Gifs reposted with permission by their creator, @dearly.
“Wow…that was weak.”
Gordon throws his head back and laughs, and it’s so infectious Harvey starts laughing right along with him, even as he tries to say, “Shut up, old man.”
“Didn’t you used to be good at this?”
Harvey stops, points the end of the bat at him, left hand holding the grip, and says, “I’d like to see you do better.”
He shakes his head. “No chance. I’m two beers in.”
“Yeah…that’s what I thought.”
He turns, steps in the batter’s box again, swings the bat a few times like a pendulum then brings it back up to hover just above his shoulder, his fingers fluttering a little before coming to rest on the grip. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other before centering again and stops, waits for the pitch to come.
He’ll always regret that his baseball career ended, not that that was is choice. Tearing your shoulder in half has a way of making a choice for you. For a while it was difficult, but he’s glad he moved past it so he could do this, so he could spend a Saturday with is dad in the park hitting the ball around like he’s sixteen again and dreaming of a future in the majors.
Besides, he has a good life now.
The pitch comes and Harvey bends just a touch, squares up, keeps his eye on the ball.
And hits a soft drive that bounces once in the middle of right field and then continues on, bouncing several more times until it lands at the feet of a man in converse, sitting at a picnic table with an older woman. Harvey sets the bat down and goes jogging over, through the infield, and the man, seeing his approach, tosses him the ball underhand.
Harvey tosses the ball up once in his hand, catches it without looking. He’s too focused on the man sitting in front of him.
The man nods. “No problem.”
“That was a pretty weak hit, young man.”
Harvey’s eyes widen, taken aback, and then he can’t help it. He starts laughing. Hard.
The man in front of him sputters, says, “Grammy! Jesus…did you forget your meds this morning?”
Grammy just pats him on the hand a few times, not the slightest bit bothered by his embarrassment. The flush is creeping up his neck and he looks to be a half second away from getting up and disavowing any knowledge of her whatsoever.
Gordon comes walking up, a beer in each hand, and before Harvey can say anything, Grammy says, “Is one of those for me?”
Actually, one of those was Harvey’s, but he’ll gladly surrender it. It seems like his father had the same feeling, because he holds it out to her without a second thought.
The man in front of him, though, this man whose name he still does not know, looks as though he’d very much enjoy burying himself in the ground at their feet.
Instead he sighs and says, “My grandmother, Edith Ross.”
Harvey smiles, takes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Harvey Specter, and this is my dad Gordon.”
Gordon takes Edith’s hand with a smile, and Harvey looks at the man in front of him, smiling softly at his grandmother, and says, “We still don’t know your name.”
His head swivels to meet Harvey’s eye and his mouth opens a moment, closes, and then he stands abruptly, holds out his hand. “Sorry. I’m Mike…Mike Ross.”
Harvey holds Mike’s hand in his own a little longer than necessary, shakes it slowly, keeps gentle eye contact. He’s smiling when he says, “It’s nice to meet you, Mike.”
“Would you like to join us for lunch?”
Mike pulls his eyes away from Harvey’s to say, “Oh, Grammy, they don’t want to-”
“We’d love to.”
Before Harvey can get the words out Gordon has already sat down at the picnic table across from Grammy, leaving an open seat across from Mike. Harvey quickly takes it, smiles at Grammy in thanks when she slides a plate toward him with a sandwich, potato salad, and fruit. He sets the baseball on the table in front of him and Mike tentatively reaches out and pulls it across the table toward himself, rolling it back and forth between his fingers. His plate is half empty and he picks up a grape with the other hand, pops it in his mouth.
“I know your name.”
Gordon pauses between bites. “You might. I’m a studio musician.”
She stares him down. “I saw you play in nineteen seventy-five at The Red Room. You were backing up Miles Davis.”
He nods slowly. “I was.”
She just nods. “You were very good.”
He smiles. “Thank you. He was better.”
She shrugs. “He was Miles Davis.”
His grin grows wider. “Yes he was.”
Harvey looks at Mike to see him watching them with a happy smile, Harvey’s baseball held loosely on the table in his right hand. As if he realizes he’s being watched, he slowly turns his head to look at Harvey and turns his smile on him. Harvey doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all.
“Your grandmother is…”
“Yeah. I know.”
Harvey takes a bite of potato salad and Mike’s eyes drop to his mouth. Harvey’s tongue darts out, licks his lips, and Mike takes a deep breath in, lets it out. And then it’s like neither of them can look away, as if transfixed.
The spell is finally broken when Harvey feels a hand clap on his shoulder and he looks up to see his dad standing next to him, waiting for a response to a question Harvey didn’t hear.
“Michael? Are you ready to go?”
Mike looks at her a moment then looks back at Harvey. “I think I have plans.”
Harvey feels the slow smile growing on his face. “Yes. You do.”
There’s a long pause and then Gordon says, “In that case, Edith…may I escort you home?”
Harvey looks away from Mike to see his dad pick a cooler up off the table and hold his arm out for her to take. She nods at him, takes his arm, and then pats Mike on the shoulder.
“Don’t forget to use protection, dear.”
Mike drops his head with a thud on the table and Harvey grins as he watches Gordon and Edith walk away through the park, her arm hooked in his, lunch cooler swinging from his hand.
Camila blinked out of her little trance and turned back to look at one of her desk mates, Dinah, who gave her a questioning look. “Huh? M'not.”
Dinah’s lips curled in delight at the red blush that covered the six year olds cheeks. “Oooh, Walz has a crush!” she sang, but then quieted down when she saw their teacher Miss Jacobs give her a look from across the room. She lowered her voice but continued to sing teasingly to the still blushing girl. “Mila has a crush, Mila has a crush!”
A/N: I affectionately subtitled this fic ARE YOU KIDDING ME, KORSH?
He’s out. He’s out, and god, does it feel strange to put this suit back on, this suit that no longer fits who Mike really is. The metal door swings open and then Mike finds himself standing in the chain link walkway taking his first breath of unincarcerated air in months and he should be enjoying it but he can’t. He can’t breathe because Harvey is standing there smiling, his hands in his pockets, waiting for him at the end of the walkway, and it feels too much like something that will be snatched away the moment Mike reaches him.
He wonders how long it will take him to stop thinking like a con.
He walks slowly, savoring the steps between them, feeling the string tying him to Danbury getting tighter and tighter as he gets further away from the front door until it snaps, releasing Mike at the gate. He lets out a happy sigh and pushes through the gate, feeling the burden lift off. He’s out.
Harvey steps up to him, smiling, and they both hesitate for only about a half second before they’re flinging their arms around each other, each holding the other as tightly as possible. Mike doesn’t want to let go - he never wants to let go - and Harvey must feel the same way because they just stand there, and hold each other, and finally let themselves breathe. Mike takes big, gasping breaths, and Harvey laughs softly into his temple as if to say, yeah…me too.
“You did it,” Mike mumbles into Harvey’s shoulder. “You got me out.”
“I would never have left you there,” he says fiercely. “I’m sorry it took so long.”
Mike just shakes his head. No…no. As if he would ever blame Harvey.
Harvey releases him, but only to grasp Mike’s face with both hands, thumbs resting on his cheekbones. His eyes skitter over Mike’s face, as if he’s looking for something. Mike doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he knows what he needs, and that’s more. He needs banter and late nights and takeout and all the things he’s missed. He doesn’t know who he is to Harvey now, now that he’s not an associate or a junior partner or a cause, and it’s killing him a little. He doesn’t know where they go from here. But Harvey is here, and he’s holding him, and no one is standing there any longer, trying to keep them apart. It’s almost enough.
Then Harvey leans in and kisses him, once, and Mike feels himself fold into him.
“I don’t know what comes next either. But we’ll figure it out.”
This story came from 2 different things: 1) my inability to use rational thoughts when it’s
five am (like the thought that I’m a horrible writer) 2) my headcanon that Merida paces when she’s
nervous/thinking/anxious/angry/all the time basically
Unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine. I also didn’t
try to use proper dialect because it hurt my brain. Maybe I’ll edit it later to
be better. Just read it with an accent in your mind. That’s what I did!
Pacing. Pacing is the name of the current game she’s
playing. Back and forth and back and forth, across the width of the room. One,
two, three…all the way to eighteen paces, pause, turn, repeat.
This has been her activity of choice for the
better part of the last hour, burning a trail across her bed chambers. Maybe if
she continues she’ll burn down the bloody castle and be free of this cursed crown.
She takes a breath and pauses in her repetitive motion. If she keeps
this up she’s going to wear a hole in the bearskin rug that lays in front of
the fireplace, which would make her infinitely more cross than she already is.
So she flings herself onto the bed behind her, and takes up counting the little
cracks in the ceiling.
This continues for another ten minutes or so,
until Merida can finally breath again without wanting to screech in frustration
and loose arrows into the nearest (likely undeserving) person she comes across.
Because really the only people deserving of such treatment were those bloody
fool council members. Advisers her arse, they were just a thorn in
her side. They could spew all the nonsense they wanted, claiming
they were “bein helpful” or “looking out for the good of their
queen.” But the constant nagging to marry - find a consort, produce an
heir - was wearing on her nerves.
Wrote something based on @jennilah‘s heartbreaking fanart. Coda to 11x10. Lucifer!Cas and Dean. Sorry it isn’t as good as her art (which is always amazing)! <3
son of a bitch.”
wasn’t sure how he had been so goddamn blind.
After all, Cas had been…off
for the past few days. The way he
walked, spoke, stood even…it all had
been weird. Wrong. But only wrong to
someone who was really paying
that’s why he didn’t realize sooner,
Dean understood with a pang of guilt smacking him hard in the chest.
was only when Castiel clasped hard onto his right shoulder rather than his left
when Dean put the pieces together.
Despite that the angel was speaking, Dean hadn’t been listening. Because it wasn’t Cas talking.
hunter took a step back, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the creature that
had his best friend’s form.
here I thought I would’ve fooled you for just a little bit longer, Dean,” Lucifer said while shrugging, obviously
not caring all too much about the older Winchester’s newfound discovery. “It was fun while it lasted, I suppose.” He smirked, and Dean felt his stomach twist
sickly; it was all wrong, that twisted expression on Castiel’s face.
the hell out of him,” Dean growled, his tone low and dangerous. But despite the unspoken threat, Lucifer just
laughed loudly, almost throwing his head back to look up at the bunker’s tall
ceilings to do so. Then, the Devil in
Castiel’s clothes and body took a step towards Dean, slowly. Although he had the blue eyes of Cas, they
were cold and vicious yet full of amusement at the very same time.
Dean, Dean,” Lucifer chuckled, shaking his head from side to side. “You forget something? I’m still an
angel. I got permission to be here, you know.”
tricked him,” Dean spat in response. It
was the only way he could rationalize what he was seeing and hearing right
now. There was no way Cas would say yes to
Lucifer… How the hell could two angels
even be inside the same body?
that might sound like me to you, I didn’t.
I just told him the truth – that I can
beat the Darkness. He knows that he is useless against her,” he added,
just to twist the metaphorical knife Dean was feeling in his chest. “He just wanted to be useful to you again, Dean.
It’s kind of pathetic, actually, how much he wants to help, and how he
knows that he can’t.”
not true,” Dean objected, albeit somewhat weakly. Castiel’s Netflix binges, his time under
Rowena’s spell, the grace he stole before he got his own back…it all pointed to
the angel’s depressed state of mind.
signs that Dean had ignored, selfishly.
it is,” Lucifer replied with a wicked grin.
“I know all of what he’s
feeling, which is much more than you could ever say. The guilt, depression, loneliness, low
self-esteem…how you were able to break one of my brothers so completely, Dean, is beyond me. I must say…I’m impressed. You’ve done a
better job at destroying him than I ever could have!”
Dean grabbed the angel blade that Lucifer had left on the table next to Castiel’s
trench coat and suit jacket, and closed the distance between the two of
them. His eyes were shining, angry tears
threatening to stream down his face at any moment. He held the blade against the Devil’s throat.
instead of any defensive maneuver, Lucifer’s grin just widened as he stared
into the hunter’s eyes, just as Castiel would have done whenever he and Dean
were this close to each other. His own
began to glow with blue grace, but he still made no move to attack.
Devil’s hand traveled up to caress Dean’s cheek. It would have been a loving gesture, coming
from Castiel. But the malice and
amusement behind Lucifer’s smile proved it to be anything but.
palm and fingers were ice-cold.
now…be careful with that, Dean,” he softly whispered – practically purring.
“He’s still in here too. I can feel him crying out right now, in fact!” Castiel was inside, begging him to not harm
Dean, over and over again. Lucifer still
found it pathetic. “And you wouldn’t
want to do anything rash, would you?”
His thumb moved slowly to stroke Dean’s skin. “Especially not if you knew exactly how he felt about you…”
single tear finally escaped, rolling down Dean’s cheek as he grasped tightly
onto the Devil’s elbow with his free hand.
confident that Dean would not do anything, wiped away that tear with his finger. He was purposely being gentle in order to
mock Castiel’s affection and love for the human.
didn’t have to physically bruise Dean in order to hurt him.
stepping back, Lucifer kissed Dean’s forehead.
Dean wanted so badly for that to have
been Castiel…for his angel to have
taken control again, to tell him that everything was going to be okay, and that
this was all an elaborate ruse or a bad hallucination or something to that
effect. But the coldness of the lips on
his skin told him otherwise.
turned his back and moved towards the stairs of the bunker, Dean did not make
any moves to follow. The angel blade
clattered to the floor, and he followed suit, sinking to his knees and staring
blankly at the back of the other man.
“Cas…” Dean could only whisper his angel’s name
sorrowfully. He wanted to tell him how
sorry he was for not paying attention to him more, for not realizing just how
much Castiel was hurting. But the words caught
hard in his tightening throat, cries threatening to escape.
just glanced back at Dean before striding over again to pick up his
weapon. He then turned to the table,
picking up and putting on his suit jacket.
Staring at the tan coat for a moment, Lucifer grabbed it, but instead of
also draping that over his shoulders, he threw it down in front of the hunter.
You can keep this,” he spat, still
smirking with amusement.
all, he wouldn’t need it.
Lucifer walked away, up the stairs and out of the bunker, Dean weakly reached
for the coat.
held it up to his face, and began to sob quietly.
jane/mason - five times in which jane’s eyes made mason fall a lil bit in love
When Mason made his grand entrance into the choir room with his sister in tow, he had to admit that he’d been expecting a bit… more. Maybe some dramatic music, a parade… confetti at the very least. What he got was two other students, looking absolutely scared shitless. This must have been the rest of the “glee club”. Huh.
Stiles is in college and is working at Laura Hales’ bakery for the summer in an AU where the fire never happened and the Hales are all alive.
Stiles’ favorite place in the world is Laura’s Bakery, especially now that he has an excuse to be there all the time. He’d managed to get a job there for the summer because Laura Hale was amazing and her part-timer had quit and he was home for the summer so she’d agreed to take him on. But, dude, money. And baked goods. That’s what he was looking forward to all summer. The absolute best part was that Lydia was interning across the street and came in all the time for coffee and a muffin. But the second best part was that after close Laura had taken to showing him how to make a few of the delicacies offered by the bakery.
At least that’s what he thought he’d spend all summer doing. Then Laura’s brother showed up and Stiles saw the infamous Derek Hale for the first time since high school, when Derek would sometimes pick up his younger siblings from school. And wow, the years had been good to him. Well, physically at least. At the moment he seemed a little bit…grumpy.
“Is Laura in the back?” he demanded as soon as he walked in the door, almost causing Stiles to drop a tray of cookies in surprise. “She was supposed to meet me ten minutes ago,” he continued without even apologizing for so obviously scaring the crap out of Stiles.
Of course, Stiles was more than willing to let it go, considering that this guy was one of the hottest humans he’d seen in like his entire life. He was really lucky that he’d managed to get over his need to babble during his first year of college.
“Yeah, we ran out of pumpkin muffins and she said she wanted to get some more in the oven before she left to meet her brother, who I’m guessing is you, because if we don’t get them in the oven now then people will be complaining all day that we don’t have any pumpkin muffins so she felt it was necessary and oh my god, I am babbling.” Well, he’d thought he’d managed to get over it.
“Let me start over. Yes, Laura is in the back, she should be out in just a moment. Hi, by the way, I’m Stiles and you must be her brother, Derek,” he said, trying to not feel like a total fool and fighting back his rising blush.
Derek just raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you always talk this much?”
And there was the blush. “Um, sometimes. I’m working on it.”
“Needs some more work.”
Thank god Laura chose that moment to appear because Stiles was sure that he was bright red. “Derek! Stop being so grumpy. I’m only a little late, don’t take your temper out on Stiles. He’s my best worker and I don’t want you making him quit like you did the last one.”
Laura was a goddess, Stiles was sure about that, because she grinned at Stiles and Derek rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything about Stiles babbling. “Let’s go. Nice meeting you, Stiles,” Derek says and tosses a smile Stiles’ way as he walks out the door and Stiles’ heart skips like five beats. He wasn’t aware that it could do that until just now.
“I’ll be back in about an hour Stiles, don’t forget to pull the muffins out of the oven and call me if you have any problems. Thanks, bye!” Laura says and Stiles is pretty sure she’s trying not to laugh at him but Stiles will forgive her because she’s a goddess. A goddess with the hottest brother ever.
kurt/blaine - finale reaction fic; 2035: Parenting is fun.
After almost twenty years in the thick of it, Kurt and Blaine knew very well that being staple names in the New York City theater district was nothing short of exhausting.
They weren’t even acting in anything at the moment, but it felt like Kurt and Blaine were always wrapped up in something: table reads, conferences, meetings, auditions… They were busy men. All that, on top of raising three beautiful children. Of course, they were loving every minute of it, but boy did they enjoy their time off.
For the love of all things volleyball, Oikawa could not – ever – comprehend why his chest stutters and his lungs implode whenever Iwaizumi calls him Tooru. It is an absolutely inane physical reaction. What is so important about Iwa-chan calling him by his first name anyway? Nothing. A glaringly obvious nothing. It is part of the whole getting-together thing, or so he is told by the rest of the team, so it’s unsurprising that sometimes Oikawa stills with the pain of not knowing why something so simple affected him too much.
(The memory of it is still so fresh: he tried, once, to call Iwaizumi Hajime, but then Iwaizumi just responded with a casual “What?”, as if hearing it was the most natural thing in the world.)
(And it kind of is, to Iwaizumi.)
For the most part, Iwaizumi still calls his boyfriend Trashy or Shitty or Dumpy; old habits, and it does suit Oikawa more than anyone would ever care to admit. But sometimes when they’re alone and he sees Oikawa’s unguarded face, his real face – the one that doesn’t have that incredibly sick grin marring it – Iwaizumi thinks to himself that no other term of endearment could possibly compare to just Tooru. The way the syllables roll off his tongue and into the air, traveling to where Oikawa sits and freezes with shock, the feeling that comes with watching the blush spread from his chest to his neck to his face, the small triumphant moment when he tries to speak but can’t… It’s all wonderful, true, but it’s deeper than that: it’s nothing short of a primal urge for Iwaizumi, it feels like he shouldn’t even need to say anything else other than that name, he doesn’t even think of anything when he calls out for Oikawa like that. So Iwaizumi doesn’t quite understand why it confuses Oikawa so much when he doesn’t react the same way at the sound of that sweet voice saying his name.
At some point during the first time Iwaizumi takes him, Oikawa eventually gets a faint inkling of comprehension, and despite the fact that comprehending hardly made him react any less violently to the timbre of Iwaizumi’s voice calling out Tooru – whether in practices or school corridors, or during nights when they’d unravel themselves in front of the other and let the all-consuming passion lead them to the depths of whatever it was they felt for each other – Oikawa stops sulking about it. Instead he starts smiling and befriending and cherishing each missed heartbeat, each split-second gasp for air, in the hopes that someday it would make sense to him the way it did to Iwaizumi.
The rescue helicopter finds only Raleigh's pod. Mako's pod mysteriously goes missing. Ensue worried/verge of breakdown!Raleigh.
(I might have squealed in glee when I saw this prompt Anon. You obviously understand my angst loving heart.)
Raleigh wakes up in an infirmary, tied down to the bed. He wakes slowly at first, like you do when you’re allowed to sleep as long as you want and you don’t have an alarm, and then he understands that he’s wearing restraints and he wakes up quickly after that. He struggles, struggles so hard that he doesn’t even understand what the doctors are telling him at first. They end up sedating him because his heart beat’s going crazy and they’re afraid he’ll hurt himself. He wakes up much more calmly the next time but that’s because Choi is there in the room with him.
Stiles is in college and is working in Laura Hale’s bakery for the summer in an AU in which the fire never happened and the Hales are all alive.
Stiles is standing with his back flat against the wall, with the counter and display case safely between him and whatever the hell just crashed through the window. His heart rate is through the roof and the thing is standing up, shaking off the shattered glass that is clinging to its clothes. Because, apparently, huge, furry things like to wear torn jeans and ripped flannel now. That was cool with Stiles, he didn’t judge.
What was not cool with Stiles was that the thing had turned around and was now looking right at Stiles and his mind was trying to tell him that there was a werewolf in the bakery, but it just wasn’t connecting. Until the werewolf growled and stalked forward towards Stiles and Stiles let out a totally manly shriek and grabbed the large knife that was on the counter next to him.
“Back, Jacob Black, stay back. I’m armed,” he managed through bloodless lips and let out a little “oh my god” when the werewolf literally jumped up onto the counter from like five feet away and landed in a crouch, his face only a few feet from Stiles’. “Nice werewolf, you don’t want to eat me, not when there’s all these tasty treats, right?”
The werewolf let out another growl and Stiles flinched, letting out another manly squeak, before trying to edge towards the door to the back. He stopped pretty quickly when the werewolf let out an even more menacing growl.
“Stiles!” Laura’s voice cut through his panic and he looked up to see her standing in the doorway, with Derek right at her shoulder. Stiles was about to tell them to run when Laura’s eyes flared a bright red. “Back away, rogue, and we might be merciful.”
That’s when Stiles brain short-circuits because the werewolf howls and tries to jump at Stiles but Derek is suddenly a lot furrier and toothier and is knocking the werewolf out of midair which looks as cool as it sounds. The two of them are rolling around on the ground, trying to rip each other apart and manage to shatter the display case and ruin all the pastries while they’re going at it.
Stiles is pretty sure that the fact that he notices the pastries is because his brain is in shock and he’s trying to cope by noticing the ridiculous things. He notes that thought as well, surprised that this is how he reacts to shock, by noticing all the details. Then Laura’s standing in front of him too and he can see her newly elongated ears sticking out from her hair and he’s beginning to feel a little faint because he’s pretty good with rolling with the punches, but this is a few punches too many.
So he really can’t be blamed for freaking out when Derek’s got the other werewolf pinned to the ground by its (his?) throat and Laura is standing there, completely human again and acting completely calm. “Oh my god,” he says, because that’s possibly all his brain can manage at the moment. “Oh my god, oh my god!”
“Quiet, Stiles,” Laura snaps at him and he shuts up like he always does when she says that because it’s like a conditioned response. It doesn’t stop the internal freak out. “This is my territory, why are you here?” she demands from the guy pinned to the ground and Derek must let up a bit on the pressure on his throat cause he actually manages to answer.
“Your scent’s all over this place and that human and you don’t even leave him guarded? It was too easy of a target, I didn’t even need the directions,” he spits out and for some reason Laura gets mad and before Stiles can blink she’s ripped his throat out.
Derek steps back and looks at Stiles, his face going back to normal and for some reason that makes Stiles feel a little better, even though it really shouldn’t. “Stiles,” he says and Stiles is pretty sure there’re a hundred things that are conveyed in that one word at that moment, but he can’t function well enough to grasp their meaning.
So he lets out a bit of a hysterical laugh because there’s pastry cream in Derek’s hair and it’s smeared all over the body of the dead werewolf. And it looks completely ridiculous. So Stiles laughs, because if he doesn’t he’s afraid he’ll have a panic attack and he really, really doesn’t like those.
Scott was pretty sure that sophomore year at a spy school was supposed to be exciting, but he wasn’t sure that it was supposed to be this exciting. Sure, the explosions were to be expected considering Lydia and Jackson had broken up, again, and she liked to make her feelings on the subject known by creating new and even bigger ways to create contained explosions. And now that he was dating Lydia’s new best friend it was natural that he would be drawn into it even more than before.
What should not have happened was being dragged into an international spy conspiracy. He didn’t even start learning about those until junior year. Not that Stiles had let that deter him, he’d already read all about them by the time they’d started high school. Still, Scott would probably not have agreed to be a part of the Pack if he had known that this would happen. Especially considering he wasn’t even allowed to let anyone know he was in it.
Lydia was laughing when it happened. Laughing at the spastic manner in which Stiles was trying to explain why exactly this wasn’t funny. They were going through an intersection and Stiles turned to give her a look and then he was just surrounded by light, a fucking halo for the one guy Lydia had always wondered if he was slightly too good to be true. Because Stiles was just that fucking beautiful of a human being. Taking care of her and the rest of pack and putting up with Derek-Fucking-Hale’s emotional constipation to be just human. So when the truck’s lights had surrounded him she’d thought for a moment, oh, now it makes sense, he was an angel all along.
And then the truck slammed into them, into Stiles’ precious jeep, into Stiles. Her laughter has been horribly choked off, replaced with screams of terror and absolute-fucking-horror. Because she’s a werewolf and somehow she can process the fact that a semi-truck has plowed into them and they’re actually rolling over and crashing into the cars that hadn’t fucking ran the red light. Then everything goes still and she groans, because hey, she might be a werewolf, but that doesn’t mean that car wrecks don’t hurt.
But she’s healing, because, hey, she is a werewolf, but Stiles isn’t. The jeep had come to a rest upright, thank god, but the entire driver’s side is smashed up, completely wrecked. And Lydia knows that if she wasn’t a werewolf then she’d probably be unconscious right about now. But she is, so she’s much more concerned with the fact that Stiles has his eyes closed and there’s so much blood.
Oh God, so much fucking blood. And Stiles is pale, paler than she’s ever seen him, for all his jokes about being a fragile, pale human and it’s scaring her. Because she can barely hear his heart and his breathing is practically nonexistent and he cannot die on her.
Because she might be able to function if he died, and it would be functioning because somehow life would always be a little hollow with Stiles there to fill in the silence, but the Pack would go to pieces. So Stiles had to be alive, he had to survive this. For all of them.
Frozen prompt: Anna and Kristof during the first couple weeks with their first baby :)
Mikael is not a quiet baby. He is not a happy baby. He is a poop machine who will only be quiet if he is being held by his mother or if he is asleep. At first he is content as long as he is being held but he very quickly developed a preference for Anna, although when he’s not hungry he will make do with his Aunt. If neither of the two women are available he will condone being held by his father, but anyone else is completely off limits. At first it’s cute but then the nights continue the pattern and none of them are getting any sleep.
Prompt: the trolls want to give Kristoff and Anna "The Talk"
Kristoff knows that he has never in his entire life been this embarrassed by the fact that his family is a bunch of rock trolls. Not even when they tried to get him and Anna married while her sister was making an eternal winter. At least then he’d been too worried about her to be humiliated by his family. Right now there are no distractions. It’s complete agony.
“At least, that’s what he’d thought until he’d spent the weekend trying to distract himself from the fact that Stiles’ lack of presence was driving him crazy. It was like an itch beneath his skin that he couldn’t scratch, no matter how he tried. By Sunday he was relieved to know that Stiles would be back in just a few short hours, would probably be coming over as soon as he got home because he did things like that. Things like coming to see Derek whenever he’d been absent for longer than a day. Derek honestly can’t remember when that became something that he looked forward to, that he considered a bright spot in his day. The irritation that had plagued him for three days slowly began to soothe itself away as the day dragged on, and then spiked when Stiles never showed.”
Stiles and his dad are in a car accident on their way home from visiting colleges.
A gift fic for Zimothy, because I lost a bet. I’ve been holding onto this for awhile and finally put the finishing touches on and posted! It has a happy ending, I swear.