filthy animal

It’s the look. That fucking look. If Richie could bottle it up, he would. Take it out whenever he was depressed. Wearing it as a fucking winter coat. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this antagonism throughout the years, until it was staring him in the face. “It’s right there.” Richie reaches up, pinches a place on Eddie’s chin. Little Hypochondriac Eddie has stubble now. Poking the bear is easier than admitting Richie has feelings. “You’re a fucking trainwreck, dude. Is that what happens when Myra sits on your face?”

“Oh, ha ha--very fucking funny. No, this is what happens when Bowers sits on my face. With a knife.” It’s healed--somewhat--but the scar is going to stay and there’s nothing he can do about it. He squirms out of Eddie’s touch, smacking the other guy away. 

@pigwithpersonality - con’t.

 “I wasn’t aware you were going to be on my arm all night. Otherwise it’s no contest,” Anne laughs, leaning back against the door frame to her room. Her pensive stare eyes the dresses again, finally down to just two. “Which would you pick and why?”

“Sure. I’ll be orbiting. Someone’s gotta keep your glass full.” Until an attractive woman caught Jules’ or Anne’s eye...but they’d cross that bridge if and when they came to it tonight. Jules drops one dress, lifts another. “This one,” she states. “Because it’s on the left. You ever hear--it’s not what you wear, but how you take it off?” Jules shrugs. “We’re already beyond fashionably late, and it’s not going to matter if we don’t show.” 

Samuels likes her tea. 

He’s always been a fan of Southern culture: the hospitality, the proud history, the sharp smiles, bless her heart, saints and sinners, black and white, divide and conquer. It speaks to him. 

Which is maybe why he gets along so bizarrely well with the woman across from him. They should have nothing in common. But here he is--every time he’s on the job in her neighborhood, and some days he’s not. Sitting across from her, humid, sweating in the heavy uniform blazer, sipping her tea. Her kid--the creepy one, the live one--is...somewhere. Creeps him out. His eyes flicker to the door every now and then, as though waiting for her to pop in. 

Almost makes him uncomfortable as Constance’s brief show of emotion. He never knows what the hell to do with a crying woman. He shifts in his seat.

“--Then who would feed me?” he counters. Voice flat. Neutral. Eyes dart once to her staircase. Those stairs he climbed right before he shot her kid. 

@afraidofchange | ask meme | accepting

@ofmortems | ask meme | accepting

@skinwalks | ask meme | accepting

“Who’s the smarter one?” she throws back at him, one hand on the strap of her messenger bag that crosses her chest, the other hand on her hip as she grounds her stance when she meets his eyes. If he’s challenging her, she’ll meet that challenge. “The ones who are just pretending like nothing’s happening and who are loose cannons set to blow, or the ones trying to understand and control it?”

That’s why she’d been down there. To try to understand what’s been happening to her, the changes in both body and mentality, the level of control. Nobody ever goes down there that time of night - usually - but of course there’d been some dumb party and she’d been spotted … but she’d been careful.

She is careful.

Far more careful that Linc, who has no place to judge her. 

Tanja doesn’t back down. Which is...annoying. He prefers things that roll belly up and submit when you show them a little fang. But Tanja? She stands her ground, squares her shoulders, and looks him in the eyes. She’s not backing down. It makes the hair at the back of his neck prickle. He wants to snap at her. Hit the wall. Rage. Anger is always churning inside him, right under the surface. 

Instead, he says: “You know what? You’re right. I need to get more in touch with my animal side.”

@mxdulatcr | ask meme | accepting

“Oh--no, take your time,” Ori calls out as he reloads his pistol. “I enjoy getting shot at.”

He’s crunched up behind a stone wall, practically buried in his knees, and still he flinches down when a shot rips through the stone and hits the wall across from him, spraying dust. He grits his teeth and shots Ahna a look, who’s still twisting the wires of the explosives together. Ori is good with a gun, but he’s better when he’s charming, manipulating, and not...in the trenches like this. 

She can practically feel herself bristle, even though there’s no fur on her body. He’s right that there had been, two nights ago. He’s right that she was the wolf. But he’s wrong because she’s only ever been herself, and if Linc’s too scared to accept who he is, that’s not her problem. 

“What are you going to do, tell on me?” she asks, glaring at him and taking a step back so she can walk around him. He can play the threat card as much as he likes. She’s not scared of him.

(Except she is, and a bear can kill any lone wolf, but he can’t know that the thought crosses her mind, and she can’t act on it.)

“Nobody’s going to believe you. And there’s no need to act like a goddamn bully.” 

“Tell on you? And I thought you were supposed to be the smart sibling.”

She’s ducked and woven around his arms, so now he folds them across his chest. Feet planted into the ground. Strong stance. Don’t fuck with me. Everything about these animals is in the body language. 

@hclybranches | ask meme | accepting

@skinwalks | ask meme | accepting

@goxinsane | ask meme | accepting

@skymma | ask meme | accepting

@ofpilotsanddoctors | ask meme | accepting

“--Probably because you’re crap at blocking.” 

Wolfgang twirls the baton in his hand. The other pilot is on the ground of the practice room, clutching his gut. Wolfgang isn’t particularly smooth or quick, but he makes up for it with blunt force. Case in point, Raleigh’s current state. 

Wolfgang is one of the few temporary pilots. A rare bread of pilot who is compatible with just about anyone. So when one of the pilots are down...Wolfgang fills the empty spot and keeps the jaeger moving. 

But there are still growing pains. He and Raleigh have some kinks to work out.