my fic: prison break

It’s three weeks after they’ve settled the Kate and Peter deal, with the former on the run from her brother and the later in Eichen House, that Stiles goes to visit the resident zombiewolf.

When Peter’s brought out, he has thick shackles on his ankles and wrists and looks like he can barely stand. There’s dark shadows under his eyes and he’s already lost weight even from the short time frame. In short, he looks terrible.

Stiles gaze is heavy as he takes this in, arms crossed and face set in stone. He’s not giving an inch beyond what he came here for.

“Stiles,” Peter greeted. His voice was raspy, like he’d been screaming. Stiles refused to feel bad for him.

“You’ve got ten minutes to explain,” Stiles stated simply, voice cold.

Peter quirked an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance even as Stiles can see his hands shaking. “Why, whatever do you mean?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “I’m not playing around, Peter. I will walk away and I won’t be coming back. And you sure as hell know no one else will be coming to see you. I’m giving you one chance and it’s no skin off my nose if you turn it away.”

Peter looked away, shoulders slumping. “What do you want me to say? None of it matters,” he muttered, bitterly.

Stiles leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “How about the truth? I know that’s a foreign concept for you, but that’s the only thing I’m going to accept.”

“I thought the truth was that I was working with Kate to kill Scott,” Peter stated.

“No, that’s what it looked like,” Stiles refuted. “But come on, do you think I’m stupid? You working with Kate Argent? There had to be an ulterior motive there. You’d burn yourself alive again before willingly working with that she-devil; I don’t care how much power she promised you.”

Peter stared at him with something akin to awe in his eyes. “I didn’t realize you gave it that much thought,” he managed out.

Stiles snorted. “Like it takes that much thought. Dude, she’s like your archnemesis. There isn’t anyone in this world you want dead more than her. Which begs the question: what the hell were you doing?”

Peter sighed, ducking his head down. “She was surrounded by Bersekers, which no one knew how to kill, had kidnapped Derek under our noses, was planning on killing everyone, and Scott still wanted to play peacemaker. Forgive me for wanting to make sure she didn’t burn everything around me again.”

“But what was your plan?” Stiles repeated. “Kill Scott together and turn on her? Find out the Berserkers’ weaknesses from her? Because from where I’m sitting it looks an awful lot like she just played you like a fiddle and threw you away like yesterday’s trash. I mean, you’re in here, not her.”

Peter nodded, looking more pathetic than Stiles had even seen. He didn’t think it was an act either. Peter looked beaten down, worn. Tired.

“I thought if I got close enough I could kill her myself, once and for all,” Peter murmured. “I didn’t care about the Berserkers or Scott. I didn’t care if I died. She doesn’t deserve to breathe, not after everything she’s done.”

Stiles nodded, studying him for a moment. Finally, he exhaled, rubbing his hand through hair. “Okay,” he began. “Okay. It’s not going to be easy, but I’ll get this straightened out and we’ll get you out of here.”

Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What?”

Stiles meet his gaze evenly. “I’m going to get you out of here. You’re an asshole, but you’re not evil, no matter what Scott says.”

“Wha…but…I don’t understand,” Peter admitted, voice rough.

Stiles nodded, leaning forward with compassion in his gaze. “I’m going to get you out of here. Just focus on that. I’ll work out the details. I’ll see you in a few days, okay?”

Peter shook with emotion, scared to embrace the hope Stiles was giving him. He didn’t want to admit that he was in pain, that he was hurting, that he was scared. But he was. He was so scared and everything hurt so much. He nodded in a quick jerk, scared once more as they called the end of their time and started to drag him away.

“I promise,” Stiles mouthed, eyes serious. Peter didn’t take his eyes off him until they drug him around the corner.

anonymous asked:

Misa prompt No 7...Sara to Michael 'I almost lost you.'

7. I almost lost you
S5 Wine Dark Sea missing scene

               The second time Michael wakes it’s to something warm shifting along his right side and pressure on his chest. Blinking until his eyes adjust to the soft light he sees the top of Sara’s head, her hair splayed across his torso. He can feel by her breathing pattern that she isn’t asleep, but she remains almost motionless. “Sara?” his voice is still raspy, but at least breathing is no longer a struggle.

               “Not yet,” It’s a whisper, words spoken against his skin. “I know we have to deal with Poseidon, that we have to discuss a plan with the others.” He lifts her head to look at him, pleading. “Just let me have this.” There are tears welling in her eyes, “I almost lost you again and I,” she pauses as his hand reaches up to cup her cheek, leaning into his touch. “Just let me stay a little longer, please.”

               “Sara,” he shifts to his side, wincing as it pulls on the fresh stitches. He coaxes her up a little, and she tucks her head under his chin. He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her more tightly against him; eyes closed as he rests his face against her hair. “The plan can wait.” He knows it’s not true, that every second counts against them. But she’s flown halfway across the world to save him, even after all he’s done. And he’s waited desperately for this very same comfort. So Poseidon will have to wait, and the world with him. “I’m right here,” he whispers, not even trying to fight the crack in his voice as he feels her tears roll across his skin. “I’m here.”

How about a Mike Jr. drabble-ish thingy?

Whenever Jacob looked at him, back when he lived here with Mike and Mom, Mike had always thought of a fish: flop! Because his eyes slipped right over the surface of Mike’s skin, never sticking there. With his real father, it feels more like a weight…heavy, but not rock-heavy. Blanket-heavy, like when Mom puts the big quilt over him in winter, the one that makes him feel like he’s in a cocoon, his legs and arms turned to noodles.

It’s like his father wants to see all of him…study him, figure him out, but not like Uncle Lincoln studied the BBQ manual that one time: all fume-y, with some swear words. More like his teacher Mrs. A studies the butterflies in the first grade garden: if you’re quiet and careful, she says, you’ll learn to understand them. They’ll learn to get used to you.

But you can’t let the butterflies know how much you want to get close, or else they scatter, and that’s where his real father is different. Mike knows he tries to look away, but sometimes, his dad looks at him super long instead, and sometimes super sad, like grown ups do when they miss someone, even if that someone is right there.

Butterflies don’t understand sad. Mike does, because Mike has seen sad on Mom. Not on Jacob, because Jacob never did sad. He did mad, but called it frustrated or disappointed-in-you, like when Mike spilled his juice box all over his laptop, or when he wet the bed that once (only once!). Sometimes Jacob called mad ‘why-the-hell-Sara’ or ‘do-I-have-to-make-all-the-effort-Sara,’ for no reason Mike could see, and that’s when he’d give Mike his most slippery fish look and go directly into his study: slam! 

Jacob always wore his sorry-face after those times. Mike knows all the faces people can have, of course: happy, disappointed, mad, sad and all the rest, because Mom and his real dad take him to Dr. Kate with the fancy office and comfy couch who gives him all the cards, one with each face, and Mike gets to pick the one he likes best that day. Dr. Kate and Mike show Mom and his dad which card he picks and then they look at each other and their faces are worry or relief, one or the other. But it’s all very dumb, Mike thinks, because he doesn’t pick his real face. Instead, he picks the face he used in the car on the way there, every time, making sure Mom and his dad can see him in the mirror. The day his dad figures that out, the day he picks Mike’s face out of the deck before Dr. Kate shows him, that is the best day, Mike thinks. Because that is the day Mike’s real face is happy-face and then so is his dad’s and they match.

On the way home, he shows his dad his fist-bump high five, the one that explodes with fingers when they touch, and then Mike’s dad has cry-face and happy-face mixed together, and Mike’s throat feels kind of swollen, like when Mom says she’s proud of him. And that’s when he decides: no more pretend faces. Just real ones, with his real dad.

Have a Prison Break fic prompt for me? Leave it in my ask box.

How my Flash trash brain works:

*my inner Flash fic gremlin, doing a full-blown prison break and logging onto Tumblr* Westallen is married!  poly is great!!  let’s write more whump!!!  oh, AND, there’s the whole thing next week with devoe that looks like a hecka good time–

*Rational Adult Side, dragging inner Flash fic gremlin away by its ankles* dude we’ve got like ten more pages to write for this essay stay

For the record I only ever write (good) fic when I’m supposed to be doing something else.  Whoops.

anonymous asked:

"It's snowing!" Michael's first white Christmas since Yemen. Prison break, thanks!

“It’s snowing!”
Misa – Post S5

               Sara makes her way through the house, housecoat pulled around her against the chill of the morning. She finds the pot of hot coffee in the kitchen, but her husband isn’t in the kitchen or his study. Eventually she notices the figure on the back patio, standing just off the edge.

               She slides the door open, shivering against the blast of cold air and stray snowflakes. “Michael?”

               He turns, face red from the cold but eyes sparkling. “It’s snowing,” he states, smile pulling at his lips.

               “Very observant of you,” She replies, pulling her robe closer. “Aren’t you freezing?” she asks, noting that he’s only in his flannel pajama pants and a long sleeve top.

               He shakes his head, “I’m alright.” His eyes return to the yard that is blanketed in white. “I forgot how beautiful it was, before the world wakes up and creates tracks and shovels paths through it.”

               It hits her then, that he’s spent years in countries that are warm year-round. She wonders if he’s seen snow at all since he left. “Coffee’s ready, when you’re ready to get warm.” Is all she thinks to say. Not wanting to rush him in, but also not dressed warmly enough to join him.

               Luckily for her he turns, making his way toward her. “Coffee sounds good,”

               “Hang on,” She laughs as he approaches her. Reaching up she dusts snowflakes from his head and shoulders, smiling as the lights reflect off of the ones still caught in his eyelashes. “There, now you won’t make a puddle when you get inside.” He reaches out as if to embrace her and she quickly dances away, “Oh no! You get warm, then we can snuggle.”

               At that he laughs, “Fair enough.”

               Soon they are sitting together on the couch, cups of coffee in hand. “It’s snowing!” Mike’s voice echoes through the house as he comes running into the room.

               “It is,” Sara smiles, then glances up at her husband. “Why don’t you and your dad go out and play a bit while I get breakfast ready?”

               “Really?” Mike asks, looking over at his father excitedly.

               “Absolutely,” he glances down at Sara, who is still tucked into his side. “If you’re sure?”

               “Completely,” she shifts away, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek. “You two go have fun.”

               As they both grin, going through the house to put on warmer clothes Sara isn’t sure which one is actually more excited.

anonymous asked:

"If you throw a snow ball at me, so help me.. " Michael and Sara PB

“If you throw a snowball at my face so help me.”

               They are supposed to be getting groceries out of the car. Michael had arranged an assembly line, and things were running smoothly. Sara isn’t sure which of her boys distracted the other, but suddenly they were both gone, chasing one another through the yard with wads of snow in hand.

If she’s honest she’s amazed it took this long.

               She’s torn between scolding them so they will finish helping, or just carrying the remaining bags in herself. Before she can decide she sees Michael dart toward her, ducking under one of Mike’s projectiles as he goes. She knows that look, the half smirk accompanied by that twinkle in his eyes. “Michael Scofield, if you throw that snowball at my face so help me –“ but it’s to late, and even as she ducks the cold substance catches her cheek.

               “All right, that’s it!” she exclaims, tossing the bag of groceries back in the car. At first the other two stop, watching her to see if they are about to be grounded. But then she’s grabbing a handful of snow and they take off once more.

               They spend nearly an hour running about the front yard, ducking behind trees and cars. There’s a white splat across the side of the mailbox and the once clear driveway is again dusted with snow. By the time they collapse in the living room most of their outer layer is damp and all of them have red faces.

               “You boys still have to finish carrying in the groceries,” she says breathlessly, looking over at the pair. They groan in protest until she motions toward the kitchen. “Tell you what, you bring in the groceries and I’ll make hot cocoa?”

               “Deal!” Mike shouts, dragging his father by the hand as Sara moves toward the kitchen to turn on the oven. That night as they settle around the TV with warm mugs in hand, all three of them are asleep long before the credits roll.

anonymous asked:

Hi, hlad to see you're taking prompts again! Decorating the Christmas tree : Michael and Sara and Mike

Glad to be back to writing!
Hope you enjoy =)

             Sara insists on a live tree for their first Christmas. It had been a family tradition in her house, and Michael sees no reason to deny her. Besides, it means he doesn’t have to battle the traffic and crowds to purchase one in a store. So, on one of the more mild days Michael, Lincoln, LJ and Mike go out to choose and cut down trees. Mike of course chooses the largest tree he can find, and it will require more than a little trimming to fit in the house. But Michael knows that it’s probable that it will fit, and that’s enough for him.

               The boys get it set up before Sara gets home from her shift, and Michael finds the boxes of ornaments and decorations in the basement. After making sure there’s fresh coffee waiting he and Mike settle down on the couch to watch Frosty until she returns. Sara walks in, eyes drawn to the massive evergreen in the corner. “Wow…”

               The boys turn, looking over the back of the couch at her. “Do you like it?” Mike asks.

               “He told me that last year the tree wasn’t big enough for all of the decorations,” Michael smiles, walking over to his wife. “And we couldn’t have that.”

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