the pick the pawn the polish

FAHC Gavin origin

By the age of 10, Gavin was no stranger to pick-pocketing. He mostly went after wallets, but he would occasionally snag expensive looking jewelry to sell at a pawn shop on the shady side of town that was willing to turn a blind eye to his… method of acquiring said jewelry.

At age 10, Gavin had been on the streets for two years, having run away from his parents when they were on a trip to the States.

At age 10, Gavin got his first taste of the beauty of polished gold.

He was down by the  ocean, looking for unattended bags and wallets. It was cold by local standards, so there were only a few tourists enjoying a day at the beach. He wandered down the shoreline, no one even sparing him a glance. Who would? A kid strolling down the beach is hardly an unusual sight.

He saw them sitting on a rock next to two blue beach chairs. Two beautiful gold wedding bands. The couple had probably taken them off to avoid losing them in the waves. Gavin grabbed them without a moment of hesitation.

It wasn’t until later, when he was making his way to the pawn shop that he actually stopped to look at the rings.

They were plain wedding bands. The only difference between the two being a few small diamonds embedded in the smaller one.

They were gorgeous.

There was something about the way the sunlight reflected off the smooth surface… he suddenly couldn’t bring himself to sell them.

Looking back, it was highly impractical for him to keep those rings. He could have easily gotten a couple hundred for them, and in the years to come there were many instances where he really needed that kind of money. They didn’t even fit on his boney fingers. He had to keep them in the pocket of his dirty jeans.

Nevertheless, those rings stayed in his pocket, along with several other golden treasures that he collected from that day on.

He was comparable to a magpie; always finding and hoarding shiny objects like bracelets and rings.

When he was 14, he found himself searching for half decent food in a dumpster behind a popular restaurant when a man in an expensive looking suit walked by. The man was tall, and he carried himself like he was someone important. Most importantly, a beautiful gold watch was clasped around his wrist.

He was exactly what Gavin looked for in a target.

He hopped out of the dumpster with a sigh, trying to sound as disappointed as possible without being overly obvious. Walking towards the man, he allows himself a moment to be excited about his find. After six years on the streets, he’s gotten remarkably good at pick-pocketing. The past couple years he’s managed to only get caught once or twice, and only when he was being particularly careless and cocky.

He’s unclasping the watch when a strong hand grabs his wrist. Gavin’s eyes widen as he looks up at the man. He has a long, curled moustache on his upper lip, and blue eyes so bright that Gavin feels trapped in his gaze.

The man smiles. Gavin feels afraid.

“Hey there, buddy. Whatcha doing with my watch?”

This isn’t the first time Gavin’s been caught like this, but it is the first time he’s felt frightened. Still, he has a system in place for when this sort of things happens, and it’s always worked in the past.

Gavin starts to tear up.

“Please,” he whimpers, “Please don’t hurt me. I- I’m sorry! I just- I haven’t eaten in so long and I… Please don’t hurt me. I just… I’m so hungry.”

The man doesn’t stop staring at him, but he does loosen his grip.

“You’re good at that.” he says.

Gavin wipes his eyes with his free hand and looks up at the man with wide eyes.

“Good at what?”

The man grins. “This whole situation. You’re good at snatching things, and you’re certainly good at talking your way out of things. For a kid at least.”

The man let’s go of Gavin’s arm and holds out his hand.

“Geoff Ramsay, and you are?”


“Well, Gavin, how would you like a job?”

“What sort of job?”

“Whatever you want really. We can start you off with some pick-pocketing, maybe move up from there if you feel comfortable. I can promise that whatever you choose, it’ll pay well.”

“…How well?”

“Couple thousand a week at the least.”

Gavin’s eyes widen. Without a second thought he grasps Geoff’s hand tightly.

“You’ve got yourself a deal!”

Geoff smiles again and gestures for Gavin to follow him. As Gavin falls into step beside him, he reaches into his pocket and fiddles with his treasures. This was the start of something good. He could feel it.

nour386  asked:

20. Role swap, Stan is the one who gets the potential scholarship and Ford's the oen that gets kickd out?

20. Roleswap AU

Holy shit this is one hell of a prompt.  It is the kind of prompt that could easily spin into a full-length fic.  But here’s just a ficlet instead.

Send me characters and a number and I’ll write you a ficlet!

               “So, there’s a talent scout coming to your next match?” Ford asked, trying to muster up some false excitement for his twin.  Stan nodded.  “That’s…promising.”  He and Ford were sitting on their swings, watching the sunset.

               “Apparently some school wants a boxer, and they looked around and saw me, so they’re sending someone.”

               “If you do well, then you’ll go to college, I suppose,” Ford said quietly. Stan shrugged.

               “Haven’t decided about that part yet.  I mean, we’ve almost finished up the Stan O’War, and I’ve seen what years of boxing does to your face.  Can’t pick up girls with an ugly mug.  Don’t have enough charm for that.”

               “But college is-”

               “Sixer, you know full well that I don’t like school.  Why would I want to do even more of it?”

               “Heh.  I guess so,” Ford said, slightly assuaged.  

               “School’s your thing.  Not mine.” Ford nodded mutely.  His stomach turned over at his twin’s comment.

               Then why didn’t I get scouted?


               Stan helped Ford get out of the car and walk up to the pawn shop.  He opened the door; the bell jingled. Filbrick looked up from the antique gun he was polishing.  His lips turned down in a dissatisfied sneer.

               “You!” he snarled.  Stan swallowed.

               “Pops, I’m sorry I wasn’t-” he started.

               “Not you, your twin,” Filbrick said, setting the gun down, marching over to the twins, and grabbing Ford by the shirt.  Though his face was obscured by the bruises covering it, his terror shone through.  “What the hell do you think you were doing, keeping Stan from his match?”

               “Pops, it’s not his fault, it’s Crampelter’s,” Stan protested.

               “Was I talking to you?” his father growled.  Stan blanched and took an instinctive step backward.  


               “Do you realize what this boxing match could have been for us?” Filbrick asked Ford.  “We coulda been rich if Stan went on to be a professional athlete.  You cost this family millions!”

               “I- I didn’t mean to,” Ford said desperately.  “I was on my way there to support Stan and ran into Crampelter and-”

               “Made your twin miss his match because he was protecting your skinny, wimpy ass.”

               “Filbrick, what’s going on?” Ma Pines asked, walking into the pawn shop.

               “Getting rid of this freeloader,” Filbrick replied.  He dragged Ford over to the door and shoved him roughly outside. “Don’t come back until you’ve-” Stan barreled past his father to join Ford on the steps.  “Stanley, get your ass back in here.”

               “No.  If Ford goes, I go,” Stan said firmly.  Filbrick’s face turned an inhuman shade of red.  Stan struggled to not cower under his father’s disapproving gaze.  A moment passed, while the three men were frozen. Finally, Filbrick slammed the door closed.  Stan and Ford stared at the closed door.

               “Did- did he just-” Ford started.  He clamped his mouth shut when the door opened briefly.  Filbrick tossed a pair of duffel bags at his sons, then closed the door again.  “We’re- he-”

               “He kicked us out,” Stan said in a low voice.  “I didn’t think he’d actually- no, you know what?  I’m not surprised.  He’s been talking about putting me on the streets for years.”

               “What do we do?” Ford whispered.  “We’re homeless.”  Stan helped Ford up and brushed dirt off him.  

               “Nah, not completely.  We’ve got the Stanleymobile still, and the Stan O’War, too.”

               “Stanley.  A car and a boat do not constitute a home,” Ford said flatly.

               “It’s better than nothing,” Stan replied firmly.  He put an arm around Ford’s shoulders.  “And we’ve got each other, so that’s pretty good.  I’d hate to think of how fucked up you’d be if you were on your own out here.”

               “Or you were on your own,” Ford said.  Stan waved a hand.  

               “I think I’d be fine.”  Ford chuckled weakly, but then sobered.

               “Stan, I’m- I’m sorry I ruined your chance at going to a good school and getting a promising career.”

               “Didn’t you listen to me the other day?  I didn’t want to do it anyways.  All you did is save me the trouble of dealing with turning the boxing people down.”  He looked at his twin.  “High six?” he said, holding up a hand.  Ford smiled hesitantly.

               “High six.”

mako appreciation week 1 & 2 - passion/sacrifice

Summary: Mako and Bolin are just trying to have some dinner. Problem: there’s a cranky spirit who’s also just trying to have some dinner.
Word Count: 4,200 
A/N: listen i really love mako a lot and my beautiful korra makes a cameo appearance. Likes nice, reblogs nice, comments nicest 😘 enjoy it!!

Sunset. The air is clear and dry and warm, a welcome respite from the muggy evenings so common to a Republic City summer. The colors of the sky shift in a sweeping arc from horizon to horizon, purple to orange, with Yue Bay shimmering under the setting sun like a pool of fire. Streetlights begin to flicker on, district by district, casting wide shafts of light and sending the crickets skittering into the quieter, darker shadows of alleyways. In a peaceful neighborhood on the North Shore, Mako steps off the curb and ambles across the street to the restaurant. With an offhand gesture he drops the butt of his cigarette into the bin, turning his head left and right, searching - someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Hey, sorry to bother you, but you look really familiar. In fact, you look kinda like my older brother. Tall, a face like Fire Nation royalty, always clenched up real tight. But, you know, I haven’t seen him since he got married to his job. Beautiful ceremony, I’ve never cried harder in my life - ”

Mako rolls his eyes. “I am not married to my job - ”

“Oh, right. Why would Lin buy the cowpig if she’s getting the work ethic for free? A lot of people like the five-day workweek, Mako. It’s like a reward for them. But you, on the other hand, you sleep in until noon on a Saturday,” Bolin says, jabbing him in the shoulder with one finger; “and ask why you’re being punished.”

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The setup in the dining room at Queen Manor is ridiculous.

Of course, it’s always been ridiculous. Everything about this place is. It screams old money and new money and just money in general, and the furnishings are centuries old and cost more than what Felicity makes in a year. Intimidating doesn’t begin to cover it, though formidable does a pretty good job. Felicity can’t imagine what it would be like to grow up among this grandeur, when really all she can remember are tiny apartments and ignoring the landlords coming around for the rent check, computer parts mixed in with her mom’s skyscraper-tall high heels and tokens from the casino that Donna hadn’t cashed in yet. It’s worlds away from the quiet elegance in the Queen’s foyer alone.

But now the dining room is even more intimidating because Moira Queen has dimmed the lights, set the table, and filled it with…mannequins?

“This is really freaking me out,” Felicity says.

Moira, who is reading the latest stock portfolio Felicity brought over with her, sighs a little. The reading glasses make her seem motherly for once, but Felicity kind of feels like that’s an illusion. “Focus, please.”

“No, really, I have to know. Where did you even get mannequins? Like, did you rob a JC Penny’s? These don’t look like fashion mannequins, come to think of it.” Felicity eyes the nearest one, which is sitting next to her (she’s at the foot of the table, and Moira has taken the head position), and tries to imagine it in a lacy leopard-print matching bra and panty set. Her imagination fails her. “Is there a warehouse where you can get these delivered? Or do they live here in the manor full-time? Oh, wow, that’s even creepier, now that I think about it. Especially if they’re in a closet and you just open it up and—bam, mannequins! Is this where Oliver gets some of his childhood issues? Not that he has issues, I’m just—going to stop talking now.”

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