Inspired by this prompt from castlefanficprompts: ‘we take the same elevator every day and due to a misunderstanding I assumed you didn’t speak english and I’ve been talking to my friend about how hot you are for three weeks and apparently my friend has known from the start but you agreed not to tell me bc you both think its hilarious what the fuck’ au
He’s taken the elevator with her almost every day for the past week or so. Her apartment must be on one of the lower floors because it’s most definitely not his—he’d have noticed her—and he’s already thinking of ways to find out which one it is without blatantly asking her where she lives.
The first time he sees her walk onto the elevator he has to forcibly tear his eyes away from her and look elsewhere so he isn’t staring, but god is she stunning. Chestnut brown hair that falls just past her shoulders, usually in curls but there are occasions where she’ll wear it straight and he loves those days. The curls are perfect, but there’s something about the length that’s added when she straightens it that does him in. He’s only had a clear view of her eyes a handful of times, mostly when she gives him a friendly smile as she steps in, but they’re just as beautiful as she is. Brown and green with flecks of gold that stand out when the harsh elevator lighting hits them, a wonderful mixture of hazel that has him wishing he could just look into them forever.
Firth says, “My choice, Rick’s choice, (director) Matthew Vaughn’s choice and everyone’s choice was that I do everything. The only time it was decided that someone else (would do) anything would be the insurance company’s choice. Rick took some pretty serious knocks.”
@theannoyingmusicfan: Can you do one where Reid is drafted into the war and he’s unexpectedly has to make a decision where he has to choose his life or the reader life. Can he be in the k9 unit.
“You know how sometimes you tell yourself you have a choice, but really you don’t have a choice? Just because there are alternatives doesn’t mean they apply to you. -Rick Yancey, The 5th wave. The choice may be significant but I promise you’ll be okay without it.”
Spencer frowned at the creased letter, shaking fingers tracing the folds of Y/N’s letter. The quote circulated in his populous mind, painting every surface as he tried to understand the meaning.
“Reid, there’s a camp nearby, take the hounds to sniff out any hidden people or destructive devices. Ackley will follow shortly.” His sergeant assigned sternly, eyes narrow but wide with dominance. Spencer evidently gulped, in attempt to keep his nerves from spilling out due to his first assignment alone.
“Yes, sir.” Spencer croaked, walking to retrieve the hounds but his legs threatened to collapse beneath him.
The dogs pulled harshly against the strong leashes, Spencer anxiously following their lead. Mud capsulated his black boots as he approached the small camp, his jaw clenched at the thick, impure, grotty scent that possessed his nose.
The trained hounds began to growl through sharp teeth as they advanced towards a large, grey, concrete building. Warily, Spencer freed the dogs from their leashes, allowing them to track whatever they may be detecting. The dogs instantly leaped into the building through the moss-covered, eroded doorway.
Spencer swiftly pulled a pistol from his figure-hugging jacket, grip firm as he extended it in front of his stern form. He attempted to keep up with the hounds as they prowled in the deep shadows of the long, damp corridors, fur stood on end. Although, the hounds raced forward, out of Spencer’s sight as they followed their instinct.
Suddenly, as the hounds turned a sharp corner, piercing yelps echoed through the empty building. Spencer’s eyes widened in fear, knuckles white as his grip tightened while he hurried to the agonising cries.
As Spencer turned around the dark corner, his eyes clenched at the bloody mess of the hounds in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he cast his worried gaze up from the dogs, met by the haunting scene.
“Y/N…” He whispered, gun falling from his bony, limp hands without thought. Y/N jolted, tightly restrained to a chair in the middle of the isolated room. She mumbled and screamed in panic against the duct tape pulling at her chapped lips. Before Spencer could conclude the reasoning for her sudden outburst, a sharp pain thrashed against the back of his head, Y/N’s whimper’s slowly fading as the pain intensified.
“Finally, you’re awake! Doctor…Soldier? I’m not sure what to call you anymore.” A rough voice muffled, the sound filtered by a large gas mask oppressing his filthy face. As Spencer lifted his heavy eyelids, Y/N’s tear stained face looked towards him, a large man towered over her. His eyes flickered around, looking for his gun but eventually saw his bullet-proof vest discarded with it, far from arms reach. But his weakened body held him down.
“Looking for something?” The masked man chuckled, his hands placed in leather gloves, fingers dancing across Y/N’s trembling cheek.
“T-they will come and find me.” Spencer declared, encouraging himself rather than the mysterious man. In response, the man’s expression lit up in excitement, strutting towards Spencer and pulling him to his shaky feet.
“Well, we better start the game early then!” The man snickered, forcing Spencer to look him in the eyes by gripping his clenched jaw.
“Any objections and the girl dies,” he whispered before raising his voice, “Hell, depending on which way the game goes, either of you could.” Spencer glanced over at Y/N, who struggled to breathe against the punishing duct tape.
“Sh-she can’t breathe.” Spencer stuttered, concern growing as he stared at the masked man with pleading eyes. The man looked over at Y/N, fighting against her restraints. Glancing back at Spencer, a large, evil smirk breaking out beneath the mask.
“I could spare you a few last words.” The man responded, tearing the duct tape from her mouth, drawing blood from the light grazes. As soon as her mouth was free to speak, two simple words spilled from her sore lips.
“Rick…Yancey.” She whispered, causing Spencer’s eyebrows to furrow. Suddenly, a hard, metal object thrust into Spencer’s open hand.
“What?” Spencer quivered, hand shaking around the barrel.
“The game.” The man announced, a chuckle escaping from his throat.
“There are two choices, in the game. You or her.” The man informed, standing behind Spencer’s beaten body.
“W-what? What do I need to do?” Spencer stuttered, tears prickling his eyes.
“You shoot. Yourself or Y/N. You don’t choose any? I kill you both.” The masked man ordered, pulling a gun from his jacket and aiming it at Y/N.
“You shoot me? Well, lets just say that your ‘friend’ will shoot you both.” The man continued as Ackley entered the room, gun aimed at Y/N.
“A-Ackley? I-I don’t understand.” Spencer cried, his whole body trembling in fear.
“I’m the alternative, the one you’ll be okay without.” Y/N whispered to Spencer, recalling the quote in her letter. Spencer closed his eyes, sobs escaping his throat as he lifted his trembling hand.
“Spence,” Y/N began, fear flowing through her veins. His saddened eyes met her pleading ones, shaking his head slightly as he returned his gaze to the men who had murderous weapons aimed at her.
“I’m sorry.” Spencer whispered before his limp body flew to the floor, blood drenching his lifeless body.
After spending almost all year travelling the world with Ford, Stan is happy to be back in the comfort of his home. Retired and looking forward to a week of blissful domestic relaxation before the twins return to stay for the summer, the last thing he expected to turn up on his doorstep was Rick Sanchez. No seriously, just who is this guy? Can he help Stan remember that large gap in his long-term memories that Ford and the kids couldn’t fill? Does Stan even want to remember?