5 wee ficlets!
I needed a distraction last night in a bad way and thankfully tumblr provided with prompts, so here the ficlets are in one big post! Tada~
Drambuie11 asked for Derek tells the pack Stiles is their new mom:
“Uh,” says Scott eloquently. “What?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jackson scoffs. The idiot twins-Isaac and Erica, Stiles should probably stop calling them that now that he’s sort of their mom-look equally as disdainful and skeptical. Boyd just looks bored.
Derek is doing his best impression of a hedgehog right now, all bristly and kind of annoyed, so Stiles steps in. “Look, it doesn’t-”
“Is it sort of like at camp,” Scott says, voice bordering on desperate, “when you’d have den mothers but they wouldn’t really be your mother and also they were totally not banging your alpha because that would be cool.”
“Yeeees,” Stiles says carefully, “except for the part where I kind of am, uh, in a relationship with-”
Jackson makes a hacking, gagging noise.
Derek snarls, and it’s sort of a new cool trick he’s learned that actually brings the whole pack to their knees (if he keeps doing it long enough they roll over, it’s kind of hilarious/adorable as long as Derek’s using his powers for good).
“Okay, OKAY, let them up, we’re not going to do that anymore,” Stiles says, ineffectively patting at the side of Derek’s face until he stops. “Listen. Guys. It’s not actually going to be any different than it was before, okay? I’ve actually been your pack mom for a while and nobody’s been complaining. You don’t mind me bringing snacks to training exercises, do you?”
‘No’ seems to be the mumbled consensus of the group. “I like the juice boxes,” Isaac admits.
“Because juice boxes are awesome,” Stiles agrees. “And you don’t mind having a friendly ear ready to hear your side when you think Derek’s being a grumpy sourwolf, right? Or when I call your parents to let them know you might be getting back late from study group, or-”
“Alright, okay, fine,” Jackson snaps. “But I’m not calling you mommy. It’s too freaking weird.”
“You’ll call him mommy if I say you call him mommy,” Derek growls, and Jackson flops onto his back.
“Aaaand good talk,” Stiles says as he grabs Derek’s jacket and hauls him away, “Bedtime is at ten, and don’t think I won’t know if you stayed up late again! We have that chemistry test tomorrow!”
“I think that went rather well,” Stiles says when the kids are out of sight. Derek just leans in and nuzzles his face.
Aev-enien asked for Tom/Joe anything? (a/n No spoilers for Dark Knight Rises)
Joe is looking at him strangely from across the set, eyes narrowed and mouth quirked in wry amusement, arms folded across his broadened chest. Not as broad as Tom, of course, but then there are mountains with less breadth than Tom at the moment.
“That’s not true,” Joe says when Tom grumbles his observations to him after they’re done filming-through the goddamn bloody fucking arsehole bunt of a mask, which is what Tom has taken to calling it in polite company. He can’t hear all that well, it’s difficult to breathe, and it muddles his words to near incomprehension. When the movie is finished Tom dearly hopes to steal one from props, cut it into tiny pieces, and burn it.
“I’m talking smallish mountains. Of the Himalayan variety.” Tom has no idea what he’s saying, he’s so tired. All he wants is to fall into Joe’s trailer, wrap around him like a mollusk and never move again.
Joe knocks his elbow companionably against Tom’s meaty hay bale of an arm, and Tom wishes with a visceral ache that they were alone, that Joe could just take his hand and make him feel a little more like a human, less like a monster.
“Come on,” Joe says, “Lets get you into makeup and free of that thing.”
It seems only fitting the mood he’s in that Heather and Samuel are both swamped with getting the militia men suitably grungy looking. “Sorry, sorry,” Heather says, frazzled and wild-eyed as she shoves a bottle of makeup remover into his hands. “Can you please-you know how to take it off careful, yes? Do not lose.”
“Of course.” Tom tries to smile reassuringly before he remembers that no one can see him smile, not even a little bit. He gives her a halfhearted thumbs up instead.
“I’ll help him with it,” Joe promises, his smile bright and perfect, as usual. Tom lets Joe drag him to his own trailer, up the stairs, lets himself be pushed into a sitting position on the dumb bench-like couch along one wall, lets himself pretend Joe could physically shove Tom around if he wanted.
“I miss being Eames-sized,” Tom mutters, probably incoherently.
Joe smirks anyway. His eyes are dark, Tom notices with surprise, dark with affection and something eager.
“Hold still.” He tips Tom’s head up, damp cloth brushing the edges of the mask, following the curves of Tom’s bare skin. Tom closes his eyes and enjoys the feel of Joe’s attention, the deft, efficient swipes and the slower, lingering touches as his fingertips slip past the cloth.
“Ready?” Joe asks when the cloth is gone, fingers pushing just under the rubber of Bane’s chin strap. Tom nods, feeling more breathless than he usually does in the damn thing.
And then it’s pulled away from his mouth; Tom bows his head as Joe peels it from his skull, sighs as moist skin meets fresh air, finally. He keeps his eyes closed, shakes himself a little to get the blood flow going, reaches up to rub at his ears and meets Joe’s hands on the way. Joe traces the aching shell of his ears, thumbs stroking the corner of Tom’s eyes until he opens them again and meet’s Joe’s gaze.
“Hi,” Joe says, grinning sweet and soft. “There you are.”
Tom hugs him around the middle, careful not to squeeze too hard even as Joe laughs and twists around to kiss the top of Tom’s head, follows it down the bridge of Tom’s nose to his smiling mouth where he whispers, “I missed you,” and kisses him.
Ifeelbetterer said can I have some Merida-as-Queen future!fic for Brave?
“I can’t believe you’d come to me with such a foolish matter!”
“But you’re the Queen, now, lass-er, m’lady, your grace,” Lord Macintosh fumbles, near seventy years old and seeming nowhere near ready to pass the crown onto his son, retire with grace like Merida’s parents did over a year ago now. Especially not with everything that’s going on, though Merida really doesn’t see what the fuss is about.
“Look, did our forefathers not think marriage between our clans was a good idea?” she says, not so much a question as a flat reminder of the adventure he and his son had shared a fair part in. “And in keeping with the peaceful unity and such like? Because I seem to remember you being pretty gung-ho about marriage between firstborns.”
“But that was-that was different,” ex-Lord MacGuffin butts in, stomping his foot like the right ol’ codger he is. His son, Lord Young MacGuffin-though he must have a first name, Merida can’t recall ever hearing it; all she knows is his gentle spirit and his big heart-stands very still, large hands resting on a shield of his clan, blond hair longer now and knotted at the back of his neck, fanning across his broad shoulders. His eyes are cast down, lips thinned; he hasn’t spoken a word since he announced his intentions to the court.
Merida’s short temper snaps at the sight of her friend brought to such low spirits. “It was different because I’m a woman?
And can therefore be bred like a horse?”
A flurry of “No”s fly from the mouths of the assembled; at this moment, she doesn’t believe a one of them.
“Lord Macintosh,” she says, enunciating, projecting, hands folded with the grace her mother taught her, voice edged with the commanding presence of her father. “You will allow your son to marry whomsoever he pleases, as per the agreement struck between our clans in this very room. And if someone goes and fetches him from where you’ve banished him outside the damn hall, I’ll not only bless the marriage I’ll officiate it as well!”
While people scramble to obey Merida considers the embroidered hem of her dress and how long it would take to rip free, before a large hand grasping hers in gratitude distracts her and Young MacGuffin says, “Dinnae herm yer dress, ee broucht a band.”
He holds up a finely woven ribbon decorated with running hounds, each so carefully wrought it could only have been made by one truly in love. Merida smiles, feeling tears building in her eyes. “This will serve a handfasting beautifully,” she manages to say.
And then Young Macintosh appears, still half-naked and half-blue as he’d been all those years ago, now all-wild from the uncertainty of this moment, eyes scanning the room for a fight before they find his beloved.
“Calm yourself, Young Macintosh,” Merida says, even though he seems to be much calmer now, in the arms of Young MacGuffin. “Your fathers have seen the error in their ways, and furthermore they’ve agreed to split the cost of your wedding feast equally between them, as is the custom.”
“Thank you, Merida,” Young Macintosh says just loud enough for her ears above the cheers of the crowd-nothing like a party to ease any lingering reservations.
She clasps their entwined hands in both of hers, smiling at them each in turn. “I see between you a love that reminds me of my own parents, and of the love I hope to find one day. I will do everything in my power to make sure no one interferes with your happiness.”
Young MacGuffin sweeps them both into an embrace that knocks the wind out of Merida in the best way. This is absolutely one of the days that being Queen has its definite perks.
webbgirl34 wanted Pearson Hardman movie night. Characters and movie of your choice. :)
“We’re watching it.”
“The hell we are,” Harvey says, scowling down at the box.
“Oooo, McConaughey,” Donna says over his shoulder, all wide eyes and exaggerated features. “Such a babe.”
“It has action, romance, humor, world issues, history-”
“-true love, miracles?” Harvey asks dryly in his best Princess Bride impression, and is rewarded by Mike’s cheeky grin.
“I’m sold.” Donna whisks the dvd out of his hands and pops it in while Mike fist-bumps the air and flings himself down on the sofa, popcorn bowl bouncing on his knees.
“I feel ambushed.”
“Shut up, you will like this movie,” Mike promises. Donna kicks her feet up across both their laps, requiring immediate popcorn retrieval. “And not because it’s really super good. Because it isn’t. But it’s awesome.”
“Explosions?” Donna checks.
“So many. Supremely disproportionate to their real life capacity to explode.” Mike mimes one as proof, cheeks puffing out.
“Then quit grumping, grumpy,” she tells Harvey, tugging on his ear, smiling when that makes him relax against his better judgement.
“It’s my go-to bad action/adventure movie,” Mike says, settling down and all-but snuggling closer, even though he has to know by now it would be…graciously tolerated.
Harvey sighs and scratches the bridge of his nose as the opening credits play-the music is choice, if nothing else-and if that means there’s no longer room for his arm at his side then Harvey will simply have to man-up and drape it along Mike’s shoulders, just as he’s done with Donna.
and Jmindigo said how bout this--the world of (book/movie/tv show of your choice), 30 years in the future. (a/n Leverage, ot3)
“I know you’ve seen NCIS because I made you watch it-Ziva first, ‘cause that’s how you do,” Hardison says, blinking through a few stock pages on his iLens. Not that their portfolios need fussing over, he just likes keeping tabs on those of his pet charity donations.
Eliot stops just long enough to drag a sawdusty arm across his forehead. “What’s your damn point?”
“It’s just. You’re building a safe. By hand. Out of wood. In our basement. You don’t see a thing similar between you and a certain Special Agent Gibbs?”
“It’s a present for Parker,” Eliot grumbles.
“Your present can be coming with us to acquire the new Van Gogh,” Parker says with the air of someone who doesn’t understand why they’re still talking about it. She holds out her hand and wiggles her fingers, still as quick as ever even though Eliot and Hardison don’t quite trust them on the belaying lines as much as they used to-it’s an uphill battle with Parker, asking her to acknowledge her limitations as much as they deal with their own.
“To keep?” Eliot frowns, but takes her hand anyway, his rough-knuckled fingers sliding through her slim, wicked ones just as perfect as always; Hardison never can keep the grin off his face.
“I just want to pet it,” Parker promises, and Hardison lets her take his hand as well and lead them up out of the dusty dark into the light of their beautiful home.
I hope you enjoy! I might post the Merida and the JGL/T-Hard one to AO3 in a bit because i like them :D
Drambuie11 asked for Derek tells the pack Stiles is their new mom:
“Uh,” says Scott eloquently. “What?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jackson scoffs. The idiot twins-Isaac and Erica, Stiles should probably stop calling them that now that he’s sort of their mom-look equally as disdainful and skeptical. Boyd just looks bored.
Derek is doing his best impression of a hedgehog right now, all bristly and kind of annoyed, so Stiles steps in. “Look, it doesn’t-”
“Is it sort of like at camp,” Scott says, voice bordering on desperate, “when you’d have den mothers but they wouldn’t really be your mother and also they were totally not banging your alpha because that would be cool.”
“Yeeees,” Stiles says carefully, “except for the part where I kind of am, uh, in a relationship with-”
Jackson makes a hacking, gagging noise.
Derek snarls, and it’s sort of a new cool trick he’s learned that actually brings the whole pack to their knees (if he keeps doing it long enough they roll over, it’s kind of hilarious/adorable as long as Derek’s using his powers for good).
“Okay, OKAY, let them up, we’re not going to do that anymore,” Stiles says, ineffectively patting at the side of Derek’s face until he stops. “Listen. Guys. It’s not actually going to be any different than it was before, okay? I’ve actually been your pack mom for a while and nobody’s been complaining. You don’t mind me bringing snacks to training exercises, do you?”
‘No’ seems to be the mumbled consensus of the group. “I like the juice boxes,” Isaac admits.
“Because juice boxes are awesome,” Stiles agrees. “And you don’t mind having a friendly ear ready to hear your side when you think Derek’s being a grumpy sourwolf, right? Or when I call your parents to let them know you might be getting back late from study group, or-”
“Alright, okay, fine,” Jackson snaps. “But I’m not calling you mommy. It’s too freaking weird.”
“You’ll call him mommy if I say you call him mommy,” Derek growls, and Jackson flops onto his back.
“Aaaand good talk,” Stiles says as he grabs Derek’s jacket and hauls him away, “Bedtime is at ten, and don’t think I won’t know if you stayed up late again! We have that chemistry test tomorrow!”
“I think that went rather well,” Stiles says when the kids are out of sight. Derek just leans in and nuzzles his face.
Aev-enien asked for Tom/Joe anything? (a/n No spoilers for Dark Knight Rises)
Joe is looking at him strangely from across the set, eyes narrowed and mouth quirked in wry amusement, arms folded across his broadened chest. Not as broad as Tom, of course, but then there are mountains with less breadth than Tom at the moment.
“That’s not true,” Joe says when Tom grumbles his observations to him after they’re done filming-through the goddamn bloody fucking arsehole bunt of a mask, which is what Tom has taken to calling it in polite company. He can’t hear all that well, it’s difficult to breathe, and it muddles his words to near incomprehension. When the movie is finished Tom dearly hopes to steal one from props, cut it into tiny pieces, and burn it.
“I’m talking smallish mountains. Of the Himalayan variety.” Tom has no idea what he’s saying, he’s so tired. All he wants is to fall into Joe’s trailer, wrap around him like a mollusk and never move again.
Joe knocks his elbow companionably against Tom’s meaty hay bale of an arm, and Tom wishes with a visceral ache that they were alone, that Joe could just take his hand and make him feel a little more like a human, less like a monster.
“Come on,” Joe says, “Lets get you into makeup and free of that thing.”
It seems only fitting the mood he’s in that Heather and Samuel are both swamped with getting the militia men suitably grungy looking. “Sorry, sorry,” Heather says, frazzled and wild-eyed as she shoves a bottle of makeup remover into his hands. “Can you please-you know how to take it off careful, yes? Do not lose.”
“Of course.” Tom tries to smile reassuringly before he remembers that no one can see him smile, not even a little bit. He gives her a halfhearted thumbs up instead.
“I’ll help him with it,” Joe promises, his smile bright and perfect, as usual. Tom lets Joe drag him to his own trailer, up the stairs, lets himself be pushed into a sitting position on the dumb bench-like couch along one wall, lets himself pretend Joe could physically shove Tom around if he wanted.
“I miss being Eames-sized,” Tom mutters, probably incoherently.
Joe smirks anyway. His eyes are dark, Tom notices with surprise, dark with affection and something eager.
“Hold still.” He tips Tom’s head up, damp cloth brushing the edges of the mask, following the curves of Tom’s bare skin. Tom closes his eyes and enjoys the feel of Joe’s attention, the deft, efficient swipes and the slower, lingering touches as his fingertips slip past the cloth.
“Ready?” Joe asks when the cloth is gone, fingers pushing just under the rubber of Bane’s chin strap. Tom nods, feeling more breathless than he usually does in the damn thing.
And then it’s pulled away from his mouth; Tom bows his head as Joe peels it from his skull, sighs as moist skin meets fresh air, finally. He keeps his eyes closed, shakes himself a little to get the blood flow going, reaches up to rub at his ears and meets Joe’s hands on the way. Joe traces the aching shell of his ears, thumbs stroking the corner of Tom’s eyes until he opens them again and meet’s Joe’s gaze.
“Hi,” Joe says, grinning sweet and soft. “There you are.”
Tom hugs him around the middle, careful not to squeeze too hard even as Joe laughs and twists around to kiss the top of Tom’s head, follows it down the bridge of Tom’s nose to his smiling mouth where he whispers, “I missed you,” and kisses him.
Ifeelbetterer said can I have some Merida-as-Queen future!fic for Brave?
“I can’t believe you’d come to me with such a foolish matter!”
“But you’re the Queen, now, lass-er, m’lady, your grace,” Lord Macintosh fumbles, near seventy years old and seeming nowhere near ready to pass the crown onto his son, retire with grace like Merida’s parents did over a year ago now. Especially not with everything that’s going on, though Merida really doesn’t see what the fuss is about.
“Look, did our forefathers not think marriage between our clans was a good idea?” she says, not so much a question as a flat reminder of the adventure he and his son had shared a fair part in. “And in keeping with the peaceful unity and such like? Because I seem to remember you being pretty gung-ho about marriage between firstborns.”
“But that was-that was different,” ex-Lord MacGuffin butts in, stomping his foot like the right ol’ codger he is. His son, Lord Young MacGuffin-though he must have a first name, Merida can’t recall ever hearing it; all she knows is his gentle spirit and his big heart-stands very still, large hands resting on a shield of his clan, blond hair longer now and knotted at the back of his neck, fanning across his broad shoulders. His eyes are cast down, lips thinned; he hasn’t spoken a word since he announced his intentions to the court.
Merida’s short temper snaps at the sight of her friend brought to such low spirits. “It was different because I’m a woman?
And can therefore be bred like a horse?”
A flurry of “No”s fly from the mouths of the assembled; at this moment, she doesn’t believe a one of them.
“Lord Macintosh,” she says, enunciating, projecting, hands folded with the grace her mother taught her, voice edged with the commanding presence of her father. “You will allow your son to marry whomsoever he pleases, as per the agreement struck between our clans in this very room. And if someone goes and fetches him from where you’ve banished him outside the damn hall, I’ll not only bless the marriage I’ll officiate it as well!”
While people scramble to obey Merida considers the embroidered hem of her dress and how long it would take to rip free, before a large hand grasping hers in gratitude distracts her and Young MacGuffin says, “Dinnae herm yer dress, ee broucht a band.”
He holds up a finely woven ribbon decorated with running hounds, each so carefully wrought it could only have been made by one truly in love. Merida smiles, feeling tears building in her eyes. “This will serve a handfasting beautifully,” she manages to say.
And then Young Macintosh appears, still half-naked and half-blue as he’d been all those years ago, now all-wild from the uncertainty of this moment, eyes scanning the room for a fight before they find his beloved.
“Calm yourself, Young Macintosh,” Merida says, even though he seems to be much calmer now, in the arms of Young MacGuffin. “Your fathers have seen the error in their ways, and furthermore they’ve agreed to split the cost of your wedding feast equally between them, as is the custom.”
“Thank you, Merida,” Young Macintosh says just loud enough for her ears above the cheers of the crowd-nothing like a party to ease any lingering reservations.
She clasps their entwined hands in both of hers, smiling at them each in turn. “I see between you a love that reminds me of my own parents, and of the love I hope to find one day. I will do everything in my power to make sure no one interferes with your happiness.”
Young MacGuffin sweeps them both into an embrace that knocks the wind out of Merida in the best way. This is absolutely one of the days that being Queen has its definite perks.
webbgirl34 wanted Pearson Hardman movie night. Characters and movie of your choice. :)
“We’re watching it.”
“The hell we are,” Harvey says, scowling down at the box.
“Oooo, McConaughey,” Donna says over his shoulder, all wide eyes and exaggerated features. “Such a babe.”
“It has action, romance, humor, world issues, history-”
“-true love, miracles?” Harvey asks dryly in his best Princess Bride impression, and is rewarded by Mike’s cheeky grin.
“I’m sold.” Donna whisks the dvd out of his hands and pops it in while Mike fist-bumps the air and flings himself down on the sofa, popcorn bowl bouncing on his knees.
“I feel ambushed.”
“Shut up, you will like this movie,” Mike promises. Donna kicks her feet up across both their laps, requiring immediate popcorn retrieval. “And not because it’s really super good. Because it isn’t. But it’s awesome.”
“Explosions?” Donna checks.
“So many. Supremely disproportionate to their real life capacity to explode.” Mike mimes one as proof, cheeks puffing out.
“Then quit grumping, grumpy,” she tells Harvey, tugging on his ear, smiling when that makes him relax against his better judgement.
“It’s my go-to bad action/adventure movie,” Mike says, settling down and all-but snuggling closer, even though he has to know by now it would be…graciously tolerated.
Harvey sighs and scratches the bridge of his nose as the opening credits play-the music is choice, if nothing else-and if that means there’s no longer room for his arm at his side then Harvey will simply have to man-up and drape it along Mike’s shoulders, just as he’s done with Donna.
and Jmindigo said how bout this--the world of (book/movie/tv show of your choice), 30 years in the future. (a/n Leverage, ot3)
“I know you’ve seen NCIS because I made you watch it-Ziva first, ‘cause that’s how you do,” Hardison says, blinking through a few stock pages on his iLens. Not that their portfolios need fussing over, he just likes keeping tabs on those of his pet charity donations.
Eliot stops just long enough to drag a sawdusty arm across his forehead. “What’s your damn point?”
“It’s just. You’re building a safe. By hand. Out of wood. In our basement. You don’t see a thing similar between you and a certain Special Agent Gibbs?”
“It’s a present for Parker,” Eliot grumbles.
“Your present can be coming with us to acquire the new Van Gogh,” Parker says with the air of someone who doesn’t understand why they’re still talking about it. She holds out her hand and wiggles her fingers, still as quick as ever even though Eliot and Hardison don’t quite trust them on the belaying lines as much as they used to-it’s an uphill battle with Parker, asking her to acknowledge her limitations as much as they deal with their own.
“To keep?” Eliot frowns, but takes her hand anyway, his rough-knuckled fingers sliding through her slim, wicked ones just as perfect as always; Hardison never can keep the grin off his face.
“I just want to pet it,” Parker promises, and Hardison lets her take his hand as well and lead them up out of the dusty dark into the light of their beautiful home.
I hope you enjoy! I might post the Merida and the JGL/T-Hard one to AO3 in a bit because i like them :D