3 sentence AU fic meme!
Just fyi, I have a tumblr now, yay. I'm still getting the hang of it, but it's not as newfangled as I thought. *temporarily leans old lady cane up against a wall* School's okay so far, too. I'm really tired, but it's not challenging yet. I've decided to read more for leisure again, so I ordered Shadow and Bone and all of Nightrunner. Can't wait for
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Righteous Men
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The light flutter of sparrow wings, displaced wind, alerts Tony to Steve's presence.
Tony considers making a jab at Steve's humble wing-span, considers looking away from Bruce's peaceful, sleeping form, naked atop the motel bed, beneath a raggedy quilt, where Tony's propped his sneaker-clad feet, but ultimately decides against it.
He doesn't even look Steve's way, but does allow a contented sigh to escape his lips when Steve's chilled hand cradles his cheek. Blue and purple bruises bleed out of his skin, like water-color paint from blank paper.
“Your life...is dangerous,” Steve says eventually. He's dangerous, he doesn't add of Bruce, but doesn't have to ( ... )
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Naturally Foreordained Events
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The languid smile on Peter's lips drips off like fresh paint in rain, when he takes in Derek's wide eyes, his heaving breaths - Stiles's still, still form, the blood that stains both boys.
“Bring him in,” Peter directs, grim as Derek's ever seen him. Derek does as he's bid precariously, arms hooked beneath Stiles's knees, Stiles's head lolling against his broad chest. They don't move very far into the freshly repaired Hale house. Peter points Derek to a new sofa, not even commenting on its potential to stain, then calls Isaac in to aid him.
“I can do it,” Derek says, and he means the words to growl, but they don't. They stutter off into silence. Peter levels him with a pointed glance. The fight seeps out of Derek. He gives Isaac a curt nod - both you can do this, pup and please, save him - before he lets Peter shoo him out ( ... )
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Political Animals
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Harvey Specter doesn’t feel nerves - or, rather, if he does, he doesn’t bend to their sway like a palm tree in the wind.
And yet, for a moment, as he stares out into a crowd of debate watchers, the thousands of people ready to hang on his every word, to hang him from the gallows for even the minutest of infractions, he does admit to the pickup of his pulse, his breathing. To himself, anyway.
“Are you ready, Mr. President?” Travis Tanner, his opponent, simpers. The title’s a mockery on his tongue.
Before Harvey can level a patented smirk his way, Mike catches his gaze from across the stage and smiles. He looks good; his usually flyaway hair is swept back, miming Harvey’s. For once, his skinny tie is both done well, and matches the dark gray pinstripe René had chosen for the occasion. It should. Harvey helped him get dressed that morning - not that Tanner has to know ( ... )
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Wolf Eyes
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Adam smells Michael before he sees him - the light, earthy spice of his natural cologne. It spurs Adam’s blue eyes to flash yellow, reflected back in the silver surface of his locker.
Noticing that he’s stalled, that he’s breathing heavily, his best friend Jo stops chattering about their new schedules to shoot him a worried glance. “You okay, Winchester?”
“It’s Milligan,” Adam replies, through gritted teeth - no, fangs. He turns his head away from her and digs his claws into the soft skin of his palms, wincing at the sting. They’ll heal, though. He already knows they will. The brief pain is worth it, because when he looks back at a frowning Jo, his eyes are blue again. He dredges up a wan smile. “B-besides-” He clears the growl from his throat, “-this is the boys’ locker room. You shouldn’t be in here, Harvelle.”
Jo scowls at him, hands on her hips, but relents with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll be watchin’ you from the bleachers, Milligan. You better hit a home run, ‘cause I ain’t freezin’ my ass off for nothing ( ... )
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And Michael you have no idea all the ways in which Michael needs you. ;)
Thank you for giving me my werewolf fix, honey!
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Written by God's Fingers
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“I-I understand,” Adam murmurs into the mouth-piece of his cellphone.
Windom Memorial is calling. His mother’s missed her third day of work in a row. She won’t answer her phone, any of her phones, even when he calls. This has never happened before. They talk to each other at least once a day. Adam feels his heart plummet into his stomach, as the woman from human resources gently informs him that they’ve given Kate an unpaid, weeklong leave to get things in order.
“Thank you,” he tells her, though his throat is tight, dry, with worry. She hangs up. He tosses his phone onto the bedside table between him and his roommate’s bunks.
Said roommate, Liam Day, frowns at him, brown eyes sympathetic. “Adam, you okay?”
Adam opens his mouth to speak - to say what, he doesn’t know. Yes, no, maybe. He’s spared the exertion when he sees Liam’s skin ripple across his face, his nose extending into a short snout, fur sprouting where it hadn’t before, his teeth small, sharp and shiny within his maw ( ... )
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