[tumblr meme] Temeraire, Hornblower, TF2
Temeraire: Granby/Laurence
“You look stunning,” Granby said, which wasn’t quite what he wanted to say-and certainly not in that breathless, awestruck tone that he used-but he was already hard pressed not to announce that Laurence resembled a great deal like all the charming princes from every single fairy tale Granby had listened to from childhood. And it really did not help that Laurence was technically a prince himself now.
The captain glanced up, looking a bit wry and embarrassed, as if he couldn’t make up his mind if Granby was sincere or teasing him. Finally, he shook his head, since he was neither blind nor deaf to Granby’s expression and voice.
“Yes, well, I am sure these robes do tend to have that affect,” Laurence replied, fingering the sleeves of the bright silk, patterned lavishly with spiraling vines of flowers. The tailor nudged his hand away, muttering sourly in Chinese. Laurence did not quite roll his eyes, but it seemed like a near thing.
“I wasn’t talking about the robes,” Granby amended after a thoughtful pause.
He was glad that the tailor did not understand English, though a translation was hardly needed when they both flushed red and Laurence did nothing to hide his smile.
Temeraire: Emily/Demane
“That wasn’t precisely fair, you know!” Emily said, tilting her chin up despite the steadiness of Demane’s practice blade beneath it.
Demane shrugged, angling his sword away and held out his hand. “I did what I could to disarm you,” he explained reasonably.
Emily huffed, having half a mind to ignore his help, but that was really all too churlish an action to warrant the argument she was going to lose. Besides, it was not as if she minded it, specifically, but it was the principle of the whole thing. With a sigh, she took his hand and pulled herself to her feet, dusting the back of her breeches as she did.
“I really hope you do not plan on planting a kiss on every person you end up drawing swords against,” Emily sniffed. “I imagine they wouldn’t like that at all, even if they were French.”
“No,” Demane said, flashing a grin. “Just you. Not that I needed it, but it worked very well, in the end.”
She punched his arm in mock-anger and retrieved her sword from where it had fallen. Giving a few practice swings, she readied her position and waited for Demane to do the same.
“I’ll give you that,” she said, waving a casual salute before they started. “But don’t be surprised if in this round I take advantage of the same weakness.”
Hornblower: Archie/Horatio
Archie grinned over the smoking barrel of his pistol and stepped over the dead Frenchman.
“That was close,” he said, the high wind picking at his hair and making it come loose from its tie. Holding out his hand, he flashed his commanding officer a cheery grin.
Horatio slumped back, as the ground felt unfairly marvelous at the moment, before he reached out to take Archie’s hand. The lieutenant hauled him up and Horatio remained amazed at the difference between the timid man he met all those months ago and the Archie he knew now, confident and bright-eyed and all fight, even with the blood staining all over his uniform and face.
“Too close,” Horatio agreed, and leaned over to whisper into Archie’s ear. “What I would do without you, I wonder.”
Archie laughed, and made busy with reloading his pistol but not before he squeezed Horatio’s hand and let go.
“Well, I’m sure you would’ve been all right,” he said, shrugging modestly, “With or without me.”
Team Fortress 2: Spy/Scout's Mom
Spy steps off the train, trailing behind the BLU Scout. He is close enough to imply that they are walking together, but he still keeps a fair distance so the boy isn’t shooting suspicious glances over his shoulder- an ingrained habit that Spy finds understandable, considering.
Scout’s mother is waiting on the platform, the creased skirt of her pretty blue dress fluttering as the train starts to leave the station. As usual, she looks stunning, with just the right amount of make-up and her hair done up to perfection. Spy catches a sparkle nestled between the dark strands near her right ear, and he’s unexpectedly pleased that she thought to wear the earrings he had given her several months ago.
He hangs back, watching with feigned disinterest as Scout drops his heavy duffle bag so that he could wrap her up in his arms, beaming and laughing.
“Aw, ma. All dolled up for me?” Scout jokes, but he slides a sidelong look towards Spy over her shoulder in grudging acknowledgement. With it, comes a silent promise to shoot Spy’s balls off if the Frenchman so much as scratches his mother’s heart, though she is far from delicate besides.
Scout’s mother grins right back, though she insists that Scout let her go so that she could breathe. She doesn’t spare Spy a single glance, all of her attention focused on her son. They chatter away, non-stop and seemingly without needing air. Even then, it takes a while for the two of them to catch up on the basics-how’s it going, I missed you, how’s the team, how’s the rest of the boys doing, and so on-and Spy keeps quiet, taking in the subtle way she gestures, her mouth, the sway of her hips as she walks around Scout to see if he’s eaten well.
And though it doesn’t feel like he’s waited long at all, there’s a sense of relief when she finally turns to Spy, arms held out impatiently as Scout jogs off to meet with his brothers.
Spy embraces her, but he doesn’t swing her around like Scout, and she doesn’t immediately launch into a long-winded tale about all the things she has done since they last met.
“Welcome back,” she says, short, sweet, and straight to the point-because they only need a moment to take each other in, for her to stand on her toes and peck the corner of his mouth, and for Spy to slide his hand over hers.
He smiles, and that’s all he really needs to do before she squeezes his hand and they leave the train station together.
“You look stunning,” Granby said, which wasn’t quite what he wanted to say-and certainly not in that breathless, awestruck tone that he used-but he was already hard pressed not to announce that Laurence resembled a great deal like all the charming princes from every single fairy tale Granby had listened to from childhood. And it really did not help that Laurence was technically a prince himself now.
The captain glanced up, looking a bit wry and embarrassed, as if he couldn’t make up his mind if Granby was sincere or teasing him. Finally, he shook his head, since he was neither blind nor deaf to Granby’s expression and voice.
“Yes, well, I am sure these robes do tend to have that affect,” Laurence replied, fingering the sleeves of the bright silk, patterned lavishly with spiraling vines of flowers. The tailor nudged his hand away, muttering sourly in Chinese. Laurence did not quite roll his eyes, but it seemed like a near thing.
“I wasn’t talking about the robes,” Granby amended after a thoughtful pause.
He was glad that the tailor did not understand English, though a translation was hardly needed when they both flushed red and Laurence did nothing to hide his smile.
Temeraire: Emily/Demane
“That wasn’t precisely fair, you know!” Emily said, tilting her chin up despite the steadiness of Demane’s practice blade beneath it.
Demane shrugged, angling his sword away and held out his hand. “I did what I could to disarm you,” he explained reasonably.
Emily huffed, having half a mind to ignore his help, but that was really all too churlish an action to warrant the argument she was going to lose. Besides, it was not as if she minded it, specifically, but it was the principle of the whole thing. With a sigh, she took his hand and pulled herself to her feet, dusting the back of her breeches as she did.
“I really hope you do not plan on planting a kiss on every person you end up drawing swords against,” Emily sniffed. “I imagine they wouldn’t like that at all, even if they were French.”
“No,” Demane said, flashing a grin. “Just you. Not that I needed it, but it worked very well, in the end.”
She punched his arm in mock-anger and retrieved her sword from where it had fallen. Giving a few practice swings, she readied her position and waited for Demane to do the same.
“I’ll give you that,” she said, waving a casual salute before they started. “But don’t be surprised if in this round I take advantage of the same weakness.”
Hornblower: Archie/Horatio
Archie grinned over the smoking barrel of his pistol and stepped over the dead Frenchman.
“That was close,” he said, the high wind picking at his hair and making it come loose from its tie. Holding out his hand, he flashed his commanding officer a cheery grin.
Horatio slumped back, as the ground felt unfairly marvelous at the moment, before he reached out to take Archie’s hand. The lieutenant hauled him up and Horatio remained amazed at the difference between the timid man he met all those months ago and the Archie he knew now, confident and bright-eyed and all fight, even with the blood staining all over his uniform and face.
“Too close,” Horatio agreed, and leaned over to whisper into Archie’s ear. “What I would do without you, I wonder.”
Archie laughed, and made busy with reloading his pistol but not before he squeezed Horatio’s hand and let go.
“Well, I’m sure you would’ve been all right,” he said, shrugging modestly, “With or without me.”
Team Fortress 2: Spy/Scout's Mom
Spy steps off the train, trailing behind the BLU Scout. He is close enough to imply that they are walking together, but he still keeps a fair distance so the boy isn’t shooting suspicious glances over his shoulder- an ingrained habit that Spy finds understandable, considering.
Scout’s mother is waiting on the platform, the creased skirt of her pretty blue dress fluttering as the train starts to leave the station. As usual, she looks stunning, with just the right amount of make-up and her hair done up to perfection. Spy catches a sparkle nestled between the dark strands near her right ear, and he’s unexpectedly pleased that she thought to wear the earrings he had given her several months ago.
He hangs back, watching with feigned disinterest as Scout drops his heavy duffle bag so that he could wrap her up in his arms, beaming and laughing.
“Aw, ma. All dolled up for me?” Scout jokes, but he slides a sidelong look towards Spy over her shoulder in grudging acknowledgement. With it, comes a silent promise to shoot Spy’s balls off if the Frenchman so much as scratches his mother’s heart, though she is far from delicate besides.
Scout’s mother grins right back, though she insists that Scout let her go so that she could breathe. She doesn’t spare Spy a single glance, all of her attention focused on her son. They chatter away, non-stop and seemingly without needing air. Even then, it takes a while for the two of them to catch up on the basics-how’s it going, I missed you, how’s the team, how’s the rest of the boys doing, and so on-and Spy keeps quiet, taking in the subtle way she gestures, her mouth, the sway of her hips as she walks around Scout to see if he’s eaten well.
And though it doesn’t feel like he’s waited long at all, there’s a sense of relief when she finally turns to Spy, arms held out impatiently as Scout jogs off to meet with his brothers.
Spy embraces her, but he doesn’t swing her around like Scout, and she doesn’t immediately launch into a long-winded tale about all the things she has done since they last met.
“Welcome back,” she says, short, sweet, and straight to the point-because they only need a moment to take each other in, for her to stand on her toes and peck the corner of his mouth, and for Spy to slide his hand over hers.
He smiles, and that’s all he really needs to do before she squeezes his hand and they leave the train station together.