ENTRY HOLES &.

exit holes .

[noretribution]

#NORETRIBUTION. retired hitman for hire. rules under the cut for accessibility.

( 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚜: 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚖 𝚒 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒 𝚊𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐?, 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢, & 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 )

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE MITCH RAPP (HEADCANON-BASED SET IN THE WORLD OF JOHN WICK, WITH SOME INSPIRATION FROM THE BOOKS).

INFO ⁽¹⁾   ||    VERSES ⁽²⁾   ||    PLOT IDEAS ⁽³⁾   ||   SIDEBLOG ⁽⁴⁾

FIRST & FOREMOST: I expect all of my rules to be read, as this blog is highly divergent and primarily headcanon-based. When I follow someone, it is always after I have read their rules and about page. I expect the same etiquette to be followed in return. I will know if you do not read any of my pages and I will hard block those who show that they have not, with no warning and no hesitation.

DISCLAIMER: This is an independent writing blog for an AU exploration of the American Assassin character, MITCH RAPP. I do not own AA, its canon characters & materials, or my faceclaim. The lore that I pull from is also not mine. Any headcanons that you see here are mine and mine alone.

PORTRAYAL: This characterization of Mitch is unique to canon material, insofar as removing him entirely from the narrative. Mitch is set in the world of John Wick. The murder of his girlfriend, Maureen, would catapult him into the underground world of dark crime and the High Table as he works to get his revenge on the leaders who had his girlfriend executed.

I’ve steeped Mitch’s characterization in darker themes revolving around mob crime and assassin/hitmen narratives. He was (and still technically is considered) a very skilled and respected asset, due to his efficiency and seemingly untouchable status amongst the High Table, thanks to his connection to chairwoman, Irene Kennedy.

His main and current verse is exploring his years in retirement. He lives in the Pacific Northwest in an undisclosed location with his adopted seven-year-old daughter, Riley Louisa, and their ESA, a German shepherd named Charlie. You will often see these two in threads and posts. Within this primary main verse, Mitch’s endgame relationship is with Romeo’s Diana Prince. Any other ships will either ultimately end prior to his meeting Diana within a main verse plot or be explored within a separate alternate verse.

WRITING: This blog is mainly PLOT-BASED. I love world-building and creating complex dynamics between muses. I prefer writing in third person. My default verse for Mitch revolves around his daughter. Location is flexible, so I am open to tossing him wherever your muse may reside. Your muse may or may not know about Mitch’s reputation. I DO NOT WRITE WITH AMERICAN ASSASSIN CHARACTERS OR IN AN AMERICAN ASSASSIN VERSE.

MUN: My name is Rionach, or Rio. I’m twenty-six years old, she/they pronouns, and I work full time. I’m highly selective and mutually exclusive. Again, I will likely not be following any AA blogs, due to the divergence of this blog. No duplicates; I’m tired of theft. If you don’t have your name somewhere on your blog, it’s a no from me. DNI: characters from The Lovely Bones or the Harry Potter franchise and any related material, Billy Hargrove from Stranger Things, & the character Jackson Whittemore or his actor Colton Haynes from Teen Wolf. This list will be updated as necessary and for my comfort. Be kind.

[noretribution]

guess who :)

[noretribution]

𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄      :    //    p3pper​.

" i work at stark industries. " air is loud around them, so pepper leans in close to @noretribution to make sure she can hear him and he can hear her. " did you say you worked for the cia? or used to? sorry, it's a little hard to hear. " SC.

❝    i’ve  heard  of  it.    and  of  you.    ❞  maybe  this  gets  picked  up  by  the  gust  and  doesn’t  travel  well.    mitch  won’t  repeat  himself  though.    his  eyes  have  already  catalogued  all  the  exits.    all  the  escape  routes.    all  the  guns  in  the  room,    too.    ❝    got  a  file  on  me,    ms.    potts?    that’s  pretty  flattering.    didn’t  think  stark  industries  cared  for  retired  agents.    ❞

[noretribution]

𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄      :    //    @gothanite​.

    to  take  roost  in  one’s  wounds.  to  fester  in  cleaved  skin  and  muscle,  live  among  the  flies  which  burrow  in  bloody  meat  and  bear  their  spawn.  he  wears  his  like  a  commemoration,  ink-black  wings  enswathing  in  attempt  to  hide  his  tired  bones  and  contracting  heart  but,  in  trying  so,  thrusts  them  to  the  surface.  this  city,  for  all  her  mystery,  is  an  expert  at  revealing  the  contusions  that  weigh  her  people  down;  she’s  a  pool  of  stagnant  memories,  laden  of  blood  and  bacteria,  that  one  must  tread  through,  open-wounded,  and  gasping  for  life,  and  feeling  the  infection  born  from  their  own  hands.

    above  the  stridulation  of  chasing  crickets,  the  rattle  of  chains  can  be  heard  a  few  houses  down.  dogs  at  their  ends,  already  agitated  from  the  moaning  of  a  man  long  since  leaked  to  death,  had  been  barking  with  the  ferocity  of  cornered  animals  since  first  sight  of  the  phantasm.  the  canines’  feverish  baying  had  run  spit-slick  and  hoarse,  their  jaws  snapping  down  with  the  instinctual  hunt  of  creatures  long  before  their  lifetime.  and  how  weighed  down  they  are,  by  leashes  with  which  cannot  be  escaped,  fighting  against  all  odds  in  desperation  to  protect  what  is  theirs.  he  suffocates  on  the  irony.

    his  eyes  drop  to  meet  the  pallid  corpse.  the  violence  had  stopped  flowing,  leaving  only  the  scent  of  death  in  its  wake.  the  dissonance  of  sickly-sweet  and  copper  and  sulfides  lingers  in  his  nose  just  enough  to  reveal  that  the  man’s  life  had  been  snipped  not  long  ago.  and  he  rots  among  the  carnage.  he  rots  among  the  death.  to  take  roost  in  one’s  wounds.  to  live  as  this  man  died.      ❝    i’m  not  asking  you  to  get  back  into  the  business,    ❞      he  grunts.  his  voice  is  quiet,  rumbling  from  the  base  of  his  throat  with  a  rare  sense  of  resignation.      ❝    i’m  asking  for  a  favor.  the  people  need  protection.    ❞

they  don’t  have  the  luxury  of  redemption.    mitch  sits  in  his  quiet  life  with  his  quiet  home  and  his  quiet(ing)  wounds,    and  it’s  not  enough.    will  it  ever  be?    because  yeah,    fuck  yeah,    he’s  left  it  all  behind.    there  aren’t  bounties,    there  aren’t  rules,    there  aren’t  expectations  that  meant  life  or  death.    but  there  is  his  name.    and  there  is  his  reputation.    and  there  is  the  ever  -  looming  presence  of  a  past  not  so  easily  escaped,    no  matter  how  quiet  the  present  pretends.

❝    fuck.    ❞  mitch  swipes  a  heavy  hand  down  his  face,    rubs  especially  against  the  shadow  at  his  jaw  grown  itchy  between  shaves.    he’d  been  growing  it  out,    before.    diana  had  pretended  to  like  it.    he  thinks  about  what  he’s  become  since  the  last  time  he  was  in  the  business.    since  the  last  time  his  hands  were  this  rough,    battered,    stained.    the  bat  hasn’t  been  given  attention  again  since  his  contemplation  and  he  thinks  if  he  looks  now,    it’ll  mean  that  he’s  agreed.    and  he  hasn’t.    he  hasn’t.

the  breath  he  heaves  is  resigned.    ❝    they’re  not  my  people,    ❞  mitch  grumbles.    and  then,    he  looks.    ❝    i  have  stipulations.    y’gotta  know  that.    ❞  he’s  going  to  have  to  get  out  all  his  gear  again,    relegated  to  a  shed  with  an  underground  bunker,    coded  to  his  dna  and  locked  forever  (  he  had  intended  ).    he’s  going  to  have  to  shed  this  softness,    this  layer  of  something  that  means  something  new.    he  can’t  be  shiny  anymore.    his  expression  reflects  that  enlightenment.    ❝    what’s  the  favor?    ❞

[noretribution]

𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄      :    //    diana.

❝    𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅.  𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕…   ❞       she trails off a bit,    this time unsure of how to proceed.      the bracelet sits against his wrist in the snug way she had expected,    and she worries briefly about the thorns snagging his skin,    mouth coming loose a bit at the feeling of him against her   –––   even if just for a moment.      the slip of paper burns in her pocket;     she speaks slowly,   gently:    I had a speech for all this.     a deep inhale  (  sharp and steady  )  is taken before she looks back up to him,    allows her gaze to rake itself against his features,    another moment of trying to memorize him as if he were fleeting.      ❝   it was silly.    last - minute,    just in case i felt as if i needed to  (  …  )   oh,   Gaea…     the point is this:    we have been seeing each other for some time.    the way that i feel around you,    it is much like seeing Helios’ rays for the first time.      it is as if i am forever being warmed by the sun,     comfortable and ever - present.      let us pretend that makes sense,    yes  ?❞

there,   a chuckle spills from her mouth   –––  bell - like and clear.      ❝   you have become someone who is quite important to me,    Mitch Rapp.     i hope you understand that this,    the bracelet and necklace,    it is not done without a great deal of consideration.     i am serious about this  (  …  )    you may ask any questions you have,   now.   ❞

maybe  foolishly  he  is  sure  that  nothing  about  this,    about  her,    is  fleeting.    maybe  worse,    he’s  right.    nothing  about  diana  will  go  away,    nothing  about  these  feelings  either;    the  same  cannot  be  said  for  mitch.    he  doesn’t  think  about  it  though.    he  thinks  about  her  hands,    against  his  throat  and  against  his  arm.    he  thinks  about  her  hair,    curled  big  and  falling  around  her  shoulders  when  she  bends.    he  thinks  about  her  mouth,    intentional  yet  (  for  the  first  time,    he  thinks  )  nervous  as  she  speaks.    he  thinks  about  that  knot  in  his  chest  right  this  minute  as  he  looks  at  her;    that  knot,    which  he’d  been  so  scared  of  when  it  had  squeezed  for  the  first  time  when  he’d  thought  about  her  (  for  the  first  time  ).    without  thinking,    he  rubs  his  knuckles  briefly  to  his  sternum,    as  if  to  settle  it  as  much  as  himself.

❝    it’s  not  silly,    ❞  he  says  belatedly,    finally,    first.    diana  prince,    flustered.    he  tries  not  to  look  like  he’s  laughing  at  her,    but  that  grin  sharpens  even  further.    ❝    all  of  that  made  sense,    yeah.    mostly  ‘cause  i  get  it.    s’how  i  feel  about  you,    too,    baby.    ❞  a  reassurance  that  she  probably  doesn’t  need  (  he’s  here,    isn’t  he?    and  he  has  been,    he  will  be  ).    mitch  reaches  slowly,    just  his  fingertips  to  her  fingertips  for  a  moment  before  he  curls  his  hands  around  the  backs  of  hers.    ❝    thank  you.    for  sharing  this  with  me.    ❞  and  then,    a  vibration  slowing,    he  drops  his  gaze  to  the  bracelet,    ❝    what  do  the  thorns  mean?    ❞

[noretribution]

ma’am i’m a happily taken man

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME ⟶WILDERMYTH / The Sunswallower’s Wake - Part 3 always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.

‘unless… you’re too chicken?’

‘you know it’s a bad idea when i’m the voice of reason.’

‘just so you know, i’ll be spitting in your food.’

‘so what’s your favourite monster?’

‘alright, taking bets– which gives out first, my lungs or my legs?’

‘don’t die without me.’

‘tunnel? right here, right n– oh! oh, you mean you found a tunnel?’

‘i don’t know, i’m romanced by this tunnel, all of a sudden.’

‘you can’t find a tunnel, then not go in the tunnel.’

‘can’t do more than throw a few badly aimed stones, myself.’

‘we’re popping out of the wardrobe?’

‘can’t pay you in anything but fish.’

‘i remember finding half-remembered fragments of that tale in all kinds of places.’

‘i was bold and reckless in my youth, if you’ll believe it.’

‘i said the same thing myself.’

‘we’ve done enough wandering. there’s a battle waiting.’

‘we have a plan, right? besides standing around and getting shot at?’

‘enough yammering. you gonna fight me, or what?’

‘don’t run off and start a new life together! we’ve still got a job to do!’

‘oh no. that… wasn’t my granny. but i’m sworn to secrecy.’

‘did you just say ‘magical bread’?’

‘i’ve seen grim things, and i’ve seen them more and more.’

‘you’d better be quick to learn, or you’ll be quick to die.’

‘if you don’t want me messing up, teach me well.’

‘he wanted to make us suffer, make us grovel.’

‘why must you bury your dead? you’d rather feed the worms?’

‘just how old are you, anyway?’

‘no lesser magic would mend you.’

‘my body wobbles as if it were formed of jelly.’

‘the sun shall restore me to what i was.’

‘i know you will never betray me.’

‘it’s just as the saying goes: clever birds make quick work of knotted ropes.’

‘i’d like to pop the pair of them right here.’

‘it’s not where i would choose to live, if i was some skyclimbing rich guy.’

‘there’s no telling what’s beyond the gate. the legends are vague.’

‘don’t worry! if i croak, just make sure you bury me with the birdguy!’

‘cute throne.’

‘we should’ve maybe just brought him. that tooly fellow.’

‘you’ve surely come a long way. faced horror and death.’

‘stubborn old bird.’

‘could bring these walls down.’

‘humans! fruit-guzzling doggens! lanky-limbed pinstrels! wrecking what they want, when it can’t be had!’

‘they mean to entrap me. entomb me.’

‘put the knife down. you can’t possibly believe a fight would go your way.’

‘while an ember survives, i linger.’

‘you closed your eyes. you alright?’

‘do we kill it?’

‘you see all this? this’s your mess.’

‘i’m… just talking to a bird, huh?’

‘thought i was somewhere else, for a second.’

‘it’s said that those we lose live on in our stories.’

‘life has no lord, the wild no master.’

‘the sun is free, and all things beneath it are free.’

[noretribution]

𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄      :    //    diana.

𝒊𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒇 𝒊𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆, 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒌, 𝒑𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒏.     if this were any other moment,    her fingers would linger against him a bit longer…      she raises her gaze to meet his and sees nothing but a swarming of what she hopes is love,    what she thinks is similar to what she  [  in this moment,    in this silence,    ]    feels as well.     the Ambassador then leans forwards at her own waist,    finger still wrapped around and pulling the nectarine seed away from his skin;     a kiss is pressed to the seed,     words in the Amazon language muttered:      «  That thou art full of promise…  »        and she leans back in her seat,     careful in her movements,    gentle in her touch.        he speaks and she allows herself a pause from ritual;      a huff of laugh leaves her mouth.      ❝   you are welcome.   i enjoy your traditions.    your flowers   (   …   )    think of this as similar to that,     me asking you the same question.    the only difference is that if you accept my courtship,    and until it is mutually agreed upon to form a lasting relationship,    these items must never leave your person.   ❞

next is the bracelet,    delicately lifted from its sitting place.    thorns wrapped in ribbon of gold and blue and red.        ❝   the thorns may prick you,    but not for long.    most of them are on its outside   –––   bring me your wrist.   ❞       the bracelet is offered,     and again in her language,     «  That thou shall know the heart of another…  »       

he  tells  himself  to  keep  his  mouth  shut  now  because  this  is  important  and  he  is  a  patient  man.    the  questions  that  he  has,    the  inquiries  about  each  step,    and  the  desire  to  understand  are  far  outweighed  by  the  care  he  holds  for  her.    her  foreign  words  are  received  by  a  wider  smile,    an  endearing  sort  of  reception  in  the  warmer  look  to  his  face.    already  he  wants  to  break  his  promise,    his  jaw  unhinging  with  the  part  of  his  mouth  in  the  shape  of  a  question,    but  his  reflexes  are  quick  enough  to  swallow  it  down  before  he  interrupts.    rather,    he  curls  those  hands  on  his  thighs  into  fists  to  still  the  need  to  touch  her  when  she  bows  closer  and  watches  her  simply,    silently,    with  dark  eyes.

maybe  she  can  taste  his  restlessness.    all  of  it  is  slight,    minute  to  the  average  focus,    but  she  knows  him  well  enough  by  now  that  even  those  small  pieces  of  himself  make  up  the  larger  understanding.    mitch  offers  his  arm  to  her  wordlessly,    tongue  tucked  behind  his  top  lip,    in  front  of  his  teeth,    as  he  hones  in  on  the  bracelet.    he  wants  to  tell  her  that  the  only  thing  capable  of  really  hurting  him  anymore  is  her,    but  he  keeps  it  in  his  throat  for  now.    instead,    he  remains  silent,    waiting,    and  only  breaks  half  of  a  rule  by  rubbing  his  thumb  to  her  wrist  when  she  reaches  for  him  again.

[notdeeplypersonal]

                             𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 .

i. THE DIRECTOR : thomas stansfield , deceased .

ii. THE SHRINK : dr . reginald lewis , retired .

iii. THE HANDLER : irene kennedy , active .

iv. THE MENTOR : stan hurley , unknown .

[noretribution]

𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄      :    //    diana.

—   for:  @noretribution​    |         𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒔.    a certain way this must be done,    and must be done right.      always one for ritual,   this is one she cannot  ––  will not  ––  back away from:     the gifts are unloaded from her case one by one,   handled delicately and gently,    and the paper she has memorized  (  read over twice - fold,   thrice even  )  is slipped from her back pocket,   regarded,    then put back.      His table is set for dinner,    though she’s sure her appetite has escaped her.      this man  [  as strong and sturdy as her…   half as witty and twice as kind,    she’s come to learn   ]    sits across from her as she works.      she clears her throat,    sets the stage.

❝   we’ve been…   seeing each other for some time.     i thought it was appropriate to present you with these trinkets,    as according to a tradition from home.    ❞     there is a pause,    a moment of waiting,     and then she continues:      ❝   we will begin with this.❞    she says,    the first gift of a coconut presented and opened.   inside its hollowed core is a nectarine’s seed strung on a chain and a bracelet,     the first of which she lifts upwards and offers.       her eyes shine with expectancy,    anxiety underneath.      ❝   a bounty,    hoped for and not yet achieved   (   …   )    here,   lean forwards  –––  let me put it on you.❞

the  table  is  set,    but  he  does  not  touch  the  food  yet.    there  is  that  look  in  his  eyes  as  he  watches  her,    a  look  that  has  lingered  there  for  some  time  now:    a  fondness,    a  hunger,    a  longing,    all  at  once.    diana  inspires  much  in  him  and  all  of  it  feels  so  large,    he  thinks  he  could  die  from  it,    blunt  force  trauma  or  internal  bleeding.    how  much  has  he  endured  all  these  years  to  be  finally  taken  out  by  these  feelings?    it’s  laughable,    really.    he  is  the  age  -  old  cliche,    a  human  machine,    yet  worse,    the  soft  -  hearted  cynic.    the  proof  is  in  that  look  in  his  eyes.

mitch  says  nothing  when  she  speaks.    diana  is  different  here  and  it  warms  him  that  he  is  seeing  another  new  side  of  her.    it  breeds  a  level  of  intimacy  he  has  been  craving  from  her.    his  mouth  gentles  around  the  edges  of  a  knowing  smirk,    wary  of  spooking  her  when  she  looks  nearly  unsure.    but  he  would  be  loathe  to  dissuade  her  from  this  defining  moment  and  so  he  obeys,    leaning  in  at  the  waist,    his  hands  to  his  thighs  in  a  bit  of  a  fold.    his  eyes  gleam.    ❝    this  is  better  than  any  traditions  i’ve  got  from  back  home.    ❞  mitch  tilts  his  head  to  the  centerpiece  at  the  table.    ❝    just  the  flowers.    askin’  you  to  be  mine.    ❞  a  pause.    he  wants  to  touch  her  badly.    the  seed  rests  between  his  clavicle,    something  promised  and  waiting  to  root.    ❝    thank  you.    ❞

[noretribution]

what better way to define our friendship

[noretribution]

grief is a strange thing. a lingering thing, even if tucked away for a time. like an old book you pull off the shelf from time to time. blow the dust off and flip through the pages. some of those pages are as difficult to digest as they were the first time you read them and some bring you just as much joy. and sometimes you have to carry that book around with you for awhile and sometimes you can put it back on the shelf. but it’s always there. an old friend.

[noretribution]

baby charlie has my whole heart i can’t handle this

[noretribution]

romeo: breathes from diana’s blog

me: busting in here

[noretribution]

the ambassador delivers three kisses to him in slow succession: one to mitch’s cheek, one to his forehead, and another to his mouth; she mumbles a greeting, a savored ‘hello’ against him before pulling away, the smile on her face growing. “That is your first New Year’s kiss, though it is not midnight exactly yet…” A pause, and she reaches forward and pressed the tip of her thumb to the corner of his lips, an affectionate gesture that she can’t help but perform. “I may have more in store for you as the day progresses, and maybe something fun for our countdown.”

if  he  believed  in  much  of  anything  outside  of  his  own  capabilities,    he  might  be  thanking  some  higher  being  right  about  now.    but  all  he  knows  about  religion  anymore  is  the  feel  of  her  smooth  skin  under  his  rough  hands,    the  taste  of  her  in  the  mornings,    the  way  she  laughs  when  he  is  on  the  receiving  end  of  it.    so  mitch  thanks  her,    as  much  a  god  in  his  life  as  anything  really,    with  the  reciprocal  press  of  his  mouth  to  hers,    the  three  piece  squeeze  of  his  hands  down  her  arms:    biceps–elbows–wrists.    only  a  small  part  of  divine  worship.    she  makes  the  promises  for  later  after  all.

he’s  grinning  when  she  pulls  away,    something  wild  and  undone  that  isn’t  actually  wild  at  all.    no,    no,    she’s  softened  that  otherwise  harsh  glower.    mitch  is  looking  at  her  with  fondness,    with  love.    ❝    baby,    ❞  says  her  man,    his  palms  pressing  to  her  palms  now,    ❝    if  that  was  just  the  appetizer,    then  i  can’t  wait  for  the  rest  of  the  meal.    ❞  mitch  leans  in  again,    looking  for  another  kiss.    ❝    maybe  i  need  another  taste  test.  .  .    for  good  luck  in  the  new  year,    you  know.  .  .    ❞

𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄    :  RANDOM CHEER.

[noretribution]

i cannot stress enough how much mitch is a “sorry dude i can’t, the wife’s waiting up for me” kind of guy to get out of plans

[noretribution]

𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄    :  “i’ve got an idea.” //      @enhaunts​​​​

𝟏𝟗:𝟏𝟓    𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐃  𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄        //        𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍:        𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃.

mitch  has  a  plane  to  catch  in  exactly  five  hours  from  now.    it  won’t  take  him  an  obscene  amount  of  time  to  pack  because  he  never  brings  more  than  he  needs  to  get  through  security  and  customs  (  no  checked  luggage  ),    but  he  is  nothing  if  not  over  punctual  and  meticulous.    every  detail  is  planned,    every  paranoia  avoided  as  best  as  possible.    so  he  should  be  back  at  the  safehouse,    rechecking  the  duffle  bag  he  takes  with  him  everywhere  for  the  fifth  time  and  scheduling  a  cab.

instead,    he’s  here.    in  this  shit,    dank  bar.    nursing  a  whiskey  neat  and  scowling  at  the  70s  music  coming  over  the  shit  speakers.    someone  jostles  him  to  his  right  and  he  frowns  deeper.    ❝    uh  oh.    ❞  despite  the  line  forming  between  his  brows,    there  is  something  mischievous  in  the  dark  of  his  eyes  as  he  meets  nell’s  across  the  table.    ❝    gotta  feeling  it’s  got  nothing  to  do  with  dancing  on  the  bartop,    huh?    what’s  on  your  mind?    ❞