“Fuck, that was
amazing!” Naruto’s voice came out rougher than usual.
“Like, like, holy shit.”
Sasuke squeezed his eyes against the slashes of early morning
sunlight on the ceiling. He cursed quietly, rolled onto his side facing away
from his- his- whatever- and ground his teeth against an impending migraine.
Everything was a blur. You had carried on screaming you knew that much. You were violently sick, your throat burnt and your head pounded. You cried until there were no tears left. Someone had tried to hold you back, to drag you from the house and you had resisted until you were exhausted.
Someone, Rossi you thought, carried you to the SUV and everything after that was a swirling vortex of grey and bleeding eye sockets. When you opened your eyes you were in an unfamiliar bed, your shoes had been removed and a sick bowl and glass of water were on the bedside table.
The room span around you as you clambered awkwardly of the bed and flung open the door. Emily, Tara and Luke were huddled together outside. They all turned to you with an identical look in their eyes: pity, sorrow and a kind of hopelessness like they didn’t know what to do or say.
It took you several attempts to speak and when you did your voice was hoarse.
“Oh y/n” said Emily softly.
“Why them? It was the same guy right? W-why go from killing women to-to-to killing a family? I mean, it makes no sense right? Right!”
“We’re trying to figure that out” said Luke softly. His voice was like a knife. You dragged your fingers so hard through your hair you almost pulled it out by the roots.
“Is it me?” you asked after a moment “Is it because I came back here? Is it to stop us working the case?”
“We have no reason to think that at the moment” said Tara.
“Where are we?”
“This is Sheriff Coleman’s house-” Emily began. You cut her off by striding down the hall. Luke yelled after you.
“Not here. I’m not staying here” you yelled as you made your way down the stairs “where is the rest of the team?”
“At the cri-” Tara stopped herself from finishing that sentence.
The crime scene.
Where the victims are.
Your childhood home, a crime scene.
Dead Mom, dead Dad, dead Danny.
You felt a hand on your shoulder. Somehow you had made it to the bottom of the stairs with Emily at your heels. She released her hand as you turned towards her.
“I-I-I” you couldn’t finish the sentence. You began to shake with the sobs and Emily pulled you into her arms as you cried.
“We are going to find this bastard, I promise you. You hear me? We are going to get this sick son of a bitch and he is going to rot in a prison cell for the rest of his life. Okay? I promise you this.”
“I need to see them. Please Emily, I can’t stay here. I can’t stay with people who think I’m…not after that…don’t you see?…They shouldn’t be alone” you rambled, barely making sense to yourself. Emily shushed you, stroked your hair. Like your mother had done.
“You can’t be involved in this. I know it’s hard, believe me. Reid and JJ are with your family. They stayed with them from the moment they left your house. They aren’t alone. They will be taken care of.”
Where….? Oh the coroner…..
“Listen to me” Emily broke the embrace and looked you square in the eye “You are a victim now. You are part of this case. This will be the hardest thing in the world but I need you to stay here. We will back as soon as we possibly can.”
“No Emily, please” you protested but it was no use. You stood aside and let her pass, followed by Luke and Tara.
“Do you want one of us to stay?” asked Luke.
“I’ll keep an eye on her” Dale’s voice made you jump. You hadn’t realised he was even there.
“Thanks Deputy” said Emily “y/n we’ll be back soon, okay?”
“Okay. Be safe. Please be safe.” You couldn’t lose anyone else.
Dale put his arms around you after they left. You were grateful for the comfort, he’d been the same when Toby died.
“How about some soup? My own recipe.” he said brightly.
“Oh Dale, I dunno, I’m not hun-”
“You need to keep your strength up.” He clasped you firmly by the hand and pulled you towards the kitchen. He pulled out a seat and after a moment’s hesitation you sat down.
“I didn’t know you cooked” you said as Dale began chopping vegetables.
“Oh yeah!” Dale launched into a long explanation about some class he was taking and how he had discovered the local farmers market. You weren’t really listening. Your head felt thick, like there was layer of fog over your thoughts.
“y/n? y/n!” Dale looked at you annoyed.
“Sorry” your voice cracked “I just…”
Dale blinked, he looked like he was trying to figure out what to say.
“Everything will be fine” he said finally and he turned to the the sink “We just need to make the best of this. It’s like when we lost Toby. It was terrible but it was also a chance to re-evaluate”
Everything will be fine? We need to make the best of this? Was he serious? Ev-
He hasn’t offered his condolences.
Your brain was sluggish, you were trying to scramble thoughts together. Hadn’t he? No, he’s dragged you out here and was trying to feed you soup. All he’d done was talk about himself. He hadn’t acknowledged your grief at all.
You suddenly felt cold.
No, I’m over thinking this. Not Dale of all people.
But he hadn’t come back to the station with everyone else that morning. He had been so hostile when you had profiled the UNSUB as impotent - offended even.
And he didn’t care. He didn’t care that your parents were dead, that your entire world had collapsed in on itself. Who acted like that?
“Dale, I just need to make a quick call” you stood up, quicker than you meant to. You tried to stay calm. “Where’s my phone?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled it out.
“Thanks” you held out a hand, amazed it wasn’t shaking. Dale didn’t move.
“To call my team”
“You can’t be involved in this case”
“I don’t want details. I just want to make sure they’re okay. They’re my family too.”
Immediately you knew that had been the wrong thing to say. The look on Dale’s face was pure malice.
“The fucking BAU. Think they’re so clever. You think they give a shit about you? They don’t care about you the way I do”
He moved closer and when you backed away he seized your arm, pulling you close.
“Dale you’re hurting me”
“I’m hurting you? You’ve been doing way worse to me for years and I always forgive you. I was the only one who never treated you like a murderer, the only one who knew you didn’t do it. But you left me and when you finally come back suddenly you think you’re too good to be here just because you’re a fucking FBI agent?”
“Dale please!” his grip was tightening and you were acutely aware that the knife was still in his other hand.
“You’re lucky that someone like me loves you” Dale continued, like he hadn’t even heard you “I could have anyone but I want you.”
He dropped the knife and for a moment you thought you may be safe until his fist slammed into the side of your head.
Request: For a prompt, maybe try Squad Levi, either version of it.
Word Count: 5,227
Every other week the members of his squad were allowed to visit the town and visit their families, see girls, whatever the hell they wanted to do to relax. He came with them but often returned early to scrub down the castle. It wasn’t like he had much to do in town besides buy tea anyway. The first few times his squad had asked him why he didn’t stick around, he shrugged them off, saying that he didn’t have a very big interest in mixing with townsfolk. Petra and Eld tried to convince him to visit their families, telling him that they’d be ecstatic to meet the famous Captain Levi, but he only scoffed and said it would be best if they didn’t meet him since people found his personality to be off-putting. In time they learned to just accept the fact that their captain was an antisocial bastard and didn’t say anything about his short town visits, only greeting him as usual when they returned and occasionally showing off food they received from their families.
He expected this particular visit to be the same. Land in town, head to the tea store he normally frequented, buy another box of tea, and then leave. He wasn’t expecting the members of his squad to linger by his side, following him at a rather awkward distance to let him know that they were joining him but far away enough for it to look like they were hesitant children who didn’t know if they were supposed to follow their mother or not.
“What do you shitheads think you’re doing?” he asked, stopping in his tracks and turning around to look at his sheepish subordinates.
The Rules for Lovers Chapter 11 (aka hell chapter) in GIFs
I usually write out my thoughts/reactions to a chapter as I go to make writing AO3 comments easier. However, it soon became clear to me that my reactions to chapter 11 are best expressed in GIF form, so I’m going to go ahead and post my comments here.
Kraglin lies on
his cot in the dark med bay, tongue probing the new metal teeth strewn
throughout his mouth. The pain meds from earlier that day have worn off, and now
it’s just a vague dull ache in his gums. They feel cold, taste strange in his
mouth. He draws his tongue back quickly as it slides along a sharp edge. The
medic said they’d wear down after time.
Ravager jacket is hung next to his cot, and his fingers stray to the flame on the
arm, tracing the edges of the patch and the shape of the smaller flame within.
The Captain had sat patiently with him, showing him how to sew the patch into
the thick leather with gentle, practiced fingers, before leaving him to his own
his hand back underneath the warmth of the blanket and snuggles back against
the pillow. Tomorrow, he’s going to start his life as a Ravager. He yawns, and
closes his eyes. Soon, he drifts off to sleep.
He’s been taken
off all his meds from his previous injuries as of today, and he didn’t realize
how much they’d been helping him sleep, until the nightmares begin. They’re
even worse than when he was in his drug-induced, feverish state when he was
first brought aboard, because this time, they feel real.
of color give way to sickly black shadows that turn into solid shapes, and loud
noises melt into the guttural, harsh language of the Skrulls. Ch'reth,
Kraglin’s former master and the leader of the band of Skrulls he’d traveled
with, holds his sister in his claws, a knife at her throat.
And then, for
the first time in weeks, he remembers what happened after Vara was killed. It’s
been fuzzy, a swirl of images and noises, but now it come in far too clear. He remembers
a scream tearing from his throat - but it sounds like someone else’s voice, and
his actions are not his own. He watches helplessly as his hands tear Skrulls
apart, breaking necks and clawing out eyes. Looking down, he sees he’s drenched
in blood up to his knees - and suddenly he’s drowning in it. He’s neck-deep in
a pool of half-dead bodies which claw at his shoulders and face. The blood is
filling up his nose and ears, flooding his eyes. He can’t breathe.
cries out, flailing, and almost turns himself over onto the floor.
behind him is beeping so fast it’s almost a solid tone. Kraglin tears the wires
from his body and leaps out of bed, scrambling to get the sheets off of him. He
needs to get out, needs to be away from everyone - he could kill them all.
hell happened? Where did he go?” Yondu snarls at the medic.
know, sir! The alarms went off, I got into the med bay as fast as I could, but
by the time I got there, he was already gone.”
kid,” Yondu mutters. He turns to Tullk, who is scanning the feeds to
locate the boy. “Any luck?”
is - looks like he headed for the 4th Quadrant sublevels. Shit, th’ kid is
fast.” He freezes a frame that captures Kraglin’s face, and his brow
furrows. “Looks terrified.”
fine when I locked down for the night, I swear!” the medic says.
“Shit. Tullk, I’ll take sublevel A, you take B, and we’ll work
down from there. Com me if ya find him.”
Tullk finds Kraglin
first. He’s tucked into the darkest, smallest, coldest corner, knees drawn up,
head buried in his arms. Tullk taps his wrist and speaks into the com. “Found
“Locking on to yer
position. On my way.”
approaches the boy cautiously; since initially meeting the boy, he’s heard from
Horuz and Half-Nut what a wild thing he was on Knowhere. “Oi,” he says gently.
A loud sniffle,
and Kraglin raises his head. His eyes are puffy and blue-rimmed, his face blue
and blotchy from crying. Tears are streaming down his cheeks.
and lowers himself down to a crouch. “Yeh all right there? Are yeh hurt?”
like he wants to say something, but his lip quivers and he lowers his head
eyebrows draw together and he slumps down against the wall next to the boy. He
pats a hand against his shoulder. “It’s all right, lad,” he says. Kraglin
mumbles something into his arms, and Tullk leans his head down. “Wassat now?”
“I’m a monster,”
comes the mumbling reply.
Tullk lets out
a gentle laugh. “No yer not. Why would yeh say somethin’ like that?”
his head slightly so he can look at Tullk with one teary eye. “I
remembered what I did,” he whispers.
all those Skrulls.”
Skrulls are bad news. Yeh don’t have to feel sorry ’bout that.”
I killed them. With my bare
hands! And if – if I could do that, why didn’t I do it sooner and save my
sister? I let them kill her.” He buries his face in his arms again, lifting an
arm to cover the back of his head.
“Oh, oh. Boyo.”
Tullk loops an arm about his back and pulls him snugly against his body. “Hush
now. Weren’t yer fault what happened.”
“Yeah it is, I coulda stopped ‘em and I
didn’t! I didn’t save her! I murdered them and my sister is dead because of me.
I’m a monster,” he repeats, his voice muffled and ending in a sob.
Tullk squeezes Kraglin’ shoulder. “The Skrulls
is the monsters. Look what they did to yeh. And they do worse to thousands of
other people all over the galaxy every day. We’re all better off without a few
of the bastards. And yeh-” A movement catches Tullk’s eye, and he sees
Yondu, who looks like he’s been standing there for at least a few minutes. The
Captain jabs a thumb behind him, and Tullk releases Kraglin to leave them in
approaches quietly, and with a soft grunt, sits where Tullk was a few moments
before, at Kraglins side. He stares at the boy for a moment or two, fighting a
sentimental urge to draw the boy into his arms. He shakes his head. No child should have to deal with this sorta
He was exposed
to death and killing at such a tender age himself that until Stakar freed him
and brought him into the fold, he’d just thought that was the norm. There was no
such thing as forgiveness, then. There was no such thing as gentility, friendship
or happiness. It was kill or be killed, obey or die, and that was life.
From what he’s
gathered, though, Kraglin remembers a time before the slave life. He was torn
from the world he knew, thrown into that world of cruelty and death, and he
hasn’t quite learned how to cope the ramifications yet. The Captain lays a hand
on the boy’s bare head. “Lookit me, kid.” Kraglin sniffles and raises
glistening eyes to Yondu’s. “Yer not a monster. Killin’ them Skrulls weren’t
yer fault. They made you do that, provoked ya and made ya into a machine to
suit their own needs. But that’s not who you are, boy. Ya know what I see, when
I look at you?”
A tear escapes
Kraglin’s eye and he shakes his head.
“I see a Ravager. A clever, strong kid who has a real
knack for fixin’ stuff. A survivor and a fighter. It ain’t yer fault what
happened to yer sister. It was the Skrulls that killed her. Ya did everything
ya could. Yer not a monster. Say it.”
“M’ not a
monster,” Kraglin echoes with a slight hiccup.
right.” Yondu slaps his back. “Now wipe them eyes and get on yer
feet. Don’t want to see no more tears. Yer a Ravager now, time to act like
one.” He stands, and Kraglin disentangles his legs and does them
same. The boy drags his palms across his eyes, taking a deep shuddering
breaths. “Yer gonna go back to med bay now. Tonight’ll be yer last night
in there. Tomorrow ya start reportin’ to Horuz, and you’ll be sleepin’ with the
rest a’ the crew. Got that?”
Imagine being Lucifer’s daughter ad being taken by the Winchesters, but it’s not an average kidnapping.
Warnings: Language and something else
Word count: 579
“You guys can’t just fucking keep me here. I’ve got shit to do, people to see,” you were stuck in some secret room, where exactly? You had no idea.
“Oh and by ‘people to see’ you must mean kill,” Dean the douchebag, your dad was right. Winchesters were slippery snake little bastards. He smiled at his response, thinking he was clever.
“You’re smile makes me want to kill myself,” instantly his smile was gone. “I heard about how you like to have certain fun activities with girls, and maybe boys?” you glanced at the angel Castiel. “I mean who could blame people for falling into bed with you. You’re hotter than the bottom of my laptop,”
“She’s just like her annoying narcissistic dad,” Sam rolled his eyes, looking at you.
“What can I say? I was made in Hell by Satan,” regardless of the fact that you had some magical handcuff things attached to your wrists, that you weren’t quite sure what they were, you were still the same smartass as always.
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous that you can’t be a real girl,” as much as you hated to admit it, Dean was kind of like you.
“I’m not jealous. I just fucking hate you,” all three of the boy’s looks turned sour. “I’m a flawless radiant creature and I’ll never falter under your hate,” a cute innocent smile appeared on your face.
“Stop talking, God just stop talking,” now the oldest Winchester was holding his head in annoyance.
“Hey! Watch your tone! That’s my grandpa you’re talking about,” a short giggle came from you’re still smiling lips. “If you want me to shut up-then make me,” your smile turned into a sick twisted smirk. You watched as Dean and the others turned and left. “Awe damn, looks like I bored you to death. Don’t leave! I need something to do!” to your surprise, Dean shut the “doors” and turned around. Now it was just the two of you.
“I couldn’t care less what you want from any of us. You’re going to tell me where we can find Lucifer. He must’ve found a new vessel by now. It’s been weeks since his Vince Vicente thing,” he was mad, oh how you loved watching how the lack of information got under his skin.
“Couldn’t care less about your teenage drama problems with Daddy Dearest,” now you were peering up into his eyes as he walked closer to you.
“Well aren’t you just an adorable bundle of joy,” he touched your head, grabbing the side of your hair and pulling it as he did so.
“Don’t fucking touch me you cunt,” trying your best to pull away, you spat the words at him. That’s when you noticed it. He had a thing for you. You peered into his eyes , looking at how he got a rise out of watching you fight him off. “Oh Dean, don’t tell me you’ve got a thing for lil’ old me,” his face turned cold. “You’re so sweet you just might give me diabetes,” instantly he presse his lips harshly against yours, having your hand tied up it was hard to return the favor. Pulling back reluctantly and gasping for air as you kept your hands in his perfect hair you spoke softly. “Don’t you need me to lead you back to my Daddy tonight?”
“Not tonight,” he began to uncuff you, and you let him willingly. “Tonight-we’re gonna fuck shit up,” who would’ve thought Dean Winchester had a kink for the devils daughter?
“So what’s your daemon supposed to be?” Dulce asks, the first time they meet Genji Shimada, and Jesse near-about dies on the spot.
The daemon in question bares its fangs, and even though neither it or Genji should have the strength to move, Jesse wastes no time in scooping up Dulce into the relative safety of his arms. “Shut up,” he hisses at her, and then to Genji, “I’m sorry, she ain’t got no manners.”
“I’d say so,” Genji croaks, breath rasping out of his ruined throat. If looks could kill, Dulce’d be a little smear on the floor.
“Sorry,” Jesse repeats, and beats a hasty retreat from the hospital room.
In one world, Felix stabs Tucker, and Tucker stands back up. In one world he endures phantom pain and scar tissue and nightmare, but he survives, and continues to survive, and be a survivor. He learns his way around soldiers and death and can smile at it, the same way he smiles at his friends. He lives and he stands beside Washington as they face a new enemy, in one world.
Why the Hell did Dean agree to run a half-marathon? Sam and Jess took off without him, he’s sweating, his legs hurt, and some scruffy-haired jerk in an angel wing t-shirt keeps passing him shouting “on your left.”
If you ask Dean, he’ll say he loves his brother; Hell, he would die for his brother. Sammy is his best friend and he would do anything in the world for him (and by extension, his fiancee Jessica).
But at this moment, he really, really hates Sam.
Why the fuck did he ever agree to sign up for a damn half-marathon? In April? In Florida?
“It’ll be fun, Dean,” Dean mimics Sam in a high-pitched tone, breathing heavily as he tries to maneuver around a group of Stormtroopers taking up the entire road “It’s a Star Wars race, Jess and I are doing it. We can all run together.” Dean had been really excited about it when Sam mentioned it. Star Wars? Running? Sure, he could handle that. Had Dean known that both Jess and Sam would take off like bats out of hell the moment the starting gun went off, leaving him in the dust, he would have never agreed to this.
And now here he is, running alone, dressed in a Chewbacca shirt, while Han and Leia are miles ahead of him. Dean grumbles at the memory of the argument he had with Sam about wearing the shirt; if anyone should’ve been Han, it was him.
A feeling of dread fills Dean as he passes the Mile 1 flag, knowing that he has over twelve miles left to go. Twelve miles? He hasn’t run anything longer than a 10K in six months. He’s been training, sure, but it’s all been easy treadmill jogs in his comfy, air conditioned gym, not the muggy, Orlando heat.
Dean swipes at his forehead with his shirt sleeve, praying they come upon a water stop soon. He adjusts his single earbud, turning up his music in hopes that it may distract him from his misery.
“On your left,” A voice calls out behind him.
“What the-” Dean turns back to look just as a body breezes by him and jogs ahead. He doesn’t get a good look at the guy, outside of the a head of messy, dark hair and the back of his t-shirt, imprinted with a pair of tribal-designed angel wings. Dean watches the smug bastard disappear through the crowd. He scowls to himself and begins picking up his own pace.
sorry this is so late guys its just that it’s been so hard to get it on to tumblr (I finished writing this part on Monday lmao)
“What the hell are you doing in here?!” you accused, pointing an angry finger directly in his face.
“Well the dropship is a sweaty crowded mess and I just so happened to see you setup this tent and I couldn’t help but think, ‘Hey! Why don’t I stay here with my friend Y/N,’ ”
Bullshit. Yes the dropship was probably full, but you had no doubt that he saw you at the fight and watched to find where you were staying just so he could pull a stunt like this. How freaking far would he go to drive you insane? He had to stop sometime!
“I’m a good person. What did I ever do to deserve this?,” you thought helplessly. Maybe you hadn’t always been a perfect little goody-two-shoes but you weren’t exactly the devil either, so why was it that instead of being on Earth it felt like you were in hell?
Over my fucking dead body you son of a bitch. There’s no fucking way I’m
parading in that sparkly stripper getup.”
How dare you! It’s satin, something a-a savage like you doesn’t even deserve to
“Well good! I’d rather have my balls ripped out and
shove it down my own damn throat-”
“What? I’m just stating the fucking facts. I’m not
wearing the damn thing. It barely fucking covers anything. And is that a loincloth? What am I going to do? Rip it
off and moon to the crowd like a fucking prancing pony on crack-”
“… Did she just faint?”
“Well, that does happen sometimes when people get
shocked enough. Your damn language isn’t helping.”
“Like you’re one to talk. I heard you the other day
talking on the phone. I don’t think I’ve ever heard so many epitaphs covering a
person’s genitals before-”
Well-cough-let’s never speak of this
again. Ever. Please.”
Ichigo narrowed his eyes at Finnick’s nearly pleading
tone. He was tempted to think the bastard was mocking him if it weren’t for the
very real exasperation that practically illuminated the man’s rather aggravated
“You weren’t seriously going to force me to wear that,
right? Because if you were, I would’ve punched your pretty face and broke your
perfect teeth.” Ichigo asked, suspicious.
Finnick huffed and shot him a sliver of a grin that
belied great amusement to the idea of having Ichigo dress up half-naked in
front of the entire Capital.
“God no. I just wanted to see your face.” Finnick ran a
hand through his carefully crafted bronze curls, shaking his head. “I didn’t
expect you to make my stylist faint like that though. I think that’s the first
time I’ve ever seen her that red. And she’s seen me naked since I was
“… Okay, that sounded sowrong that I don’t
even want to go there.”
Ichigo rolled his eyes to the heavens, wishing the train
ride was over.
Time flew by since their talk weeks ago, and Finnick
has been making futile attempts to convince him on giving up his plan on not
killing anyone. Ichigo, of course, brushed off Finnick’s concerns and arguments
and simply said, “I’ll think of something.”
Ichigo was pretty sure Finnick was growing to hate that
phrase. He could tell by the little spasm that was growing at the corner of the
young man’s eye.
Finnick, realizing Ichigo’s mulish stubbornness was as
immovable as a mountain, switched tactics and instead started giving him tips
on how to make himself likeable. Like Ichigo gave a flying fuck about the
issue. It would be funny if it weren’t so obvious how much Ichigo didn’t care a
lick at all what people thought of him.
And don’t even get Ichigo started on the weapon’s training Finnick had tried to set him up
with later. The trainers had been just plain embarrassing, their skills so
below mediocre that Ichigo had basically dodged all their increasingly
frustrated attacks like it was nothing, so bored out of his mind that he just
outright skipped the lessons after that because they were so useless.
And the trainers, who all apparently were professional
Career trainers for decades and basically the best of the best of who Finnick
could hire, didn’t say a word to Finnick about how pathetically easy it was for
Ichigo to knock them down in 2.5 seconds like they were a bunch of clumsy
toddlers who barely knew how to walk. Their prides stung, they refused to
return after that. It left Ichigo with a raving Finnick, who Ichigo basically
ignored the entire lecture in favor of napping right in the middle of the
Finnick had marched up to him one day, desperate for
Ichigo to understand how dangerous the games were. Ichigo stopped him in his
track with a sharp look that was serious to the core, no longer flippant and
fed up with Finnick’s advances.
“Look, I get you’re worried. And I get you’re supposed
to be my ‘mentor’.” Ichigo wrinkled his nose at the word, because the thought
was laughable to him. “But I don’t need a mentor. I need a friend. Which you
are to me.” Finnick looked extremely startled at that, causing Ichigo to scowl.
“Yes you, you dumbass. Stop acting like you’re not enough. Just you being here
is fine, got it?”
A slow, tentative grin grew on Finnick’s face, looking
like he was actually touched by
Ichigo’s words, which was preposterous. It left Ichigo flustered and barking
for him to stop grinning like an idiot at him. It only seemed to make Finnick
grin at him even more, looking like the cat who at the canary.
It didn’t stop Ichigo from rolling his eyes and patting
the ridiculous man on the shoulder in an awkward, comforting manner.
So while Finnick stopped badgering him about the hunger
games, he still shot intense, worried looks at Ichigo that made him want to get
up from his chair and shake him till he stopped. It was annoying as hell and
got onto Ichigo’s nerves.
And then reaping day came.
Ichigo knew it was just a formality really for him
anyways, but District 4 didn’t know that.
So when Ichigo’s name was called by the clown-like
dressed woman with the shrill voice, everyone stared at him as if he was a dead
man walking. Just to spite everything, Ichigo had yawned, tired of standing
around so long with Finnick fidgeting next to him, and strode his way onto the
stage with nonchalance that people would mistake as arrogance.
The sixteen year old girl that came up next, Brea, was
shaking but defiant as she stepped up. Her family silently watched behind her,
clinging onto dignity while silent tears fell. Ichigo’s stomach had twisted at
the display, his hatred for Snow only growing by the minute as he saw how stony
everyone was as they sent two teenagers to their death.
Needless to say, it had been depressing.
Ichigo all but snapped when the Capital woman
cheerfully informed the gloomy crowd how much of an ‘honor’ it was to have
their guest participate in the games. Like it was something to be ecstatic
“Lady.” He loudly interrupted her speech midway,
earning turned heads and gaping mouths at his audacity to do so, “shut the fuck
Stunned, flabbergasted silence met his harsh words.
At the corner of his eye, Finnick all but buried his head
in his hands and groaned. The old lady next to him was staring at him with wide
eyes and a firm mouth as if she’s tempted to burst out laughing right then and
there. Ichigo liked her instantly.
And Brea, well, she stared at him as if he was bat-shit
insane with a death wish. Not so discretely – seeing how they were on camera –
she took a step away from him, as if further proximity would distance herself
from the firing line that Ichigo had unrepentantly created for himself.
The look on the powder faced woman made the entire
thing worth it. She cleared her throat and broke out a strained smile as if
it’s killing her on the inside while she’s doing it. Much to Ichigo’s
satisfaction, the woman skipped over her entire speech and practically leaped off
the stage as if her dress was on fire.
It was fucking hilarious.
To him anyway.
Finnick looked ready to murder him once they got alone
as Brea was saying goodbye, the old lady trailing behind the victor with a curious,
conniving glint in her eyes that instantly put Ichigo on guard. If there was
one thing he’s learned about old crones, were that they were tricky as hell and
twice more clever than anyone they were playing. Yoruichi has pummeled that
lesson into his abused cranium well.
were you thinking?” Finnick had practically hissed,
bristling like a drowned cat. The old lady’s eyebrows shot to the hairline at
Finnick’s very visible anger.
Ichigo sneered while crossing his arms defiantly and
jutted out his chin.
“What, you can’t tell me you didn’t want to do it
either. Somebody had to shut her up.”
“What you did was reckless
and stupid. All of Panem just saw that. The repercussions-”
The whole reason why your bastard president want me in the game is to kill me
off. Don’t open that mouth and deny it.
Besides, it’s not like I’m going to die or anything.”
Finnick made wringing notions with his hands,
spluttering with disbelieving ire.
Before he could say another word, the old woman
suddenly was making this weird, wheezing noise that drew the pair’s attention
from their bickering. For a moment, Ichigo had panicked over the idea she was
sick or having a heart attack until he saw the huge grin that was hiding behind
her wrinkled hand. Another wheezing noise that sounded like a dying gazelle
escaped out of her as she grasped onto a very flummoxed Finnick’s shoulder as
if to steady herself from the sheer hilarity of the moment.
Ichigo felt indignation rise in his chest at the fact
she was totally laughing at them right in front of their faces.
When she finally stopped, her eyes were still twinkling
and the quirking smile on her face made her look like a mischievous fox.
And then she opened her mouth and gibberish came out.
Ichigo gave her a blank look.
“I don’t understand a word you’re saying.” He stated
very flatly, and was baffled when her amusement only seemed to flare at his
straightforwardness. She said something again, this time to Finnick, and he all
but ducked his head like a blushing schoolboy who was being reprimanded by the principal.
Later, Finnick introduced her as Mags.
Ichigo had nodded and straight out said, “I like her.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” Finnick said wryly. “Unlike me
“That’s because you were smiling like someone was
pulling teeth from your gums. It was painful just watching you.”
Finnick had blinked, something close to bewildering
relief flooding into his sea-green eyes.
“Oh.” The young man had said softly, and Ichigo all but
gave up ever understanding him. Good grief, he was even worse than Ichigo when
it came to people, being the self-deprecating moron he is.
So now here they were, standing in Finnick’s gigantic
bedroom within the train with Finnick’s stylist Deli who was always at Finnick’s
beck and call, whether the man liked it or not. Ichigo could tell she was
someone Finnick always tried to escape from if the fluid way he evaded the
huffing woman’s attempts earlier said anything.
Then her attention had riveted onto Ichigo and she
ended up chattering over some ideas of what he should wear during the chariot
And then she fainted. Not that Ichigo was complaining.
Glancing around the fancy room, Ichigo frowned, a
thought crossing his mind.
“Where’s Mags and that girl Brea?”
“In the female section of the train I suppose.” He went
quiet at his next words. “Mags says she broke down and refused to come out of
“… I’m not letting her die you know. Any of them.” Ichigo
declared, staunching the bitterness that Ichigo could tell was taking over
Finnick’s shadowed face. Finnick instead chuckled tiredly, so weary despite his
young age. With his shoulders slumped and his hand raking his hair agitatedly,
Ichigo was struck by how much this was taking a toll on the guy. How many kids
did he send to the games, knowing they’re going to die and helpless to stop it?
Ichigo flashbacked to those dark days when he had lost
his powers, leaving him without purpose and lost in life.
“Trust me.” He added simply, the words burning his
throat and the promise leaving no arguments for Finnick to nitpick.
For once, the victor didn’t argue back.
Notes: Wow, I managed to get this out. I really had a lot of fun with this one. Please enjoy and reblog, comment, or message me!
You ask for Jonsa prompts? I have a ton 😄. Here it goes: Tyrion comes North to treat with the Starks. Jon cannot figure out why he's so unnerved by the man, until Tyrion sheds light on certain things.
ok so this isn’t 100% what you asked for, but it totally works // *sweats*
“We’ve gone back to the beginning, you and I,” Tyrion says,
grip loose on the wineskin he holds in his hand. He swings it back and forth,
back and forth, a lazy, drunk smile on his face. “I would call it quaint… but,
perhaps, strange is a better word for
Jon takes a shaky breath, the memory of a night, many years
gone now, when he was merely Jon Snow: Lord Eddard Stark’s bastard. Not the
King in the North. Not a Targaryen. He received advice from the imp then.
Advice that prodded sharply at the bruise he’s carried his entire life, from
the moment he drew breath. He did not begrudge Tyrion his words–he heard worse,
and from better people–but he remembers thinking: What would a Lannister know? A dwarf Tyrion might be, a bastard in
his father’s eyes, but to the rest of Westeros he was as good as his gold, his
Jon Snow, however, would always be Jon Snow. Even now, as he
“How the fuck did I wind up with the defective wolf?” you grumble, wondering aloud to the empty forest around you.
Not quite empty enough.
Kankri’s ears prick back at you, and your wolf-brother either reads your tone or recognizes enough keywords to extrapolate successfully from experience. –That is very inappropriate/unkind/rude.– The grey wolf demon’s mental rebuke is overlaid with the strong impression of a snout sniffing uninvited at hindquarters.
You cross your arms, kicking a chunk of sod out of the forest floor. –I notice you didn’t say untrue,– you shoot at him on a dagger-sharp thought.
The barb earns you a wave of disapproval, pressed onto your mind like the sharp, cool scent of pine, the scratch of needles in fur. Your wolf-brother doesn’t even bother to glance back at you. Built small and agile—ha—runt of the litter more like—he pads ahead through the trees, picking up each foot carefully. The dappled light picks out the hint of fox-red striping on a coat that is otherwise an unexceptional, unrelieved grey; rusty mirrored lines running from browbone to ear and back along his flanks. He’s slightly too stocky to be described as dainty but you’d never know it from the way he acts.
–You are a challenging troll-brother,– Kankri declares, his tail flagged primly, his eyes a serenely unflustered gold-in-black. --You require a differently-skilled wolf.--
--/(keeper/teacher/trail-finder),– the last thought echoes. – ((woolbeast-herder.)) –
could you please write a fic where Rae feels bad about herself, her look and behaviour and feel totaly not girly, and Finn tells her that she's beautiful and he actually sees in her everything she ever wanted to be? it might be happening on women's day maybe where all girls got flowers and Rae was kinda forgotten? oh damn if I was talented I would write it myself ;p
A/n - ok so, this is a little different.. i didnt do it on women’s day because it wouldn’t have matched.. and I added in the gang at the beginning because i though it was needed.. anyway I hope you enjoy :)
She realizes what she’s done now.
She realizes what the others were/are going through.
The voices were too loud and they momentarily blinded her of reality.
She didn’t stop him.
He spelt it out, right in front of her eyes; indirectly asking her to ask him to stay; asking her to be his reason.
And she didn’t see it.
The voices were blocking her; blocking her reason; blocking her senses.
Chloe’s a mess.
She didn’t see that either.
Well, she did. She just underestimated how down she was.
What find of a friend am I?
Izzy is confused.
She should have known and offered her a ear she could chew off.
But she didn’t.
Because she wasn’t fully there to actually help.
What the fuck is going through his head?
Oh, wait a second. Didn’t he say something about his family being homaphobic? … Yup. That’s it. He can’t fully accept Archie without feeling judged by his parents and his brother.
She’ll have to talk to him about it when she finally leaves her room.
Well, Archie just needs his friends. He needs that feeling of connection back. He needs to feel the love that they all shared. He needs that feeling of pure acceptance and not judgement.
Where did the love go?
That’s it. Rae get off ya fat arse and go make everything right. ———— It took her just over half an hour to get out of her room and out of her house. She asked everyone(minus Finn, who wasn’t here) to meet at the pub.
They were all there when she arrived. There was no conversation flowing. No Laughter, no smiles.
Just frowns and crossed arms.
Nope. I’ve had enough of this shit.
Marching over to the table they were all spaced out around, she slammed her hands down, thankful of the loudness of the pub so nobody could interrupt them or eavesdrop. “Right. This ends now. Start talking.”
The gang just glanced at each other, not knowing what was going on, or what to say.
“Now!” She demanded.
After one more beat of silence, Izzy cleared her throat and spoke up. “Chop. I’m sorry about kissing that other bloke. I’m sorry, for not telling you about it and dumping you instead. I have no idea what came over me. It wasn’t even that nice and I honestly don’t even fancy him. I guess. Well.” She paused a bit, refusing to meet his eye. Playing with her fingers and still avoiding eye-contact, she continued, “At first, everything with you and me were dead exciting. Then, I dunno, the excitement went I guess? I love you, Arnold. You know that. And I understand if you never want to talk to me again, but please, just know, that I’m sorry and that kiss didn’t mean anything to me.”
Chop’s mask faded as soon as he saw a tear slip Izzy’s eye. He was up and out the chair quicker that the human eye could catch. He bent down in front of Izzy and gently rested his man-hands on her cheeks; wiping away her tears with his thumbs.
“I understand what ya sayin’, my fizzy Izzy. I just wish y’d talked to me instead.” He said in a gentle voice; which the others raised their eyebrows at. Cutting her off before she could say something else, he rushed out, “Let’s jus’ star’ over. Star’ as friends. See if we can get tha’ excitement back. Tha’ spark. An’ if it doesn’t come back, well, we tri’d didn’t we?”
Nodding her head, she accepted. He wiped the last of her tears away and gave her a loving kiss on her forehead, before making his way back to his seat.
When Chop raised his eyes back up, the first person he saw was Archie. Knowing what he needed to do, he quickly turned his head to the side, sharing a look with Rae, as if asking her if he was doing the right thing. She was the daddy after all. What do you expect? A subtle nod of her head, he turned back to Archie, looked him dead in the eye, and started.
“Arch, I’ve been a right dick’ead to ya these last couple weeks an’ I don’ thin’ sorry will cut it, t’ be fair. Ya know wha’ th’ fam’s’ like. Ya know how homophobic they are. An’ ya know how how much they’re opinion means t’ me. But the thing is. When I were on the phone t’ Raemondo earlia, she asked me, who’s always been there when I needed ‘em: me family, or you. Tha’ answer is you. Ya’ve always been there. Ya’ve never judged. Ya always give us advise. An’ I wasn’t there for ya when ya needed me. An’ I didn’t see it at the time. An’ ya can’t even begin to process ho’ fuckin’ shit I feel ‘bout that. Ya can treat me th’ same I’ve treated ya if it’ll help. Bu’ I can’t lose my friend. I were a coward. You were right. Ya always are, ya clever bastard.” The gang shared a little chuckle, but Chop’s eyes stayed serious and locked onto Archie’s. “So wha’ ya say? We can ge’ past this can’t we?”
Pretending the think about it for a couple of seconds, a cheeky grin came on Archie’s face before he replied with a wink, “We can, but it’ll cost ya a kiss.”
All sharing another laugh, Chop got out of his seat again, and proudly made his way over to Archie. Grabbing him by the back of his neck, and pulling him into a lip to lip kiss and didn’t separate for at least 6 seconds.
“If I ever switched teams it’d be for you, babes.” He winked back. After another round of giggles, Archie looked at Chloe. Now, even though he hadn’t personally done anything wrong, there was a pang of guilt in his chest.
“Chlo. Chloe, Chloe, Chloe. What are we gonna do with you ay? I’m sorry that I haven’t been there for ya. I’m sorry for not seein’ how miserable ya ‘re. I’m sorry for leading you on.” They share a smile. “I’m sorry, we don’t talk as much as we should. We should be closer than this, and for that, This weekend, I am all yours.”
“Hey, us too.” Rae, Chop and Izzy all cried out in union.
“Deal.” Chloe agreed, before dramatically putting her hand in the middle of the table, waiting for the others to put their hands on top.
After they all threw their hands up in the air while shouting ‘this weekend’, Chloe went to start apologizing to Rae, but Rae quickly shut her down, saying that this wasn’t about her, and she was happy now that the rest of them are. Forgive and forget right? Anyway, I love you all too much to hold a grudge.
She told them all about how sorry she is that she didn’t really see what they were all going through. She told them how sorry she is for not being there when they need her. She told them how sorry she is for being selfish and too dependent on them. And she told them that from now on she’s gonna start recognizing their pain and their troubles and be there for them better than she has been.
After saying all this and necking back a snakebite, Rae left, saying her mom was waiting for her back home. Archie offered her a ride home but she declined, claiming the air would do her good. ———— Dear diary, Today was a good day. It’s not over yet, it’s about half six, but who cares? The gang have sorted everything out, we’re actually a gang again. The only thing that’s missing is Finn. But honestly? Even though today is actually my birthday - which nobody remembered - and Finn isn’t here, I wouldn’t change it. I actually feel normal. Kester and I have talked - I really don’t like that ‘Carrie’ girl he’s started to go out with, she’s way too controlling if you ask me - and sorted everything out. We’re on ‘the same wave length’ again. (his words not mine) anyway, Im actually smiling, which is nice, an- Oh shit. There’s Liam. Gotta go diary. ———— “Rae?!” He called, trying to get her attention.
“Fuck off, Liam.” She called back, walking faster.
He ran in front of her then, grabbing her by the shoulders to stop her as she tried to walk past. “I knew this would happen. I told ya. I told ya, you couldn’t handle ‘casual’-” He started a bit breathlessly, only to get cut off by Rae.
“It wasn’t tha’ I couldn’t handle it, ya pillock! It was how disgusting and dirty and used, I felt afterwards. Ya don’t care ‘bout me Liam. We both know ya don’t so just fuck off yeah. I really don’t need t’ be have this convo righ’ now.”
She walked away after. Not giving him time to respond. ———- It’s about quarter past 7 now. She’s sitting under a large oak tree on a large blanket with another wrapped around her. This is her place. No-one knows where this is. She’s never seen anyone ‘round here. She could literally run ‘round naked if she wanted too, (not that she did) and she wouldn’t get caught.
Rae was lost in a fantasy land when she heard a twig from behind her snap.
“Finn?” She asked, completely shocked to see him behind her.
“‘appy birthday, Rae-Rae.” He smiled at her.
The things he can do with just one look.
And damnn, his lips.
“Wait..? Y-y-you, remembered my birthday?” She stuttered.
“Of course I did, ya silly girl.” He playfully rolled his eyes, coming ‘round the tree, so he could sit down next to her. “You told me about this place, and how you’ve always came here on ya birthday. On ya lonesome. Every year, like clock work.” He grinned, and she returned it. Both looked down momentarily, a blush shading both their cheeks. “I’ve got ya a present.”
“Yeah. Nothin’ special, just a crap reggae record.”
“Oh well ya lucky I’ve got me own turn-table” She giggled.
There was a few moments of silence, but neither of them minded. Just being in each others presents was enough.
“I’ve just gotta ask you something.” Finn whispered, just loud enough for Rae to hear.
“Go on?” She pushed.
Neither of them were looking at each other. But they did as soon as the question was out of Finn’s mouth.
“Why’d ya dump me?”
After another couple minutes of silences and them just gazing into each others eyes. Rae whispered, “Honestly?”
“Honestly.” He repeated, matching the same breathlessness her tone held.
Taking a deep breath, she returned her gaze to her hands - that she couldn’t keep still, and started. Looking up at him from time to time.
“Well. Ya know how everyone has thoughts. Bad thoughts.” He nodded. “Well, mine are more like voices. Angry voice that get me down. Voices that tell me how worthless I am. How ugly I am. How fat I am. An’ how I don’t belong here. Sometimes I can get over the voices but they get louder. And the worst part is; It’s my voice. I can’t change it. I can’t control it. But every time I’m happy they get louder.”
Finn had took her shaking hand in his by now. He kept his eyes on her face, and waited patiently for her to continue. (If she still wanted too.) At the end of her sentence, he had to squeeze his eyes shut, for a moment. He hated seeing her like this. He hated his girl talking about herself like this. And although he wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to keep talking if she didn’t want to, he knew that she knew she didn’t have to; he wasn’t pressuring her.
"I’m really happy with you Finn. Ya know, unless you’re with someone else.” They share a small smile at that one, the pain, obvious in both their eyes. “But my friend Tix, she’s just died and I hadn’t accepted it. To be honest, I still haven’t. I told you I was better and I lied. Well, I was more in denial but ya know. I blame myself for it. I should of been there for her. She’d always been there for me and the one time she really needed me I let her down.” Her voice cracked as she sobbed, and Finn quickly pulled her into his warm, tight embrace.
He was stroking her hair and she sobbed into his neck. He only spoke when she calmed down a little bit. “She sounds like a real good friend, your Tix.” She gave a small nod in his neck. “Sounds like she loved you as well.”
She sobbed harder.
Well that wasn’t the reaction I was hoping to get.
She pulled back then, tears still escaping her eyes like a fire was spreading on her cheeks. “Bu’ tha’s th’ problem isn’t it. I hurt everyone I love, an’ it’s not fair. My mom, Tix, Chloe, Archie, You. I can’t do it anymore Finn. I feel like I can’t breathe. I don’t feel worthy of anything. Of anyone. Of you. You don’t deserve to have someone like me getting ya down. You don’t deserve me hurting you sometime down the line. That’s why I broke up with ya when I did. You deserve happiness. Nothing less but everything more. And that is something that I can’t give you. No matter how much I love ya!”
Rae was about to say more but her lips were suddenly occupied.
And his lips.
His so soft, silky soft, lips.
Oh, lips, how I’ve miss you.
I’m home. A voice in both Finn’s and Rae’s head squealed.
“I love you too, Rae. And I don’t care about those voices. You need to stop caring about those voices. Care about mine, when I whisper all the things I love about you when we’re alone. Care about mine, when I trace words against your skin when we’re out. Care about mine when I tell you how much I love you for you. Care about mine when I whisper your name while we make passion love. Tell me when they get too loud so I can over power them. Tell me when things get too hard so I can try to ease them out. Tell me what’s going on. Tell me more about Tix; the angel who went home sooner than she should of. Let me in. Let me love you. Let me admire your beauty, which I hate that you can’t see. Let me whisper sweet nothings to you. Let me hold you. Let me be yours. Just be mine.” He whispered against her lips. Foreheads rested together, and their hands on each other in a desperate grip.
“I fucking love you, Finn.” She smiled.
“I fucking love you, Rae.” He smiled back.
“Make love to me?” She whispered shyly against his lips as she leaned closer. “You sure?” He pulled back a little to look into her eyes, not wanting to take advantage to such a delicate situation.
Pushing her back onto the blanket, Finn covered Rae in hot open-mouthed kisses while slowing undressing her. Taking his time, he worshiped her body like the Goddess she is. And for once, Rae didn’t feel embarrassed about her size. She actually appreciates it as it gives Finn more skin to cover with his delicious mouth.
Not caring about her moans, Rae leaned up a little to start undressing Finn. Sucking on his neck, hard enough to leave a love-bites.
On her Finn.
Both completely naked, Finn quickly pulled a condom out of his wallet. When Rae raised her eyes at him, he sheepishly answered her unasked question. “Dad told me to always keep one in ‘ere just in case. Never really thought I’d use it though.”
Nodding her head, they quickly dismissed it, and continued. When Finn placed his hard shaft against her entrance, he paused, looking right into her eyes, he waited for her to confirm that she really wanted it. Seeing her eager nod, he blessed her lips with his once more, before entering her. Taking it slow as her barrier broke, he started whispering sweet nothings in her ear and placing kisses over her pulse points, trying to ease her pain.
After a while the pain subsided, and she was able to enjoy it. And enjoy it she did. Never had she felt such pleasure like this. Never had she though making love with Finn would feel this amazing. The high she was on she never wanted to leave.
Just like Rae, Finn had never felt like this during sex before. But then again, he’d never mad love before.
Moaning, groaning and grunting as their climax’s crashed down on them both, Finn stayed on top of and in side Rae for another five minutes before pulling out and away. But instantly pulling her into his side once he did.
Whispering their I love you’s a final time - and a ‘very happy birthday’ from Finn and agreed by Rae - before drifting off into a peaceful sleep, both Rae and Finn and stupid grins on their faces. And it remained that way till morning, where they made love again.
(This then became their spot. For everything. Fighting, making up. Teasing. Flirting. And conceiving. They will bring their kids here. Their grand-kids and end up buried here. In their spot.)
Based on the “we’re both con-artists trying to steal from each other” au
Adam was staring at Pretty Boy’s butt.
Well not the butt (but that was rather nice too now that he
thought about it), he was trying to see if there was a wallet in his back
pocket. Adam had long ago mastered the art of finding where the valuables were,
the target’s hands would often wander to them. If he yelled that he had been
robbed they would immediately check to see if they had been too, revealing the
location of their goods, people were easy to manipulate once you had an
understanding of how they worked.
[ooc: TIME SHENANS. this is after his date with galley is over.]
Any sane troll would be asleep right now, but you slept late and well, you have your hat and shades, and what’s the point of being eight sweeps old if you can’t make an ill-advised trip to your rival’s hive in the bright of day?
Besides, the light makes it easier to spot the tripwires all over the lawnring.
Not that he hid them very well.
Or like… at all.
It looks like a giant spider had a party all over the front path. On hallucinogens. And rollerskates.
You approach the area cautiously at first, just in case the obvious incompetence of it all is some kind of bluff, but it doesn’t take long to establish that there’s nothing here to challenge your understanding of Aspera as an overenthusiastic nincompoop. For the most part, all the tripwires could do is… trip you. You might get a bit cut up if you fell on them.
There are exceptions. There is one ‘trap’ that is, in theory, lethal; one tripwire attached to the trigger of a gun attached to a stake almost-hidden in a bit of shrubbery. If you were to step on that wire – no, it doesn’t pull smoothly, it’s looped around a tree and sort of caught up on the bark – okay, if you were to kick that wire good and hard, the gun would fire an actual bullet nowhere near the wire that set it off. Actually, it’s not secured to the stake very well. You click the safety on, then pull the wire to see what happens. Yup, it twists on its perch so that it would actually shoot out one of the tower windows.
There’s also a box trap. The kind tiny wigglers in cartoons set to catch edible but clever animals, which always end up catching the wiggler instead: a box propped up with a stick, which would fall down if you tried to remove the bait without noticing the string tied to it. At least in this case he doesn’t appear to think you’d crawl inside the box; instead, there’s what appears to be a steak knife taped to the inside of the box, such that you might in theory get poked in the wrist if you reached in to grab – is that one of your handkerchiefs? You squat on your heels to examine it more closely. Yes, that’s what it is, and although it seems to have been at least rinsed out, there is unmistakeable bluepurple staining on one hem.
“Good grief,” you mutter to yourself as you flick the box over.
When you reach the door, you’re fully expecting more of the same pseudo-knavery. The doorknob is missing. There is, instead, a bit of wire holding the door shut. By this time, you’re almost sure Erskin is ignorant of the charms of the rocker switch, so you just clip it with a wire cutter. The door swings freely open. You examine the mechanism you just disarmed…
Oh. It wasn’t even a trap. It was just… holding the door shut. Because the doorknob is missing.
You feel a little stupid now.
You creep in as quietly as you can, which is pretty damn quietly, and retrace your way to his respiteblock. Nudge the door open stealthily… sneak over to the recuperacoon…
Aspera is sleeping in the bottom of the 'cupe, curled up in a little ball, his gills gently pulsing, his fluffly little fiduspawn of a lusus floating on top of the sopor. It would be unbearably cute if not for the utter arrogance of his sloppy-ass security arrangements. The lusus opens one eye, and you think you’ve missed your chance to pull shenanigans, but it clearly registers you as 'not my problem’, because it goes right back to sleep.
Heeey. Guess who’s free to search for his rifle? Some handsome bastard, name rhymes with Bel Kadros? Correct! You sneak out like a very happy ghost.
Ten minutes later, you are standing in his trophy room like a very unhappy ghost, staring at Acre’s Battery, the display case it’s in, and the plinth it is permanently fucking glued to. You’re glad he didn’t destroy it, but holy shit, that is obnoxious. You tried cutting and chipping at the glue, but only managed to scratch the finish on the stock. If you tried to rip it loose, you’d destroy either the rifle or the plinth, and that is not a gamble you want to take. You’ll have to come back another time with an assortment of solvents or a diamond saw.
Well, if he thinks he can just snooze in an unsecured hive, after doing that to your rifle, when he knew you were coming over…
You think for a few minutes.
Eventually, you start to grin.
It takes you almost an hour to 'improve’ his traps. Even with the hat, gloves, and shades, you’re feeling a bit roasted when you’re done. It’s worth it, though. When he goes to remove the wire – or just clumsily steps on it – it will set off a dozen blasting caps. Not enough explosive to hurt him, not if he doesn’t somehow manage to put one in his pocket before triggering it, but it will make a hell of a lot of noise and blow fountains of mud all over him, as well as making unsightly holes in the lawn. The gun trap, you reengineer so that the wire pulls much more smoothly; now, at the merest touch, it will drop its clip, disassemble itself, and fall into a mud puddle.
You can’t think of anything good to have the box trap do, because box traps are inherently stupid. So you just place, under the handkerchief, an ominous little black plastic box with a tiny red LED.
It’s actually the old garage door opener from your fuel shed. You’ve had it kicking around your modus for like a sweep, ever since you replaced the shed door with one that doesn’t stick itself together with salt crust every time there’s a storm. It doesn’t do anything. But he doesn’t know that, and you really wish you could see his face when he finds it, especially if he sets off the blasting caps first.
As a final touch, you set up a few motion-activated cameras so you won’t miss the fun. You’ll probably never get them back, but it’s not like you didn’t just order a gross of them.
Feeling pleased with yourself, you go back up to Aspera’s block, take a few pictures of him sleeping so you can pretend that was your dumb revenge, check to make sure your bug is still under the desk (it is), and then sit down in the desk chair – well out of sopor-spaz range – and give a piercing whistle.
Emma shifted her weight cursing under her breath that she had let Elsa talk her into wearing her new black heels. Of course if Walsh, the skip she was trying to nab, had been a little less pretentious and a little more on time she wouldn’t have been standing at the high top table at all. The trendy French-Asian fusion place wouldn’t seat her without him and they apparently didn’t believe in chairs–only bar stools and only at the bar. It made Emma miss the seedy places she usually visited when catching skips; they always had ample seating.
She sighed and then reminded herself of the large payday attached to Mr. Fraud and Embezzlement. Bringing him in would keep her flush for a month and was well worth a few blisters.
Her phone dinged. She glanced down. It was a Tinder message. Since she only used the app for catching skips (seriously if you are trying to lay low maybe skip the dating apps?) she assumed it was Walsh.
Be ten minutes late. With a sad faced emoji.
Emma rolled her eyes and then dashed off a reply.
Sad face emoji. Egg roll emoji. Red dress girl emoji. Hurry!
Emma was going for the bubbly blonde persona this time around. Walsh had seemed to like it so far or maybe he just thought her pictures hot enough that he didn’t care as long as there was a chance to bang her. And Emma had basically let him know she was a sure thing so he wouldn’t be standing her up. Honestly it was almost too easy sometimes.
“Wow. You look stunning, love.”
Emma jerked her head up at the deep, accented voice, a “get lost” already on her tongue. The words died as her gaze raked over the dark scruff, blue eyes, and slightly disheveled hair of the gorgeous man before her. He was dressed in dark wash jeans and a black button up that wasn’t entirely buttoned up. Dark hair matching his scruff peaked out of the opening along with the flash of a necklace. There was a frisson of heat in her stomach.