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Various and Sundry [Prompt fills from Tumblr]

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Reese/Finch, medieval au? -- queenklu

“I’m quite certain that when the King sent you here to spend a night in holy prayer,” Brother Harold gasped, “This is not what he meant.”

John of Westminster — soon to be Sir John — just smiled, and lowered himself to his knees before the monk. “My dearest Brother,” he murmured, “I intend to pray most fervently tonight.”


Carter (/ or &?) Shaw: The epic bromance. --bitchwhoyoukiddin

Shaw woke up to Bear licking her face. “Buy me dinner first,” she mumbled, and cracked her eyes open.

Finch was standing in front of the couch, looking baffled. Reese said he had that look on his face a lot lately, since Shaw started hanging around. Whatever. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Shaw looked around. Joss was out cold on the other end of the couch, their legs tangled up in the middle, bottles of beer and booze littered around them like so much shrapnel. “We were in the middle of scissoring and got sleepy,” she told Finch, and levered herself off the couch, trying not to move Joss. Bear sat there patiently, not licking any more faces, and Shaw decided she hated him for today.

Finch looked even more baffled. “Oh. Mr. Reese is on his way in; we have a number, if you’re interested.”

“I can’t begin to tell you how much I’m not,” she muttered, but followed him to the Transparent Chalkboard Of Talking About Things To Death for a debrief anyway.

Reese rolled up about ten minutes later with four hot drinks and a hilarious expression. “Harold asked me what scissoring was while I was ordering us breakfast,” he said, handing her her peppermint mocha. “That wasn’t very nice.”

Shaw grinned and took a sip; Reese was always careful to add just a little bit of nutmeg. “We stayed up until three playing Never Have I Ever,” she admitted in a low voice, watching as Joss started stirring at the smell of fresh coffee. “Let me tell you, that is one freak bitch.”

Reese was about to say something when Finch made a noise of horror; Shaw peered over his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah,” she confirmed, pointing helpfully at the GIF Harold had found. “That’s what we were doing last night.”


whoops, i'm an idiot when it comes to tumblr. sorry. reese/finch. protectiveness. --giandujakiss

It wasn’t just the way John stood in front of him whenever danger threatened. It was an umbrella large enough for two, a dog trained to attack but inclined to love, hot tea in the winter and iced tea in the summer, soft touches at his elbow or shoulder to get his attention, soft smiles when he thought Harold didn’t see.

Harold had wanted a weapon, but he’d hired a shield; now, after two years, he felt ashamed of thinking of John in those terms. John was a respite, a shelter, and a strength, one that Harold could lean on, and lend his support in turn.


Reese&Bear, Relationship advice. :) --esteefee

Reese looked down at the basketful of puppies - all the same brindle color as Bear, but with unmistakable pitbull faces - and reread the note attached to the handle.

“Bear, looks like you’re a single dad,” he concluded.

Bear licked at one of the puppies, who bit him on the nose. He whuffed, looking betrayed.

“I’ve heard that kids often resent absentee fathers,” Reese shrugged.


shaw/root, domestic!future, cozy and loving in their own way --gimmebackmybrain


“O, upper left corner,” Sam said, sleepy and relaxed, naked on her stomach in the king-sized bed. She’d rolled her eyes when Root had suggested the locale for their five-year anniversary: the hotel room where they’d first met. But Sam was a romantic at heart, just like Root.

She obediently ran the knife in a circle, careful not to cut too deep, blood beading in just a few places along the sharp curve of Sam’s shoulder blade. The Os were tricky, so she took her time, stroking down Sam’s back with her other hand. “You realize you’re going to lose this round,” she chided. She could see all the variables, three moves ahead, and they’d have to start again. There was a bare patch of skin on Sam’s left inner thigh; they’d play the tiebreaker there.

Sam hid her smile in the pillow. “Oh, darn,” she murmured.


Reese/Finch, for the first time in a while, someone doesn't assume they're both Bear's dads. --lelied

“I can’t believe you took her card,” Harold says. He can’t put any distance between them - Reese’s long legs make out-walking him impossible even without his disability - but he keeps Bear between them, a little distance that he needs at the moment.

“She gave it to me,” Reese protests, trying to maneuver around to Harold’s left side. Harold shuffles Bear over to his left. “Harold. Seriously?”

“Everyone at that dog park thinks we’re a couple. That’s — our cover,” Harold says, because admitting that it was the reason they went to that dog park so often was more than he wanted to discuss at the moment. “People are going to think you’re cheating on me. Rather brazenly, I might add.”

“I’m not going to call her,” John says, making a break for Harold’s right side.

“I couldn’t care less if you were to call her or not, Mr. Reese,” Harold says, tugging Bear back to his right. Bear growls and sits down in the middle of the sidewalk, clearly on strike. “Bear. Bear. Volg rechts.”

“Harold,” John says, and Harold looks up, at John who’s taken hold of his elbow. “I’m not going to call her,” he repeats, and kisses him softly.

He can’t do much more than kiss back, hands clenched around Bear’s leash and in John’s shirt, and when John pulls away Harold half-follows him for a moment. “Um,” he says.

“I wouldn’t want to ruin our cover,” John says, and straightens Harold’s glasses. He ducks in for another kiss. “C’mon. Let’s find a trash can where I can throw away that card. And this dog poop,” he adds, holding up the plastic bag.


Finch/Reese, languages? --mienai

Keisha, back in high school, was in his French class, and they studied together, giggling over nouns having sex. She couldn’t get the difference between tu and vous, but he taught her, and one brave afternoon he told her je t’aime and she blushed and kissed him, je t’aime, je t’aime.

He loved Jessica in Spanish, their days in Tijuana merging into nights murmuring the endearments they’d heard on the street. She spoke it against his shoulder, into his ear, and he’d put the words in his own mouth like unfamiliar candies, sweet and sticky.

Kara had been in Farsi, citrus words that caught on his lips, pressed strangely against his throat. She laughed and corrected his pronunciation, fingers at his Adam’s apple, and he thought that this was the closest to happiness he wanted to get.

Finch isn’t a language spoken by people; his source code sends John skittering through books, through libraries, looking for the translations. He’s wrong, and then wrong again, failing and trying and failing, but Harold sometimes smiles at things he says and John writes them down, uses them in his phrasebook, hoping that one day he’ll speak in the words Harold can understand.


John/Harold, body swap --judgebunnie

“How far did you run?” John asks. His voice still doesn’t sound right - it wouldn’t - but he ignores that in favor of getting an icepack out of the fridge. Bear’s already in the kitchen, making a mess over by the water dish. John wonders if personalities are linked to bodies, somehow; he can feel himself wanting to grout the bathroom.

From the living room, Harold says, “All the way around Central Park. I must say, John,” and it’s so creepy, hearing Harold’s disapproving tone coming out with John’s own voice, “You really should work on your cardio. You’re still in the prime of life, you’re uninjured. Take advantage of it.”

John comes back into the the living room; Harold is sprawled out on the couch, looking — it takes a moment for John to recognize the expression on his own face — happy. He hands Harold the ice pack. “Looks like you’re taking plenty of advantage already.”

And the blush that spreads down Harold’s cheeks is very, very interesting.


*side-eyes* Any chance of a Shaw/Carter/Kalakaua team up wherein Reese fangirls the ever loving shit out of that? (You know he would.) -- bitchwhoyoukiddin

Lionel had gotten a couple of flower arrangements, a half-dozen cards - which was nice, good to know he was getting somewhere in the department, really, people actually cared these days if he was in the hospital recovering from a broken leg - but he felt like maybe visitors should be banned.

“And then Kalakaua punched the guy so hard I think I actually did see a couple teeth go flying,” Reese said, leaning back in his chair. “After that, Carter and Shaw just mopped up the rest of the bank robbers. You and Carter’ll be getting a commendation.”

“What about this Kalakaua chick?” Lionel asked, because he’d given up about ten minutes ago making fun of how Reese was more excited talking about the terminal damage him and his Charlie’s Angels had done tonight than he’d ever been in Lionel’s presence before.

Reese looked gut-punched. “She had to fly back to Hawaii on a red-eye this morning. Still, maybe she’ll come out for the ceremony? She promised to go to the range with me sometime.”

“Your dating life is terrifying,” Lionel said, before the morphine (thankfully) kicked in and he fell asleep.


Person of Interest, Finch/Reese, On Vacation. (Added bonus option - in Hawaii, if you want to continue your H50 crossover!) --katkillalla

“Where did you go off to?” Harold asks, though he doesn’t sound like he cares a whole lot; he hasn’t even looked up from whatever book he’s got on his tablet (“I’d much rather damage the electronics of one of these than risk losing a book to water damage,” Harold said back in New York, waving the tablet at John). He’s got a sunburn on his nose, despite the fact that John was very, very careful to lather him up with SPF 50 this morning and position him under an umbrella.

John sighs and reaches for the sunscreen again. “Took a surf lesson. Helped Kono arrest a couple of drug dealers. Vacation stuff,” he says. He tugs Harold’s tablet out of his hands. “Here. Let me reapply.”



H50, Steve/Danny, undercover as seminary students --7forbiddenwisdoms

“How do you not know the rosary?” Danny hissed, clutching at his like it was going to give him holy strength. It probably wasn’t.

“I’m… protestant?” Steve said.

“Okay, this was your idea, McGarrett. Besides which, there’s such a thing as google, okay, you could just look it up.”

“You don’t know it either,” Steve realized.

“What, like I’m supposed to remember every little thing. Confirmation was twenty years ago, babe.”


Prompt: H50, Kono goes to Canada to roundhouse kicks people in the face for justice. sir-yessir

“No seriously, how is it this cold?”

“You’d be amazed how quickly people adapt to foreign climes,” Benton says, watching absently as Ray paws through his desk drawer for something. Their RCMP station here in Hay River was actually warmed quite sufficiently for June - the gauge outside had it at a balmy four degrees, though Ray had insisted on lighting the stove this morning anyway - but Officer Kalakaua was still wearing her parka, mittens, and a stocking cap over a yushanka. All Benton could see of her was her nose. “Detective Kowalski, for example, has acclimated quite well to our winters up here.”

“Yeah, after fifteen years, Fraise,” Ray says, and finds whatever it is he was looking for. “Here, can you sign this? I can’t believe I’m talking to *Kono Kalakaua,* man, I heard about you at Mavericks in ‘04.”

Officer Kalakaua’s nose blushes, but she signs the framed picture of her in what looks like a perfect tunnel of blue water.



Elementary, Joan and Bell being bros. (Sherlock/Joan/Bell optional.) seekanewerworld

“Stop moving,” Joan ordered.

“Stop poking at it, then,” Marcus ordered back. “You’re getting germs all over the wound - how were you a doctor?”

“It’s a bee sting, not a bullet hole,” Joan said, and got up from the table to rummage around a drawer. “There’s some Neosporin in here. Or,” she said, as if a thought had just occurred to her, “You could stop being a giant baby about getting stung by a teeny little bee.”

“Seriously, how were you a doctor.”