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Sherlock missed his phone.

He could easily acquire a cheap replacement at any store--and the numbers he'd lost were of no challenge to his memory.  But the difference between the phone he'd cast aside before his fall and some cheap hunk of plastic was that the latter would sho(more)
"You... really are an idiot, aren't you."

"No! No! Shut up!"

"I mean, it was the most ridiculously moronic story I could think of, and you totally bought it."

"I just wasn't expecting anything, okay!? I'm not gullible, just off-guard!"

"It's April first!"

I knew it was a benevolent universe from the way it liked to play jokes on me.
"you smell like you're on fire," Jay says, and Finch cannot help but wonder if that's meant as an insult or a compliment. he isn't given any time to think, though, because Jay continues:
"you smell like you're on fire. you smell like autumn and the fresh rain and(more)
(TW: gore.)
She hacks, coughs, lungs heaving desperately around the sword imbedded in them. A duel for the ages is ended as blood drips down.
"Sorry, little bro," she wheezes. "He got me bad with that last hit. I guess this is one fight I couldn't win."
The villain(more)
God got me bad. That Ass-shit.
Spend all day worshipping and doing His bidding to get into heaven, and he still hasn't bothered letting me rest yet.  

My daddy used to take me flying. Back in the old days, when we were wealthy folk, when we owned th(more)
Jealousy was something Lovino was used to--it got him bad all the time. Jealous of Feliciano, usually--who else would it be? Antonio? Ha! Who'd be jealous of /that/ oblivious idiot? He even made /Feliciano/ seem intelligent some days. That's not Lovino just being mean because he hates how, despite(more)
The door swung open, and the guards threw her in. Kitro stared at her for a moment, horrified. She had blood stains that started between her legs. Her right arm was completely wrapped, the left side of her face had bleeding scratches.  
I look up to the sky. The rain patters all around me, splashing my face. I suppose Jason was right: allowing myself to get hurt wasn't going to help me. I like it, though. The hurt, the tears, the complete disgust with myself. It's all real and so I(more)
Ludwig knew there was something wrong with it. Knew that there were much better options for him. Ones that hadn’t just been fucking his brother a week before and ones that weren’t using him to get back at said brother for whatever stupid thing they were arguing about now.(more)
He got him.

That manipulative, dastardly, manic illusionist got him. On the broken pavement of stone, he laid in blood and rain and tears. He laid on a pedestal of disappointment, shame, loss. He was horrible. They depended on him, and he failed them. He failed them. (more)
Got me good.  Got me right.  Got me sounding like a fucking blight.

Got some sound.  Got some rhythm.  Mix it together and you got some damn can't rhyme shit with that.  Spithm?  Spasm?  Spontaneous orgasm?  Seriously sounding symposiu(more)
On reflection, it was probably not a good idea for Ludwig to antagonize his captors that much, considering what they had done to his hand.  
However, that was not the problem now. The problem now was that Ludwig was stuck in a tiny room in the bunker, handcuffed to(more)
All of these anxiety medications and antidepressants that have been flowing through my blood were supposed to help me but they were doing the exact opposite.  I had no idea that prescription medications could do this to me, no idea that losing the medications that I had been prescribed just(more)
People judge you by the company you keep, and I keep rotten company. It is two o'clock in the morning. I'm laying in bed with my eyes shut trying to trick my body into rest. My sheets may as well be made of burning fire. I do my routine(more)