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ofindcmitability · 5 years ago

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🍁 EACH. ONE. OF. THEM.

WILLIAM FLYNN HALLIWELL

— wow so here we go. I remember very specifically. So my mom got the special Hulu to use the free trial and then cancel it so I watched the first two episodes of Deadly Class on it, then that night I watched the third episode when it aired after I watched The Magicians. I checked gif packs and yep I knew I wanted to do Benjamin Wadsworth. He, as my main, replaced by original version of Peyton Halliwell who I’d been struggling with forevers at that time. So originally I was thinking Henry Jr, but he’d been taken at the time. I’d also been obsessed with this fanfiction series (still am TBH it’s so fucking funny). This is the fic that made me say, I wanna do a damaged child taken in by a semi-adult. The semi-adult in the fic had been a teenager, so I thought of Mick who was playing Wyatt Halliwell and contacted her. ( Also a sidenote bc hilariously, the song came on. RWBY v6 had recently ended and the ending song NEVERMORE (which Will’s lyrics and title are from) started playing literally right now so thats funny ). Anyhow Mick was like SURE, and tbh the original connection idea was just through magic school but then it EVOLVED, I’m legit thinking thru the transcript of our conversation rn it’s wild??? Mick helped me choose darklighter-demon so this is fucking awesome ( go Mick!!! ) I LEGIT SENT THIS FROM THE FANFIC

“Hey, uh. Wyatt? I… I kind of failed my test today.”Wyatt grabbed the bottle of tequila that he insisted they didn’t own and poured it into his coffee. “I know, Will. I was there.” He sighed. Will slid the test across the table towards him and offered a wry smile. “My teacher said our parent or guardian needed to sign it if we failed.” He told him and Wyatt stared at him for a good two minutes before taking a long sip of the alcoholic coffee. He picked up the test and Will felt a stab of guilt for making the man look so goddamn tired. Maybe he should try a bit harder… Wyatt grabbed a pen and dramatically signed the test that he had graded earlier. “Get out of my face you evil, evil child.”

My goodness Mick and I fucking went at it over William Formally Flynn.

Mick, after I showed her Will’s intro which I spent two hours writing as I listened to the same exact song.

i like it when you hurt me.02/01/2019Oh my actual fucking good that breaks my heart.

Okay so next.

ASTER SILVERMIST

—- it’s weird bc I’m so horrible with chars Aster was literally brought in at a different era than William. Will has so many years on my others it’s fucking wild. Anyhow Imma just look at C and I’s transcripts bc I don’t remember how specific it went besides C posting Thomas Doherty’s FC as someone she was gonna do, and I knew I wanted to do Mitchell Hope post so I was like HEYYYYYY .

Literlally us:

satan with a keyboard07/29/2019CASUALLY DORPS INTO UR PM TO KNOW ABOUT UR THOMAS AND SEE IF U WANNA DO A CONNECTION WITH MY MITCHELLthe charizard of fkeke07/29/2019yes i want a connectioni am a slut for mitchell and thomas thanks to d2

But yes, I remember looking up fairy names and last names bc I wanted perty names, and us just fucking brainstorming like wild and then C coming us with everaster and damn we went AT IT

HENRIK MIKAELSON

I can’t go into someone’s DM to help me so this’ll come from memory. I know I wanted to do Brenton, and for a bit I was considering doing him as our then-Davina’s brother connection. But I ended up not doing it bc I had muse for someone else and I was at character limit at the time (crazy right??) anyhow so…. okay tbh I have no idea how my want for Brenton translated into him becoming Henrik Mikaelson bc he does not look like a Mikaelson. I know it def had to do with Titans s2 coming out and a huge influx of muse for Brenton. I think I wanted to do a canon which was where Henrik fit in but honestly I don’t remember and now I’m bothered by it lmao. I know I played Freya thrice before doing Henrik so maybe it was a want for a Mikaelson? I really really don’t know what the fuck happened there. But yes, and his backstory of being brought back in s2 of TO came from another rp I was in where I played Henrik with Robbie Kay and even thou it didn’t end up clicking right bc of the fc, I always fucking loved my initial idea of him having come back way back then. I think my want for him to work with kids and be a caretaker came from Dick and Rachel in Titans tbh skndkngf bc I loved that softness and I was thinking he could have a soft relationship with Hope too, I rmemeber thinking to myself I’d use their huggle gifs for them eventually lmfao. But yes honestly my memory is shit and dusty and while I rmemeber how other huge changes and plots came to be for him, his creation is a molted memory. TBH I’m really surprised no one’s ever yelled at me for how non-Mikaelson he looks/is.

PEYTON HALLIWELL

So, let’s pre-requisite this by reminding everyone I’ve played Peyton Halliwell twice before with a number of three FCs, maybe more that I’m forgetting too tbh. The ones I remember are Lili Reinhart, Ginny Gardner and Taylor Hickson. So what happened here was. Um. Okay tbh I don’t remember too much. My ultimate memory is in the form of me mentioning Natalia Dyer to Sam and him being like I FUCKING LOVE HER DO IT and honestly thats how that happened lmfao. Her personality stemmed from Natalia’s ton of guns gifs and I still haven’t actually done her intro RIP. But yeah, this is finally the Peyton I got right bc everyone actually likes her kdnkgngkng I think. But yes. There’s her origin story, Sam loving Natalia Dyer.

BARBARA FRIEDH

Barbara Gordan and Jane Levy. Babs is still fairly new, so I remember enough. I was in/still am in a Batfamily phase. So I was following the Titans tag and they showed a picture of Brenton and Jane in a movie together bc she’s the perfect Barbara Gordan and I just loved her Fc for the firs time, bc in the past I’d seen her and never felt anything. So I found out she had a good number of gif packs and they’re so pretty??? But I was so hesitant bc I didn’t have an idea for her and I didn’t wanna go in half cocked. So I had a gif of her in my drafts for weeks with the name Mar’i or Zoe beside it bc I couldnt think of ANYTHING. but then I was finally like, fuck it. and I wrote her intro somehow?? I rmemeber sitting there so usnure for such a while but then it started rolling and Victoria’s connection just fit. I wanted to name her Babs bc i fucking love the nickname Babs it’s so cute. I almost changed her name but Ace was a warrior for hte name Barbara so thus she became Barabara Friedh. Friedh, is a surname from the video game Lost Odyssey which I liked and yeee.

JACK KLINE

Okay so here’s the thing. Jack Kline is a soft soft sweet boy who has struggles with three dads and a major guilt complex. I loved him from his first episode. I was hesitant for a second tbh, bc I was like Maybe I shouldn’t. Cause it’d suck to take him on and drop him, or be really bad at him (jury’s still out on that one) but like. I have not felt such muse for a proper canon character in a hell of a long time. So I browsed through his edit tag and i just said, Okay so this is happening. I even ended up making a whole entire gif pack of him in one day yesterday bc resources r a Bich. But yes like. I love Jack a lot as a character. I feel like he made me enjoy Supernatural again bc I found his plotline so compelling and him to be such a good and earnest character who’s just trying so hard and that spoke to me.

But yeah, these are my bitches. Hope you’re happy Gaby.

#ooc #wow #length tw #troubleson #answered #munday

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years ago

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Fic: Jonah (ao3 link)

Fandom: Flash, Legends of Tomorrow Pairing: Barry Allen/Mick Rory/Leonard Snart Series: Flashwave Week 2018 (Destiny Series)

Summary: In which Barry goes to sleep and wakes up to a very different universe.

And it's all because Leonard "Destiny of the Endless" Snart couldn't keep his big mouth shut while reading the literal Book of Destiny.

Oh, well.

A/N: @flashwaveweek - Flashwave Week: Accidental Marriage

——————————————————————————————

Barry, as he so often does, wakes up feeling tired.

Not physically, of course; his powers make sure that even minimal amounts of sleep are enough to fully revive him.

Wouldn't want the world to go without one its heroes, Barry thinks bitterly.

Most of his mornings are spent like this, now: awake, but trapped in bitterness and regret. He's not sure when exactly it started, this endless frozen atrophied bitterness - when Joe's new baby died, maybe, or when Wally was killed, or when Caitlin was mind-wiped until she didn't remember any of them, or when Cisco went temporarily evil and killed so many people that even the defense of mind control didn't swing the jury back in his favor.

He has new members of Team Flash to back him now, but it's not the same. He knows he can't let himself get close to them or they'll just be targets as well, more than they already are.

Everyone he's close to is a target.

Like Iris.

Oh, Iris...

Maybe that's when the bitterness started, when Iris sat him down - months ago, now - and held his hands and told him that while she still loved him, she thought it'd be better for both of them if they weren't married anymore.

Barry doesn't blame her. He wouldn't want to be friends with a Jonah like him, either: mysterious disappearances at every turn, weird twists and turns what feels like every week, never any normal life, and poisonous honey to draw in every maniacal villain in existence, it felt like.

Even the Justice League, in which he put so much hope, is fracturing: Batman's latest protégé brutally murdered and Batman lashing out against them all as a result, Superman's identity and Earth parents under threat, Diana offered an irresistible chance to go home again for a rest, Hal sent far away...no one has time or interest in their alliance beyond the moments of utter necessity, which seem to happen about once a year or so.

Nothing like the group of friends who can understand the pressures of heroism that Barry wanted it to be.

And that leads him back to where he is: bitter and tired and unable to get up.

"Bar!" Iris' voice rings through the door, causing Barry to violently start. Iris hasn't lived in what was once their mutual apartment since she'd moved back home to take care of Joe, who was near-catatonic with grief. Sure, she still had a key, but she never used it... "Barry Allen, I know you have super-speed, but if you don't get up now, you're going to be late. Or, more importantly, we're going to be late!"

Barry doesn't recall any plans he had with Iris. Honestly, Barry doesn't recall the last time he spoke with Iris, even though (even after everything) she's still his anchor.

Is this another trick? Another villain's scheme?

Only one way to find out.

He gets dressed and goes into the kitchen, where Iris is rifling through the fridge, though she looks up when he walks in.

"There you are, lazybones," she says, grinning at him, and Barry has to take a step back, because he hasn't seen Iris this healthy, this whole, this happy in - years. Even before she moved out. "Don't tell me you're getting cold feet."

"Cold feet?" Barry echoes helplessly.

"More like hot feet, I'd say," another voice says with a laugh from his blind spot, and now Barry's really twitching because it's been forever since he heard that voice, it can't be, he's dead, but no, Barry turns and there he is.

Eddie Thawne is sitting at Barry's kitchen table with a newspaper and a wedding ring.

"You're letting the puns get to you, babe," Iris says, going over and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "You planning to go villain on us?"

"Hey, I don't necessarily get my puns from the villains," Eddie protests mildly, smiling up at her with that devoted, loving gaze he's always had for Iris, the one that won him Barry's affection even despite their competition. "Maybe I get it from my wonderful pun-using award-winning journalist wife. Have you considered that possibility, Mrs. West?"

"I have indeed, Mr. West," Iris says haughtily, but with a grin. "And I'll have you know that your wife just reports what's out there - Barry, you're pale. Did you forget your midnight snack again? You know your metabolism goes screwy when you don't eat enough."

Barry shakes his head and shrugs. He can't think of what to say. He can't think of - anything.

They look so happy.

"Sit and eat," Eddie says, looking at him with a frown. "Did we - did we actually wake you up? We didn't mean to."

"Like Barry would've slept through our kids getting ready to go school," Iris says, but she sounds doubtful. "They're total elephants and we do live right upstairs..."

Barry and Iris didn't have kids. They'd wanted to, of course, in the beginning, but then there was what happened to Nora and they'd never quite managed to get over that enough to start trying, not before the tragedies started - or worsened, really, it wasn't like their lives weren't full of tragedy before...

"Nora?" he croaks.

"No, Don and Dawn," Iris says, looking puzzled. "They're the maniacal little kindergarteners; little Nora's still cooking." She taps her belly, which now that Barry pays attention he notices is curved out slightly. "As you well know. Are you okay?"

Barry opens his mouth to tell them that there's been a timeline alteration, that someone's changed something - Eddie's alive, after all, and he shouldn't be - but then he stops.

If he tells them there's a timeline alteration, then they'll want to help him try to fix it.

They'll want to send him back.

Back to a world where he lives in his big apartment alone with the wreck of all his dreams, where Iris has quit her job to care for Joe, where...his friends...his friends...

"I think I have temporary amnesia," Barry says apologetically. "Can you catch me back up?"

"Uh, sure," Iris says, blinking at him. "Is this a Justice League thing?"

Barry shrugs apologetically.

"I'm going to text Diana very angrily about this," Iris says, who's never had Diana's phone number. No one had Diana's phone number, and once she went back to Thermiscyra it was a moot point anyway. "Or maybe Selina."

"Selina?"

"Batman's wife? Catwoman?"

"Oh," Barry says faintly. "Right. Her."

Batman got married?!

"Barry, please sit and eat something," Eddie says, coming over and putting a warm hand on his back. "Whatever's gone wrong, we'll help you fix it, you know that."

"I know," Barry says, his throat tight. "Uh. Can I ask you - about everyone else?"

"Sure," Iris says. "But then - as soon as we finish our appointments today - we're taking you to STAR Labs for Caitlin to check you."

"Caitlin's - at STAR Labs?"

"Well, no," Eddie says. "Only sometimes. She got that job in that hospital - Head of the Metahuman Wing, remember? Her and Killer Frost both?"

"Of course he doesn't remember, Eddie," Iris says. "He has amnesia."

"Well, I don't know how far back the amnesia goes -"

"Cisco?" Barry interrupts, a little desperately. "Joe?"

"Cisco's at STAR Labs," Iris agrees, clearly puzzled. "Probably setting up for his first class of the day -"

"Class?"

"Yeah, the Flash Engineering Corps," Eddie says, looking amused. "Best scholarship program in the Twin Cities - plus you get to work for a superhero while saving up for college. Iris' idea, of course."

"Shush, you. Joe's - well, Joe's probably dropping Jenna off at school after her dentist appointment, then dropping Cecile off at the DA's office, and then going into work at the CCPD as usual, I guess?"

Barry swallows hard. Caitlin herself, Cisco free, Joe aware...

There's got to be a catch.

"Oh, crap," Iris says abruptly. "Our appointment! Barry, we can deal with your amnesia later, but if we miss this, they won't let us have another, and then you won't have a suit for your wedding!"

...wait, what?

"Uh," Barry says.

"Listen, here, Barry Allen," Iris says. "I know you and Mick would probably get married in your underwear and a bathrobe if we let you, but damnit that is not going you happen, you get me?"

"Yes, ma'am," Barry says automatically, saluting her so that she laughs and punches his arm lightly.

His mind is still reeling. Mick? As in, Mick Rory? Formerly the supervillain Heatwave, most recently member of the Legends, kind of depressed almost all the time?

They're getting married?!

This can’t be right.

Barry checks his phone for confirmation. There’s a WhatsApp group chat titled “Justice League” that’s filled with jokes, that’s the first thing he notices – did Batman really just send around a bat emoji? really? will wonders never cease? – but Barry’s Facebook definitely seems to suggest that he’s marrying Mick Rory and that everyone is sending him congratulations on it.

“Barry,” Iris says. “Appointment. Time to get moving.”

There's a knock at the door.

"I've got it," Eddie says, and is at the door opening it before Barry can say anything - you don't open doors, you don't know who's waiting behind those doors with a gun and a grudge, that's how we lost Cecile, except here they didn't lose Cecile. "Oh, Snart, what are you doing here?"

Snart?

Wait, no, this is good - in Barry's universe, Snart had recently returned from the dead to assume some sort of mystical magical position or something, something Constantine called "Destiny of the Endless". Barry's not entirely sure what he does - it seems to involve a lot of reading - but it did mean that he spends most of his days in his garden house outside of time.

And if he's outside of time, he wouldn't be affected by the timeline changes!

"- just need to borrow Barry for a bit," Snart is saying apologetically. His hood is up over his head and his eyes are glowing that inhuman blue that Barry's still not used to, and he has his ridiculous Book in hand; he's definitely still Destiny here. "I'll get him to the fitting, don't worry; just meet us there."

"Fine, I'm trusting you," Iris says, shaking her head at him. "C'mon, Eddie; you can drop me off before you go to work - Barry will catch up later, apparently. But don't you dare be late, Bar!"

"Uh," Barry says.

"Later than usual," she amends.

"Okay," he says, because that seems slightly more plausible.

They leave and Barry turns onto Snart. "Do you know -" he starts, only for Snart to interrupt.

"I'm sorry," he says.

Barry stares at him. "Oh god," he says. "It's affected you, too."

Snart scowls at him. "It has not," he snaps. "But I promised Mick those'd be the first words out of my mouth."

That seemed pretty plausible. Mick could get Snart to do just about anything.

"And I am," Snart adds grudgingly. "Sorry. I guess."

That sounds more like it.

"You're behind the timeline change?"

Snart winces. "Bit more than a timeline change," he says. "I'm - listen, I'm new at this whole Destiny thing, okay?"

"...yeah..?"

"I was - multitasking."

Barry's never heard that word imbued with such gravitas portending doom.

(Does the ability to do that come with the Destiny job?)

"Okay, and?" he asks.

"Turns out that's a bad idea," Len says grimly.

"What did you do, Snart?"

"I was reading from the Book," Snart says. "You know, the one that describes how reality operates?"

He shakes it pointedly.

Barry just gives him a look.

"Anyway, Mick was on my case about - something - and he mentioned you a few times - as a good influence or something - and, uh, I may have lost my temper a bit -"

"Snart. What did you do."

"I said, 'if you like Barry Allen so much, maybe you should marry him'," Snart says, looking hideously embarrassed.

As he should.

"What are you, five?" Barry asks. "I haven't heard that used as a comeback since first grade."

Possibly third. Maybe even fifth.

Barry was never really good at comebacks.

That's not the point.

"The point is," Snart says, "is that by saying that while reading the Book, reality got a little...confused."

"Confused," Barry says flatly.

"It - may have reshuffled itself into a world in which you and Mick are getting married."

“No kidding,” Barry says. He’s already figured that out. “And I don’t remember the new backstory because…?”

“Speed Force,” Snart says with a shrug. “Protects you from timeline shifts for the most part, or at least your memories. You should start getting the memories from this timeline in a few months, though.”

“Just like it was with Flashpoint?” It’d taken all summer before Barry’s old memories started fading in favor of the new ones.

“Yeah, like that,” Snart says.

Barry considers this. “…can it be changed back?” he asks after a long moment.

“It can,” Snart says. “But Mick doesn’t really want to – there’s some friends of his on the Legends that died. Sometimes in pretty nasty ways. Anyway, they’re back now. But he says I have to check with you as to what you want.”

“My memories of this world will start coming in in a few months?”

“Yeah. You’ll still remember the old world, though; it’ll just be overlaid with, like, important event memories so that you're not always asking about backstory.”

“Okay, then,” Barry says.

“…what does that mean?” Snart asks suspiciously.

“It means ‘okay’,” Barry says. “Thus far, this world seems a lot better than the one I left behind so, you know, screw that.”

He wasn't able to stay in Flashpoint because what he had to give up was so great, but the world he's left behind now? The world of misery and death and the endless despair of being a Jonah?

Seriously.

Screw that.

“You have a whole brand new set of enemies,” Snart warns him.

“Not exactly a new experience,” Barry says with a shrug. “Cisco and Caitlin can catch me up until I get the memories.”

“My sister’s developed plant-related powers and lives in Gotham now.”

“…weird and not exactly on-theme for her, but that sounds like Batman’s problem, not mine.”

“You kind of have to marry Mick.”

“Have to?”

“The entire reality rewrite is based on it,” Snart says. “The whole thing won’t fix into place until you both say ‘I do.’”

“But we could theoretically get divorced afterwards?”

“Yeah, no problem. It’d take you a year, legally speaking, but you can do it.”

A year married to Mick Rory, in exchange for Iris happily married with kids (and living upstairs, no less), Joe still functional, Cisco free and teaching, Caitlin at a hospital, a proper Justice League friendship group, and even some of the Legends brought back?

Yeah, like that’s a tough choice.

“I’m in,” Barry says. “Can I talk with Mick about this? He remembers everything, right?”

“Yes, he does, and he’s coming back tomorrow,” Snart says. “Legends, you know, they’re not always great on timing.”

“I do know that,” Barry says. “Uh – how does Mick feel about it? The marriage thing? Does he just want to pretend our way through it, or…?”

It’s not like Barry would really object if Mick wanted to give the marriage thing an actual go. He’s touch-starved, he’s apparently single, and he’s always been aware that Mick is ridiculously hot.

No pun intended.

(Damnit, villains!)

Snart smirks.

“Like I said,” he drawls. “He likes you. In fact, he likes you so much that he oughta marry you – and look at that, so you are.”

Barry shakes his head. “Whatever,” he says. He’ll talk about it with Mick directly; that’ll make more sense. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got a suit fitting to go to.”

Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s arrived early enough to still help out with the cake-tasting selection…

(Mick ends up making all the cake samples. Barry would marry him just for that.)

#flashwave #flashwaveweek2018 #barry allen #leonard snart #mick rory #iris west #eddie thawne #my fic

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nglsa · 8 years ago

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The Spirit of ‘64 - Editing Script

The Spirit of ‘64 - Script

Story about Mickey Jr. and his life in chronological order. It starts with Mickey Sr. talking about Mickey’s birth, how much he weighed, the experience having his first child.

We go into the children, how many children the family (Mickey Sr. and Francis had), things they did growing up such as playing baseball, fooling around and eventually getting into motorcycles.

Briefly discuss their interest in motorcycles, how they were good at racing (Mickey Jr. and Ricky) but how his worst nightmare came true.

Open with Mickey Sr. describing where he was that night when he got a call to phone home, going to sacramento and visiting his son.

Maybe: discuss Mickey Sr.’s previous experience with working for a handicapped girl so he was somewhat familiar.

Discussing the issues in the hospital, what he did and how he really committed to staying with his son in order to ensure he was doing ok.

Discuss Mickey Sr. selling his car collection in order to make money and build the downstairs unit for Mickey. Go into all the work needed in order to successfully complete the place. Mickey then moves out and into his own place, doing what he wants at age 18 and moving in with Ricky. Talk briefly about their lives, what Mickey was getting into. Low point: Mickey beginning to abuse the drugs.

Mickey Jr and Sr watching Ricky at a race and Mickey Jr asking his father to build a racecar. The start of the racing. It was almost safer than on the streets since he had a cage and padding whereas he did not in his van.

Mickey struggling to meet regulations and was sanctioned by nascar to finally drive. A few racing moments, truly victorious.

Recalling his last moments alive

Remembering Mickey

Miss him a lot, wish we could be like him, happy, not blaming others for his problems, etc

I have a business on freedom blvd in watsonville, waiting and waiting, he said i’m pregnant, she didn’t show, went in and had the baby, no big deal (moved to 1)

Born in Watsonville hospital in 1958 July 20

Average, 7 pounds, average, too many kids

Very emotional having your first, very important to you and your experience, i had this dog named mopsey, micky would say dog, called ricky dog

Vicky, 18 months younger (than ricky) mick, rick, then randy and tammy (ricky talking)

5 kids, rhymes? Just happened that way, ran out of icky's

Kids somedays are good, picking on eachother, typical family stuff

He didn’t sleep, we would put him in the car and take him for a ride to put him to sleep

Fun, real fun - ricky, lot of crazy stuff

We are 18 months apart

18 months apart

Me and rick best friends

Vicky: mick oldest, middle, younger sister 8-9 years younger than mick, we were 3 years apart, 58, 59,60, they would use me to play pickle, they were trouble, pile of horse crap

Micky was good at pitching, ricky was a catcher, couldn’t reach second base, won every game

He attended south sequatis, graduated, and went to watsonville high school, things going on that i didn’t like, more gang related stuff, things that weren’t good

Even in the summertime we would hang out once in awhile did couple of things, became kind of close

Micky as a teenager was very athletic, baseball, got into racing motorcycles at a very young age, how about a dirt bike? He was very good, all three of my boys played little league

Met mick when i was a freshman in high school, a lot of fun took place, a group of us that got together and partied a lot, the kids had to drive a special car of their fathers, flipped the english taxi, i had a good time

We went to watsonville high school for a couple of years, we weren’t there so we were all expelled, ended up at monte vista christian school, micky met this gal dolly, he was in love with this girl, he changed his life, took the christian way of life, things were good for a long time

All three of us were class clowns, mickey was a year older, who could be the most obnoxious in class, 4-5 of us in class, mike stone, a lot of guys, a lot of fun, always pranks at the school

Very good boy, a lot of friends, played a lot, it was good - father, how was he with the ladies? A lot of girlfriends, good looking guy

Micky was good with the girls, they all liked him, he liked girls, they would come to the house, you don’t get too acquainted, not too close

Micky was a very good boy

“ “ had a lot of friends, entertained himself, he had a lot of girlfriends, they all liked him, handsome boy

Motorcycle friend, watsonville hs, having a great time, bullshitting with his buddies, cut here and there, things still don’t change, he was a character

We went to watsonville hs first, my dad restored cars, had a customers car, i felt weird about it because everyone drove normal cars, we took it to the swimming pool, got all drunk and rolled it, we finished off at monte vista christian high school

When we rolled the car into the apple orchard, 7 people in it, there was a mechanics garage above the hill, used the phone to call my mom, he asked us our names, he goes i know your dad, you might as well lay on the ground and i’ll shoot ya, she handed him 3 valiums, after they wore off, wasn’t a good deal, 2 days later we were enrolled at monte vista

Last year in hs was my first year (vicky), they showed my dad their report cards, the one they did bring home had all F’s and a D minus, yanked us out of watsonville hs

I remember the hs stuff, one thing after another, dad doesn’t know how many times the boys would sneak out in the middle of the night, sneak out the cars and my dad would have no clue. My freshman year, it was a rainy day, there’s a huge mud puddle, mick is driving and says something is wrong with a back tire, roll down the window and look out as he hits the mud puddle, he wouldn’t turn the car around so i could go home and change, that was his practical jokes

He has stitches because of me, we were terrible kids, mean evil

“ “, our parents didn’t know the half of it

Frances and i talked about it, put him into monte vista christian hs, my kids brought kids over, lots of kids over here, thanksgiving, christmas, they were coming here, had large families around me all the time, some important kids, amazing they picked a school in watsonville, ended up here

Frances was a good mother, she went with us, like baseball games she was always there, motorcycle races always there, tammy did faulting on horses, tammy’s mother would always be there

Frances and I split up, she got killed about a mile from here coming down a mountain, the grateful dead played at the fairgrounds, there was a lot of traffic, they got run off the road, fell off a small cliff

Frances was involved with the kids, the girls had horses she was involved, we had a barn, the girls had horses so the boys wanted something to do so we played baseball, then we got into motorcycles, frances was involved with the horses and the motorcycles, i bought a bus, built a motor, took the seats out, painted it, made it safe, 40-passenger bus, frances, the kids and i went motorcycle racing to carson city nv once or twice a week

My mom really liked the racing, we’d have to get up at 4am sometimes, old school bus, tie downs, leather, refrigerator, stove, and drive to Placerville and nobody ever complained, we just did it, stayed all night, didn’t get home till late at night then off the school the next day

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canaryatlaw · 8 years ago

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Well, if yesterday was heartening today was tiring and stressful. I am not doing well, guys. I had a full day but I feel so unbelievably tired from it I've legit felt like I was half asleep for the last 6 hours, including through class where I actually stumbled over spelling my own last name. And my brain is just constantly racing. I know this is all bad, I just really don't want to go to a doctor, or at least a physical one, because that would mean really acknowledging something is wrong and I'm very scared for what they might say. I don't have a great track record with doctors, and they're normally pretty shitty at actually figuring out what's wrong with me (see: the shitshow that was my junior year of college). And there's the whole mono thing. Doctors are shitty at interpreting mono tests so if I go in and get tested because I've had it a bunch of times before it will show up in some form on the test even though it's not actually active, and doctors who don't know what they're doing will take that to mean it's active and it'll just generally fuck things up, because I really cannot afford to have mono right now. I just can't. Everything is going so well. I'm actually happy, for once, with just about everything in my life, and I'm making such awesome progress towards my goals, I can't just give up on that. Like it's just not a plausible option. So I don't know what to do. Today just affirmed that this next week is gonna be insanely busy for me and I feel annoy even just thinking about all of it. Maybe after it's all over though things will get better? I can at least keep telling myself that for now. Sigh. Anyway, I should actually talk about my day. Alarm went off at 7, and I convinced myself to get out of bed like the good little solider that I am. Got ready, went to work, and spent a little while editing my legal writing assignment because I didn't have anything else to do (I emailed a copy of it to myself so I could work on it on my work computer) and managed to write the conclusion and other necessary paragraphs I had to add, as well as shifting things around a bit. I did feel like I was going more with what I thought made sense than specifically what the prof might want, but I'm not gonna turn in an assignment that doesn't make any damn sense to me. It's all small potatoes anyway, so I'm not very concerned. From here I would just have to make any final edits on it, and then actually write the damn motion. This was making my anxious for most of the day, because I somehow got into my mind the word limit for the motion was 2,000 words when it in fact doesn't have a limit. I just have about a 3 hour span tomorrow in which I can actually write this thing, and it's not impossible but it's not gonna be pleasant. Sigh. I did get some work then that was "trial prep" which ended up being fairly boring as it was just going through a giant stack of documents, most of them fairly innocuous, and summarize each one. Meh, whatever. Did that until lunch, then after lunch I went down to court because I had been told there was a good trial going on, and boy was that the case. The GAL on the case gave me the fact pattern to read so I could know what was going on and at first I was confused because they kept switching from words like "natural father" to "uncle" and I was like ??? But then I figured out that the abuse had been perpetrated against the baby cousin of this family who was temporarily living with them, and this case is now regarding the two sons. It was a rough one, and the dad is awaiting trial on multiple charges of aggravated battery of a child and the baby has almost no neurological functioning from it. What made this all interesting was that the parents had retained a private attorney which is exceedingly rare in abuse/neglect court, and even if we do get one they're generally a bar attorney who consistently work with the system. But truly private attorneys that wind up here never have any idea wha they're doing, and that was apparent here. He's apparently also the dad's criminal attorney, so I guess he figured he could just handle this too....not so much. His argument was like "well the kid's mom said once he sometimes has head banging behaviors and another child relative of theirs had seizures so he could've had one of those, and shaken baby syndrome is controversial right now" as if that counters all the medical testimony the state presented. He is correct in saying shaken baby syndrome is somewhat controversial in the legal community and has been challenged in a number of cases, but here there was ample evidence to support it. The lawyer also managed to refer to the baby victim as an "it" multiple times, as well as calling him "a ticking time bomb the would rip their family apart" which you could tell the judge was like, lol no. Then he was also like "so the kids are a little overweight, so what?" except that's not exactly the case when your 3 year old weighs 90 FUCKING POUNDS. My sister weighed 30 pounds until she was like 6, and still probably doesn't weigh 90 points 9 years later. That is a morbidly obese child, lol. So that was entertaining, then the father had an outburst at the end and tried to storm out on the judge and it did NOT go well for him haha it was kind of great. Went back upstairs after that, and hashed out the argument I would make for my contested motion that's up next week as I'll be heading to DC on Thursday and won't be in the office. My supervisor informed me that the state was opposing us on this motion for whatever reason, which means a 4 other parties are opposing me on my first contested motion. Lovely, lol. I know it's a judgment call on the part of the judge though and I'm telling myself not to get my hopes up, and I know that if it doesn't get granted it will probably have to do more with how the judge views the law than how I argued it. So that took up the rest of my day at work. When I went to check my app to see when the bus was coming, I was informed it wasn't coming for another half hour (which is the second time that has happened to me on two totally separate bus routes in the last 3 days) and I needed to be in class in 50 minutes, so that clearly wasn't an option. Thankfully it was nice out and it's not a very long walk to the train station, so I made it there in a reasonable amount of time. Class was boring, and as I said I was like falling asleep so that didn't help. My cross went well though, so that's good. We got out around 7:45, so I headed home. Wheelchair homeless guy, who I'm going to start calling Louis now that I know his name is Louis, was at the train station again, so I stopped and spoke with him for a little while. He asked again when I was gonna come visit him, and I promised I would as soon as my life calms down a little bit and I'm not so insanely busy, and I fully intent on making good on that promise when I'm able to. Got home and turned on legends from the start as the actual episode was finishing up. Solid episode, didn't like it quite as much as last week's but still definitely enjoyable. The setting and premise were interesting, I'm confused as o when in time Rip enlisted the help of the JSA to help hide the pieces of the spear of destiny, and if he came to them in 1956 wouldn't Stargirl look a hell of a lot older? This episode didn't contain enough Stargirl IMO, and no other episode probably will now. The Ray plot struck me as kind of odd, but it was fine. I saw the whole Stein/Mick thing coming it it was still immensely satisfying to watch that backfire on Stein so fantastically. Guinevere was amazing, and her interactions with Sara (including the kiss at the end) were perfection. King Arthur himself was find, though he didn't get to do much other than be mind controlled. And of course evil Rip is here and gonna cause all sorts of trouble next week which I'm looking forward to. So yeah, good episode. I turned on the flash afterwards as it was still fairly early, and it was pretty good as well. I of course adored all the Wally/Jessie interactions because they were just gold. I fully expected Grodd to have concocted this whole plan just to get Caitlin to come to him, lol, but of course it was more complicated than that and that will continue next week, which should be interesting. Okay, that's it and did I mention I'm tired? Sleep now. Goodnight dolls. Stay awesome.

#daily journal #February 2017

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years ago

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Frank Castle/Matt Murdock meet Coldwave fic

Set in @jewishfrankcastle's domestic AU where Mick and Len have retired to a farm and are villainously herding a small armada of children and animals - all details come from that. For their birthday, @jewishfrankcastle requested Frank Castle and Matt Murdock meeting Len and Mick.

Happy birthday! I hope you like it!

link to ao3

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They meet, perhaps unsurprisingly, at the dog park.

Frank's never been to Central before - his work tends a bit more towards exotic or politically influential locations, but there are corrupt cops and murderers everywhere, and that means he goes everywhere.

He's been mostly focusing on corrupt cops and politicians lately, rather than run-of-the-mill murderers - Matt'd made a good point in their last dust-up about how people abusing the levers of powers were full on destroying the systems that most normal people relied on, while random murderers sometimes had reasons.

Never excuses, but reasons.

And, well, in the heat of the moment Frank'd had some sort of pithy remark about how vigilantes weren't really part of the system either, so there Murdock, but after the adrenaline faded, Frank had to give him the point. Frank's always focused mostly on gangs for a reason - institutional power's a bitch - and it seems wrong not to go after the biggest blue-clad gang of them all.

Especially given how often corrupt cop seemed to be synonymous with murderer nowadays.

Anyway, he and Matt ended up settling their differences the way they usually did these days - talking shit at each other till their voices start getting hoarse, then one of 'em making a final call. If Frank thought there was something particularly vile about 'em, he'd end them his way; if Matt was dead on convinced that they were innocent or something, Frank'd let Matt rescue the scumsucker.

And then they'd go off their separate ways, of course, and bicker about it some more over a few cups of hot cocoa back at home.

It is, no two ways about it, the weirdest relationship Frank's ever been in, but what the hell, it makes them both happy. Frank likes things that make him happy, and nowadays he tries to keep life simple.

Unfortunately, simple doesn’t always agree with him about that.

Take this trip to Central, for instance. Frank'd gotten a tip-off about the organized crime in Central (they called them Families here, with chewed off syllables and a grimace of distaste), some offshoot of which was forcing kids to traffic their drugs with their families at gun point, with corrupt cops on the payroll ready to bury any confession by any kid dumb enough to try to turn on them.

Ready to bury any kid, too, and call it self-defense.

So Frank'd packed up his shit (Matt likes to tease him about how many suitcases he packs, but he has no room to talk; Frank's been on vacation with him before and he doesn't even bring guns!) and planned on heading out the way he always did, except Matt ended up being asked to join one of his weird slumber parties ("Defenders team-ups are not slumber parties!" yeah they are) and all their friends were out of town, and that meant there was no one to watch Max.

Which, fine. Frank's used to taking Max with him when he goes out - poor dog's a sweetheart and perfectly happy to stay in a safe place while Frank does what needs to be done, but Frank's starts feeling bad if he doesn't let Max stretch his legs a bit.

Thus the dog park.

Most people there have these dumb little city dogs that they try to keep away from Max, probably because they're bigoted assholes that buy into the whole 'pit bulls are evil' crap, and Frank's just about to drop his disguise sunglasses (Matt thinks they're hilarious, but seriously, the red-glasses-wearing kettle can stop calling the pot black any day now) to glare at the fuckers keeping Max from having a good time when some big ol' fucker walks into the park with two pits and a mutt, none of which he's keeping leashed, and everyone just -

Relaxes?

Seriously, they stop clutching at their Pekingese and Bichon Frises and shit and let 'em go to scamper around smelling each other’s butts, and Max is in doggie seventh heaven or some shit.

The tough guy - six-foot-something with a bull's worth of muscle on him, shaved bald and looking dangerous - looks around the park, spots Frank, and comes over.

Doesn't sit right next to him, no intimidation shit or anything that Frank might be inclined to take issue with, but close enough that having a chat's not a big deal.

If anything, the rest of the park gets even more relaxed.

Guy don't say nothing for a couple of minutes, so Frank decides to start up this ballgame.

"People here sure are friendly," he says.

The big guy snorts. "Sure they are," he says, voice halfway between ironic and fond. "Once they know you ain't Family or a pig of the human variety."

Frank straightens up, kinda insulted. They thought he was a mobster? Or a cop? Him?

"Easy now," the guy laughs. "They know you ain't one anymore, now that I'm here, but you can't blame 'em for being wary."

"Now that you're here?" Frank echoes.

"I hate Family," the guy says. "A lot. And my partner hates corrupt cops - most cops, not gonna lie, but corrupt ones worst of all - and we ain't shy about chasing them outta our parts of the city."

"Your parts of the city?"

"The slums," the guy clarifies. "Where half the population or more's taken a swing by our resident jail cells - that's Iron Heights, here, and I'd avoid it if at all possible if I were you."

"And here I heard the thing to avoid was the Flash," Frank says, unable to keep from commenting on the superhero-shaped elephant in the room. He'd started seeing the memorabilia nearly a hundred miles away, and in Central proper it gets positively overwhelming.

And a little concerning, Frank's not gonna lie. He's used to superheroes like Matt, like Matt's friends - some powers, yeah, but kinda down to earth like. People he could stop with a bullet (or, in Luke's case, a bunch of nets or superglue or something; he's still working on that). He's not quite sure what to do with someone who can purportedly catch a bullet in midair and have Frank on the ground before he's had time to fire the next one.

He's planning on getting his business in town done quick and quiet and hopefully over before he has to make the guy's acquaintance.

"He's easy enough to avoid," the guy says with a shrug. "Especially this time of year; it's gorilla season."

Frank pauses, because he's gotta have heard that wrong.

"Yeah, gorillas," the guy confirms. He sounds tired out just thinking about 'em. "Some lab cooked up a super intelligent gorilla with telepathic powers -"

"What the fuck."

"I know right? Anyway, the Flash ended up tossing that gorilla somewhere in another universe or some bullshit like that - don't ask, you don't want to know -"

Guy's right. Frank really, really doesn't.

"- and it turns out that universe has its own gangs of super-intelligent gorillas, and once a year they manage to open a portal back to our earth to try to invade. That's how you get -"

"-gorilla season," Frank finishes. "Jesus."

"Yeah."

They sit in companionable silence for a while.

"Your big pit's got a lot of scars," Frank eventually observes. The big one's all scarred, while the smaller one's a bit roughed up but no more than a bit of tough living would get him. The last one, the mutt, he's just a goddamn lazy shit, rolling around on the grass and barely getting up to prance around, but he seems fine. "That something we should be talking about?"

The guy shoots Frank an approving look, of all things. "Nah," he says. "We rescued Tony from a Family dogfighting operation that we were shutting down with prejudice, if you know what I mean."

Well, shucks. Look at that. Frank thinks he may have made a friend.

Matt is never gonna believe him.

"Got my Max much the same way," Frank says. "New York gang."

"Fuckers," the guy says agreeably. "The smaller one, Poppy, we got her the same way, but she was new, y'know? Hadn't gotten to too much fighting yet. Well. She fights with the goats - my partner and I own a farm outside of town," he adds, seeing Frank's raised eyebrows. "That's where she gets all those band-aids from."

Frank buys it. Those band-aids are cute enough, but also located just where an exasperated goat might decide to butt an irritating dog away.

"And the mutt?" he asks, nodding at the dog, which seems to have decided to take a nap.

"Turtle."

Frank snorts.

"Yeah, he's always like that," the guy laughs, and that’s that. They sit around, don’t talk, and it’s all nice and domestic and shit until it’s time for Frank to collect Max and go.

Of course, next time they run into each other, Frank’s in the middle of a warehouse with a bunch of screaming children and a lot of dead mobsters, splattered all over in blood and trying to figure out if he should’ve worn gloves because he can’t exactly go on picking up kids with bloody hands, now can he?

Big guy – Frank never got his name – walks through the door, holding some weird sort of reddish gun.

Frank blinks at him.

Guy blinks back.

“Well, that saves me some trouble,” the guy says. “How’d you get tipped off about this before I did? You’re not even local.”

“They picked a kid whose parents kicked her out for being trans,” Frank says. “After all the work she’d been putting in to save their asses from these assholes, too. No idea how she got my number.”

“Guess she was really pissed,” the guy says. He’s as agreeable as ever, even though they’re surrounded in a sea of blood and bunch of dead mobsters. “I probably would’ve just scared the shit outta ‘em for the first offense.”

“I don’t really believe in first offences when kids are involved,” Frank says.

Said kids have also stopped crying and screaming, actually, even though they're still just as traumatized. If anything, though, they're looking at big guy like he's come to rescue them - which, hey! Frank did all the hard work here! One of the kids actually pipes up and goes, “Can you get us home, Heatwave?”

That's the most coherent thing any of 'em have said since Frank arrived, guns blazing. He'd been trying to get words outta them for ten minutes before this.

“Sure thing, kiddo,” the big guy (Heatwave?) says, then looks at Frank. “You need a place to crash while the heat dies down on you for this?”

Frank makes a face. He’d been planning on getting bloody, of course, but maybe not quite this bloody, and a classic Punisher attack will bring the Feds down like nothing else. And Feds mean road blockades, and he’s got Max to think about.

Aw, what the hell. This guy seems pretty cool. Even the kids seem to trust him, and the kids don't trust Frank even after he's rescued 'em, which is clearly a sign of good discernment and excellent survival skills.

“Sure,” he says. Then, awkwardly, he sticks out a hand and says, “Frank Castle.”

The guy shakes (ignoring the blood) and says, “Mick Rory.”

The name pings something familiar, but Frank can’t recall what. His memory’s not the best nowadays.

Rory ushers everyone outside and does a quick check of the area to make sure nobody’s still in there, just in case, and then he takes that dinky little water-gun-looking red thing in his hand and lights the whole goddamn place on fire.

“What the hell,” Frank says. That gun should not be able to make a flame that large. “You know that won’t cover my tracks, right?”

The Feds have gotten to tracking Frank's bullets. Frank doesn't mind - he likes getting credit for what he's done.

“It’s not for that,” Rory says.

Then he stops and waits for something, Frank’s not sure what.

And then Frank does know what, because there’s a goddamn burst of yellow lightning and suddenly there’s a kid in a red suit standing there where he definitely wasn’t standing before. The rumors were not kidding about the Flash’s speed.

“Mick, what are you doing?” the kid says, hands on hips, frowning a little. “It’s not like you to go off without warning anymore. Aren’t you retired?”

Retired? Retired from what, arson?

No, wait. Heatwave. That was one of the Flash’s supervillains, part of that gang, whatever they’re called. Heat-themed guy, cold-themed guy, weather-themed guy…the Rogues or something like that. Frank’d heard decent things about them – rules about no killing women or kids or capes, no casualties at all when possible, focus on the money and even that aim at those that can afford to lose it – so he’d never really investigated.

He had heard that they were in semi-retirement or something, though; they only came out once or twice a year.

“Some Family offshoot got the big idea of getting kids to traffic for ‘em,” Mick tells the Flash, gesturing at the kids all huddled up by the wall.

The Flash looks stricken. “That’s awful,” he says, looking at them. “You guys okay?”

The kids nod. Their faces are all shining bright and cheerful now that a proper superhero’s here.

Typical.

“Any of you undocumented?” the Flash then asks, which Frank is about to take exception to, except the Flash continues, “If you are, or any of your families are, I’ll get the police to sign off on a U-visa for helping stop a crime; maybe get that rushed through for you, make sure you get safe. If you don’t want to come forward, that’s okay too.”

Okay, fine, maybe this superhero kid doesn’t seem so bad.

“I’ll get them home,” the Flash tells Rory, who nods, satisfied. “Was there anyone, uh, inside the warehouse?”

“Not anymore,” Frank says.

The Flash squints at him, then his eyes go down to the skull on his vest and his eyes go a little wide.

“I’m letting him crash at the farm,” Rory says before the kid can say anything.

The kid just sighs, all the steam let out of him. “Of course you are.”

“He’s got a dog.”

“Of course he does.”

With that, the kid rolls his eyes and zips back into lightning speed, taking the kids away one by one.

Rory catches Frank’s eye and jerks his head to the side. Frank follows him, feeling kinda out of his element on this one. He’s not really used to superheroes and villains hanging out all peaceful-like this way.

“We’re retired,” Rory says, seeing his expression. “Mostly only do jobs on birthdays and anniversaries. Rest of the time, we’ve got a deal going that we’ll only act when people are being really awful, like here, and the Flash’ll just handle mop up.”

“That’s an interesting approach.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rory says, waving a hand. “Oh, hey, I’m gonna guess from your comments earlier about the trans kid that any of that stuff ain’t gonna be an issue?”

“Nope,” Frank says. “My, uh –” How does he even define Matt? His boyfriend? His superhero? His nemesis-with-benefits? His person-I’m-in-a-relationship-with-that-neither-of-us-are-characterizing-because-we-are-manly-men-incapable-of-properly-articulating-emotions? The last one’s probably the most accurate, let’s be real, but it’s a bit of a mouthful, and no one deserves to have a shit ton of Frank’s issues dumped on them at first meeting. “I’m seeing a trans guy,” he finally settles on, because, sure, he’s definitely seeing Matt. At least once a day, if he’s lucky. Of course, Matt isn’t ‘seeing’ him, if you want to get technical about it… “And I’m, uh. Nonbinary. Sometimes.”

“Fair,” Rory says, and Frank feels that moment of relief he always gets when he finds out he won’t have to shoot someone who helped him out for being a transphobic dickwad. “Same here, ‘cept my partner and I are married now. Do you mind being around kids? Living space-wise, not rescuing-wise.”

Frank gets that awful feeling in his gut that he gets every time he thinks about his own kids, his Lisa and his Frank Junior, and how they’re not here anymore, but he’s been trying to think of them as good things, trying to remember them as the bundles of light and joy that they were, as more than just the pile of blood and bone they ended up as, and even though that ain’t easy with the way his brain is wired now, he’s gotta try. So he says, “I like kids.”

“Good, ‘cause we’ve got a whole heap of ‘em,” Rory says. “Some of ‘em have moved out, and some of ‘em are shy as anything, so you’ll probably only see a few of ‘em, but, y’know, just fair warning.” He pauses, considering. “Also, my partner Len? He’s got the worst damn sense of humor you’ll ever meet. Want to warn you about that, too.”

“I can handle a sense of humor,” Frank says, and he goes on believing that right up until he follows Rory onto a nice little farm outside of Central and the guy standing in the kitchen – curvy guy, wearing a long-sleeved shirt, a skirt, skinny jeans and socks all together, despite the blisteringly hot weather – turns around and says, “I see you two have been having a bloody good time.”

“Len,” Rory says, sounding long-suffering.

“You know, when you said you were planning on painting the town red, I figured you meant metaphorically.”

“Len.”

“Though, given your company, I guess it’s no surprise you decided to put your clothing through some serious punishment.”

Frank just starts laughing, because that’s the first time he’s ever been compared to Tide With Bleach, and he thinks to himself that he’s going to like Central more than he thought he would.

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

“I swear you’re gonna like ‘em,” Frank says encouragingly.

Matt just shoots him a seriously skeptical look, like he still thinks Frank is making the whole thing up. And, sure, Frank going on a job and ending up becoming besties with two retired supervillains who live on a farm with a bunch of animals and an even larger gaggle of kids, kids that Frank likes, yeah, Frank can see that being a bit hard to swallow.

But it’s true.

Len even used the words ‘besties’. He’d been dripping with sarcasm and doing air-quotes at the time, but Frank’d figured out pretty quick that the only way to put up with Len’s trolling was to go in with it, full-hog, and after one thing led to another, they were scheduled to have a frilly dolly tea party with Enku and Opan and baby Coral the afternoon after Frank arrives. Having met said kids, Frank figures there’s about a 90% chance of Enku getting bored and walking away after ten minutes (probably after having said something characteristically tactless to Matt; he’s already warned him), while little seven-year-old Opal and four-year-old Coral just watch in fascination as Frank and Len try to one-up each other in increasingly absurd levels of fake-niceness.

Frank’s been brushing up on his sign language just to make sure that Coral feels included in the battle royale. She might be little more than a toddler, but she is vicious, and Frank wants her on his side, hearing or no hearing.

He figures Matt will be too busy having fun with the older kids to mock him for going to a four-year-old for help. Between Basi’s tendency to start fights and Tahmid’s tendency to get into them, there is zero chance that Matt won’t find some way to sneak out to go a-vigilantism-ing with them.

Of course, Matt doesn’t actually have to sneak out – Len and Mick believe firmly in teaching their kids the meaning of the word ‘justice’ and the concept that when the law doesn’t do it, someone else has to make up the slack, but not too much because that'd interfere with the thieving they all like to do – but Matt will enjoy trying anyway. He won’t succeed. Nothing gets past the goats’ notice. Frank tried.

Matt, meanwhile, is looking ahead to where the farm has just barely come into view. “Do they have cows?” he says dubiously.

“And pigs,” Frank says. “And horses, goats, dogs, cats, rats, and chickens. Avoid the chickens.”

“…why?”

“Chickens are dinosaurs, Red,” Frank says solemnly. “Just smaller.”

Matt shoots him a Look.

“Relax, city boy,” Frank says, cracking a smile. “You’ve got superpowers. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“This isn’t making me more comfortable with this,” Matt says dryly. “Tell me again how we’re going to go visit criminals?”

“Retired supervillains.”

“Which you bonded with over rescuing kids from organized crime.”

“And then we went out and hunted down a dog-fighting ring,” Frank says. He’d been very satisfied with how that visit had turned out.

Matt is rolling his eyes. The glasses don’t hide it as well as he thinks they do.

“And the local superhero may or may not be swinging by,” he says.

“Running by,” Frank says. “I keep telling you, keep the swinging metaphors for the kid up in Queens.”

Frank likes the kid in Queens. He's an asshole. Sure, he agrees more with Matt than with Frank about how to deal with bad guys, but he’d made some snarky comments to Matt about the fatality rates of people with severe head trauma that endeared him to Frank forever. Matt's still sulking.

“Fine. The local superhero may be running by. And – not arresting anyone?”

“They’re very nice supervillains.”

“Why is the superhero running by again, then?”

“Because he’s worried we might start some shit,” Frank explains, very patiently. He’s said it before, but he gets how it could sound weird. “He wants to make sure we ain't messing with his precious supervillains, and it only takes the kid something like three minutes, tops, to run from the city to the farm, check up on us, and head back, and that’s when he’s going at a casual speed."

Matt frowns.

“Yeah, I know, it’s weird. Don’t over-think it.”

“It’s too late,” Matt says, frown deepening. “I’m over-thinking it. Just mechanically, how does that work? What does he wear?”

“Low friction spaceman suits.”

“But the effect of his feet on the streets…”

“Don’t think about it,” Frank advises again. “Just…don’t. It’s not worth it.”

“I’m a lawyer. Overthinking things is what I do…how do they even determine the mens rae/actus reus division for someone moving at that speed?”

“Red. Please.”

“But –“

“Hey, look at that!” Frank announces. “We’re here!”

He makes enough of a show of scrambling hastily out of the car that Matt’s laughing quietly to himself.

Lapis, one of the teens, is on the porch, reading something; she looks up with the resigned world-weariness of goths and teenagers, the pinnacle of which can really only be reached by teenagers who are goths (like Lapis).

"Nice to see you, ma'am," Frank says with his absolute best aw-shucks New York military kid attitude.

There's only the slightest flicker of amusement on her lips - like all teens, she enjoys getting 'ma'am'ed in a way that she really won't in about five years - but Frank's pretty sure he can wear her down to in actual smile. Maybe even a laugh; he's feeling ambitious.

Sure, she's probably too cool to go outside the monotone even when she laughs, but a man's gotta try.

"Where're your parents?"

There's a definitely flicker of amusement this time.

"Watering the backyard," she says. "Pleased to meet you," she adds to Matt, then back into her book she goes.

Matt arches his eyebrows a bit, but he takes Frank's arm and lets himself be led in the direction of the backyard. He doesn't need leading, and Frank's already explained that Mick's ridiculously on-point ability to read people will mean that Matt's secret is a sooner rather than later reveal, but Matt insisted.

Sometimes Frank thinks the whole blind lawyer disguise is like a security blanket for Matt. If only Matt would just admit that's the case, Frank would be a whole lot more understanding, but as it is, Matt likes to pretend he's doing it for increasingly dumb reasons that Frank can barely bring himself to pretend he believes and he already knows Matt knows he doesn't.

Eh, they'll get over it. They wouldn't be them if they weren't squabbling over something stupid.

In the backyard, Len and Mick are, in fact, watering the backyard.

"Frank," Matt says, very calmly. "Is it raining?"

"Just part of it. Over the yard," Frank says, watching - no small bit impressed - as some asshole waves his hands at the heat and cold guns Len and Mick are currently wielding and turns them somehow into rain.

"I need another cold front," the guy shouts. It's hard to hear over the miniature sized storm hovering over the lawn.

"I'll give you a goddamn cold front, Mardon," Len shouts back. "You want your torso or your legs to get it?"

"I'm doing you a goddamn favor, Snart!"

"And here I thought you were paying me back for all the times I broke you out of the Heights!"

"I think we've got enough water," Mick bellows from his side of the field.

"Thank God," the guy in the middle, Mardon, says, waving his hands again and making the whole cloud break into pieces until the sky above the fields is as bright and clear as the rest of it. "That’s it; I'm out."

And he goes.

"Come back next week, asshole!" Len shouts after him.

"Frank," Matt says, very quietly.

"Yeah, babe," Frank says, staring. "It’s not just you. He really did just up and fly away."

"...do they grow any form of hallucinogenic narcotics on this farm?" Matt asks suspiciously.

"Nah," Len says, holstering his gun. "Don't need the heat."

"Don't you dare start with those cold jokes again," Frank warns.

"So you're the guy who's been leaving those awful voicemails," Matt says, smiling suddenly. "You're my best friend's new favorite person, just so you know."

Len preens. "And you must be Murdock," Len says. "Frank says good things."

"Call me Matt, please."

"Leonard Snart, but you can call me Len," Len says agreeably. "Want to get the city kid guide to animals tour? Raised in the slums myself, so I know all the highlights."

"I'd be delighted," Matt - who as of literally five minutes and the whole last three weeks had been protesting how much he didn't care about farm animals - says with, as far as Frank can tell, all apparent sincerity.

Len proceeds to swan off, Matt in tow.

"What just happened?" Frank asks the air, absolutely bewildered. He'd kind of figured on Matt and Mick being the ones to get on, given how prickly both Matt and Len could be.

"That, my friend, was a prime example of two world class asshole trolls recognizing a kindred spirit," Mick says, coming up behind him. "Be afraid. Be very afraid."

Yeah, Frank reflects, that sounds about right.

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

By the time they go home, the Flash has an invite to the Defenders if he ever wants one, Frank and Mick went after another dog-fighting kennel, Frank and Matt are leaving with one more dog than they arrived with, Matt may or may not be helping one of the kids write their law school admissions essay, and they've already arranged for Len and Mick and some of the kids to come visit them in New York in a few months.

"I can't believe I made new friends," Matt says blankly. "Foggy and Claire are never going to believe me."

"I know, right?" Frank says.

#dccoldwave #fratt #matt murdock #frank castle #leonard snart #mick rory #my fic

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years ago

Note

AU where Len is the pyromaniac

another one for the short fills. hope you enjoy!

ao3 link

—-

“Hey,” a gentle voice is saying. “Hey. Can you look at me?”

Len doesn’t want to. He just wants to stay here and luxuriate in the glorious feeling of relief he felt. All that tension, all that anger, all locked away deep inside, it needed to be let out - and now it was.

It was -

Wait.

How long has he been here?

Len blinks. His eyes hurt; they feel crusty and sore like he’s had them open too long. He’s dissociating again, most likely.

“Hey. You with me?”

Mick.

Len feels the hot flush of shame. “I did it again,” he says dully. “Didn’t I?”

And he’d tried so hard not to, too…

“Yeah,” Mick says. “It’s okay. You couldn’t help it.”

Mick’s the best, but Len doesn’t deserve him. They’d met in juvie - Mick had saved Len’s ass in juvie, more correctly, and in more ways than just the shiv that’d been heading Len’s way - and Len had made him promise they’d team up again when they were adults. And Mick had kept that promise, tracking Len down years later when he’d finished out his juvie-to-prison term and some of his mandatory probation period, the part before his conviction had been overturned, and between the two of them, they’d scraped up enough for an apartment.

An apartment that Len keeps burning.

Mick says he doesn’t mind. He says it’s all shitty furniture anyway; so no one will notice a few more burn marks. He says that at least Len’s too much of a hypochondriac to be a smoker, so the smoke and the ash don’t have nicotine in them. He says -

He says a lot of things.

But Len knows better.

Mick is terrified of fire - and rightfully so. His whole family burned, suffocated by carbon monoxide, crisped up in flames, burned black and buried under the wooden beams of Mick’s old childhood home.

Mick got blamed for it, sent to juvie for a crime he didn’t commit, and it was only years later, when a lazy and corrupt investigator had been revealed in an unrelated sting and all of his old conclusions reviewed, that they’d found that Mick couldn’t have set the fire and all those years in prison had been for nothing.

See, Mick’s parents were pieces of work, and Len knows what he’s talking about with shitty parents. Len’s own dad beat him half to hell and back when he was a kid, calling it lessons for real life - still did, sometimes, when he was around and not off on some mob job or behind bars, even though Len is mostly smart enough now not to believe him when he said it was for Len’s own good - but at least he didn’t dress it up in religion and make Len an outcast in the community.

Mick’s parents were religious nutjobs, though, and when Mick started acting weird - his dyslexia, high-functioning autism, and childhood epilepsy never properly diagnosed because those assholes didn’t believe in doctors that didn’t use praying - they’d decided he was possessed by evil spirits.

Evil spirits that needed to be frozen out in the giant-ass meat locker with the time lock they kept in their basement.

That was the real reason why Mick had survived the fire that had ravaged his house. Not because he’d been in on it, or because he’d been a coward and run away, but because he’d been locked away down below, shivering, in a temperature-controlled box that the fire couldn’t touch. And then, in the morning, the time lock sprung open - five thirty a.m., time for chores - and Mick had gone upstairs and been found there, standing in the ash.

Years later, when even the most basic examination of the house and interviews with the neighbors revealed this, and also the fact that the fire was clearly the result of some faulty wiring, some asshole social worker’d asked Mick why he hadn’t just told everyone what happened.

Mick had said that he didn’t tell anyone because he didn’t want anyone to know about the evil spirits. He’d rather a fresh start in prison than to go back to how his family had treated him.

Len hates everyone and everything that reminded Mick of those times. He fought anyone who made a joke about exorcisms, and punched door-to-door religious recruiters who probably didn’t deserve it, but he didn’t hate anyone more than he hates himself.

Himself, who lights fires in Mick’s home, where he should be safe from all this.

Len doesn’t even have a good sob story reason for it. Sure, his dad hit him, but it was only to toughen him up (and to get his own anger out on someone who couldn’t fight back - Len gets that now that Mick’s explained it a few dozen times) and there’s no reason, no reason he should be starting fires all the time just to relieve that endless anxiety that always hovers over him – endless, always present, but for when he lights his fires.

Mick gets all tight-lipped when Len says that, though. Mick says that breaking a kid’s arm and locking him in his room with no lights except a box of matches the kid stole earlier is enough. He says kicking a kid out of the house on winter nights so cold that Len only survived by burying himself under snow and sleeping next to lit-up garbage cans is enough. He says that making Len learn how to cook all by himself on their stupid finicky old gas stove that never caught right when he was only five because no one else was going to feed him now that his mom was dead, and again when he was eight because no one else was heating up milk and formula to feed the baby, is enough of a reason to make anyone go to the flames for comfort, because they sure weren’t getting it anywhere else.

Len’s still not sure it’s as bad as Mick makes it sounds - his dad always called ‘em lessons, lessons that Len’s spent most of his life trying to keep Lisa from learning - but he’s stopped arguing about it.

It’s the least he can do, since he can’t seem to actually stop lighting the fires.

“- something to eat?” Mick is saying. He’s put out the small fire Len started, and he’s cleaning up the table.

Looks like Len’s lost some time, which happens sometimes but especially after he lights up, but since Mick’s still talking, it couldn’t have been too long.

“Sure,” Len says. “Anything you like.”

Mick opens his mouth.

“That isn’t salad,” Len adds hastily.

“Salad is good for you,” Mick says with a sniff.

Len feels a stab of guilt. Mick’s always thinking of what’s good for Len.

“We can have salad,” he says. “If you want.”

Mick looks at him with a frown. “I was kidding, Len. I know you hate salad. The only way I get you to eat vegetables is by roasting or sautéing them.”

“You mean when you cast a magic spell on them to make them taste good and not like vegetable.”

“That magic spell is called olive oil and salt,” Mick says dryly. “Maybe a bit of paprika, you have a weird thing for that.”

Paprika, Len assumes, is what makes everything in the oven a cheerful red color. He likes that color.

“Len, what’s the matter?” Mick asks.

“Nothing’s the matter!” Len says immediately, on the defensive even though he doesn’t need to be.

Mick just looks at him.

“Why do you think something’s the matter?” Len tries.

“You just agreed to eat salad if I wanted.”

…a fair point.

“Also, you usually start fires in the tires in the backyard, not the living room -”

Len starts guiltily. He hadn’t known that Mick knew about the tires.

“- which means you were freaking out pretty bad when you got home. What happened?” Mick’s eyes narrow. “Did your dad come by?”

He starts looking Len over for hidden bruises.

“No, he’s still off in Starling,” Len says quickly. “No need to worry.”

“Then what is it?”

Len swallows. He’d been hoping to have some more time to build up to it. “I’ve got us a new job.”

“Good,” Mick says, though he looks a bit confused. They do heists pretty often - they’re reliable enough freelancers that they get hired by crews around the city, though they don’t really have the type of specializations that would get them a job on a permanent thief crew, and the way the split works for junior crew members means they only get so much out of each heist - and it’s not usually a big deal. Nothing to freak out over. “We need to pay next month’s rent and buy enough food, which would be tricky on top of Lisa’s skating lessons -” That’s always top priority, even if it meant going hungry or homeless for a bit. Sure, Mick’s eventually going to get a payout from the city for that whole wrongful conviction thinge, but that was still in progress and in the meantime they still had to pay Mick’s lawyers. “- so a job would be good. Who’s running it?”

“Uh,” Len says, swallowing. “That’s the thing.”

“Not a Family job!”

“No, no! Nothing like that!”

Lewis works with the Families, and as such, Mick won’t have anything to do with them. That always sounded like a reasonable rule to Len, who didn’t like the Families either.

“Then what?”

“Uh,” Len says again, very eloquently. “It’s, uh. It’s me.”

“Huh?” Mick asks, clearly lost.

“It’s - it’s my job,” Len confesses. “No, that doesn’t mean you’re not in on it too -” Mick looked ready to argue for a second there, but the reassurance moves him back to confused. “- it’s, uh. I’m the one running it. The job.”

He braces himself for disapproval. He and Mick have done small things on their own before - ATM robberies, corner store stick-ups - but never a major job. Never anything requiring a crew.

A crew that Len will have to manage and command.

Len - crazy, unstable pyromaniac Len.

Who can’t even keep from starting a fire in his own living room.

God, why the hell did he think this was a good idea again?!

Mick’s going to gently point out that it’s a terrible idea and then they’ll have to figure out how to extract themselves from it after all the promises Len made to the backers and the crew and the fences and -

“Good,” Mick announces. “You’ll be better at it than any of those assholes.”

Len blinks.

“You - really think so?” he says cautiously. “You think I can handle running my own crew?”

“Sure do,” Mick says, so firmly that even Len can’t believe that he’s just humoring Len. “You’re gonna make it big, Lenny. Just you wait.”

Len’s chest hurts, that warm bright sort of hurting that he gets around Mick, the sort that’s even better than the curl of attraction he gets to women and men in the clubs that he goes to when he wants to get laid, because it’s a bit like that and a bit like how he feels when he looks at Lisa, all bursting with pride, and that’s how he knows he’s head-over-goddamn-heels in love with his best friend and criminal partner, because Mick can always make him feel this way with an offhand statement or an expression of faith.

“I’m gonna make you proud,” Len promises, dead serious. No distractions mid-job for him, no sir; he’s going to pull this off. He’s going to be good.

No. He’s going to be great.

They’re going to be great.

“And I’ll be there to watch your back,” Mick replies, equally serious.

Len wouldn’t have it any other way.

#dccoldwave #mick rory #leonard snart #my fic #tumblr fills

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