i'm rubber and you're glue

[commemeorate]

THEKINDASTUCKMEME
Well, at least it's not glue.

RULES:
o1. Put down your character ( name | series | any preferences).
o2. Those replying can pick / rng / ask Snape on the astral plane to choose one of the prompts below.
o3. You know what they say: birds of a feather get stuck in questionably legal situations together!

Hope you enjoy your enforced quality time, when you're both stuck -

o1 in traffic, after an atrocious argument.
o2. distracting this person, while your partner in comedy/crime organizes their surprise party, or slashes their car tyres.
o3. defending the base for the next vicious 42 min, until your cavalry to get here. Ladies, gentlemen: good luck.
o4. on a raft, idly drifting the way of the nearest deserted island, a surely cute shark in tow.
o5. in an air vent, after fruitlessly stalking this person, whom you thought to be a serial killer. They don't make friendly neighbours like they used to.
o6. trapped in a codependent relationship with your bed / pet / really domestic hobby, from which this person hopes to break you by way of alcohol a social intervention.
o7. in a waiting room, while you're hanging around for the results for a highly embarrassing disease test, and would really rather not run into anyone you kno - ...God damn it.
o8. trying to safely navigate through a department store, after carelessly forgetting you were out on your measly errand during Black Friday / the year's biggest one-day sale.
o9. standing guard in front of a bedroom with this nigh-stranger, so your Romeo-Juliet-like friends can finally get it on in behind closed doors, thematic noises included. Get the small talk going.
10. with your hair in one of their zippers. You pick which. Everyone else just points and laughs.
11. delivering some pretty terrible news to them.
12. with your hand in their mailbox, just as they're coming out of their house, or apartment.
13. doing the dishes, when you both forgot your wallets and can't foot the bill.
14. playing moral support for your friend, who's stuck in a magician's box, while said magician goes off to look for the key. And coffee. And dinner.
15. reading a manual on how to defuse a bomb, or a very sensitive alarm system. Tick-tack. No rush.
16. waiting for the movie reels to get changed over from an accidental porn showing, courtesy of teenagers in charge of the screening room. You're also out of popcorn.
17. under the only stone building around for miles in the middle of an acidic rain. And then you wonder whether pollution's really on the rise.
18. on the roof, after the ladder's snapped in half. Your neighbour's particularly irritable cat might also be out on the prowl.
19. in a bdsm swing. Look, no one's judging.
20. baby-sitting, pet-sitting, or car-sitting. Yes, that new Ferrari needs day and night surveillance.
21. in a lake, because this person caught you skinny-dipping and won't. Go. Away.
22. on the phone for an important interview / business conversation, while this person tries to distract you.
23. waiting to be ransomed, while in the actually quite loving care of especially incompetent criminals.
24. with your and this person's thumbs engaged in a dysfunctional Chinese finger trap.
25. waiting for them to make the Important Announcement they've been hinting at all week, while they taunt and tease you with it.

Comments

Gustave "Doc" Kateb | Rainbow Six: Siege

[stimshot]

[Being stuck: the Defense Operators' life story.]

Roxanne | A Goofy Movie

[redroxy]

Mikasa Ackerman | Attack On Titan / Shingeki No Kyojin | OTA

[callyourname]

Savitar - Flash OTA

[vivifier]

Korra | Legend of Korra | OTA

[goestoextremes]

Kyouka Izumi | Bungou Stray Dogs

[hellphone]

belial | granblue fantasy | ota

[bluffer]

Ignis Scientia | Final Fantasy XV |

[fairygodspecs]

[Cast mates and cross canon welcome. M/M shipping, OTA everything else.]

NAMI | ONE PIECE | OTA

[logpose]

Josuke Higashikata | jojo's bizarre adventure | ota

[nipzips]

Faith Lehane | Buffy: The Vampire Slayer | ota

[rockypath]

[proactive_with_pep]

[do you have a pref? because the powers that be have such a sense of humor.]

[rockypath]

{oh gosh, so many of these have excellent potential. 1. In traffic, 4. on a raft, or 10 or 21 would also be amusing XD ]

1 it is. :D

[proactive_with_pep]

She really needed to keep her mouth shut when the question, what could possibly make this situation any worse?, crossed her mind. Saying it aloud only made for it to take a life of its own and well, here she was for the last two hours and fifty seven minutes living the answer.

Even after a five hour ordeal of being stuck on the tarmac with severe jet lag taking over the answer was being once again stuck. This time in standstill traffic in Los Angeles, in a car which had no air conditioning, and with Faith.

"If you change the station one. more. time. so help me, Faith." Buffy all but growled through gritted teeth as she switched the music back to the station she originally had it on for the tenth time while glaring at the brunette driver besides her.

[rockypath]

Faith and Buffy were so easily at each other's throats at even the best of times, so planning to go on this trip together was probably about the stupidest thing they could have done. Even the best of friends could be at one another's throats after the ordeal they've been through. A long trip, waiting in lines, poor customer service along with a shitty rental car, and then a traffic jam. It was a miracle they hadn't already broken out into a fist fight at the airport. It had been touch and go for a while there.

"It's not my fault you have such shitty taste in music. Besides I'm the fucking driver. Think that means I get the radio privileges." Her hand was already moving to flip the radio back.

Methos | Highlander | ota

[live_growstronger]

[immortal_pirate]

Care to see what kind of trouble a pair of immortals can get into?

[live_growstronger]

[ooc: omg. ha! I used to play with you on livejournal ;) really_oldguy? I'm game! maybe the one where they're defusing a bomb? lol, or whatever I'm not picky.]

<3<3<3

[immortal_pirate]

[Woo! I thought that might be you. <3 Missed you. Defusing a bomb could be interesting with these two.]

"Old man, please tell me you've done this before," Morgan said looking over at Methos who was reading instructions that looked like they might be written in ancient Mandarin while the digital readout on the thing was ticking down from 45 seconds. Who knew they'd get stuck on an abandoned world war two battle cruiser that was about to be sunk to make a new reef. "Because I would really like to not blow up this ship before we get out."

Nagito Komaeda | Dangan Ronpa series

[hoperulesdespairdrools]

closed to fadedfreckles

[pinkreaver]

Re: closed to fadedfreckles

[fadedfreckles]

Rue kicks his boots against the dirt-laden road, stamping out the footprints of the travellers who’ve come before him. It’s more an act of boredom than aggression; he’s alone and his pack is barebones empty, and if he stops long enough to think, there’s a chance he might just give in and turn around.

A boy needs to eat, after all.

And sleep.

Both of which, Rue notes, he doesn’t need a township for. Still, there’s the convenience of it, and the flavors – spiced drinks and vineyard grapes, fresh cloves and sloshing spring water – tastes that simply can’t be duplicated when you’re spitting a stringy squirrel over a too-smoky campfire.

At that train of thought, Rue scoffs. He’s not poor at this, at surviving the wilderness. He grew up setting traps with his father, trekking through the Old Woods, where light dappled the ground like spills of gold dust and rivers ran a true blue. On the edge of Curl Creek, his mother had taught him to fish using only simple items they’d collected along the way. In exchange, Rue’d told her the names of constellations he’d learned from a book borrowed from town; supposedly, he’d explained, you could read them like a map.

She’d smiled distantly then, drawn only to the path ahead. “Keep your eyes on what’s in front of you, my darling,” she had replied.

Since then, Rue has become quite good at not looking back.

A telling wind sends dust twisting up and into the air, enough that Rue pauses in his trudging to bring the crook of his elbow to shield his mouth and nose. The action has him wincing; it reminds him, oh yeah, the burn and he huffs a little, annoyed that he hasn’t managed to heal faster.

It also reminds him that he’s out of supplies, and whatever relief he wants, he’s going to have to concoct himself. Again – not difficult, just tedious, because time away from the road is time ill-spent; also, he finds himself wondering if he’s put enough distance between himself and the mage he’d cornered three towns back – the one that’d singed his skin straight through his arm-guard.

Ferha had been her name. Luckily, when Rue’d dispelled her, it had been dark - not dark enough that she couldn’t make out his templar robes (the sole reason why he’d since abandoned them), but certainly enough that Rue is confident she won't recognize him in a crowd.

Thinking about that brings about a sigh of relief.

The sudden calm only seems to amplify Rue's exhaustion, and he realizes, calves aching and sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead and cheeks, that he needs to rest. It’s a betrayal, he thinks, feeling suddenly winded from his travels. Still, the idea of finding grape-root for his arm is appealing, and eating more than molded cheese and crusted bread-halves sounds like a fair enough idea. There’s also the looming shadows of nightfall, the fact the sun is pouring itself down and past the line of the horizon, and that, at best, Rue has an hour of light left.

By the time he’s made up his mind, Rue’’s already off the road, digging a crudely sketched map from his back pocket. He’d traced it nearly a month previous, after having thieved the real thing from a drunk raid leader at a pub. It’s a grave crime to steal from a templar, or so Rue’d heard. The map was terrible, and so Rue’d ended up sneaking it back – but not before copying down necessities: main roads, lakes, rivers, mountains, and areas commonly pillaged.

He hopes to the sky that he won’t run into any trouble, and that the huge mass he’s headed for is, indeed, a lake.

As the trek takes him downhill, Rue finds himself lumbering and taking airy breaths; the promise of sleep has his him feeling drowsy and a wafting night breeze catches against the perspiration on his neck, sending goose pimples down the length of his arms.

Nightbirds whistle as the sun throws color against the sky; Rue barely manages to catch the candied pinks and purples through gaps in the canopy, and by the time the sky is shrouded in a magnificent, inky black, he’s already collected a handful of grape-root leaves, two pocketfuls of berries and tree nuts, and a decent stack of dried sticks, most meant for fire and the rest for fishing.

Rue’s mouth waters at the prospect of trout; he hopes he's not too late to catch any, since he missed dusk, and most of the fish will most likely be full on water-skimmers.

The next hour passes with quickly, as Rue makes himself productive. He sets up his own small camp, backed against an outcrop of rocks. It takes four tries to coax a flame into existence and minutes of patient blowing and fanning to help the fire catch. When it does, it’s a timid bit of warmth, but there isn’t a breeze and so Rue is confident it won’t snuff out. In the distance, some animal moves through the woods, footsteps crackling. Rue isn’t bothered. There’s very little he fears these days.

He is hungry, however, and so he pulls together a makeshift rod, ever hopeful. He keeps a handful of berries in one pocket but moves the rest to his pack along with the nuts and grape-root. When he rises, he scratches at his neck and yawns. The lake is only a short distance from his post; he can hear the tide rolling and crickets chirping beneath swaying cattails. It’s all very calm.

Quiet.

Nostalgic in a way he can’t quite place.

The moon is impossibly bright, spilling over the lake in a way that drowns out the stars around it. It must be a special moon, Rue thinks, because it’s whole and huge and magnificent; he reaches out, idly, toying with the idea that he could touch it, if he wanted – and ends up framing the moon with his fingers, doing a trick his father used to do, where the right movements make it seem like the moon is a coin.

[pinkreaver]

Something Faerin will admit to missing about his Circle: a moment's peace was never a luxury. Though often isolated to it, at least he had a room. Though he always waited until the others were finished with it, at least he had access to a bath. He could sleep at night without fear of being stolen because he was already in the prison everyone agreed he should be in. Even the Reavers, who taught him to separate his senses and never stray more than three feet from your weapon, would never concern themselves with watching their backs. You always had a brother or a sister to do that for you, and besides, a Reaver is the most frightening thing lurking through the shadows in the first place.

Magic had found him his purpose, but it could never purchase the freedom of normalcy. There will always be eyes at his back - Templars, Reavers, Demons - that's the price he pays for what he is and how he's lived.

Not that he would choose to be anything else. It's just a thought that strikes him as damn unfair when he stumbles across a lake in the middle of the night, thinks it'd be nice to finally have a relaxing bath, and then remembers he'll have to strike "relaxing" out of the equation. Replace it with something more functional like "quick" or "cautious," lest one of his thousand and one enemies catches him - literally - with his pants down.

Nevertheless, Faerin is nothing if not determined to get his way in all things. His way, at the moment, consists of rinsing off blood and grime from the ends of his bright hair down to the beds of his fingernails without being killed, kidnapped, or bothered in absolutely any sense of the word.

Which is, of course, why two minutes into stripping down and wading through the water, there's rustling in the foliage near the edge of the bank. Because his life is a fuck.

Magic hums at his fingertips, senses on high alert, but he doesn't turn around just yet. "I'm not gonna bother asking who's there - but I'm in a good enough mood to warn that I'm giving you exactly five seconds to go the fuck away."

Please. He's grumpy and smells like ass and was here first.

[fadedfreckles]

Rue's fingers pause in their game, the moon looking-half flipped. He can't help the way he goes still, the way his eyes drop, the way fight-or-flight brings his pulse to a hastened, heady thrum.

"Um..." he says, because there's nothing around him, no one that he can see - except now, he hears it; the slightest slosh of water, drowned out by the swaying of rustling tallgrass and cattails a few feet out.

There's something to be said for delirium, for the way a tired mind processes information; Rue can't help but think he's encountered some fantastical myth, like the ones some of the circle-men used to pour over fireside, red-faced and laughing. Stories about imbued magic - spells left to spoil, sometimes possessing wild animals and turning them mad.

Rue swallows as he steps sideways, wondering if dispelling is something you can do to legends or if he's going to be forced to fight off some lake monster with the flimsy twig he's got clasped between his fingers - and feels an assail of genuine relief when a familiar shape comes into view - and actual person wading in the depths, half hidden by the shadows of the cattails and bankside.

Nearly dropping his pole, Rue expels a long breath. "I thought you were a haunted trout."

Padmé Amidala | Star Wars

[padbae]