joy of running, the ecstasy of acceleration, because he's left everything else behind.

He couldn't leave this place even if he wanted to, but why would he want to? All there is for him outside of here is pain -

"Barry!"

Len.

Len's voice, not strong but certain, splitting through the indifference of perfect, empty, vacant bliss like a lightning bolt.

Len, who is waiting for him; Len, who is counting on him; Len, who hurt him -

Len, who loves him.

Love.

That's what this place is lacking, this 'Speed Force' that Wells wanted to reach so much, this place of pure joy.

It lacks love.

Because love isn't all joy, no, it's terrible and wonderful, painful even when it's good: it's the heartbreak and the reconciliation, the cold loneliness of missing someone and the fireworks of seeing them again, it's the inside of your lungs being squeezed out of you because you're so happy to see someone, it's your throat catching and choking on emotion so thoroughly fused that you don't know if it's good or bad, it's every tear you've ever shed for love coming back all at once - the agony and the ecstasy both.

Love.

Barry loves Len.

And if he stays here forever, he'll never see him again.

No!

"Barry!"

That's not Len - that's Iris.

Iris, his best friend, his past love, the one who he first began to love when he was a child and never stopped. The person who knows him best, the one who'll always be there for him, the one who has his back even when she's breaking his heart.

Love.

"Barry!"

Dad.

God, Dad. Barry might have lost his mom for good at age eleven, but he lost his dad as well - every holiday soured by their absence, every birthday bittersweet. Speaking to him only through glass, sadness drowning him but unwilling to give it up because the joy of seeing his dad, even like this, was so much greater. Telling him the best and worst parts of Barry's life, telling him about school and becoming a CSI and the hope that burned in Barry's heart - burned hot and ugly and painful, but a fire he tended to faithfully no matter how it hurt him - the hope of putting this wrong right one day.

Love.

"Barry!"

His friends. Friends already made and held dear; friends only in potential - Cisco, Caitlin, Kara, Mick - people he knows and people he can't wait to get to know. The fear of the unknown warring with the excitement of discovery.

Love.

Barry's anchors are all here.

So is Barry.

And suddenly, leaving the Speed Force behind is the easiest thing Barry's ever done.

Suddenly he’s just running again – strong and without pause, suddenly filled with more energy than he’s ever had before, but he’s not trapped in that blank trance, the nothingness and emptiness and loneliness of being utterly alone.

“Barry.”

That’s Len’s voice again.

Len –

“I’m sorry, Barry,” Len says, and his voice is anguished. “Ramon, Rathaway, hit it!”

Ramon is Cisco, yes, but Rathaway? Isn’t that Hartley Rathaway, the one Cisco’s been calling the Pied Piper? What is he doing here?

And why did Len say he was sorry –

The world explodes.

It’s like being hit by lightning all over again. Not pain, exactly, just shock: every synapse blazing at once, every sensation - good bad mediocre - all bleeding together the way the light had earlier, hitting every single sense - touch sight sound smell taste - all at once as if the sensitivity of every single input in his body suddenly got turned up to eleven and he can feel it but at the same time his brain is just unable to process it all and opting to just give up, shutting down, going from color to black and he can't see and he can't hear and -

And suddenly he's tripping and falling and the world is spinning, spinning, spinning and everything in his body - mind belly brain - all seized by the strongest sense of vertigo he's ever experienced.

His stomach roils, his brain screams, his muscles spasm -

And then it's over.

Whatever "it" was.

Honestly, Barry couldn't give a damn what it was; he's just happy that it stopped. He's still dizzy, still a little nauseous, but it's fading; he's still shivering and shaking a bit, but that overwhelming shockwave of sensation is gone; and sure, he's a bit sore all over but hey, he's not falling anymore.

So, in summary: he's sitting (well, lying) still, he's not about to throw up, he sees nothing but darkness behind his closed eyes, and his brain isn't on fire.

All good important things that Barry really hasn't appreciated properly up until now.

He’s going to appreciate them now. At length. While continuing to lie down and not move, because not moving sounds great right about now.

At least until his ears stop ringing.

" - arry!"

Someone needs him.

Ugggggh.

They always need him. Barry really needs to learn how to say no to things.

Maybe Len could give him lessons.

Sexy lessons.

Mmmm.

"Barry!"

Oh, okay, fine. He's getting up already. Stop yelling.

Barry cracks an eye open.

The world is blurry at first, which is a bit concerning, but then it all stabilizes back into a depressing blank grey slate roof. Very prison decor.

...because he is, in fact, in a prison.

It all comes back to him in a rush: Iron Heights! His dad! Wells! The Speed Force! Wells about to murder everyone!

Barry's eyes shoot open and he starts trying to scramble to his feet, except he feels heavy and slow and clumsy and -

"Barry, are you okay?" Iris demands. She's kneeling beside him, Len right next to her, and they're both pushing him down from getting up.

His two favorite people, yay.

"I'm fine," Barry says, though he's pretty sure it comes out as something more like "Mmfin."

"Are you in pain?" Len demands, looking pale and guilty and -

Oh, right, the plan.

The "it might hurt."

The "I'm sorry" that Barry still doesn't entirely understand.

"I'm fine," he says again, forcing himself to enunciate clearly. "What happened? Was that the plan?"

"Yeah," Len says, still looking distressed. "But you're sure you're okay? No pain?"

"Just dizzy," Barry assures him. "Wells..?"

"He's waking up!" Cisco yelps. "Guys! Someone! Do something!"

Len and Iris turn immediately, Barry forcing himself up to a sitting position - with some help from both Len and Iris - to see as well.

Wells is, in fact, waking up. Worse, he's getting up - grimacing with an expression that suggests he's got some of the same nausea and vertigo that Barry had, but that he's powering through it.

"Whatever you did," he rasps, his eyes fixed on Barry, "it won't be enough. You can't stop me."

And then he runs straight at Barry.

Except -

He isn't moving at super speed.

He's just - running.

At regular speed.

He stops the second he realizes, coming to a half only a few steps away from them. "What have you done?" he shrieks.

"Holy crap that actually worked," Cisco marvels.

"Of course it worked," Hartley sniffs. And then, begrudgingly, he adds, "When we put our heads together, everything we do works."

Cisco looks thunderstruck. "Uh," he says. "Yeah. Definitely."

"Can someone catch me up to what happened?" Barry asks.

"You remember how Ramon installed a miniature version of the Accelerator in Iron Heights to keep the metas in?" Len asks.

"Yeah?"

"We exploded it."

"You what?" Wells shouts. “You did what?!”

"Technically," Hartley says, smirking at Wells, "we just followed your lead, O captain - after all, you were the one who designed the Accelerator to explode if it got overpowered."

"Say, by two speedsters racing through an environment not built to tolerate it the way STAR Labs is," Cisco says. "Barry, remember how your powers disappeared when Blackout hit you with his lightning drain? Like that, just - bigger."

Barry blinks. "So - my powers - they're gone?"

"Theoretically, yeah," Cisco says apologetically. "We needed you and Wells to over-power the Accelerator, so we couldn’t shield you from the blast. We theorized that the second blast would nullify the dark matter in your system -"

"Or blow your head up," Hartley says cheerfully. "One or the other."

"They're gone," Barry repeats blankly. "I'm - normal again."

He doesn't feel like he's normal again.

He doesn't really see no-powers as "normal" for him anymore.

Wait. If his powers are gone -

He looks over to where Wells is standing, his mouth hanging open in shock.

"Wells' powers should be gone, too," Iris confirms.

"Now we can arrest him," Len adds. "Bring him to justice - free your dad -"

"No!" Wells shrieks, and then he moves - not a speedster, but fast and unexpected, darting down to the ground and back up and suddenly he has Cisco's discarded vibration gun in his hands. "I'll see you all dead first -"

Len brings his crutch down on Wells' head.

Wells collapses onto the floor, unconscious.

Everyone stares at Len.

"What?" he asks. "I told you they make good weapons!"

Kara starts laughing first, but Barry's right there behind her, and it's only a few minutes before everyone else is cracking up, too.

"Not to interrupt," Barry's dad says archly. "But as funny as this is, could someone please let me out of this cage?"

"On it!" Caitlin says, grabbing the vibration gun from where Wells dropped it and heading over.

"On that note," Mardon says dryly, "I'm gonna duck out before you decide to put me back in prison. I wanna get in a few hits on the Families before I leave town."

"Just keep it to Families," Kara warns. "Or we'll find you and stop you."

Mardon snorts. "Whatever. You already took my powers. What more you gonna do?"

"Iron Heights's regular wing ain't that much fun, either," Len drawls. "Go on, get."

"How come he agreed to help?" Barry asks as Mardon jogs out of the room. "Didn’t sticking around mean he'd lose his powers, too?"

"He really hates Wells," Hartley says dryly. "And he's not alone." He shakes his head. "I'd better catch up with him; I'm probably his only means of transportation out of here."

"It was - weirdly fun working with you," Cisco offers hesitantly. "Like, when it's too much of an emergency for you to be a dick. So, you know, if there's another emergency - not that I want another emergency -"

"I'll call you," Hartley interrupts. "Maybe we can see how we work together when Wells isn't playing us against each other."

"Yeah! Yeah. That."

"See you around, Ramon."

He leaves.

"All things considered, leaving's not the worst idea in the world," Mick says, reaching down and scooping Wells over his shoulder like an unwieldy sack of potatoes. "City's on fire, the people are rioting, the Families and the Feds are brawling in the street, and I'm pretty sure the boss authorized all of it."

"...on second thought, maybe I should’ve let Wells get me," Len says, looking mildly horrified.

"You're not dying," Kara says. "Not after all this effort!"

"Wait, we have to do more?" Cisco asks. "But we already defeated Wells!"

"The city's still going crazy," Eddie points out. "Our job doesn't end until peace is restored."

"That's why being a pig is a shit job," Mick says wisely.

"I'm going to recruit you into the CCPD," Eddie tells him.

"Don't you fucking dare."

"You did good work here -"

"Stop!"

"- probably great with scaring kids straight -"

"Kids?!"

"Mick, he's pulling your leg," Len says. "Stop letting him."

"I don't know," Iris says thoughtfully. "If he’s not going to be a thief anymore, he does need a new job now -"

"That can wait till later," Mick says quickly. "City to finish rescuing, remember? Besides, this guy needs to go somewhere secure 'till the boss can read him his rights."

"Detective Thawne can do that," Len says hastily. "I'm sure it'll be cathartic and all, what with him being his ancestor."

Eddie looks at him, his lips starting to curl up into a grin. "Captain, I hope you don't mind me asking -"

"That ain't a good way to start a sentence."

"- but have you ever read anyone their Miranda rights? Do you even know what they are?"

A moment of silence.

"...I've had them read to me a bunch of times?" Len offers.

That sets them all off laughing again.

"I know what they all are!" Len is protesting when Barry finally manages, with the help of Iris, to get up. "I know them inside and out - probably better than any of you - it's just that saying them feels weird, that's all -"

Barry taps him on the shoulder.

Len looks at him.

"Barry," he says, levity suddenly gone. His eyes are intent on Barry's face, his expression solemn, and suddenly Barry can barely breathe with how much he loves him. It's like the entire world just shrinks down until there's no one there but them. "Barry - your powers - I -"

"Screw my powers," Barry says, interrupting. "We did it. We beat the bad guy. Together."

"But -"

"You didn't betray me," Barry says, because he knows Len well enough to know what's bothering him. "You knew how I felt about defeating Wells and I trusted you to do what needed to be done - and you did."

"You trust me," Len repeats.

"Yes," Barry says. "Because I love you."

Len breaks into a smile. "Yeah," he says. "And you ain't too shabby, either."

Barry laughs, pulls him into his arms, and kisses him.

Len kisses him back.

And it's - perfect.

Not the empty vacant perfection of the Speed Force, but a real perfection: love and joy and relief and pleasure and the hope of a future to come, a future together, a future untainted by the threat of Wells.

That sounds pretty much perfect to Barry.

Someone clears their throat.

Barry ignores them.

Someone clears their throat a second time, and this time taps Barry's shoulder, too.

Barry really doesn't want to stop kissing Len.

But then again, if he stops just long enough to tell whoever it is to buzz off, he'll be able to get back to kissing Len in an uninterrupted manner.

Barry pulls away reluctantly.

Then he turns his head and -

Oh.

It's his dad.

It's his dad!

His dad just saw him making out with his boyfriend!

"So, Barry," Henry Allen says, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Are you going to introduce me to Mr. Snart here, or am I going to have to call on our previous acquaintance from back when he was a fellow inmate?"

Oh god.

His dad just saw Barry making out with his boyfriend before Barry's even introduced them and he thinks Barry’s boyfriend is a felon!

"I'm a police captain now, actually," Len says.

"Really? That's nice."

"Yeah. Your son's pretty nice, too."

"I know he is. I'd offer to shake your hand, but you seem pretty reluctant to get it off his ass."

"He has a very nice ass," Len says, even as Barry buries his head in his hands. "One of the many nice things about him, really."

"Please," Barry says. "Both of you - just stop talking."

He considers.

"Also, erase the last five minutes from your memories," he instructs. "I refuse to let this be how you two meet."

"Too late," Iris cackles. "We've all seen it now. This is already filed, documented, and going into the Barry Allen File Of Embarrassing Moments forever."

"No!"

"Is that a real thing?" Mick asks.

"We're breaking it out for his wedding rehearsal dinner," Iris says.

"Really. Say, boss, would you consider -"

"Mick. Finish that sentence and I punch you in the face."

"Yeah," Barry says, unable to resist. "Because as an unquestioned authority in the subject, I can tell you that that would definitely be moving too fast."

Len kisses him again, just for that.

#coldflash #barry allen #leonard snart #eobard thawne #iris west #henry allen #cisco ramon #Caitlin snow #kara danvers #mick rory #mark mardon #hartley rathaway #my fic #an internal affair

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pleasantdreamqueen · 7 years

Text

Flame Goddess //Mick Rory

Pairing: Mick Rory x Black!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: Can I request a Mick Rory/Black!Ps!Reader/? Where reader is a Meta who is elemental and can teleport who catches Mick’s attention one day when she teleports onto the Waverider completely on fire and looking for Jax but she comes across Mick who just stares until she stops flaming. She notices that he got pouty but still stared at her like she’s a goddess so she just kinda giggles and asks him if he seen Jax and he gets jealous but she’s his cousin and it’s just cute PyroFluff with her and Mick

Your POV

Ever since Jefferson left to take care of a project at work,I began to grow suspicious. I called one of my contacts at the BAU to track his cell phone use.

“I’m sorry Yn I did everything that I could he hasn’t used his phone in years”, Penelope said. “It’s not your fault sweetheart. You did the best you could”,I replied hanging up.

‘I swear when I get my hands on Jefferson,I’m going to slap him into next week’,I thought creating a fireball out of irritation. I quickly dismissed it. I grabbed my keys and headed to my aunt’s house.

‘That boy has the nerve to leave his mother alone after what happened to his father. Jax had some nerve’,I thought pulling up into her driveway.

I walked up to the door and knocked softly. My aunt immediately opened the door and pulled me inside. “How are you holding up”,I said touching her hand. “Worse ever since your cousin left”, she replied.

I glared at Jefferson’s photo on the fireplace. “Yn,I need you to promise me something”, she answered causing me to stare at her.

“Anything to knock some sense into Jefferson”,I said smiling . She chuckled at me. “Always protecting your auntie. I want you to keep Jefferson safe . . . by any means necessary”, Auntie answered. “You have my word Auntie”,I said walking out of her home.

Timeskip to the Waverider Jax POV

I was making repairs to the ship when a burst of flames pushed me to a hard surface. “Jefferson have you lost your damn mind”, the woman said angered.

The team saw what was happening and raised their weapons. “Yn , what are you doing here”,I replied surprised. “Trying to keep you out of trouble”, she said returning to her human form. “Mind telling us who this is Jefferson”, Rip answered.

Mick POV

“You better tell him before I beat it out you”, she said angrily. “Alright , alright. Everyone this is my cousin Yn”,Jefferson added rubbing his head in pain. I stared at her in awe. I had never seen anything like her. “Is he ok”, Yn said uncomfortably. I immediately turned away embarrassed.

“Don’t mind him. I’m Sara, that’s Mick, Snart, Dr. Stein , Kendra, Ray, Rip, and Carter”, a blonde woman said pointing at everyone.

“It’s nice to meet all of you. If you’ll excuse me , I need to talk to my cousin in private”, Yn replied as Jefferson followed close behind her.

I glared at the door as it closed. “You like her don’t you Mick”, Snart answered. “What makes you so sure”, I added. “You’re like an open book. Plus you , looked like you were going to murder Fireboy”, he replied.

I rolled my eyes. ‘She looked beautiful in her meta form. The flames hugged curves perfectly’, I thought blushing. “Aw the big man has a crush”, Kendra answered. “Am I really that easy to read”,I said anxious. Everyone nodded in agreement.

Your POV

After my little chat with Jefferson , the crew went on with their responsibilities. Except for Mick. He was twiddling with his gun. ‘A challenge. This will be fun’, I thought smiling as I sat next to him. “I saw you staring at me earlier”,I said .

He looked up at me and rubbed his neck. “I-i’m sorry it’s just that I’m really fascinated w-with fire”, Mick replied blushing.

“It’s fine most people would be terrified. I’m glad someone finds beauty in it. May sit with you”, I asked. He nodded and scooted over. I sat down next to him and smiled. “Why do you always sit by yourself”,I answered looking into his eyes. “I don’t really know. Friendships always ended badly for me”, he said looking away.

I sighed and grabbed his chin so he would look at me. “Not me, because underneath all the tough exterior is a man with a heart of gold”, I replied. It was silent between us, I felt like Mick and I were supposed to meet. He smiled at me . That wonderful, goofy , bright smile. “Lets see if you can live up to that promise”, he answered as I laid my head on his shoulder.

‘ Never thought a flame goddess could melt my thick skin’, Mick thought grinning.

Tags: @shitty-imagines-95 @littlemessyjessi @tubbypeachwriting @renadarkstorm @wowthx13 @pocmarvelworks @hellomissmabel

#dc legends of tomorrow #dc x plus size reader #dc lot x plus size reader #plus size reader #plus size reader oneshot #mick rory x ps! reader #mick rory x plus size reader #flame goddess

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shamelessly4shameless-blog · 7 years

Text

The Sand In Your Shoe (pt 19)

1 year later:

“Will you fuckin’ hurry up?”

“It’s this shirt, Boss! It sucks! The buttons are too small. I keep doing it wrong.”

“No shit, but it’s what my sister wants and I can’t handle any more fuckin’ tears so just move your ass …”

Mickey shoves Juan back into the bedroom and closes the door in his face before opening it again

“And stop calling me ‘Boss’. In a couple of hours we’ll be family.”

Juan grimaces and Mickey grins at him

“Bet that shirt don’t seem so bad in comparison, huh? Not too late to run!”

“Will you leave him alone?”

Ian grabs the back of Mickey’s suit jacket and tugs him backwards

“You look great, Juan. Button it from the bottom upwards, it’ll help.”

He gives the anxious groom a cheery thumbs up and promptly shuts the door to round on Mickey

“Stop being a dick.”

“I wasn’t b…”

“Yeah you were. She’s your little sister but she’s a grown woman getting happily married and you will not act up.”

“I wasn’t ac…”

“Quit it.”

Ian points a stern finger at Mickey, who widens his eyes and jabs his tongue into his cheek defiantly but obediently wanders away from Juan’s room muttering something about checking the cake. Ian watches him go before slipping into Juan’s room.

“Let me help.”

“Thanks.”

Juan lights a joint as Ian takes charge of the delicate pearl buttons

“He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”

“Who? Mickey?”

Juan nods and exhales a cloud of fragrant smoke through full lips.

“Nah, he just has to strut around a bit when people touch his things. It’s like a little kid with his lego.”

Ian grins and pats Juan’s shoulder reassuringly.

“He likes you. It’s just that no one could ever be entirely good enough for Mandy.”

“But they give each other shit all the time! If I spoke to my sister like he does, she’d murder me in my sleep.”

“Yeah, they do that. And they’ll fight each other too. Like, actually fight.”

Ian laughs, deftly fastening the sprig of little white flowers to Juan’s waistcoat

“You just have to get used to it.”

“Oh, yeah I seen them do that. Over a magazine … that neither of them wanted! Can you believe it?”

Juan grins furtively at Ian who has known the Milkovich’s far longer and does not disbelieve it for a second.

“Yeah. And I bet Mandy pulled his hair and he tried to give her a wedgie? You just have to leave them to it because if you get in the middle, they’ll turn on you instead. But for all their shit, they actually love each other a lot.”

Ian helps Juan into his suit jacket and turns him to face the rickety mirror.

“You’ll get used to it. Welcome to the family.”

Mickey is rearranging the little pink flowers on top of the cake for the fifth time when a furious cry of complete outrage tears through the kitchen and Mandy storms in, resplendent in a figure hugging white slip dress, her hair in a half-finished plait.

“Where the fuck is Ian?”

“Helping your retard fiancé do his shirt buttons.”

Mickey quips and flicks an eyebrow upward at her

“What’s wrong now? You want me to tell the priest you’re just gonna keep with the sinners?”

“Don’t fucking start!”

“Jesus! What is it with you assholes today? I’m not doing shit except makin’ sure these fuckin’ flowers are straight!”

Mickey scowls and gestures to the flowers which really could not be any straighter already.

“Fine. Sorry.”

Mandy folds her arms over her chest as her lip begins trembling uncontrollably

“Ah shit!”

Mickey rolls his eyes but steps forwards and wraps his arms around his sister, letting her rest her forehead on his shoulder

“You gotta get this out now. You do it at the church, people are gonna think he’s a fuckin’ woman beater or some shit.”

Mandy snorts wetly and Mickey wrinkles his nose thinking of the potential for snot streaks on his suit but composes his face to neutrality by the time Mandy stands up.

“I can’t get my hair into a plait, it’s too long. I should have cut it and now I don’t have time to do a decent job of it … FUCK! I need Ian!”

“Ian can’t plait for shit. Sit your ass down.”

Mickey pulls out a chair and takes his jacket off, dropping it onto the table and pushing is shirtsleeves up.

“When was the last time you braided hair?”

Mandy smirks but she obligingly sits down and lets her brother comb is fingers through the lengths of her dark hair, picking out the pins she has jammed in randomly.

“Fuck knows, but I remember how it goes.”

“Was it my fifth grade photo?”

“Dunno.”

Mickey’s fingers find the rhythm and a meticulous, thick braid begins to form.

“It was! Ronda fuckin’ Harris ripped my collar and you made me a braid to cover it.”

Mickey grins darkly through a mouthful of pins

“Stamped her brother’s balls too. They were always fuckin …”

“Assholes.”

They say in unison and Mandy beams fondly up at her brother before he frowns and tells her to fuckin’ keep still.

Ian stands on the porch of Galagers and watches Juan make his way toward the high street. His family are already at the church and he is going to do the rounds before Mandy arrives.

The door behind him creaks open and he glances over his shoulder at the dark head bobbing toward him.

“He OK?”

“Course he is! He’s getting married!”

Ian turns and wraps an affectionate arm around Mickey’s shoulders and kisses his temple.

“How’s our bride?”

“Fuckin’ insane!”

Mickey scoffs, lighting a joint and taking a gentle toke before handing it over to Ian.

“They’re really happy, Mick. This is a good thing.”

Ian sighs, blowing smoke over his shoulder toward the sea. Mickey purses his lips and then nods but he is still wearing a half-scowl and the lines around his eyes are a little more pronounced than usual.

“He hurts her, he’s a fuckin’ dead man.”

“He knows that.”

Ian smiles, grabbing Mickey’s flower from the table before he can forget it. Mickey puffs out his chest and obligingly holds still whilst Ian fastens it in place. The joint is dangling from his bottom lip and he pulls on it lightly as he watches Ian work. Ian is in a soft grey which contrasts with the deep blue of Mickey’s own suit. Their shirts are the reverse. Yin and Yang as Ian called it. The colouring sets off the flame of his hair and the cut of the suit accentuates the breadth of Ian’s shoulders in a way that makes Mickey’s stomach flutter.

“You look really nice by the way. Kinda sexy in a suit.”

“Only ‘kinda’?”

Ian smirks and brushes Mickey’s shoulders lightly, although there is not a mark on him. Mickey tongues his lip cheekily and takes a firm grip on Ian’s lapels.

“Maybe a little bit more than ‘kinda’.”

“How much more?”

Ian lowers his brows, feigning confusion and takes a grip on the very prominent bulge in Mickey’s suit pants. Mickey sets his teeth in his bottom lip and steps in closer, looking up at Ian with an expression that promises everything any man could ever need.

“MICKEY? MICKEY, WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY FUCKING FLOWERS?”

Mandy roars from inside the bar and both men close their eyes, yanked out of their moment.

“Jesus! I thought brides were meant to be fuckin’ bashful!”

“You’re thinking of ‘blushing’. Tell her she’s beautiful and get her to the church.”

Ian murmurs, his breath warm and smoky against Mickey’s lips as they kiss

“Fine. But after today her crazy ass is Juan’s problem! He can find the fuckin’ flowers!”

“MICKEY!”

“I’M COMING! KEEP YOUR DAMN TITS ON!”

Mickey bellows back and Ian winces, suppressing a grin. Of course, this is a Milkovich wedding.

The ceremony takes place in the local church. Neither Mickey or Mandy is really religious but Juan is and so Mandy managed to trip her way through the interviews, blaming her lack of fluent Spanish for the questions she couldn’t answer and attending the weekly bake sales, Masses and even choir practice, in the run up to the wedding.

Ian stands as Mandy’s ‘Man of Honour’ and Mickey walks her up the aisle, only hesitating a little before placing her hand in Juan’s and managing to take his place at Ian’s side with only the most minor of menacing glares at his almost-brother in law.

They take their seats and Mandy and Juan kneel before the priest. They speak the words they are asked to speak and then stand to face each other and make their vows. Ian raises his eyes to the roof above, biting down on his lip, hard, determined not to cry but as Mandy recites her vows, looking up at Juan and radiating joy, a few slip over Ian’s lashes and tumble down his cheeks.

He glances to his left to make sure Mickey hasn’t seen and is met with the sight of his boyfriend biting his index finger as if he means to chew right through it, his eyes completely red rimmed and face awash with tears.

Ian wordlessly reaches across and grips Mickey’s free hand in his and Mickey squeezes back just as hard. This is their girl. Fierce and wild and now breathtakingly beautiful in her happiness. Free to make her life whatever she wants it to be.

The priest invites the couple to kiss and when they do, the emotional build up in the two Southsider’s erupts and both explode upwards, their whoops and cheers rivalling Juan’s entire family for enthusiasm.

They throw confetti on the church steps and Juan’s aunty captures a photo of them that Ian will carry with him for the rest of his life. It is of Mickey laughing, arm outstretched, the word ‘FUCK’ clearly visible across his fingers as a shower of dried rose petals flies from his hand, some of them blowing back to tangle in the thick black sweep of his hair.

The party is long and eventful. There is dancing and drinking and sex behind the beach huts. There is swimming and skinny-dipping when the older folk have gone home. Mandy and Juan leave just before midnight, exhausted and drunk more on love than on alcohol as they stagger off to Juan’s apartment to share their first night as man and wife.

Mickey and Ian continue the party with Juan’s friends and siblings and a few cousins too until eventually everyone else has drifted away or further up the beach in search of privacy and it is just Mickey and Ian, once again lying beneath an entire galaxy of stars.

“What a day!”

Ian grins, stretching his arms above his head, watching the stars, and letting fistfuls of sand trickle through his fingers. They’re both bare foot but miraculously their pants and shirts survived the day, although the jackets and ties are long gone, hopefully up the beach somewhere.

“Yeah.”

Mickey rolls onto his side, head propped on his elbow to look down into Ian’s smiling face.

“Mandy was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah she was.”

Mickey strokes Ian’s hair and his own lip curls upwards in a small smile

“It really was a good fuckin’ day. Wouldn’t mind havin’ one myself, you know?”

Ian’s eyes flick from the inky black of the star studded sky to the indigo depths of Mickey’s eyes above him, his heart suddenly pounding.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean … smaller and not as fancy but you know … I mean, if you wouldn’t mind having one either?”

“A wedding?”

“Yeah.”

Ian licks his lip and shakes his head quickly his mind boggling at what is finally happening.

“No, I wouldn’t mind that at all. I would love to have a wedding. Would you?”

“I just said so didn’t I?”

Mickey’s smile broadens into a lopsided grin and he ducks his head to kiss Ian, trailing his thumb over the high arc of his boyfriend’s cheekbone as Ian’s hands run down the lithe length of his body.

“So I guess we should plan one then?”

Ian ventures when their lips part and he feels Mickey nod against him.

“Guess so.”

Ian lets out a delighted laugh and rolls Mickey onto his back, pinning him into the sand and kissing him thoroughly.

“Are you gonna fucking ask me, or do I have to do it?”

He demands playfully, grinding his hips against Mickey in a way that makes the smaller man writhe in anticipation

“I can ask you but I ain’t doin’ it with your dick crushing my balls. Get off.”

Ian scrabbles to his feet and Mickey stands in front of him, dusting his palms off and looking up at Ian from under delicately arched eyebrows.

“Alright …”

Mickey shoves his creased shirtsleeves up his forearms and pushes a hand through his tousled hair trying to make himself as presentable as possible. He rolls his shoulders and tongues the corner of his mouth in that wonderfully familiar, exciting way. Ian is almost dying of impatience but forces himself to stand as still as possible and be patient, savouring every second.

“Ian Clayton Gallag … You laugh and I’m not fuckin’ doing it!”

Ian had in fact let out a squeak, it wasn’t laughter but he presses his lips together and waves Mickey on anyway.

“Right. Fine. Ok … Ian Clayton Gallagher, will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?”

Ian throws himself on Mickey and they crash to the sand in a tangle of limbs and deep kisses until Mickey pulls away, laughing.

“Wait … hey! You made me say it, you gotta fuckin’ answer, man!”

“Yes! Yes, I will be your husband!”

Ian nods, holding Mickey’s face reverently between his hands and showering him with kisses until Mickey waves him away, grinning bashfully.

“Knock it off, man. This is gay enough already.”

Ian ignores him and kisses him again.

The wedding is small and private. The paperwork says Alexandre Mika Tereshchenko but the vows are given to Mikhailo Alexandre Milkovich. It is a risk but a very small one and Mickey absolutely insisted that he get married using his real name.

Ian wears his a bright white linen shirt. Mickey wears his beloved Hawaiian.

Mickey’s vows are short, succinct but utterly beautiful in a gruff sort of way.

Ian’s are longer, passionately flamboyant and earnest.

Mandy wonders if they even realise how perfect they are.

The rings Ian has chosen for them are white gold. Simple, plain bands that slip over their tanned knuckles as they make their promises and are never removed again.

Mandy cries and Juan cheers and neither of the grooms really notice because they are so focussed on each other and the kiss they share is a celebration of all they have and all they have overcome to reach this point. It is promise for the future and a recognition of the past.

Juan’s sister takes their official photo in front of the ocean but captures another at the little BBQ Juan has set up for them and that is the one which hangs on their bedroom wall. Ian is leaning in to say something to Mickey, his arm around his husband’s waist and Mickey is smiling broadly, his arm slung casually around Ian’s shoulders, so obviously full of joy that it makes Ian’s eyes well up sometimes, even years later.

Ian insists on carrying Mickey over the threshold of their home but Mickey refuses to be swept off his feet, so they compromise on a piggy-back and stagger up the stairs, breathless and wheezing with laughter and Ian dumps Mickey onto the bed with an exaggerated groan.

“We did it, Mr Galager.”

“Yeah we fuckin’ did.”

Mickey grins as Ian flops down on his back beside him.

“It was always supposed to be like this, wasn’t it?”

“Nah,”

Mickey shakes his head with a deliberately weary expression

“You were supposed to be inside me by now.”

He looks across at Ian, face lighting mischievously and then rolls away laughing as Ian lunges after him.

Their wedding night manages to break the bed but neither of them care. They can buy a new bed or they can just leave the mattress on the floor for a while. It doesn’t matter. They have all the time in the world to decide.

#shameless #shameless us #shameless fanfiction #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #mandy milkovich #Milkovich #ian x mickey #Mickey and Mandy #gallavich #Gallavich Love #shameless imagine #fan fiction

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warholiana · 5 years

Photo

The art world's first souperstar; This monumental biography of Andy Warhol is extremely fun - but fails to crack the enigma.

Daily Telegraph (London, England)

By Mick Brown

WARHOL: A LIFE AS ART by Blake Gopnik 976pp, Allen Lane

At the end of this monumental trawl through Andy Warhol's life and times, Blake Gopnik concludes that he has "overtaken Picasso as the most important and influential artist of the 20th century. Or at least the two of them share a spot on the top peak of Parnassus beside Michelangelo and Rembrandt and their fellow geniuses."

Warhol would have loved that. As a college student, Picasso was a favourite of his, and at the height of his pop art fame he made the rivalry explicit by wearing the Breton striped T-shirts Picasso was famous for - part tribute, part self-

promotion. Andy Warhol was the artist as brand, avant la lettre: as the title of this book suggests, his greatest creation was himself. So who was he exactly? Warhol's parents were immigrants from what is now Slovakia, who settled in the industrial nowhere land of Pittsburgh. His father was a labourer, the family poor.

Warhol was a sickly child who suffered from the shakes and chronic skin problems. His summers were spent lying in bed, listening to the radio with "cut-out paper dolls all over the spread and under the pillow". It was an upbringing he disowned as quickly as he could. When he arrived in New York in 1949, as an art-school graduate in search of work as an illustrator, he told a magazine editor who asked for a potted biography: "My life wouldn't fill a penny postcard."

The young Warhol was "very shy and cuddly, very much like a bunny", according to one friend, "an angel in the sky" according to another. He was also gay - a fact that, as Gopnik, an American art critic, sets out to demonstrate, would be crucial in shaping his "outsider" relationship to art and the milieu he moved in, and ultimately the milieu he created; crucial, too, in the way that public attitudes towards his work shifted from rejection to celebration.

In the late Forties, when two Pittsburgh judges had referred to homosexuals as "society's greatest menace" and police were drawing up lists of "known perverts", Warhol - then a window dresser in a Pittsburgh department store - favoured a pink corduroy suit, a tie dipped in paint and brightly coloured fingernails. Yet the notion of Warhol as "a feeble, androgynous waif ", says Gopnik, is "a mirage". As a young man, he lifted weights at the YMCA two or three times a week, and Lou Reed described him as being "like a demon, his strength is incredible" - at least until 1968, when an assassination attempt by a disturbed woman, Valerie Solanas, left him chronically debilitated.

Like Robert Mapplethorpe, he had an obsession with penises. Friends, acquaintances - total strangers - would be asked to drop their pants, according to one friend, and "Andy would make a drawing. That was it. And then he'd say, 'Thank you'." Sometimes "there'd be a little heart on them or tied with a little ribbon ..." An unrequited romantic, throughout his life he would fall in love with a succession of younger men, usually unhappily. But he seems to have had little enthusiasm for sexual relations. One partner, the photographer Carl Willers, recalls that he was "more passionate about food and eating".

It was a gay aesthetic, Gopnik argues, that informed what Warhol described as the "fairy style" curlicue illustrations of shoes with which he first made his name as an artist, and the camp taste for "lowly pop culture", which he would elevate to the realm of fine art. In characteristically faux-naif fashion, he traced the origins of his pop art to the time he spent working as a window dresser at Bonwits in New York, when he used comics and advertisements as a backdrop to his displays of dresses and handbags. "Then a gallery saw them and I just began taking windows and putting them in galleries."

This would lead to what Gopnik calls Warhol's "eureka moment - one of the greatest in the history of art", the Campbell soup can, and the notion that mass-produced commercial goods could be art - and, eventually, that art could be profitably mass-produced. His first Los Angeles exhibition in 1962 showed 32 soup cans, which were bought by the gallery owner Irving Blum for $1,000. In 1996, Blum sold them to Moma for $15million. "They might be worth half a billion now," Gopnik observes.

What Warhol was selling, as one friend put it, was "not so much art as milieu", a milieu "dripping with edge and irony". In 1964, he moved into a former hat factory in midtown Manhattan, where he produced the silk-screen prints of Marilyn, Elvis, electric chairs and suicide leaps, attended by a coterie of acolytes, and disciples - junkies, hustlers, transvestites and chronic narcissists, whom Warhol turned into his "superstars".

There was Ondine, "the Factory's favourite gay speed freak"; Warhol's principal muse, the bruised and beautiful heiress Edie Sedgwick, whose "charming incapacities" and decline into addiction and chaos Warhol chronicled with clinical indifference; and the flame-haired, honking-voiced Viva - "Warhol's Garbo", as the newspapers had it: a reference that had everything to do with her gaunt, porcelain features and nothing to do with reticence. Viva's "verbal diarrhoea", as Gopnik puts it, "left her no time for social niceties. Any thought that could cross her lips did."

Then there were the drag queens Jackie Curtis, Cindy Darling and Holly Woodlawn - a reflection of Warhol's fascination with gender. At college, for one self-portrait assignment, he shocked his class by depicting himself as a girl with Shirley Temple ringlets, explaining: "I always want to know what I would look like if I was a girl." Many years later, when asked what "famous person" he would most like to be, he replied "Christine Jorgensen" - America's first famous transsexual.

"Andy was like the Statue of Liberty," one friend tells Gopnik. "'Give me your tired, your hungry - your drag queens, your junkies.' He was the saint of misfits." But Warhol's friend, the critic and art curator Henry Geldzahler, put it more acutely when he described Warhol as "a voyeur-sadist" who needed "exhibitionist masochists in order to fulfil both halves of his destiny". Like a priest, Warhol could offer absolution for the perverse, but no promise of an afterlife. Most left his circle - or were ejected - feeling used, embittered and betrayed.

One comes to the conclusion that there was an emotional vacancy in Warhol. He didn't know how to feel. A lover, John Giorno, recalls watching the news of Kennedy's assassination unfold on television. "I started crying and Andy started crying. Hugging each other, weeping big fat tears and kissing. It was exhilarating, like when you get kicked in the head and see stars. Andy kept saying, 'I don't know what it means.'" But what did he believe? Like Bob Dylan, he deliberately cultivated the art of the put-on and concealment. Typical was this exchange with a journalist: "How close is pop art to 'Happenings'?" "I don't know." "What is pop art trying to say?" "I don't know."

When I interviewed Viva over lunch some years ago, she described how Warhol "would just want to gossip, like a woman would gossip basically - or his idea of what a woman would think gossip was. What Andy really liked to talk about was men's penises." (At this point a deathly silence fell over the crowded restaurant, all heads turning to hear what Viva would say next.) Henry Geldzahler wrote that Warhol "plays dumb just as his paintings do, but neither deceives us", adding that he was "incredibly analytical, intellectual, and perceptive". And, he might have added, incredibly shrewd.

In 1972, after Richard Nixon's historic visit to China, Warhol asked a friend, "Since fashion is art now and Chinese is in fashion, should I do some Mao portraits?" The idea spawned some 2,700 images, transforming a man who, as one critic pointed out, had "murdered about 60million Chinese and caused poverty and starvation in all China" into an icon.

But by then, Warhol had long since made the transition from underground artist to darling of the establishment, turning out portraits to order for Italian industrialists, wealthy socialites and the Shah of Iran, combining a Stakhanovite work ethic with manic socialising: a typical evening would take him from a Broadway opening to a fancy dinner, a rock star's birthday, and, always, Studio 54. "It's work," he explained.

Gopnik's rollicking book is a formidable achievement, but for all its dense accumulation of detail, scholarship and unabashed gossip, Warhol remains, as he doubtless would have wished, essentially, brilliantly, unknowable.

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bnrobertson1 · 5 years

Text

THOUGHTS ON “THE IRISHMAN” (BRNR #26)

My introduction to the peerless works of Martin Scorsese began as a quest for something somewhat different: softcore pornography. I was 12ish and while my dad never ponied up for the Cinemax/ HBO package, for some reason we kind of got Cinemax, or at least its static-filled approximation, on our living room TV. For an internet-less pre-teen disastrously crashing into puberty, this Cable company mix-up taught me the importance of enjoying life’s happy accidents.

Here’s how it worked: with my parents asleep and me left to my groaningly embarrassing druthers, I would pray to whatever deity sent me the scrambled Cinemax signal to also hook a bruh up with some tastefully shot augmented bosoms-focused programming. Mind you, this was before a Channel Guide let you know what you were watching, so sometimes you just had to approach watching like fishing, hoping that whatever this fuzz was would shape into someone getting freaky-deaky, and soon.

It was on one of these prideful nights that I encountered something I at first hoped was a Red Shoe Diaries episode starring the guy from No Escape*. He was with one of the crooks of Home Alone, someone who looked familiar but whose name escaped me, and some less-than-handsome guy who appeared to be wearing a really bad toupee. They were walking to a car and saying “fuck.” A lot. Then, after entering the car, the Home Alone actor nonchalantly shoved an icepick into the Toupee Guy’s head, afterwards commenting something along the lines of “Maybe that’ll shut him the fuck up.”

*A Ray Liotta-starring vehicle I TREASURED growing up, mostly due to its innovative violence.

I didn’t know I was watching Goodfellas, but I knew I was mesmerized. It was violent, it was funny, it moved quickly, it did pushed buttons in my nervous system I didn’t know existed. It somehow made the sting of not watching Shannon Tweed dry-hump a decorated general evaporate. Goodfellas simply crackled with life, even when almost indecipherable due to the static-filled presentation. There was a brute, beautiful honesty to it that the things I was getting exposed to simply lacked. My perception of what art was obliterated and resurrected in the course of about 45 minutes.

Flash forward roughly 24 years. The Irishman, Scorsese’s newest highly anticipated mob drama, hits theaters in a culture far from the one that greeted Casino or The Departed. Instead of the automatic praise that usually greeted Scorsese, a new environment questioned his cinematic contributions mostly due to the lack of representation of (a) minorities and (b) women. While some of these criticisms are fair if a little silly*, the simmering became a raging fire after Scorsese commented on his inability to connect to the movies of the Marvel Universe**.

*It’s a bit like saying Te-Nehisi Coates hasn’t developed a full voice because he hasn’t written a Jane Austen-esque romp through Victorian England. Or that Lou Reed’s status as legend is flawed because he never released a yodeling album. Artists are allowed to have focus. It’s OK.

**My only thought about the Scorsese vs. Marvel debate, as someone who quite likes a lot of the Marvel movies: They’re algorithms (albeit very fun ones), and Scorsese is 100% right. I also hope the people who are breathlessly defending Disney against America’s best filmmaker will one day have enough clarity to see that siding with an imagination-torching corporation against an independent artist just sucks.

The most concise review* I can give of The Irishman is this: it’s the Scorsese mafia movie that pretends the Rolling Stones never existed. In fact, he seems to go out of his way to not mention them in one scene where De Niro’s narrator comments on Jimmy Hoffa’s popularity rivaling that of Elvis and the Beatles. While Casino and Goodfellas never approves of the mafiaso lifestyle**, it does show its appeal with slick music, dialogue, costumes, cinematography, actors, etc. Those films, especially Casino, have operatic narratives, clearly connecting them to millennia-old Roman myths.

*I already failed. I realize this.

**This part seems lost on a lot of Scorsese haters. Joe Pesci’s Nicky Santoro is beaten to death after watching his brother suffer the same fate, and his Tommy DeVito is shot in the back in the head- does that really seem like a glorification of a lifestyle?

The Irishman is less indebted to Rock n’ Roll and epics as the Catholic church, or more specifically, Catholic guilt. This guilt weighs heavy on every frame. And this dive into Christitan scruples goes than the top-line perspective of “that’s bad and should be punished and that’s good and should be praised” of some of his other mob epics. There is no shooting of guns in handbags after truck hijacking. Or close-ups of hands in general. There is a hand-stomping scene, but it’s depicted in such a matter-of-fact way it is obviously not a heralded act*. The soon-to-be-curriculum cab demolition scene is scored by an ominous, brooding soundtrack, not the coked-up WHEES of Mick Jagger (or Harry Nilsson for that matter**). Instead, Scorsese’s focus is on bigger, more abstract themes, such as impermanence and the point of existence itself - questions that are frankly terrifying because the answers do not exist, much less reassure/ satisfy.

*Speaking of the hand stomp, many point to this and some of the stranger looking faces as flaws of the film. I’d argue that one of the film’s biggest themes is the fallibility of memory. It’s a striking juxtaposition to put your current self in the past, yet we all do it naturally. I also realize I’m a huge nut when it comes to Scorsese and maybe twisting myself crooked to defend all of his techniques.

**Maybe the best scene in all of film?

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The Irishman often feels like a mea culpa- a heart-felt apology for any damage Scorsese’s more flamboyant films may have done to the culture at large. The amazing thing about the film is how well Scorsese seemed to predict criticism without merely sycophantically answering it. You say my films don’t feature women enough? Well how about a film where the main actress has about 7 words*? That’s not to say the film is a preachy drag because it’s anything but. It’s still funny (sometime riotously so) and moves insanely quickly for a film 30 minutes longer than Casino. The acting is superb, as is the strikingly methodical editing. The first 2/3 of the movie feels like a Goodfellas or Departed- the last third, especially after the climax, feels paced like his Catholic meditation, Silence. “It is What is It is,” the film’s quasi-mantra, nicely sums up its feelings on impermanence, something that will probably affect us all, even Marty.

*It’s almost like Anna Paquin knows that the number of lines and contribution to a film are not always directly related.

But trying to paraphrase- or comment on- what The Irishman is trying to say is really missing the point. It’s a uniquely cinematic work that speaks a cinematic language. Written words are not suitable to mine its deeper meanings, only experiencing it, and meditating on it, does.

I could go on and on about the voluminous excellence of this film. Simply put, I love it. It does feel like ol’ Marty won’t be making anymore, but what a fucking fantastic way to bow out of the genre he revolutionized. He’s made five better than anybody else (Francis Ford Coppola excluded- kind of). And he ended it with such a reflective, brilliant exclamation point, he might have just proved himself the exception to the whole “impermanence” thing.

But while I’ll defend the intellectual merits of his works ‘til the day I can’t, I’ll always associate Scorsese with pornography. A little forbidden, a little dangerous, but capable of reveal orgasmic- and embarrassing- truths to those willing to forgo the comfort of societal norms and allow themselves to be illuminated by the flame of unflinching honesty. Grade: A++

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