Happy (slightly belated) birthday Neierathima!!!
For the ever brilliant and crazy neierathima. It's been a crazy ride so far, and I still want to lick your brain. Except, y'know, not literally. Not right now anyway, cos I haven't been bitten. I'm just sayin'. :continues to feed your muses treats and leave carrots out for the bunny of doooooooom:
Leverage/Justified, Raylan and Eliot stare lovingly into each other's eyes after beating up a group of New Zealand mobsters:
Art can't believe his eyes; it's not the shattered remains of --what was this place, a bar?-- the room, no, no, the rubble and the bullet holes and the mess of unconscious and maybe-dead thugs are pretty par for the course.
"--called them the Hobbit Mafia?" Raylan says, lips curling around the sarcasm as usual, but his eyes, Jesus, his eyes are actually laughing as he brings a glass of sweet tea (magicked up from where exactly?) to his lips. Art hadn't even seen him look that way at Ava (or Winona for that matter), and hell if he ain't looking at a man, leaning against what's left of a table with that self-same slow dangerous lean that Raylan lives and breathes.
Leverage, any (post team) Eliot + any (pre team) Eliot, having to work together:
"It ain't about bein' easier," Eliot says, getting just a little more pissed because he remembers himself saying it the first time around, when he was the younger one and wondering what the fuck was going on, and seriously, seriously the next time Hardison says anything about colliders or particle physics or time dilation whatever-the-fuck, he's just going to hit something... probably Hardison.
"No shit," his younger self says --and Jesus this shit is fucked up-- swinging a pipe up to block the next blow from a guard, "job's better off done alone."
Eliot grinds his teeth, taking a hit to the thigh even as he breaks a nose and a jaw, and somehow manages to growl at him, "Look, when the chance comes up, just fuckin' take it, alright?"
RPS, steampunk!j2, discreetly enjoying each other's company in public:
It is the height of summer, the Texas heat rolling off the buildings pressed up against the river despite the breeze, the hum and bustle of the San Antonio crowds at the street markets and the festival zeppelins above like bees in a field. But here in the shade, sitting at the water front cafe, it is almost peaceful, almost secluded.
Jared smiles as their hands brush together while each reaching for the last pastry, as Jensen chuckles and allows him to have it as though it weren't on purpose, and plots the evening's exploits.
Leverage/Alice, Hatter/Eliot, a quiet moment just to breathe:
It's peaceful here, amongst ruins beyond the Jabberwocky, quieter than Eliot had thought Wonderland capable of, especially now that Parker's wandered off to the edge of the firelight with the Knight and stopped explaining it all to him in bizarre detail. Hatter stares into the fire absently, his mind elsewhere, elsewhen, until his eyes finally focus and he realizes Eliot's been watching him; he ducks his head and stands, muttering something unintelligible about water and his hat and moving to slip away around Eliot.
But Eliot takes his wrist, stopping him, pulling him down until Hatter has no choice but to sit beside him or fall face first into Eliot's lap, and doesn't let go, thumb brushing against his wrist until Hatter finally starts to relax.
X-men, Remy/Logan, he keeps meeting the kid over and over: by now he's not sure if he's more afraid to see him again, or to not see him again:
If he thinks back, the first time he remembers seeing those eyes is in Rome, in the face of a body slave, oiled and cradled in metals and flowers as a gift, but he has to think hard and long down through the depths of his mind to find the memory. It took time to realize he was seeing those eyes again, generations later, and a century again before he realized it was always him. His face changed only vaguely by race and age and always, always Logan finds him, as though coming again to the same point on a wheel that just keeps turning.
---
It's sometime during the 18th century that Logan realizes, with startling clarity, that he feels lost in the time between, when he waits from one lifetime to another and hasn't seen those eyes again, that seeing him makes him happy, that he mourns the loss harder each time he dies. And now, here he is a few centuries later, sitting in a bar in New Orleans staring into those eyes again, eyes that promise mischief and gods know what else, and finds himself terrified at the prospect of starting over.
Immortality really is a bitch.
Supernatural/anything you can possibly think of, Sam & Dean, taking up second careers after stopping the apocalypse:
It was inevitable really, not that they hadn't tried other things, lots of other things, more things than even they really thought they'd be allowed to try given their history and criminal record. The thing with the warehouse was weird, and didn't last long, though not as weird as that town that had considered hiring Sam (and really, the security clearances weren't worth it for Dean); Dean thought they should try being straight up thieves for a while (until they ran into that FBI consult in New York) or one brilliant night thought they should get into retrievals (not that Sam ever really knew how it was different than being thieves), and they nearly ended up laying low in some nowhere shit hole called Bon Temps til they realized the place was lousy with vampires and worse.
Which was probably really what put them back on the road, the fact that the job was never done --no matter how done they were with it-- and hey, how bad could it be now that the apocalypse wasn't hanging over their heads?
Yeah, ok, I couldn't cram as many fandom into three sentences as I wanted, but I got some good ones in there!
Leverage/Justified/Alice/White Collar, Hatter, Neal, Raylan, Eliot, Three men in hats walk into a bar, Eliot would like to remind them this is not a damn Village People album, it's a shakedown:
Eliot wants to hit something, which Hardison might say is his modus operandi, but this is serious and Eliot would like nothing more than to give out heavy handed beat downs across the board; he just tugs his beanie a little lower instead, like that would even begin to keep the spooks, the Russians, the feds, the man in the corner that he knows --for reasons that really don't fuckin' matter just now-- is a fugitive, or the local arm of the biggest drug cartel this side of the Mississippi from recognizing him. He glares at the men --the ones he actually likes, God fuckin' help him, and what the shit does that say about him?-- lined up at the bar, and all of them in goddamn hats like it's the goddamn fuckin' circus, or some kinda creepy set: top hat, trilby, and Stetson.
"The hell is wrong with you," he demands as he steps up next to them and tries not to think about adding his own hat to the line up, "y'all realize this ain't some kinda fun time re-enactment of the Village People, right, that it's a set up for a shake down?"
Leverage/Justified, Raylan and Eliot stare lovingly into each other's eyes after beating up a group of New Zealand mobsters:
Art can't believe his eyes; it's not the shattered remains of --what was this place, a bar?-- the room, no, no, the rubble and the bullet holes and the mess of unconscious and maybe-dead thugs are pretty par for the course.
"--called them the Hobbit Mafia?" Raylan says, lips curling around the sarcasm as usual, but his eyes, Jesus, his eyes are actually laughing as he brings a glass of sweet tea (magicked up from where exactly?) to his lips. Art hadn't even seen him look that way at Ava (or Winona for that matter), and hell if he ain't looking at a man, leaning against what's left of a table with that self-same slow dangerous lean that Raylan lives and breathes.
Leverage, any (post team) Eliot + any (pre team) Eliot, having to work together:
"It ain't about bein' easier," Eliot says, getting just a little more pissed because he remembers himself saying it the first time around, when he was the younger one and wondering what the fuck was going on, and seriously, seriously the next time Hardison says anything about colliders or particle physics or time dilation whatever-the-fuck, he's just going to hit something... probably Hardison.
"No shit," his younger self says --and Jesus this shit is fucked up-- swinging a pipe up to block the next blow from a guard, "job's better off done alone."
Eliot grinds his teeth, taking a hit to the thigh even as he breaks a nose and a jaw, and somehow manages to growl at him, "Look, when the chance comes up, just fuckin' take it, alright?"
RPS, steampunk!j2, discreetly enjoying each other's company in public:
It is the height of summer, the Texas heat rolling off the buildings pressed up against the river despite the breeze, the hum and bustle of the San Antonio crowds at the street markets and the festival zeppelins above like bees in a field. But here in the shade, sitting at the water front cafe, it is almost peaceful, almost secluded.
Jared smiles as their hands brush together while each reaching for the last pastry, as Jensen chuckles and allows him to have it as though it weren't on purpose, and plots the evening's exploits.
Leverage/Alice, Hatter/Eliot, a quiet moment just to breathe:
It's peaceful here, amongst ruins beyond the Jabberwocky, quieter than Eliot had thought Wonderland capable of, especially now that Parker's wandered off to the edge of the firelight with the Knight and stopped explaining it all to him in bizarre detail. Hatter stares into the fire absently, his mind elsewhere, elsewhen, until his eyes finally focus and he realizes Eliot's been watching him; he ducks his head and stands, muttering something unintelligible about water and his hat and moving to slip away around Eliot.
But Eliot takes his wrist, stopping him, pulling him down until Hatter has no choice but to sit beside him or fall face first into Eliot's lap, and doesn't let go, thumb brushing against his wrist until Hatter finally starts to relax.
X-men, Remy/Logan, he keeps meeting the kid over and over: by now he's not sure if he's more afraid to see him again, or to not see him again:
If he thinks back, the first time he remembers seeing those eyes is in Rome, in the face of a body slave, oiled and cradled in metals and flowers as a gift, but he has to think hard and long down through the depths of his mind to find the memory. It took time to realize he was seeing those eyes again, generations later, and a century again before he realized it was always him. His face changed only vaguely by race and age and always, always Logan finds him, as though coming again to the same point on a wheel that just keeps turning.
---
It's sometime during the 18th century that Logan realizes, with startling clarity, that he feels lost in the time between, when he waits from one lifetime to another and hasn't seen those eyes again, that seeing him makes him happy, that he mourns the loss harder each time he dies. And now, here he is a few centuries later, sitting in a bar in New Orleans staring into those eyes again, eyes that promise mischief and gods know what else, and finds himself terrified at the prospect of starting over.
Immortality really is a bitch.
Supernatural/anything you can possibly think of, Sam & Dean, taking up second careers after stopping the apocalypse:
It was inevitable really, not that they hadn't tried other things, lots of other things, more things than even they really thought they'd be allowed to try given their history and criminal record. The thing with the warehouse was weird, and didn't last long, though not as weird as that town that had considered hiring Sam (and really, the security clearances weren't worth it for Dean); Dean thought they should try being straight up thieves for a while (until they ran into that FBI consult in New York) or one brilliant night thought they should get into retrievals (not that Sam ever really knew how it was different than being thieves), and they nearly ended up laying low in some nowhere shit hole called Bon Temps til they realized the place was lousy with vampires and worse.
Which was probably really what put them back on the road, the fact that the job was never done --no matter how done they were with it-- and hey, how bad could it be now that the apocalypse wasn't hanging over their heads?
Yeah, ok, I couldn't cram as many fandom into three sentences as I wanted, but I got some good ones in there!
Leverage/Justified/Alice/White Collar, Hatter, Neal, Raylan, Eliot, Three men in hats walk into a bar, Eliot would like to remind them this is not a damn Village People album, it's a shakedown:
Eliot wants to hit something, which Hardison might say is his modus operandi, but this is serious and Eliot would like nothing more than to give out heavy handed beat downs across the board; he just tugs his beanie a little lower instead, like that would even begin to keep the spooks, the Russians, the feds, the man in the corner that he knows --for reasons that really don't fuckin' matter just now-- is a fugitive, or the local arm of the biggest drug cartel this side of the Mississippi from recognizing him. He glares at the men --the ones he actually likes, God fuckin' help him, and what the shit does that say about him?-- lined up at the bar, and all of them in goddamn hats like it's the goddamn fuckin' circus, or some kinda creepy set: top hat, trilby, and Stetson.
"The hell is wrong with you," he demands as he steps up next to them and tries not to think about adding his own hat to the line up, "y'all realize this ain't some kinda fun time re-enactment of the Village People, right, that it's a set up for a shake down?"