(no subject)
You know. I usually depend on Delicious for my story recs but ....sometimes what everyone else wants is apparently not what I want. Where are the plotty Sherlock casefics where Moriarty is actually just a brilliant crazy mofo who sets up a London-wide game of mousetrap and it is literally like mousetrap because he is fucking with Sherlock. Where is the long-suffering Lestrade pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the migraine as he tries to wrestle back control of his case and who keeps being thwarted by having to do things by the book? Why is Mycroft always worried about being too fat? Why isn't he playing his own game of mousetrap outside of Moriarty's?
Why isn't there more Justified fic? Why isn't there more Justified fic that has to do with the team? Because I've only seen one episode and I can already tell that what I want is Rachel and Tim and the bossman to mock Raylan and each other and I want baddies. I want baddies other than Boyd. I want threatening letters and Tim on a roof for hours watching through his scope as tension mounts and I want prisoner transports gone wrong and cat and mouse games through the backwoods of Kentucky and and and! ....I want.
Oh OH. And I want a Band of Brothers au where they're a midwestern horseback gang in the 1800s. (happy groan) There's a ranch they keep for base operations and Kitty runs it with an iron fist. Nnnn.
"You boys been out Old Hyman's way?"
Luz throws elbows back and forth with Perconte in a flurry, dust rising from their clothes fit to hide a house in before the man gives up and flashes the porch a slyly innocent smile. "Not a chance of it, ma'am."
"Well then, best you do something about the brands on those cattle you seem to think the shed is hiding, George Luz or I can guarantee Hyman's going to think otherwise." Kitty finishes wiping her hands off on a scrap of towel, tone tart and eyebrows nearly tucked into her hairline with disbelief. "And wash up. You stink to high heavens and the only part of Perconte's face I can make out are his teeth."
"Too be fair, you could probably see Perconte's pearly whites from Boston on the best of days."
And Webster was a saloon house gamber who met Liebgott one day and just rolled out of town behind him and never went away. Liebgott's from San Fran but you could never tell by his easy slouch and the way he sways in the saddle like he could sleep in it; grubby cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes.
And you know Nix. Rich boy Nix slumming in bars and wasting daddy's money. Winters watched with bemusement as the socialite strolled in behind Welsh and Wild Bill cheerfully announcing "This is a kidnapping."
"I think you might find some difficulty taking the three of us alive." Dick feels inclined to point out, smile spreading across his face as Welsh spins on his heel back towards the door and Bill puts his head down in his hands groaning.
"Jesus Christ Almighty," Muffled by moustache and palms. "I thought for sure we'd lost him."
"No, no. It's the other way around." Dark eyes twinkle under heavy brows (although whether this light is a byproduct of innate charm or the bottle of Vat 69 he's saluting Dick with is anyone's guess) as he continues, voice droll and dry. "Take me big boy, I'm yours."
Babe and Julian dog them back down after that to the west with dime novel stories and Pinkerton daydreams dancing in their heads like sugarpulms.
They pick Doc Roe up at some point earlier on. Still wearing tattered Confederate grey and a pinched expression on his face because he can't leave some of these boys to wounds rotting of gangrene and typhus even though the war has been over some two or three odd years now. Boys who try to leave Colonel Sink's company are shot and Doc ain't going to leave Shifty or Wynn to that even if it does mean they all get a right beating when they try to cut the nooses at unjustified hangings.
...I forget what I was talking about.
Why isn't there more Justified fic? Why isn't there more Justified fic that has to do with the team? Because I've only seen one episode and I can already tell that what I want is Rachel and Tim and the bossman to mock Raylan and each other and I want baddies. I want baddies other than Boyd. I want threatening letters and Tim on a roof for hours watching through his scope as tension mounts and I want prisoner transports gone wrong and cat and mouse games through the backwoods of Kentucky and and and! ....I want.
Oh OH. And I want a Band of Brothers au where they're a midwestern horseback gang in the 1800s. (happy groan) There's a ranch they keep for base operations and Kitty runs it with an iron fist. Nnnn.
"You boys been out Old Hyman's way?"
Luz throws elbows back and forth with Perconte in a flurry, dust rising from their clothes fit to hide a house in before the man gives up and flashes the porch a slyly innocent smile. "Not a chance of it, ma'am."
"Well then, best you do something about the brands on those cattle you seem to think the shed is hiding, George Luz or I can guarantee Hyman's going to think otherwise." Kitty finishes wiping her hands off on a scrap of towel, tone tart and eyebrows nearly tucked into her hairline with disbelief. "And wash up. You stink to high heavens and the only part of Perconte's face I can make out are his teeth."
"Too be fair, you could probably see Perconte's pearly whites from Boston on the best of days."
And Webster was a saloon house gamber who met Liebgott one day and just rolled out of town behind him and never went away. Liebgott's from San Fran but you could never tell by his easy slouch and the way he sways in the saddle like he could sleep in it; grubby cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes.
And you know Nix. Rich boy Nix slumming in bars and wasting daddy's money. Winters watched with bemusement as the socialite strolled in behind Welsh and Wild Bill cheerfully announcing "This is a kidnapping."
"I think you might find some difficulty taking the three of us alive." Dick feels inclined to point out, smile spreading across his face as Welsh spins on his heel back towards the door and Bill puts his head down in his hands groaning.
"Jesus Christ Almighty," Muffled by moustache and palms. "I thought for sure we'd lost him."
"No, no. It's the other way around." Dark eyes twinkle under heavy brows (although whether this light is a byproduct of innate charm or the bottle of Vat 69 he's saluting Dick with is anyone's guess) as he continues, voice droll and dry. "Take me big boy, I'm yours."
Babe and Julian dog them back down after that to the west with dime novel stories and Pinkerton daydreams dancing in their heads like sugarpulms.
They pick Doc Roe up at some point earlier on. Still wearing tattered Confederate grey and a pinched expression on his face because he can't leave some of these boys to wounds rotting of gangrene and typhus even though the war has been over some two or three odd years now. Boys who try to leave Colonel Sink's company are shot and Doc ain't going to leave Shifty or Wynn to that even if it does mean they all get a right beating when they try to cut the nooses at unjustified hangings.
...I forget what I was talking about.