Random silly ficlets (Arthur/Eames, Morgan/Reid, girl!Kurt/Mercedes, Castle/Esposito)
A few random ficlets to get back into the game. Because it's been far too long. Enjoy! Feedback is appreciated.
Title: You are the Engels to my Marx, the Freud to my Lacan
Author: Merle
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 460
Spoilers: none, really
Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan
Warnings: grad school AU, fluff, gentle mockery of hipster lifestyle
Summary: When one of the foreign first year graduate students asks, wide-eyed and naïve, what a real hipster actually looks like, people tend to wordlessly point at Arthur.
A/N: Written for inception_kink. The prompt was Arthur fails in every conceivable way at not being a hipster. :( :( :( Eames loves him anyway. <3
You are the Engels to my Marx, the Freud to my Lacan
When one of the foreign first year graduate students asks, wide-eyed and naïve, what a real hipster actually looks like, people tend to wordlessly point at Arthur. And the first year will nod, and say "oooh", knowingly, and start to neglect his research over his efforts to become as hip as him.
And it's true: Just the way Arthur's bangs fall into his eyes when he broods in the independent coffee shop off campus over the German version of Marx' "Kapital", the way he carelessly pushes the strand back behind his ear is so purely hipsterish that no ironically worn t-shirt of any japanese all-girls punk rock band (however obscure it might be) could ever compete with it.
It certainly doesn't hurt, of course, that he seems to be best friends with Professor Cobb, the famous, off-standish Lacanian who never talks to a student when he doesn't have to; or that he has got a special connection to Yusuf, the Islamic Studies TA who's always got the best pot.
Or that he's just so insanely, incredibly handsome, in that particularly androgynous way that no one else can pull off that well.
The hipster cliques in the English Department - usually so detached and bored and fed up with the world - fall all over themselves to invite him to their parties, and small mockumentaries about British street artists suddenly become must-sees after Arthur admits to own the DVD.
So everyone at Cornell knows Arthur, but Eames is the only one who knows his secret: Arthur hates being called a hipster.
"I's not my fault that my hair looks like this," he complains when Eames teases him about his bangs, looking up from his dog-eared edition of Hegel's "Phänomenologie des Geistes" that he has brought to read while hanging out at Eames' and Ariadne's studio in the Art Department.
"I don't know why people keep asking me who cut it."
And Ariadne laughs, and feeds him another organic hemp seed cookie; and Eames smiles indulgently and turns back to his half-finished nude, because he knows what no one else does.
Eames knows that Arthur reads Hegel because he's genuinely interested, not because he wants to look cool, and that he is the last person on earth who honestly thinks that Blue Ribbon is good beer. Eames knows that Arthur has dinner at Professor Cobb's house because he was the favorite nephew of his deceased wife, and that he's wearing vintage mostly because he still hasn't paid off his college debts.
Most of all, though, he knows what Arthur looks like in the morning, well-fucked and sleepy, in Eames' pink striped flannel pajama bottoms that he pretends to detest, and he knows what Arthur sounds like when he whispers: "I love you, you ass" - earnestly and romantically and not ironically at all.
Title: Unrated
Author: Merle
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Morgan/Reid
Word Count: 350
Spoilers: none, really
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds belongs to CBS
Warnings: nerdiness, schmoop
Summary: Morgan knows that Reid sometimes worries about going crazy. Right now, however, Morgan is fairly sure that he is the one who's losing his mind.
A/N: Written for comment_fic. The prompt was Criminal Minds, Reid/Morgan, Despite what Reid might believe, Morgan's the one who's losing his mind.
Unrated
Morgan knows that Reid sometimes worries about going crazy. Right now, however, Morgan is fairly sure that he is the one who's losing his mind.
Because that, at least, would explain why he turned down the hot detective of the North Providence Police Department who asked him out for drinks after she'd stuffed the handcuffed unsub into the backseat of the car.
It would explain why instead of getting a forbidden blowjob by said detective in a bathroom stall, he's sitting next to Reid in a drive-by movie theater somewhere in Rhode Island, about to watch an old science fiction movie that is actually advertised as one of the worst movies of all times.
"In the end, he did a lot of softcore porn, but the last mainstream film that Wood directed was actually 'The Sinister Urge', a movie about a police man hunting a sex maniac psycho-killer," Reid says. He pauses. "Also, he liked to dress up as a woman."
"Really?" Morgan says dryly, raising a brow, but he can't deny that for all their randomness, Reid's stories definitely have a high anecdotic value.
He hands over one of the beers he bought with the tickets. "Drink?" he offers, and Reid takes the bottle from his hands carefully, before obediently clinking it with Morgan's.
"You know," Reid comments absent-mindedly, "this almost feels like a date."
Morgan turns his head right at the moment when Reid realizes what he said, and Morgan watches him blush furiously up to the tips of his ears and shift nervously in his seat.
The popcorn bowl is in danger of toppling off his lap, so Morgan reaches over to steady it, leaning awfully close in the process, and he feels more than sees Reid freeze at the almost-touch.
Morgan retreats, just a couple of inches, and then he looks up at Reid and grins.
"Only almost?" he asks. "I must be doing something wrong."
And watching Reid flush even deeper, he thinks that if this is what going mad feels like, he doesn't really mind all that much.
Title: I'm so sorry if I'm alienating some of you (Your whole fucking culture alienates me)
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: girl!Kurt/Mercedes
Word Count: 1030
Spoilers: for the pilot
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX. The title is a quote from Bikini Kill's song "White Boy"
Warnings: angst, genderbender, homophobia
Summary: It’s probably too much to hope that one day, he’ll realize what’s actually going on.
A/N: Inspired by a prompt at a fic meme that I can't find anymore: The prompt was Girl!Kurt/Mercedes, Dykes to watch out for!
I'm so sorry if I'm alienating some of you (Your whole fucking culture alienates me)
“Hey Courteney,” Mr. Schuester shouts cheerfully, “making new friends?”
Puck throws a heavy arm around her shoulders and grins. “She sure is, Mr. Schue.”
Kurt gives her teacher a pained smile and watches him walk by without wasting as much as a second glance on her. He’s nice, but kind of self-absorbed. It’s probably too much to hope that one day, he’ll realize what’s actually going on.
“So, little Courteney,” Jefferson smirks, leaning close enough for her to see the ketchup stain on the ugly shirt he’s wearing under his letterman jacket. “You really should be nicer to your new friends.”
Puck still has got his arm around her, not letting her get away, and now he squeezes her tightly to his side. “Yeah, I bet you are real nice to your girlfriend, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am,” Kurt says coolly. “Because unlike you, she’s not a brain-dead bulldog with no fashion sense.”
Puck digs sharp, threatening fingers into the tender skin of her arm, and she bites her lip to keep herself from making a noise.
“And just how nice are you to her?” Langenthal asks, leaning lazily against the dumpster. “Do you let her do you? Do you let her fuck you with a strap-on?”
“Philipp!” Finn protests, and Kurt throws him a quick look. He looks embarrassed and uncomfortable, but he doesn’t do anything to help her either. It’s always like this. Later, he’ll offer to carry her bag to make up for it, and tell her that she looks nice in her new silk blouse.
Men.
“No, no, I’m curious,” Puck grins. He leans close, his breath hot against her ear. “Does she fuck your tight little pussy? Hm? I bet you like getting fucked. Don’t you? Why don’t we all go somewhere quiet where we can show you what it feels like to get fucked by a real man?”
Kurt shivers. It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before, and she knows he’s just talking, but she can’t help but being a little frightened nonetheless. She just hopes that if it ever really happens, they will be considerate enough not to ruin her expensive lingerie.
The others are closing in on her, forcing her to take a step back until she’s pressed up against Puck’s broad chest. Something is digging into her back, and she prays that it is just his belt buckle.
“Yeah,” Carter growls. “Let’s give her a taste of what it’s like. Let’s see if she likes it.”
If Kurt wasn’t so busy trying not to panic, she’d probably laugh. It is kind of funny how the guys think it’s hot when cheerleaders pretend to make out with each other as long as they put out afterward, but actual lesbians scare them to death. Oh, the power of prejudice and ignorance.
She starts to struggle when the first hand reaches for her chest. The shape of her tiny breasts is visible under the thin material of her blouse, and she kind of wishes she had chosen to wear a sweater today, even if this fall is a no-sweater-season. But then an angry voice yells “Hey!,” and she sags in relief against the body behind her.
“What the fuck do you think you are doing to my girl?” Mercedes comes to a halt in front of the group, arms crossed over her chest. Kurt can see Artie, Tina and Brittany lurking behind her, looking worried and hesitant.
“Oh, we were just having a bit of fun,” Carter says. “Right, Courteney?” He reaches down to pinch her ass, and Kurt flinches.
“Fun?” Mercedes voice is like steel and diamond, and Kurt has never loved her more fiercely. “You know what’s going to be fun? Cutting off your balls with a kitchen knife, one by one.”
Langenthal makes a sharp noise. He looks queasy.
“You really think you could take us on?” Puck asks, but it sounds more curious than mean. His grip on Kurt loosens until he’s keeping her upright rather than constraining her.
“You want to find out?” Mercedes asks coldly.
“Come on, guys,” Finn says nervously. “That’s enough. Let her go.”
“Fine,” Puck drawls, and he gives Kurt a little shove that make her stumble forwards. Mercedes’ arms are around her in an instant.
“Are you alright, baby girl?” she asks, concerned, hands roaming over Kurt’s body in a fleeting caress. “Did they hurt you?”
Kurt sighs and presses her face against Mercedes’ full breasts for a second, inhaling the familiar scent of Gaultier’s Ma Dame, before pulling back and straightening.
“I’m fine,” she says. “Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not going to happen again,” Mercedes says angrily, and without letting go of Kurt, she turns back to the boys who are staring without any shame. “Listen, if I find out that’s you’ve pulled another stunt like this, I’m going to make sure you never put your dick into anything ever again. Also, I’m going to tell Kurt’s dad, and I know for a fact that he owns a tire iron that’s just waiting to meet your ugly, empty skulls.”
The jocks look appropriately intimidated, and the sight makes Kurt feel a lot better, and surprisingly bold.
“And just so you know?” she spits. “Even if I wasn't gay, I’d rather have a girl fuck me with a dildo than one of you guys any day. And you know why? Because girls can go on, and on, and on ... And I’ve talked to your girlfriends, I know just how long each of you lasts.” She gives Finn a pointed look and grins when he blushes. Payback is a bitch.
Then she lets Mercedes wrap an arm around her waist and lead her over to their group of friends.
“You know, honey,” she says thoughtfully. “We really should try out for that Glee club thing today.”
Mercedes laughs. “You think that's going to make us more popular?”
“No,” Kurt shrugs. “But it's going to get us out of this town.”
Title: Woke up this morning (got yourself a gun)
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Castle/Esposito
Word Count: 185
Spoilers: none, really
Disclaimer: Castle belongs to ABC. The title is a quote from Alabama 3's song "Woke up this morning"
Warnings: general silliness
Summary: There's an awkward moment in the morning, when Alexis comes in to wake her dad.
A/N: Yeah, I don't know either.
Woke up this morning (got yourself a gun)
There's an awkward moment in the morning, when Alexis comes in to wake her dad.
Years as a soldier and cop have helped to ingrain certain defense reactions deeply into Esposito's muscle memory; so when he wakes in a strange place to the sound of an opening door, he instinctively reaches for his handgun on the nightstand and doesn't hesitate to point it at the intruder - only to come face to face with a wide-eyed, pajama-clad Alexis Castle.
"Detective Esposito?" she exclaims, dumbfounded, and then "Dad!", almost accusingly, when Castle's tousled head appears from under the blankets.
"You are not pointing a gun at my daughter, are you?" he rasps, giving him a look from bleary eyes.
"Uhm," Esposito says eloquently and drops the gun into his lap, and that's when Mrs. R appears behind Alexis in the door frame.
"Oh," she says, somehow sounding more excited than surprised. "You didn't tell me we had a guest."
Her eyes shamelessly roam Esposito's naked chest. Castle groans, and Esposito struggles to pull the covers up to his chin.
Breakfast is going to be awkward.
Title: You are the Engels to my Marx, the Freud to my Lacan
Author: Merle
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Word Count: 460
Spoilers: none, really
Disclaimer: Inception belongs to Christopher Nolan
Warnings: grad school AU, fluff, gentle mockery of hipster lifestyle
Summary: When one of the foreign first year graduate students asks, wide-eyed and naïve, what a real hipster actually looks like, people tend to wordlessly point at Arthur.
A/N: Written for inception_kink. The prompt was Arthur fails in every conceivable way at not being a hipster. :( :( :( Eames loves him anyway. <3
You are the Engels to my Marx, the Freud to my Lacan
When one of the foreign first year graduate students asks, wide-eyed and naïve, what a real hipster actually looks like, people tend to wordlessly point at Arthur. And the first year will nod, and say "oooh", knowingly, and start to neglect his research over his efforts to become as hip as him.
And it's true: Just the way Arthur's bangs fall into his eyes when he broods in the independent coffee shop off campus over the German version of Marx' "Kapital", the way he carelessly pushes the strand back behind his ear is so purely hipsterish that no ironically worn t-shirt of any japanese all-girls punk rock band (however obscure it might be) could ever compete with it.
It certainly doesn't hurt, of course, that he seems to be best friends with Professor Cobb, the famous, off-standish Lacanian who never talks to a student when he doesn't have to; or that he has got a special connection to Yusuf, the Islamic Studies TA who's always got the best pot.
Or that he's just so insanely, incredibly handsome, in that particularly androgynous way that no one else can pull off that well.
The hipster cliques in the English Department - usually so detached and bored and fed up with the world - fall all over themselves to invite him to their parties, and small mockumentaries about British street artists suddenly become must-sees after Arthur admits to own the DVD.
So everyone at Cornell knows Arthur, but Eames is the only one who knows his secret: Arthur hates being called a hipster.
"I's not my fault that my hair looks like this," he complains when Eames teases him about his bangs, looking up from his dog-eared edition of Hegel's "Phänomenologie des Geistes" that he has brought to read while hanging out at Eames' and Ariadne's studio in the Art Department.
"I don't know why people keep asking me who cut it."
And Ariadne laughs, and feeds him another organic hemp seed cookie; and Eames smiles indulgently and turns back to his half-finished nude, because he knows what no one else does.
Eames knows that Arthur reads Hegel because he's genuinely interested, not because he wants to look cool, and that he is the last person on earth who honestly thinks that Blue Ribbon is good beer. Eames knows that Arthur has dinner at Professor Cobb's house because he was the favorite nephew of his deceased wife, and that he's wearing vintage mostly because he still hasn't paid off his college debts.
Most of all, though, he knows what Arthur looks like in the morning, well-fucked and sleepy, in Eames' pink striped flannel pajama bottoms that he pretends to detest, and he knows what Arthur sounds like when he whispers: "I love you, you ass" - earnestly and romantically and not ironically at all.
Title: Unrated
Author: Merle
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Morgan/Reid
Word Count: 350
Spoilers: none, really
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds belongs to CBS
Warnings: nerdiness, schmoop
Summary: Morgan knows that Reid sometimes worries about going crazy. Right now, however, Morgan is fairly sure that he is the one who's losing his mind.
A/N: Written for comment_fic. The prompt was Criminal Minds, Reid/Morgan, Despite what Reid might believe, Morgan's the one who's losing his mind.
Unrated
Morgan knows that Reid sometimes worries about going crazy. Right now, however, Morgan is fairly sure that he is the one who's losing his mind.
Because that, at least, would explain why he turned down the hot detective of the North Providence Police Department who asked him out for drinks after she'd stuffed the handcuffed unsub into the backseat of the car.
It would explain why instead of getting a forbidden blowjob by said detective in a bathroom stall, he's sitting next to Reid in a drive-by movie theater somewhere in Rhode Island, about to watch an old science fiction movie that is actually advertised as one of the worst movies of all times.
"In the end, he did a lot of softcore porn, but the last mainstream film that Wood directed was actually 'The Sinister Urge', a movie about a police man hunting a sex maniac psycho-killer," Reid says. He pauses. "Also, he liked to dress up as a woman."
"Really?" Morgan says dryly, raising a brow, but he can't deny that for all their randomness, Reid's stories definitely have a high anecdotic value.
He hands over one of the beers he bought with the tickets. "Drink?" he offers, and Reid takes the bottle from his hands carefully, before obediently clinking it with Morgan's.
"You know," Reid comments absent-mindedly, "this almost feels like a date."
Morgan turns his head right at the moment when Reid realizes what he said, and Morgan watches him blush furiously up to the tips of his ears and shift nervously in his seat.
The popcorn bowl is in danger of toppling off his lap, so Morgan reaches over to steady it, leaning awfully close in the process, and he feels more than sees Reid freeze at the almost-touch.
Morgan retreats, just a couple of inches, and then he looks up at Reid and grins.
"Only almost?" he asks. "I must be doing something wrong."
And watching Reid flush even deeper, he thinks that if this is what going mad feels like, he doesn't really mind all that much.
Title: I'm so sorry if I'm alienating some of you (Your whole fucking culture alienates me)
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: girl!Kurt/Mercedes
Word Count: 1030
Spoilers: for the pilot
Disclaimer: Glee belongs to FOX. The title is a quote from Bikini Kill's song "White Boy"
Warnings: angst, genderbender, homophobia
Summary: It’s probably too much to hope that one day, he’ll realize what’s actually going on.
A/N: Inspired by a prompt at a fic meme that I can't find anymore: The prompt was Girl!Kurt/Mercedes, Dykes to watch out for!
I'm so sorry if I'm alienating some of you (Your whole fucking culture alienates me)
“Hey Courteney,” Mr. Schuester shouts cheerfully, “making new friends?”
Puck throws a heavy arm around her shoulders and grins. “She sure is, Mr. Schue.”
Kurt gives her teacher a pained smile and watches him walk by without wasting as much as a second glance on her. He’s nice, but kind of self-absorbed. It’s probably too much to hope that one day, he’ll realize what’s actually going on.
“So, little Courteney,” Jefferson smirks, leaning close enough for her to see the ketchup stain on the ugly shirt he’s wearing under his letterman jacket. “You really should be nicer to your new friends.”
Puck still has got his arm around her, not letting her get away, and now he squeezes her tightly to his side. “Yeah, I bet you are real nice to your girlfriend, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am,” Kurt says coolly. “Because unlike you, she’s not a brain-dead bulldog with no fashion sense.”
Puck digs sharp, threatening fingers into the tender skin of her arm, and she bites her lip to keep herself from making a noise.
“And just how nice are you to her?” Langenthal asks, leaning lazily against the dumpster. “Do you let her do you? Do you let her fuck you with a strap-on?”
“Philipp!” Finn protests, and Kurt throws him a quick look. He looks embarrassed and uncomfortable, but he doesn’t do anything to help her either. It’s always like this. Later, he’ll offer to carry her bag to make up for it, and tell her that she looks nice in her new silk blouse.
Men.
“No, no, I’m curious,” Puck grins. He leans close, his breath hot against her ear. “Does she fuck your tight little pussy? Hm? I bet you like getting fucked. Don’t you? Why don’t we all go somewhere quiet where we can show you what it feels like to get fucked by a real man?”
Kurt shivers. It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before, and she knows he’s just talking, but she can’t help but being a little frightened nonetheless. She just hopes that if it ever really happens, they will be considerate enough not to ruin her expensive lingerie.
The others are closing in on her, forcing her to take a step back until she’s pressed up against Puck’s broad chest. Something is digging into her back, and she prays that it is just his belt buckle.
“Yeah,” Carter growls. “Let’s give her a taste of what it’s like. Let’s see if she likes it.”
If Kurt wasn’t so busy trying not to panic, she’d probably laugh. It is kind of funny how the guys think it’s hot when cheerleaders pretend to make out with each other as long as they put out afterward, but actual lesbians scare them to death. Oh, the power of prejudice and ignorance.
She starts to struggle when the first hand reaches for her chest. The shape of her tiny breasts is visible under the thin material of her blouse, and she kind of wishes she had chosen to wear a sweater today, even if this fall is a no-sweater-season. But then an angry voice yells “Hey!,” and she sags in relief against the body behind her.
“What the fuck do you think you are doing to my girl?” Mercedes comes to a halt in front of the group, arms crossed over her chest. Kurt can see Artie, Tina and Brittany lurking behind her, looking worried and hesitant.
“Oh, we were just having a bit of fun,” Carter says. “Right, Courteney?” He reaches down to pinch her ass, and Kurt flinches.
“Fun?” Mercedes voice is like steel and diamond, and Kurt has never loved her more fiercely. “You know what’s going to be fun? Cutting off your balls with a kitchen knife, one by one.”
Langenthal makes a sharp noise. He looks queasy.
“You really think you could take us on?” Puck asks, but it sounds more curious than mean. His grip on Kurt loosens until he’s keeping her upright rather than constraining her.
“You want to find out?” Mercedes asks coldly.
“Come on, guys,” Finn says nervously. “That’s enough. Let her go.”
“Fine,” Puck drawls, and he gives Kurt a little shove that make her stumble forwards. Mercedes’ arms are around her in an instant.
“Are you alright, baby girl?” she asks, concerned, hands roaming over Kurt’s body in a fleeting caress. “Did they hurt you?”
Kurt sighs and presses her face against Mercedes’ full breasts for a second, inhaling the familiar scent of Gaultier’s Ma Dame, before pulling back and straightening.
“I’m fine,” she says. “Nothing that hasn’t happened before.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not going to happen again,” Mercedes says angrily, and without letting go of Kurt, she turns back to the boys who are staring without any shame. “Listen, if I find out that’s you’ve pulled another stunt like this, I’m going to make sure you never put your dick into anything ever again. Also, I’m going to tell Kurt’s dad, and I know for a fact that he owns a tire iron that’s just waiting to meet your ugly, empty skulls.”
The jocks look appropriately intimidated, and the sight makes Kurt feel a lot better, and surprisingly bold.
“And just so you know?” she spits. “Even if I wasn't gay, I’d rather have a girl fuck me with a dildo than one of you guys any day. And you know why? Because girls can go on, and on, and on ... And I’ve talked to your girlfriends, I know just how long each of you lasts.” She gives Finn a pointed look and grins when he blushes. Payback is a bitch.
Then she lets Mercedes wrap an arm around her waist and lead her over to their group of friends.
“You know, honey,” she says thoughtfully. “We really should try out for that Glee club thing today.”
Mercedes laughs. “You think that's going to make us more popular?”
“No,” Kurt shrugs. “But it's going to get us out of this town.”
Title: Woke up this morning (got yourself a gun)
Author: Merle
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Castle/Esposito
Word Count: 185
Spoilers: none, really
Disclaimer: Castle belongs to ABC. The title is a quote from Alabama 3's song "Woke up this morning"
Warnings: general silliness
Summary: There's an awkward moment in the morning, when Alexis comes in to wake her dad.
A/N: Yeah, I don't know either.
Woke up this morning (got yourself a gun)
There's an awkward moment in the morning, when Alexis comes in to wake her dad.
Years as a soldier and cop have helped to ingrain certain defense reactions deeply into Esposito's muscle memory; so when he wakes in a strange place to the sound of an opening door, he instinctively reaches for his handgun on the nightstand and doesn't hesitate to point it at the intruder - only to come face to face with a wide-eyed, pajama-clad Alexis Castle.
"Detective Esposito?" she exclaims, dumbfounded, and then "Dad!", almost accusingly, when Castle's tousled head appears from under the blankets.
"You are not pointing a gun at my daughter, are you?" he rasps, giving him a look from bleary eyes.
"Uhm," Esposito says eloquently and drops the gun into his lap, and that's when Mrs. R appears behind Alexis in the door frame.
"Oh," she says, somehow sounding more excited than surprised. "You didn't tell me we had a guest."
Her eyes shamelessly roam Esposito's naked chest. Castle groans, and Esposito struggles to pull the covers up to his chin.
Breakfast is going to be awkward.