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cianmars · 5 months

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Learning to stay still.

(A Doctor Who fanfic)

AO3

The Doctor watched as the Tardis wheezed then dematerialised.

That was new.

All of this was.

He didn’t realise that he’d been simply staring into the space left behind… he’d been left behind too, in a way. He knew it wouldn’t have worked out well, him and the Doctor, neither of them were made to be companions, this version of him especially seemed to be unsuitable for the job of being the Doctor's Wrangler.

He tried to hide his jump when he felt a nudge on his shoulder. He covered it up with a quick smile, just a small one, at Donna who was looking up at him in concern.

“You alright?”

She’d asked him that so many times, to this face, and the same face on his younger self. He didn’t lie to Donna, as a general rule, but he had never been good at admitting that he wasn’t okay, actually.

He had been working on it.

“You know me.”

He looked down at his bare feet, bi-generation had left him with only half of their clothes, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d come out as better considering he was now shoe-less and commando.

“Yeah. I do.”

Her firm tone forced him to look back at his best friend. If he didn’t think she’d hit him he would have pointed out that when she looked at him like she was now, she reminded him a bit too much of Sylvia.

He tilted his head to the side, lowering his voice so only Donna could hear him. “I guess I just… kind of expected him to have popped back by now. Not to stay,” he added quickly, “just… y’know.”

He felt her hand take hold of his and squeeze, so he squeezed back.

“I’m sure he’ll be back to visit, some day. I mean, I kept getting to see this old face, didn’t I?”

He glanced at Kate and Shirley, who were talking about something, he should probably help them, should probably figure out a way to fix the human race again. But he just couldn’t. He felt a lump in his throat, and squeezed Donna’s hand again. “You were one of the few… I should have… you were different.”

There was silence and understanding between the two of them for a minute or two.

“I think he was right, that version of you, you need to work on yourself first. I mean… you’re kind of a mess.”

The Doctor barked out a laugh, feeling some of the weight lift off of his shoulders.

“Yeah, I guess…. I guess he’s right.” he thought back to the hug from his older self, he wished it had been longer, it had been stabilising, but now he was cast adrift. He didn’t know what came next.

So he did what he always did.

He put on a smile, and raised his voice, adding levity, and an easy smile.

“I should probably help Kate, and Shirley, y’know fix this mess your lot have got yourselves into this time.”

Apparently Kate Lethbridge Stewart had been polite in pretending not to listen to his and Donna’s conversation, as she immediately turned to him, holding a screen in her hands, starting to hold it out to him.

“We have-”

“No.” Donna’s voice silenced Kate immediately, The Doctor still didn’t know how she did that, he supposed he could do it too, but Donna managed to even shut himself up, and he’d always sucked at getting himself to shut up.

“I-”

“No,” Donna repeated, glaring at the Doctor now, even though it had been Shirley who had tried to interrupt that time. “You heard him, you heard you. You’re not doing anything other than coming home with me, eating whatever my mum’s cooked, and having a kip.”

He had the decency to look away from her, down at the floor again, as he tried to stretch the truth a little, “I’ll be okay, I’ll do that, but I’ll help here first.” He looked at Donna again, begging her to understand, as she always did, he needed to do something, to not feel useless.

To prove he could still be The Doctor.

She just shook her head with a sad smile on her face, “Not this time Doctor.” She squeezed his upper arm, looking not at him now but at Kate. “I’ll be taking him home, you lot can handle this. He’s grounded, Doctor’s orders.”

“Donna, “ he grumbled, “I can’t be grounded, I’m a billion years old and a Timelord with a Tardis, and a million more lives to live.”

She just rolled her eyes at him.

He loved her but she couldn’t half annoy him sometimes, it was clear to her that she disagreed with him being ‘unable to be grounded’. Kate just nodded at Donna, not looking at him, whereas Shirley kind of smirked at him. She was trouble, good trouble, he’d have to take her on an adventure, if she would go.

Donna was talking to Kate about something, The Doctor wasn’t paying attention, and she still had hold of him, as though he was about to jump in his box and run away… he supposed she might have a point with that one.

“C’mon, martian,” she pulled him fondly as she started to walk away from the Tardis, “We’ll catch a lift off this lot, the Tardis will follow us, or go where she goes when she ditches you. We’ll get you well, and then we can go on some adventures.”

He looked back at the Tardis, as though she’d be able to intercede on his behalf, she didn’t. Traitor. So he followed after Donna, trusting her to find the way out of this place.

“Oh,” Donna called over her shoulder at the leader at Unit, “and send me the contract, I’m sure you have all my details, 150K a year we said, right, and 6 weeks holiday?”

The Doctor smiled faintly, he didn’t know the details she’d worked out, but he was almost certain that she had just given herself a promotion.

The first challenge he faced was a seatbelt, refusing to put it on until Donna had glared at him and told him he’d be walking soon, still without shoes. He’d clicked the belt on, grumbling under his breath.

Donna chatted to the Unit soldier who was driving them, something about the time Atmos nearly filled the world with gas to prepare the world for the Sontaruns, about his trick with the tennis ball, and nearly sacrificing himself. The Doctor didn’t join in, he just zoned out, knowing he was safe to do so when Donna was with him.

He had shuffled into Donna’s home, still shoeless, he should acquire some shoes soon, or at least some socks. He was quiet as Donna announced to her family that he’d be staying in their spare room for a while, until he was ‘better’ in her words. He kind of hoped one of them would protest, give him an excuse to stay in the Tardis, he wouldn’t go away, but he’d be able to keep his distance.

But none of them bothered: Shaun seemed pretty easy going, genuinely nice, saying ‘Y’right mate?” with an easy smile. Sylvia looked apprehensive, just ever so slightly, but she was clearly trying, she knew now that him being there wouldn’t actively kill Donna, still she sent him a smile, before excusing herself to the kitchen to cook him a ‘proper meal’, he guessed he wasn’t sure the last time he had eaten. Rose, Donna’s Rose, smiled at him, before Donna quickly made it very very clear to her, and to the Doctor, that neither of them, or anyone at all, would be using the Tardis until she said so.

He’d find a way around that, but maybe not right now, he wouldn’t push it yet.

He was led upstairs to the spare room, sparsely decorated; with a bed, a wardrobe, and a bedside table. The walls were blue, not Tardis blue, but blue enough that he knew some part of Donna had remembered.

He let himself drop onto the bed.

“Doctor…. Are you okay?”

Her voice was so soft, and he was so lost, he tried to swallow the lump in his throat again, but this time it didn’t work. “I don’t know…. I don’t know anything, what to do, who I am… What I am…. I just,” he let out a breath feeling tears in his eyes. Before he knew it she had her arms around him, sitting on the bed beside him, holding him close.

He clung to her, his best friend, his lifeboat.

“I don’t… I’m not okay, Donna.”

“I know,” she soothed him, no trace of the teasing they often had between them. “It’s going to be okay though, it’ll just take a while, and a lot of work. But you have me, you have a family Doctor, you’re not alone. You can breathe now, you can stop, you don’t need to worry about anything right now.”

“I’m so tired,” he admitted, feeling each and every year of his life he’d lived since he had last had this old face.

“You can tell me about it, when you’re ready, about it all.”

“Is this what I do now?” he pulled away from her, but didn’t move from sitting beside her, their knees both touching, grounding him still, “Just sit here and cry.”

“Sure. That’s what I did, a lot, when I forgot you, I mean I didn’t know why obviously. It was hard, really hard, but I had my mum, and my grandad, they let me be sad, and then they helped me move on. They’re experts at this, and I’m the world expert in The Doctor, “ she smirked at that, “Between us all we can figure it out.”

He smiled back at her, it wasn’t a huge beaming energetic smile, but it was full of his heart. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve her, if he did deserve her of course, which right then he wasn’t sure he was.

“First things first, you need some clothes, Shauns will be big on you, but considering you two split the clothes between you and he was wearing the pants….”

The Doctor groaned, throwing himself back to lie on the bed, covering his eyes with his hands, “Don’t. Why’d… I mean couldn’t the universe have just given us both clothes?”

Donna snorted, “She’s got a sense of humour, the universe.”

The Doctor couldn’t help but agree, uncovering his eyes as he watched Donna leave the room.

He let his eyes fall shut, taking in a deep breath.

Then another.

And another.

#dw fic #doctor who fic #fourteenth doctor #14th doctor #doctordonna #doctor donna fic #14th doctor fic #my fic #anyway my hyperfixation is back and I can actually kinda write again #send me prompts please and thank you <3

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greenapricot · 6 days

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@fanficrocks Temporary Accommodation is a casefic that takes place after Down Among the Fearful but goes AU before The Ramblin' Boy. It's basically my attempt to write a mystery plot as complicated as an episode with multiple plausible suspects. So there's a case, and also James' flat gets flooded which results in him reluctantly staying with Robbie. Meanwhile, James is not really okay after the events of DAtF but trying to hide it from Robbie, and Robbie, of course, can tell something is up with James.

Here's a snippet of Robbie convincing James to stay with him:

James looks down at the papers on his desk, shuffling them around again unnecessarily. “It will be more than a couple of days. They said a week at minimum.” “And you’ve already spent two nights in the Travelodge, so that makes it five days.” “Sir, I can’t—” “Of course you can. You’re telling me you like it there?” James looks at Robbie like he’s posed an impossible question, as if the choice between Robbie’s flat and the Travelodge is a choice between the frying pan and the fire. “I don’t want to put you out, sir.” “You won’t be.” “I’m afraid I’m not very good at sharing space. The Travelodge is fine.” “You seemed to do all right those nights in the old flat when we got takeaway and had a few too many and you kipped on the sofa.” Come to think of it, in the two months since he’s moved that hasn’t happened once, James has either begged off altogether or cut the evening short with some flimsy excuse or other. A shame when part of the reason Robbie went for the two bedroom flat in the first place was to save James having to sleep on his too short sofa. James shakes his head almost reluctantly. “That’s not the same. Besides, the spare room is for Lyn—” “When she visits,” Robbie says. “Which she isn’t right now.” The lad can’t be half frustrating at times. He’ll offer up his entire weekend to help Robbie move and yet won’t accept a simple offer of help himself. “If my flat was unlivable and you had a spare room would you put me up?” “Of course I would,” James says immediately, then clamps his mouth shut. He looks caught out. “That’s sorted then,” Robbie says. James looks like he’s about to protest again, but his admission counts as accepting the offer as far as Robbie’s concerned and he’s not letting James rationalise his way out of it.

Ask me about my wips

#wip meme #fic meme #my fic

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heyidkyay · 1 year

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I guess I'll take this pain, instead of your name

Part Ten

A/n: Another long one! I sort of kept coming back to the doc tbh, adding stuff and removing it whilst having had nothing better to do over the past week. Sorry this update's taken a little longer than usual too, just a lot happening currently:) Hope you like this part though!

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, food

Masterlist

There was a bright almost incessant light hazing above me, blurred but still strong. I grimaced at its relentless need to wake me, squeezing my eyes shut tighter and twisting in my position to get further away from it. But was only then that I was met with a face full of endless curls.

I wrinkled my nose, spluttering at the sudden ambush of heady smoke and something fruity- apples maybe? And had to sit up, a struggle in itself really as tried to make sense of everything, rubbing at my tired eyes.

Groggy and still half asleep, I pushed upwards and found myself still sprawled out on the settee, a snoring Matty pitted beside me. The sunlight, which had awoken me, was crawling in through the shuttered blinds I’d forgotten to close the night before when Matty and I had lost ourselves in a few bottles of wine and some languid conversation.

I patted around aimlessly for my mobile, finding it wedged between the settee cushion and Matty’s arse, I curled my lip up in disgust and shoved him over slightly to grab ahold of it. He stirred briefly but was out like a light again in seconds, I scoffed. For a man who struggled with falling asleep, he sure could kip through just about anything.

I had to tug a hand through my hair then, peering down at my phone to steal a glance at the time, wondering just how long I had until I was due in to work.

11:23am

Shit!

“Matty! Matty, up now!” I immediately called out, bolting to my feet and almost slamming into the coffee table in my sudden haste. “Matty! Wake up!” I repeated, shaking his shoulder now in hopes that it would stir him.

I hurried across the living-room floor and into the bathroom, throwing my hair up as I went so that I could quickly wash my face and brush my teeth. Also pee- that was definitely something that needed to be checked off of my to-do list after last night’s antics. Though to be fair, I was quite surprised that I hadn’t woken up to a blinding hangover. Wine always seemed to work the trick...

Still, I had no time to feel anything but grateful for the near-miss as I scuttled about the house, running into my bedroom to grab some clean clothes and underwear.

I was jumping into a pair of jeans when I made my way back out towards Matty again. Thankfully though the singer was somewhat lucid now, blinking blearily back at me from where he sat crosslegged on my settee.

“Well, isn’t this a sight.” He drawled drowsily, grinning as I tugged the denim’s waistband up over my arse.

He was seemingly still a little shit even when half asleep.

“I’ve got work at twelve.” I told him, fiddling with the metal button on my jeans before doing up the zip. “And I really can’t be late- Delia will have my head. So get up, please?” I added as an afterthought, hoping that if I sounded desperate enough Matty wouldn’t push back so hard.

“What time even is it?” He murmured around a loud yawn, messing up his curls when he dragged a hand up over his face and into the birds nest he deemed hair.

“Nearly half eleven.” I replied with a backwards glance towards the clock, chucking one of my clean shirts at him and smiling when it landed atop his head even as I hastily made my way back into my bedroom.

“Look. I’ll cooperate- even with having just been rudely awoken at the crack-arse of dawn! But only if you mend me a brew!” Matty called out to me just as I wandered back in, trying some half-arsed attempt at my typical makeup routine in hopes that it would distract people from the mess sleep had made of my hair.

He had the shirt I’d gifted him stuck on the crook of his nose.

I shook my head as I made my way over to help him and Matty merely grinned up at me with squinted eyes when his face popped back into view.

“Ta.”

“Welcome.” I chuckled breathily, already on the move again, “And I so would, but we don’t have time for any sort of caffeine. I’ve got to leave in the next… five minutes!”

Matty cradled a hand to his heart, mouth hanging open in mock horror. “Take that back.”

I laughed, wondering how he even had the energy for theatrics as I padded down the hallway to slip into a pair of boots, grabbing Matty’s trainers too before I returned.

He sighed dramatically when I reappeared, but I was mainly just grateful to see that he was up off the sofa and mostly dressed. “Tell you what,” Matty said to me, “You buy me a brew on the way over to the shop and I’ll drop you off.”

I snorted, tidying away the wineglasses we’d brought out last night and tucking the few bottles we’d emptied out of the way for later-me to deal with. “How’s that a fair trade? And between the pair of us, aren’t you the one who’s supposedly loaded?”

“Yeah, but what’s a couple quid between friends, eh?” Matty shrugged in simple retort, slumping into the bathroom to piss with the door wide-open. I rolled my eyes, but I’d become mostly immune to it, having lived with boys for a majority of my life. “Besides, I cooked you dinner the other night! Doesn’t that count for summat?”

“It does, and I’m beyond thankful that you didn’t end up giving us all food poisoning, but I’m also pretty sure that it falls under the birthday requirements you set.”

Matty stuck his head back around the door to pull a face at me, but dipped back just in time to avoid the flick I’d been set on gifting his forehead. I heard the taps start to run a moment later.

“Since when- did I ever- say anythin'! ‘Bout- requir- ‘ents?”

I paused then in the search I’d been on for my keys at the sound of his muffled words. Listening in closer. “Are you- brushing your teeth?”

I received a loud gaging sound in response from where he must’ve tried to shout back, and could only grimace.

“I swear to God, Matty. If you’re using my toothbrush!”

He was grinning around a mouthful of foam when I glanced over towards the bathroom door again, dancing in the archway to whatever melody he had going on in his head. I scowled at the sight of the pink toothbrush he had hanging out his gob.

“Matty! You’re such a pig!” I growled, and was unable to help my childish pout even when he returned to spit the wad of toothpaste into the sink.

“What!” Matty cackled a second later, his voice echoing. “We’re mates, aren't we? And it’s not like you’ve not had worse in your mouth! Hang on- why’s it even botherin' you? You've snogged me before!”

I forced a lungful of air out of my nose and continued on with my search, finding the keys on the hallway floor just beneath the dresser.

“Drunken snogs between friends don’t count! And besides, two out three of ‘em were dares!” I shouted back, grinning as I picked the set up off the floor before wandering over near the door to throw on my trusted leather jacket. “Are you even ready yet?”

“That depends.” Matty sung loudly, starling me a bit as he rounded the end of the walkway. But from what I could see he was alive, dressed, and looking semi-presentable.

“On what?” I retorted, filling my pockets with my daily essentials. Keys. Cards. Phone. I looked him over once more, “Top looks cute, by the way.”

And it did, the tee I’d tossed at him a couple of minutes ago was definitely tight but it fit him quite nicely, only leaving the slightest gap between itself and the band of his jeans. He oozed an ‘I just woke up and still look fitter than you’ sort of vibe. A bit of eyeliner and he’d be any teenage girl's wetdream.

“On whether or not you’re buying me a brew.” He stated uncaringly.

I groaned loudly into the long stretch of hallway that separated us, now seemingly in a standoff with my best mate over a cup of coffee. “Fine!” I gave up in a huff, resigning myself to the unnecessary task, “But you’re sweet talking Delia when we turn up late.”

“If we turn up late!” Matty corrected me, beaming away happily like the smarmy git he was as he threw on his trench and wandered over towards the door. “You comin’ then? Thought you said you were gonna be late.”

He ducked out of the entryway before I could cuff him on the ear, laughing all the while. I just had to shake my head at his antics in the end, undoing my hair from its tie and ruffing it up a bit as I trailed out after him.

—

“There’s no way! I don’t care. If you could see the dead you would tell absolutely everybody, Matty.” I declared without a hint of doubt as we bustled in through the florist’s shop door, bringing the early afternoon chill in with us.

We’d been arguing about this since we’d ordered a couple coffee’s over at the bakery a few door’s down. Just bickering over the idea of whether or not ghosts actually existed and if they were aware of the fact that they were dead or not.

It had only been brought up when an ambulance had sped by, it’s lights blinking and siren blaring even through the empty backstreets. The topic had sort of spiralled after that into the concept of a living person having to see the dead, and wondering what would occur if it happened to either one of us, if we would ever tell.

Matty liked to claim that he’d keep it all under wraps, hush hush so to speak. But I was incredibly quick to bat that very notion wide out of the arena, because Matty could not keep a secret to himself for the life of him!

He’d have to tell at least one person. And then, because that one person already knew, it meant that there was no harm in telling a couple more. Resulting in the entire country thinking he was completely off his nut by the day’s end when they'd all finally caught wind of it. But anyway, there was a point to this little tidbit of mine, Matty was wrong, and like always, I was right.

“I would not! Everyone would think I was a proper head case.” Matty defended with a very unhappy frown, his nose scrunched and brow wring;ed as he followed in behind me.

I shot an exasperated look over towards the counter where my boss, Delia, was stood smirking behind a bouquet of tulips and lilies. The familiar floral scent filled my senses and relaxed my shoulders the further inside I wandered, making me vaguely aware of just how tense I’d been.

“Matthew, you forget that I have known you for almost your entire life. So believe me when I say that you’d end up telling me, or at least Hann, in less time than it would take for you to work out that you actually were seeing ghosts, but only ‘cause you’d think you were going mental.” I snorted, smiling at the older woman I’d come to admire a lot during my time at the shop as I gifted her the hazelnut latte I’d picked up. “Heya Delia, not too late am I?”

“No, lovie, you’ve just a minute to spare.” Delia chuckled quietly under her breath as she observed Matty and I with obvious amusement. “This for me, is it?”

I was quick to nod at her, scooting the cup closer and waving off the thanks I received before Matty started rambling away again.

“Alright, fair enough! I’d probably let it slip- but! The last person I would tell is Hann! Could you just imagine? He’d probably send me straight back to rehab. Or a fucking psych-ward.”

I couldn’t argue with him there. Adam Hann was a knowledgable man, definitely more biased when it came to what he could or couldn’t see, he liked explanations and hard evidence rather than dipping a toe into the unknown.

“Okay, fine. But can we at least agree that you’d call me in a massive meltdown? ‘Cause I can already paint a very vivid picture, that’s how certain I am of it happening.”

Matty rolled his eyes at me but heaved out a dramatic sigh as he traipsed around the shop, playing with the many flowers we had to offer. “Only ‘cause I’d wanna make you jealous.”

I couldn’t not laugh upon hearing his mutter. It was a very Matty thing to do.

“Of course I’d be jealous! The whole thing seems so insane to even imagine.” I called out over my shoulder in retort as I popped into the backroom to shake off my jacket and throw on my work apron.

When I returned, it appeared that Matty had already roped poor Delia into our conversation and stationed himself on the worktop beside her. Not that she seemed to mind one bit. I’d noted that in the time I’d started working here, she’d become rather fond of Matty and his mind's inner musings. He could probably drown her prized rosebushes and she wouldn’t bat an eyelid.

“I bet you they’re watching us now, you know.” He murmured to her, searching the shop’s vicinity for something or other, probably an odd spec of dust floating about or a strange sheen of light. I had to hide my grin behind my hair as I made my way back over, shooing his arse off the counter.

“Alright, Healy. Enough of your theatrics for one day, don’t you have some place to be? The studio perhaps.” I quirked a brow at him as I bent down to retrieve today’s orders from yesterday’s receipt book.

When I glanced back up at him, he had his coffee cup halfway to his lips and was blinking blankly at nothing. “Shit.”

I snorted and had to shake my head, already around the counter and steering him towards the door before he could simply decide to forgo his own responsibilities for the day to annoy me whilst I tread through mine. “Yes, shit indeed. As in, you’d best be on your way now before Hann starts blowing up your phone.”

Wrinkling his forehead, Matty squinted his eyes at me whilst I halfheartedly shoved him over towards the exit. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes, it is. And I’ll message you later to make sure that your session went well.” I smiled, patting him amicably on the back and out over the threshold before I shut the door in his face.

I waved at him through the glass and turned to return to Delia. I was just about to question what arrangement she wanted me to help get started on when Matty’s voice drifted back into the shop.

I stopped, sighed, and then peered back around to find that he’d stuck his head back round the doorframe.

“Don’t worry about a text, I’ll pick you up!” He grinned to me, one hand on the handle to steady himself whilst the other, the one grasping his hot coffee, was up in the air towering aimlessly above him. “Love you, Delia! Be seein’ you!”

With my arms crossed firmly over my chest, the door’s bell rung out after Matty’s head had disappeared from view, I tutted and turned back to face my boss. “Where was my declaration of love?”

Delia merely laughed, shaking her head at the pair of us whilst she told me to get a head start on the wedding prints outback instead.

“It’ll give you something to occupy yourself with.” She’d told me just before a customer wandered in, asking after a spider plant.

I’d tilted my head at her retreating back with a tiny frown, unsure on what she’d meant by it. But still, I got to work soon enough and let my mind be dragged elsewhere.

—

Hours in the shop always seemed to have a knack for flying by, a couple had actually passed since I’d completed all the tasks I’d set out for myself and so I was now filling in for Delia out-front whilst she went on her break. Just me merely working the till and trimming ribbons for the newest order we’d received- a bouquet of pastel hydrangeas paired with a spritz of baby’s breath.

I found myself smiling as I worked.

To be honest, I was immensely grateful for this job. For Delia and her shop really. The woman had truly taken me in on a whim, seeing as originally she’d been looking for someone with a lot more experience to help her out now that she was now getting older and wanted to spend some more time with her grandchildren.

But then I’d walked in through the door, flustered and on the edge from the way my life had slowly seemed to be crumbling around me- first with George and then with the loss of my job. It had been a struggle to say the very least. And I don’t think anyone even remotely close to me would’ve recognised the shell of a person I’d become.

Because in truth, with everything that had been going on, I’d shut myself away completely. Quite literally closed up the blinds and retreated from everyone and everything. If only so I didn't have to face the harsh reality of it all.

Matty and Delia had both been a constant reassurance.

Everything in the shop had sort of settled in the last half hour, the mayhem of a regular work day had subsided like it usually did in the hour before we closed up and it was then that I found myself drifting. Lost in my own head. And soon enough, thoughts I really didn’t want to think about were worming their way back to the surface.

It seemed as though time had finally given my mind enough of itself to allow thoughts of the previous day and everything that had come with it to wander back in.

I could still picture George’s face, his hurt so evident, so vivid even in my mind. I felt a rush of guilt flood through me, thoughts spinning back to the way his hand had held mine, how he’d sheltered me from the world whilst I’d tried to build myself back up in that tiny cafe, him being the person I remembered, even if it had just been for the afternoon.

I was in an odd sort of trance, I supposed. Spiralling. Free falling. Adrift. The onset of emotions I’d worked so hard to plug up and avoid since Matty had turned up on my doorstep last night were all spilling out from behind the bolted iron door I’d hidden them behind.

“Ow!” I jumped in shock and the scissors I’d been holding clattered loudly to the floor.

My eyes flickered down towards my hand and I realised that I’d snipped my finger.

“Shit!” I hissed under my breath, already holding the bleeding cut to my mouth to stop the flow of blood just as Delia bounced back through the door, a couple of bags in either hand. Her eyes widened at the sight of me.

“Oh quick! There’s a box of tissues behind the till, grab those whilst I find the first aid kit, will you?” Delia rushed out to me, already hurrying towards the backroom before I could get a word in edgeways.

I was blinking heavily as I took in her instructions. Tissues, tissues… tissues. Aimlessly I grabbed for the box she'd mentioned but it dropped to my feet just when I’d gotten a proper grip on it. I was so out of it today.

I slumped to my knees and did as I was told, using a few tissues to lessen the blood-flow. But the white tissues were blotting rapidly, staining a bright red, and so I dropped them too and applied a couple more. Then a couple more again.

Delia returned a few moments later, a green box tucked under her arm and a slew of medical wipes in her hand. She boggled slightly at the sight of me on the floor, perched in a sea of surrounding tissues, but easily helped steady me back on my feet.

With my freehand I picked up the box as I went, the scissors too. She tutted at me, but didn’t say anything about it.

“I’m fine, really, Delia. It was just a small snip.” I tried to reason with her whilst she laid my arm out to rest on the counter.

“A small snip? That looks like quite the cut, petal.” Delia retorted, removing the wad of tissues I’d packed onto my finger to properly examine the wound. It was deep. “What even happened?”

“I must’ve been elsewhere. Off in a world of my own.” I mumbled to her, rubbing at my forehead whilst she worked. The cut was throbbing now and I could feel my own pulse, but I’d suffered through worse and so I attempted to reassure her some more. “I really am sorry, Deals. Promise, it won’t happen again.”

“Don’t be stupid, there’s no need for any apologies. Alright?” She soothed me and I nodded in quiet reply. Unable to do much else.

Delia worked her magic on my finger, plastering it up after having disinfected it, the two of us just letting the cars outside fill the empty silence. She cradled my injured hand in hers when she was done and I looked up to find her smiling gently at me, her eyes soft and sympathetic.

I don’t know why but it was that, the look on her face, that caught me off guard. Not the spiral I’d lost myself in. Not the cut. Not the adrenaline. No. It was the way she looked at me then. Like I was someone of importance. Someone worth being worried over.

“Y/n?”

I blinked back the onslaught of tears that had just been welling in the corner of my eyes and was quick to plaster on a grateful smile, turning away from her then to hide my emotions from view.

“Thank you, Delia. Honestly, it feels brand new already.” I told her, looking down at the tape which now covered my finger from knuckle to knuckle.

With a small chuckle, I tried to pick the scissors back up off the counter to continue on with the arrangement’s bow but her hand shot out to stop me.

“Don’t even think about it.” Delia clucked and my gaze widened in alarm, flicking back up meet hers. She sent me another loving but somehow still scolding smile with a tilt of her head. “You can just take it easy from here on out. Check over the inventory or something whilst I sort this.”

“No really, I’m fine, Deals.”

The older woman simply waved my words away and gave me a stern look in return. “As your boss I’m not asking. I’m telling you to.”

I attempted a laugh but only managed to give her something short of a dry chuckle, but I dipped my chin at her as I waved my metaphorical white flag. “Okay, but will you at least let me-”

Delia just begun ushering me away then with the broom she’d since picked up, and I had to shake my head at her in sudden amusement whilst simultaneously trying to actively avoid its bristles.

“I thought you said to take it easy!” I rebuked in laughter, jumping over the backroom’s threshold just before she could swipe at my feet.

“Then do as you’re told!” The woman scolded with a faint titter of her own, her smile loving and carefree even as she pivoted away from me to clean up my mess.

I felt my heart like a lump in my throat. It was tough to swallow.

—

“Y/n, love!”

I paused from where I was just finishing up with counting this morning’s delivery boxes when Delia’s voice traveled out to greet me in the greenhouse.

‘The greenhouse’ we call it, as in the small glass conservatory that had been fitted round back to home the more finicky houseplants we kept and sold.

“Yeah? Is everything okay?” I called back, running through the numbers once more in my head before I ticked them off on the iPad I’d brought out with me.

Deliveries often went by without so much as a hitch, but a fair few times the companies made mistakes with our orders and so we always had to doublecheck everything had arrived before the day’s end. It was one on the easier but more time-consuming tasks.

“It’s just gone seven and you’ve got some friends waiting to take you home!” Delia replied, and I turned around just in time to see her coming through the door, wiping her hands over with a clean tea-towel.

“Oh has it?” I pondered, eyes wandering over towards the far wall’s clock instinctively, but then I stopped, “Wait, did you say friends? As in plural?”

Delia merely laughed at me whilst I slowly lowered the iPad down onto the office table, wondering who it could be. “Yes dearie, multiple people.”

I frowned and she must’ve have noticed. When did she not, really? Because she smiled at me gently, hand rubbing against my shoulder when she stopped beside me.

“Why, were you not expecting them?”

“Um, no.” I forced out a confused chuckle, but couldn’t work off the grin that grew when she squeezed my arm and pulled me in for a short hug.

“Well, best not keep them waiting hey? You go on, I’ve got everything covered here.”

“You sure?” I questioned her, looking about the place.

With a roll of her eyes and another fond but exasperated smile, she sent me off on my way. “Yes, I’ll see you Monday. Bright and early.”

I flashed her a grin and nodded, trading my apron out for my leather jacket. “Monday.” I reiterated, “Hope you have a lovely weekend, Deals.”

“You too, lovie.”

When I emerged from the back office I was rather surprised to find three troublemakers waiting for me. Two of which were already pissing about, as should be expected whenever they came together.

“Oi twats, lose one of those pots and you’ll lose a head.” I reprimanded, clucking my tongue at them as I tugged my hair out of the back of my jacket and approached them, purposefully avoiding glancing over to where I knew the third was stood, glancing about the shop from the doorway, hands in his pockets.

Ross and Matty stopped their scuffle then, the latter looking over at me from under Ross’s armpit whilst the giant merely grinned.

“Alright, Y/n?”

I pursed my lips to withhold the oncoming smile.

“Ross.” I greeted in turn, “What are you lot even doing here?”

“Came to pick you up, of course.” Ross was the first to reply, and I watched him tighten his hold briefly before his prisoner slipped free.

“Said I would, remember?” Matty piped up, shoving Ross away from him with an irritated scowl and mussing his hair.

“Yeah, didn’t think you were serious though.” I chuckled, recalling the earlier parting he’d gifted me. “Said I’d text you when I got in, didn’t I?”

“Here now though, aren’t we? Figured we’d get some food. Fuckin’ dead on my feet after today. Hann was on a warpath.”

I felt my face grow taut as I gave them all a quick once over. To be fair to Matty, they did look like they’d been through it, slouched and all bleary-eyed, but they were still smiling away. Well, bar one.

“Where is Adam anyway?” I asked, ushering the trio out of the shop before they could say or do anything stupid, like break one of Delia’s priceless vases. “Headed out now, Delia! Don’t stay too late!”

“You have fun, sweetheart!”

I flipped the door’s sign to ‘closed’ and let it fall shut behind me, turning to where the three idiots now stood awaiting my next move.

“Hann had a date night with Carls.” Matty mentioned to me as he made a large stride to link our arms once I’d descended the shop’s few steps, he tucked himself into my side. We all seemed to start walking then.

“Which he made himself late for! After stressing about this one riff he’d gotten right the first try.” Ross then added, he and George trailing slightly ahead. I saw George glance back at us two times from out of the corner of my eye before he fell into a simple rhythm with the bassist.

“What can we say? A perfectionist, our Hann.” Matty said sarcastically with a hint of genuine warmth that made me smile, I leant further into him when he grinned down at me.

Whilst we made our way to wherever it was the boys were taking me, I let them tell me all about their day. How Waughy had blundered coming into the studio, spilling a shit ton of coffee and only just missing the mixing desk by the fraction of a hair. George had almost had an aneurysm.

Then about Matty’s new verse for the song he’d relentlessly been working on wanting to make it sound right. As well as Ross’s unprompted debate over the rankings of potatoes. He claimed crisps held the number one spot whilst Matty and George both said chips. Adam had been alone when he’d voted mash.

“What do you mean you agree with him!” Ross’s undignified whine rang out through the burger joint we’d ordered out from once over the phone, baffled by my agreement it seemed.

I rolled my eyes at him as the four of us all trailed over to a booth in the back, the server calling out to us that they’d be with us in a few.

“Mash just trumps all.”

Ross was shaking his head at me from across the table now. I’d slid into one side, Matty following just after, before George and then Ross had copied our arrangement on the other.

I tried my best to keep my feet tucked under my chair in hopes that they wouldn’t accidentally brush against the drummer’s. The one person I’d done a very excellent job of, not ignoring per se, just overlooking in the time we'd been forced together. Though it’d been much easier to do whilst he’d be walking a stretch in front of me, and not sat opposite staring into my very soul.

Okay, maybe I was being a touch dramatic. But I couldn’t believe Matty had done this, I honestly thought I might’ve had a little longer to internalise the whole George and I situation before we were coerced into sharing the same space.

That and plus, it made the last words I’d shared with him feel a whole lot less significant now. God, Matty was a right twat.

“The fuck it does!” Ross scoffed and I was brought right back to the topic at hand. Mash.

I shrugged, flipping through the menu. “Believe what you must, MacDonald. But Hann and I both know the truth.”

Ross actually looked a millisecond away from exploding and I was revelling in it. But unfortunately for me, our waiter decided to pop on over.

We ordered and continued on, George subtly steering us onto another subject once we had, which caused Matty to delve deeper into the musings he'd created for each one of us. Something I found entertaining to watch, seeing as the curly haired singer was using it to deem the worthy attributes of both Ross and George. Knowing better than to start on the likes of me.

I was sipping away at my drink, half listening to whatever it was Ross had to say, when I felt Matty’s elbow nudge my side. I glanced towards him to find him wearing a smug sort of grin.

I quirked a brow at him and he leant in closer. “Reckon our waiter’s proper taken with you.”

I tried to pull away to see where the guy in question currently was but Matty's hand shot out to my knee to stop me. I frowned.

“Don’t make it obvious. But he’s walked by our table at least seven times in the last fifteen minutes.”

My forehead pinched. “Probably ‘cause he’s working?”

Matty just rolled his eyes at me. “You’re a twat. Look around, there’s only two other tables and that girl with the ginger hair’s been waiting them.”

I pulled away slowly and he let me, casually taking the chance to spare a quick glance at the rest of the joint. It was then that the waiter slid back into view, conveniently approaching our table once more. My eyes darted away quickly and Matty snorted at my attempt to feign ignorance.

“Told you.” He said and I scowled, but the timely arrival proved nothing. It was then that I jumped at the sudden sound of George’s voice.

“What're you two whispering ‘bout?” He interrupted, and in my surprise my body instinctively turned towards the noise, our eyes meeting for the first time since I'd left him by the canals.

There were all those confusing emotions again.

I coughed and fought to look away, Matty smirking proudly just as the waiter arrived.

“You guys alright here? Can I get you any more drinks?”

I looked up at him and found him already watching me, a genuine smile on his face. To be fair, he was quite fit. My type to a T. But I felt weird even having those sorts of thought whilst George was sat at the same table as me.

“Um,” I tried to formulate a response but then Ross cut in.

“Wouldn’t happen to have a desserts menu would you?”

“Fuck’s sake, Ross.” Matty groaned, seeming as though he was a breath away from knocking the bassist’s head against the table.

“What?”

The bloke, Sam I vaguely recalled from earlier, cracked a mirthy grin at the pair but dipped his chin towards Ross, “No worries, I'll grab you one.”

He steered back towards me then and I felt those butterflies that typically tended to evade me unravel slowly and unfurl. It was down to his smile, I reckoned.

“Did you say you wanted something, love?” He questioned, nodding his head over towards me.

George’s knee knocked against mine then and my eyes shot over towards him, only to see that he hadn’t reacted to the contact at all. I figured he must not have meant to or hadn’t even felt the touch. I swallowed and allowed my eyes to find Sam’s again. They were blue, hidden slightly behind the shadow of his dirty blonde hair.

“Uh, yeah. Could I get a refill please?”

“Diet Coke wasn’t it?”

I shot him a sweet smile at the recollection and handed him my glass, eyes finding his once more as our fingers briefly brushed.

“I’ll get right on it for you.” Sam assured, that cheeky grin of his never faulting and only further hollowing out the dimples in his cheeks as his gaze trailed over every inch of my face. I fought not to blush.

“And that dessert menu?” George piped up, slicing through our moment, before he yelped quietly and shot a glowering look Matty’s way. I frowned at them both, but looked back to Sam when he answered George.

“‘Course, mate. Be back in a sec.”

And with that, Sam was gone, leaving me with a rather bewildered looking Ross and the stilted air which now clouded the remaining two.

“Do you reckon they have any good cheesecake?” Ross questioned to break up the tension, but I ignored him in favour of turning towards George.

“What was that?” I accused.

“What was what?” He answered me with a small shrug, having the nerve to actually look confused.

“That. Don’t pull this shit with me. We all saw what happened.”

George merely shrugged again, “Don’t know what you mean.”

I scowled and went to argue but Matty cut in just in time.

“Sam! Cheers mate.” Matty grinned as he took the menu’s off of Sam, handing one to Ross and flinging another in George’s direction.

I tried to ward off my growing agitation, which was hard to do when I caught the glower George was giving Sam. But the guy seemed to be aware of the rising atmosphere but was obviously trying to ignore it. He was doing an alright job.

“Er, welcome, I ‘spose. You want to order now, or?” Sam quizzed us, deliberately turning towards Matty and I to avoid George's line of sight.

Ross was all but beaming down at the laminated sheet and was quick to decide on two desserts, a fudge sundae and a tiramisu.

I chuckled faintly when I heard him prattle off his order, perusing the menu myself. Matty waved Sam's question away, asking for a hot chocolate instead, whilst George decided against getting anything else. Then it appeared to be my go.

I wasn’t much in the mood for anything else but asked for a brownie, one that I could stow away for later on. Hopefully so I could pair it with some ice cream or something of the like whilst I watched a film.

“Good choice, reckon the brownies here are some of the best.” Sam commented, blue eyes on me again.

I smiled when I gifted him back the menu.

“I’ll be holding you to it.” My tone was teasing and Sam’s grin was worth the sight.

“Make sure you do.” He quipped right back, eyes holding mine before he was called away.

Matty was smirking over at me when Sam disappeared from view, chin in his hand as he batted his lashes. I could practically hear him singing ‘I told you so’ over and over again in his head.

I nudged his elbow in retaliation and all but cackled when he just narrowly missed face planting the tabletop.

“Shut it.” I laughed.

Matty rubbed at his elbow but was still very much relishing in his supposed correct assumption.

I rolled my eyes, playing with my drink’s straw. “We can’t be sure.”

Matty copied the former gesture, pairing it with an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, give it up. His tongue was practically on the floor at the sight of you.” His eyes twinkled and I swatted at his arm playfully when he pivoted in his seat to look around, “Reckon Cupid’s even hanging about here somewhere.”

“Piss off.” I laughed lightly, smiling all the while.

That was until George was all but shoving Ross out of the booth, jaw tight and ticking with his struggle to keep his gob shut.

“Oi shithead, where're you off to?” Matty asked after his retreating figure, but the only answer he received was one worded.

“Smoke.”

And the three of us were left sharing an awkward glance.

Part eleven>

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densi-mber · 5 months

Text

There Will Always be Work

“Kens, how would you feel about staying at a private villa, with a beautiful view of the ocean, a personal chef, and a media center with all expenses paid?” Deeks asked Kensi, running down from their bedroom to where Kensi sat in the kitchen.

“What’s the catch?” she responded with a suspicious look, getting up to meet him.

“There aren’t any. Kip just bought a new place a few hours away and he’s offering to let us break it in.”

“That’s awfully considerate of him.”

“Well, he’s a millionaire and feels indebted to me for some legal advice I gave him a while back,” Deeks explained. He sidled up to Kensi, and drew her into his arms. “So what do you say? Next month we’re not on rotation for the third weekend. It’d be the perfect chance to get away for a couple days.”

“It does sound nice,” Kensi agreed, shaking her head slightly. “But I don’t know that we should go so far away. Something might happen and it would take hours to get back.”

“Yeah, something could always happen,” Deeks said, some of his enthusiasm dissipating in the face of Kensi’s response. “Let someone else take care of the emergency for once. It would be nice to actually make plans and not cancel them or have to leave early. I mean, I’m pretty sure that last social even we’ve actually attended without being called into work was Kat’s wedding. We can’t even finish a dinner out without Nell calling us in.”

“It’s not funny, Deeks.”

“Good, cause I’m not trying to be funny. I’m completely serious. We deserve to have breaks and vacations from our extremely stressful, dangerous, time-consuming jobs,” he said, trying to reign in some of his frustration. Somewhere during the discussion, his hands had migrated from Kensi’s waist to cross over his chest.

She took a few steps back, looking vaguely exasperated, but still dismissive.

“You didn’t care about that a few years ago. Like when you were undercover,” she pointed out. “I didn’t see you for months at a time.”

“Yeah, that was then. Things change. We’ve changed. A few years ago, we weren’t a couple. I haven’t done a long cover since we’ve been together.”

Kensi inhaled deeply, pressing her lips together before she replied. “Deeks, you knew what you were signing up for when we started dating. This is our life and we just have to accept that. We’re not like other couples. We have a responsibility to the people we protect and that trumps everything else.”

Deeks stared at Kensi for a moment; he’d known she valued her job more than almost anything, but they’d never laid it out quite so plainly.

“It shouldn’t. Otherwise what’s the point of any of this?” he said, frustration giving way to anger. He regretted it the second hurt flashed across Kensi’s face.

“Well, maybe when you figure that out, you can come find me,” she said, snatching her jacket off the back of a chair. She gave him a challenging look, but he stood his ground, and after a moment, she pushed past him.

“Damn it,” he hissed as the front door slammed shut behind her.

***

A/N: I know this is somewhat similar to arguments they have in “Silo” and “A Line in the Sand”, but I see this as a possible moment building up to those episodes.

#densimber 7.0 #densimber 2023 #densimber day 16 #ncis la fanfiction #densi #marty deeks #kensi blye #angst #ncis la #by ejzah

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avocado-writing · 1 year

Note

omg the brilliant avo with a prompt list, immediately got me excited. oy if you have time: [CHIN] - sender tucks receiver in under their chin with anyone you want <3 ty!! hope you have a wonderful new year

stop it u 🥺 this is a sequel ish to this, bc I love some paternal tan

🍊

[CHIN] - sender tucks receiver in under their chin.

“I’ve told you, I’m fine!”

“You are not,” Tangerine replies, folding his arms across his chest, the picture of unimpressed. You open your mouth to retort before bursting into a coughing fit - damn your own body for betraying you. When you recover his face is so smug about being right you can’t stand it.

“But…” you look over to across the hall, where your daughter’s bedroom is. Every time you’ve been unwell, you’ve had to shake it off because she needed you. The idea of having a lie down is unthinkable.

“Jesus Christ, I can take care of her for a few hours. You have a kip. You look like death warmed up.”

“Cheers for that babe. Way to make a girl feel special,” you say sarcastically, but when he puts his hand on the small of your back you let him guide you to bed; remarkably obedient as he tucks up the covers underneath your chin. You give a pathetic little sniffle and he caresses your cheek with his thumb.

“Go to sleep,” he says firmly, and you can tell there’s no wiggle room in his command. So with a sigh you shut your eyes - and you’re out like a light before you even hear the door close behind him.

Mercifully you’re able to grab a few hours of shut-eye. When you wake up, not only do you feel miraculously better, but there’s a cup of tea and a couple of cold-and-flu tablets waiting for you. You down them both before deciding you can probably get up.

You can hear Tangerine and your daughter in the living room. When you make it downstairs quite a sight is waiting for you.

Tangerine has carried approximately half the cuddly toys your daughter owns downstairs, and they’ve dragged one of the side tables out to use as a tea-party space. No, wait, that’s not quite right - from the way her teddies are set up and how your daughter is acting out cleaning a teacup with a flannel, you can tell she’s pretending to polish a beer glass.

“Hi mum!” she calls, and Tangerine looks over his shoulder and smiles. She’s managed to get a couple of pink plastic hair clips on him, his fringe pulled back wildly. “It’s happy hour, what are you drinking?”

You’re not sure where she picked that up, but it’s so funny you let it be for now.

“You feeling better now, love?” he asks, holding a hand out to you. You walk over and meet the kiss he offers you, prompting your daughter to violently mime vomiting.

“Excuse me, we don’t allow that sort of behaviour here. You’re both barred.”

Tangerine is gobsmacked, and you laugh so hard you threaten to crack a rib.

#simple action prompts #Tangerine x reader

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lololollywrites · 2 years

Text

Step. Jump. Leap. Step.

Just wanted to do a little throwback and reblog my first flash Friday challenge, which I posted last September. I immediately realized that the prompt - Leap of faith - fit exceptionally well into my existing two-work series “Earthly Pomp (is But a Dream)” as a short prequel, from John’s perspective. Here it is in its entirety below, but you can also read it on AO3 HERE.

__________

Fuck.

He won’t want this. He doesn’t want me. He can’t possibly. I don’t want me anymore, for Christ’s sake. I wouldn’t be… here if not for Rosie. Well, probably. I’ve not had the bollocks yet to ever go that far, despite having considered it at various stages in my life. Melodrama. Overreacting. Woe is me, huh? What a mess. Ella’s told me otherwise, of course. Sherlock too, though a swollen lip. Trauma. Grief. Blah blah blah. Boo bloody hoo. Plenty of men have been to war and managed not to extend their misery unto others. Granted, quite a lot more… unusual trauma followed afterwards, but there are no excuses. Eurus as my therapist or no. And here I am, trying to do it again. To force my presence. Why has Sherlock put up with me as long as he has? What could possibly redeem me at this point?

He looks so sad whenever I leave. At least I think he does. I’ve been trying to look back over my shoulder whenever I turn my back on him these days.

He bought rounded furniture after the explosion. I’d thought he’d opt for perfect replicas from before, but… no.

Rounded corners.

Baby safe.

He cleans. Before I come, now.

He bought Rosie a puzzle of the periodic table for no particular reason three days ago. About four years beyond her capabilities, yes, but his eyes shone with eager excitement as he shyly handed it over.

She loves to gnaw on the blue cardboard ‘S’ for Sulfur.

For Sherlock.

Jesus.

The black hole looms up ahead. I count my steps and try to align them with my breaths. Perhaps I’ll float when I jump in, like the freeing antigravity of outer space. Or perhaps I’ll fall, like a medieval castle oubliette. With spikes at the bottom.

Faith, John.

Whichever the outcome, there’s no choice. I’m drowning now. Utterly alone. A bit of myself is left behind whenever I step down from that seventeenth step, one more task removed from the post-explosion flat recovery checklist that’s kept me tethered to Baker Street. Not much is left now. And what then? What excuse will I have to return?

No. I have to jump.

I know him. I do. I’ve recently remembered that I’ve always known him.

I’d forgotten, for a while.

I don’t think he ever has. I think he’s been waiting for me.

I hope he’s been waiting.

The thought makes me indescribably sad for him, but the hope is all I have.

I think he’ll have me. Even if just for Rosie’s sake. I’m a shit father alone. I can’t trust myself. There’s no way he trusts me, either. I see his eyes narrow whenever he greets me; assessing my mental state. My BAL. The level of my temper.

I pat Rosie’s head a bit absently, closing my eyes and sucking in a breath of smoggy London air as I pull her closer toward my chest in her carrier. She screams; tries to escape. It’s just the instinctual response of a toddler to confinement, right? To wanting to get out and explore the city streets. To needing a nappy change. A bit of a kip. Some lunch, soon. It’s nothing about me. It’s not about me. It’s not about me.

Except I often feel like it is.

Before I know it, I’m standing outside of the familiar black door of 221 Baker Street. Mrs. Hudson isn’t home, I know. She’ll still be away with Mr. Chatterjee. They’ve patched things up, much to Sherlock’s chagrin. Something about just never filing divorce paperwork to avoid the headache. I was here just yesterday. I know this. I’m not supposed to be here. We hadn’t scheduled anything.

That’s what we do now. Schedule things.

He won’t be expecting me. I glance upwards – the curtains flutter, then shut again.

I – well. I’m not sure what to make of that, but it’s too late now. I fumble for my key, shushing a still-crying Rosie. My heart is racing.

The door opens. Sherlock stands there. His eyes are slightly wide for a moment, then his expression calms. He looks immaculate, as always.

“John, I wasn’t expecting you. Hello, little Watson.”

Rosie giggles. She giggles. From a right strop.

Suddenly I have no words. Nothing to say. I just… shrug. And Sherlock understands. He smiles, a little mismatched quirk of his lips and a crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home, you know.”

My breath leaves me. I feel like I might cry. I take my leap of faith.

Turns out, it’s only a small step.

#my fics #bbc sherlock #just a little throwback reblog

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underratedandoverit · 1 year

Text

Like It Matters, You Can’t Escape

kip sabian/orange cassidy (can be read as gen)

~3,5k words

just angst. hurt/comfort. there is blood tho its not excessive, but its mentioned multiple times and someone is bleeding. based on the belt corruption arc, so unreality is present. also kip says fuck once. boop @midnightpretenders0

no proofreading apart from what docs pointed out to me, we post like we’re dying who cares (sorry)

read on ao3

----------

The lights hurt his eyes.

It had been this way for a while now. People thought he was pretentious, trying to hide his hurt and hold his head up high to cover it with pride when he kept wearing sunglasses all the time. That the loss and humiliation he went through in that title match were the things he was trying to cover up, to recover from.

But that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Kip could barely remember that match. He was living through it mostly with replays that he saw, his own mind was almost entirely blank. He remembered walking out there, or the sensation of it at least, knowing that there was no way he could lose it. He hadn’t lost before, he sure as hell wasn’t going to start doing so that night either.

If it only hadn’t been for that dastardly Orange Cassidy.

He would still be champion. Still holding that sweet, sweet gold that made everyone fearful of him, made people finally respect him. Gave him the edge, the power over them. Made him the face of the company, gave him the bragging rights, made him more than just a shooting star in the eyes of the people.

The only vivid memory Kip had was Cassidy standing outside the ring, staring at him. The words of hatred, venom, vitriol spilling out of Kip, raving and screaming at the lazy man in his sunglasses to leave him alone. That whatever mind games he was trying, they weren’t going to work on him. That this was his time, and Cassidy wasn’t going to take it away from him.

That he was stupid. Useless. He was making a pointless effort. He would never be a champion again.

And then Kip got pinned.

A shiver shot through his entire body at the thought, the memory still so vibrant in his head even weeks later that it ached his entire being. He could feel his body hitting the mat as he was picked up and slammed down with force, his shoulders forcefully pinned down for a count. How he couldn’t get up again as soon as the ringing of the bell reached his ears. How it felt like all the power was drained from him in one fell swoop, the mat being the most comfortable yet cold and hard place he had ever laid on.

The lights on the ceiling were so bright even through the eyelids that had finally fallen shut after what felt like months of being forced to stay open.

Kip slowly sat up on the couch. The hand brushing over his tired face was stopped briefly as his fingers hit the bottom rim of the sunglasses; he couldn’t ever remember that he was wearing them to prevent the constant headaches. They were basically on by default at this point, whether he was awake or asleep. Watching the world through the dimmed lenses helped a little bit, but honestly not too much. It was all still a lot to take in, to actually watch it through his own eyes again, and to try to make sense of it all by himself.

He carefully lifted the glasses from his face, wiping his eyes with his free hand. When was the last time he had slept? Most of the time Kip just laid down whenever he could at that moment – in the bed, on the couch, sometimes on the floor when the effort of existing became unbearable to him. Sometimes that could lead to a short shuteye, but mostly he would just lay there, unable to pick himself up again, losing energy staying awake, refusing to move until he absolutely had to.

He was tired, growing more and more weary every day, but refusing to admit to anyone but himself.

Kip was especially refusing to admit it to the one person constantly asking him about it.

He slowly put up on his feet, steadying himself slowly against the armrest of the couch. Kip refused to look, but from experience he already knew his fingers, even with barely any strength in them, were holding onto the armrest like his life depended on it. It honestly might have as well, if he lost his balance in an already fragile state, who knows what he might break when he hit the floor.

Stopping to think for a while, Kip shook his head. No, that wasn’t true. He wasn’t weak like that. That wasn’t him, it was the lies being fed into his head. The lies told to him to poison his mind, taking him as a fool on face value, someone they could tell absolutely anything to, thinking he would believe them.

Maybe he had fallen for that stupid trick once, but he wasn’t going to do it again.

Pushing himself on the move, his hand slowly letting go of the armrest, Kip slowly wandered his way out of the living room. He needed something to stop the aching, to stop the trembling of his arms, his feet, his entire being. To stop the pounding of his head, the itch in his throat, the racing beating of his heart. He needed…

He just needed it to stop.

Kip found himself leaning against the kitchen sink. In the past few moments he didn’t even remember coming into the room, everything felt like a blur. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, the world spinning behind the dark glasses, making it even harder to see. Hand reaching up to his face, trembling as he pulled the sunglasses off, flinging them to the floor.

The sound of the metal frames hitting against the hardwood floor made him want to throw up.

Ever since he had gotten out of what they referred to as “the haze”, every sound, every action, every flash of light, every color, everything felt like it was upped to an eleven in his mind. Everything hit so much harder on the inside, making him twist and turn, aching on places he didn’t even know existed before then. And yet, at the same time, physically everything felt so distant, every touch was barely there, he could barely feel the pain attached to him, he was growing so numb to it all.

Closing his eyes, Kip’s hand reached for the closest cupboard, muscle memory still remembering where the dishes were. He pulled down a glass, lowering it into the sink, the collision of glass against steel that was caused by his shaking hand ringing in his ears. He slowly lifted his hand up again, turning on the faucet, just barely enough for something to drop out of it. The sound was soothing, thankfully, but it still hurt his ears.

It was all just so much.

Impatient dark green eyes opened up, staring at the glass slowly filling up. It didn’t look appetizing in the slightest, but from what Kip could remember, it was going to help. That’s what he had been told, that’s what he had experienced before. It was a very temporary solution, but if it helped even a little bit, he was going to try to make the effort.

It was about halfway full when he turned the faucet off. Watching the last drops of water drop from it and hitting the surface of the water already in the glass, Kip winced a little. It barely made a sound, but to his head it felt the same as if someone had just slammed a door shut right next to him. It rang in his ears for as long as the surface of the water vibrated with every new drop hitting it.

Was any of this actually worth it?

He picked up the glass. It felt heavy, his fingers barely grasping it tightly enough. It was okay though, all he needed was a sip, just one. Just enough to make him be capable of something again, to make the nausea go away, to hold him on his feet for a moment longer.

Inhaling deeply, the glass met with his lips. The sensation of the cold glass was burning against his dry lips, clutching onto them like it never wanted to leave again once it landed there. Kip tilted the glass carefully, with hands shaking so hard he wasn’t even sure if he was doing anything. The effort was there, but was it enough, he wasn’t sure. Only after the first drops of water hit his parched mouth did he truly know.

For what felt like the first time in forever, Kip was able to hold up on his own, and do something for himself. Finally --

The cold water fell past his lips, on his chin, droplets falling against his chest, wetting the shirt he was wearing while slipping under the garment. The cold immediately hit him, making Kip flinch, trying to get away from something that was already on his skin, with no way of escaping the burning feeling that was trying to dig its way into his lungs.

He dropped the glass.

The sound of it shattering bringing him down on his knees on the cold floor.

Kip’s hands were faster than his mind, starting to collect the tiny shards of broken glass into a single pile. He couldn’t feel the glass breaking his skin, the blood trickling from his fingertips into the pool of water on the floor. Kip felt numb, working on autopilot, just wanting to make up for the mess he made. This was his fault, he had to fix it, this was the one thing he could fix, it was his fault, it was his fault, it was --

“Kip?”

He was breathing so heavy he could barely hear the voice. His hands stopped, only now noticing the trails of blood pouring from his fingers. Eyes widening Kip just sat there, staring at his own doing, his own actions, his hands that he still couldn’t feel, making the panic slowly rise in him at the thought of numbness he was going through.

Slowly a figure crouched on the floor next to him. Kip spotted it from the corner of his eye, but couldn’t bear to look at the other man, wide eyes still staring at the blood dripping from his hands. The glass that had been in his hands was in shambles on the floor, looking very much like how Kip was feeling on the inside of his mind right now, with no way of saying any of it. His eyes drifted from his hands back to the floor, to the bloody pile of glass he had tried to sweep together with his hands. It was incomplete, he thought, hand reaching down to it again.

“What are you --”

“It’s my fault,” he whispered, almost in trance continuing to sweep the rest of the broken pieces of glass into the pile he had created. He could finally feel the glass puncturing his skin, the tingling sensation making Kip bite his lower lip as he was trying to hold himself from trembling further. “I have to fix it.”

“Kip, it’s glass, you don’t --”

“I have to fix it!”

The sudden outburst clearly staggered Cassidy, the man leaning slightly backwards away from the other man. Kip didn’t look back at him, just continued to swipe the glass on the floor. “It’s my fault, I have to fix it.”

Cassidy looked at him from behind his sunglasses, but didn’t try to stop him. He knew exactly what was running through Kip’s head at that moment, and trying to intervene wasn’t going to help it. He could clean up his wounds afterwards, when Kip had calmed down and wasn’t trying to prove to himself that was capable of doing things himself. Taking care of himself. Fixing up his own mistakes, making him believe in himself to be capable again.

Kip’s hands stopped. Cassidy turned to look at the floor, seeing the good pile of glass on the floor. It surely wasn’t all of it, but for now it seemed to be enough for Kip’s mind to believe he had completed the task. He was still staring at the pile of broken glass, his bloody hands hovering over it, slowly but steadily droplets falling from the tips of his fingers every few seconds, hitting a random piece of glass. Cassidy could still see him trembling, carefully reaching a hand towards him to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“Okay, come on --”

Kip snapped out of his trance, almost violently whipping himself away from the other man, with the most force Cassidy had seen from him in what felt like forever. Unfortunately it happened in a situation like this, with Kip backing himself away from him until his back hit the door of the cabinet under the sink, forcefully stopping him in place.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Cassidy’s eyes behind the glasses darkened, him knowing that wide eyed, bewildered look way better than he should have. Kip was in shock, staring back at him, breathing heavy, looking like a wounded animal. He might as well have been one by the looks of it, being shoved into a cage against his will, just trying his best to both fight and flight at the same time. He was trembling visibly so much Cassidy wasn’t even sure how he had been able to hold himself together to get this far, if he was being honest.

He had to admit, Kip looked terrible. The days, weeks of insomnia and migraines had developed cruel dark circles around his eyes, the remains of the layers of unwashed eyeliner still visible, the shaky lines barely clutching to his lower lids. The silver color of the hair had faded a long time ago, leaving behind a messy blotchy bleach job mixed with his natural dark browns poking out here and there. The shaved sides had grown out a long time ago, and his unkempt beard was probably the worst Cassidy had ever seen it be. He wasn’t even sure when Kip had last showered, let alone changed his clothes, being stuck in the now wet dark t-shirt and pyjama pants for days on end.

And now he was sitting here, eyes wide, looking like he was on the verge of bursting into tears at any moment, bloody hands tainting the canvas of the pants he was holding them against, staring at the one man trying to help him like Cassidy was here to only hurt him, to pull him back to the depths that Kip had just barely managed to escape.

“I don’t need your help!”

As much as the words stung, Cassidy didn’t let it show. He knew Kip both meant it and also didn’t mean it. It was the heat of the moment speaking in him, the strong man he wished he could be again, not relying on anyone, especially on him. Cassidy knew this, this wasn’t anything new to him. Kip had yelled at him before, trying to make this exact same point.

But he kept forgetting that Cassidy knew what he was going through. This had also been him at a moment in the past, almost in this exact scenario. He had been that same animal ambushed into the corner, forced to accept help, everyone else around him knowing that he needed it, no matter how much he insisted otherwise. It had been the only thing that had actually kept him going, that helped him further, on the way to recovery.

“I can do this myself.”

His voice was noticeably quieter, Cassidy watching as Kip slowly leaned his head back against the cabinet door, closing his eyes. He was still tensed up, but he seemed to have gotten some sort of a hang of the situation. The thoughts in his head were racing, trying to find a place to put themselves into, trying to make sense of the sharp tingling all over his body. It wasn’t just the hands pierced with glass anymore, it was everywhere now that Kip was aware of. He shivered slightly, trying to level his breathing after the sudden outburst that admittedly had eaten up a lot of his energy.

But he needed to do this himself. He could do this himself. He had to, he couldn’t rely on a mortal enemy as his help for the rest of his life.

“I can…”

Kip swallowed the last word hard, biting his lip. The metallic taste slowly crept in, honestly not surprising him one bit. He inhaled deeply, feeling himself slipping, slowly starting to fall back into the numbness that had become so familiar, so uncomfortably comfortable to him as the days went on.

The light was still hurting his eyes.

He could hear Cassidy shuffling, but at that point Kip didn’t care anymore. Sure, whatever, he thought to himself, preparing for the touch he didn’t want to experience but he knew was inevitable. He had to accept it at some point that this was how it was going to be from now on, whether he liked it or not. Cassidy was there for a reason, after all, and he refused to go away as long as Kip was like this.

And who knew how long he would have to stay like this.

As the touch he had been loathing for didn’t happen, Kip slowly opened his eyes, head tilting back forward to observe the situation around him. Much to his surprise, instead of Cassidy going directly for him, the other man was on his knees on the wet floor, wiping the glass shards up with a towel, trying to clean the mess on the floor to the best of his ability. Kip watched him quietly, a part of him seething at him that he let Cassidy do his work for him, yet again, but… A part of him just let him do it. Kip was tired, exhausted, he was ready to give up.

What was the point of fighting it anymore?

As Cassidy finished, he pushed the towel to the side, getting back up on his feet. Kip watched as he glanced around the floor, walking up to the sunglasses Kip had thrown away earlier, picking them up. He quickly wiped the lenses with the hem of his shirt, before shooting a look from across the room towards Kip. He hadn’t moved, he barely reacted as he locked eyes with Cassidy.

The stare down continued for a brief moment before Cassidy finally walked back to him, handing him the sunglasses. It had been his idea after all, if someone knew how to handle the excessive lights, of course it was going to be the man that seemed to wear them every single hour of the day. As Kip didn’t react to him handing them over, Cassidy crouched in front of him, carefully sliding them on his face.

The metal frames pressing against the sides of his face made Kip hiss a little, but as the sunglasses settled in their place, the familiar calm washed over him. It wasn’t a lot, but it definitely helped the situation.

“Can you stand?”

Kip looked at him for a moment, but didn’t reply. Cassidy nodded, standing up and stepping back a little, giving him space. Kip slowly shifted on his spot, trying to get his legs under him. As he quickly came to the conclusion though that it wasn’t going to help him as there was practically no power left in him, his hand instinctively reached for the edge of the sink to help pull him up.

Only for Kip to yelp in sudden pain at the force being put on his hand, as the shards of glass in him sunk in further.

Cassidy acted faster than even he thought possible, already on Kip’s side as his legs gave out again, falling against the other man. Cassidy’s arms were tightly around him, holding him up, the whimpering mess of Kip leaning against him, barely standing up as his hand tried to find something to grasp onto, leaving bloody hand prints on Cassidy’s white shirt as he eventually grabbed it in an attempt to try to steady himself.

“You’re good, I got you.”

He helped Kip steady on his feet, throwing one arm around his shoulder as Cassidy steadied him with a hand around his hip. Leaning against his shoulder Kip had to admit that it helped – he didn’t like to say that, but it was at least a step further. It was a step away from the floor, from the kitchen, from this whole goddamn mess he had gotten himself into.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? You’re going to be fine.”

Kip didn’t reply as Cassidy started to direct the two of them out of the room, pacing his steps slowly so Kip could follow along easier. The hold Cassidy had of him was the most steady Kip had felt in ages, even though he was still a trembling, bleeding mess. He didn’t want to admit that he needed the help, that it actually did help to have someone there for him in situations like this. He wanted to say he could handle himself, that he could do all this by himself.

But he also knew that all of this was his own fault.

#fic #setting: belt corruption arc #character: orange cassidy #character: kip sabian #ship: orangekip #aew fanfiction #wrestling fanfiction

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churxstomk · 9 months

Text

long post (it’s all just one paragraph)

my life is in shambles kip is currently beating up all of the other residents in my head and she’s duking it out with the danganronpa sadness who has also walked into the brain, i’m pretty sure the cookiemals from cookie run are screaming to be let out, obscure game called unbeatable just got thrown through the window at this point, i haven’t written the fic i promised, i haven’t drawn anything, school starts soon, weekday depression just kicked in and is demanding some sort of acknowledgment from me except kip is also duking it out with them except she’s also demanding that i write fanfic about her, the just shapes and beats community is a long standing resident except it’s just one person named phota who’s the orange circle player, she’s currently making some food in the kitchen, mr rational over here is screaming for everyone to pipe down because we need to clean out our bags for school, nobody in the house liked that so now they’re all beating him up and making very loud angry noises, i can’T FOCUS ON ANYTHING CAN KIP PLEASE SHUT UP I’M NOT ABLE TO GO TO THE IMPORTANT EVENT WHERE I FIND MY LOCKER AND SHIT AT MY SCHOOL AND DAD HASN’T EMAILED MY SCHOOL TO FIGURE SOMETHING OUT, WE GO FOR A TRIP ON MONDAY, OH MY GOD.

does anyone have any headcanons for oneshot

it doesn’t matter which one i’m going insane

#churposting

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abbatoirablaze · 2 years

Text

Tig's Daughter, Chapter 8

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: angst, gun violence, mentions of sleeping around, character death.

“I’m still mad at you.”

He smiled as I threw some of my popcorn at him. I giggled when he tried to catch it, his arms wrapping low on my waist, “Eddie…”

“I’m glad your dad let you out tonight,” he said seriously. My heart fluttered as I felt lost in the moment, lost in his sweet look as his thumb grazed over my hip, “Alex…”

I got lost in his eyes, just staring at him, completely content with life, “I don’t want these moments to end, Eddie…”

“They won’t.”

“Come on sweetheart, we gotta go in.”

My heart ached as I looked at the funeral home, my body freezing in its place, not allowing me to move, “I-I don’t want to.”

“Sweetheart, come on.”

“I can’t go in there, dad,” I whimpered pathetically, giving him a look, “d-don’t make me go in there…”

“Pretend that he’s not even there baby…” my dad whispered against my temple, before pressing a firm kiss to it, “coffin’s gonna be closed. You won’t even see him.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not in it though,” I whimpered again, “I-I know he’s gone dad. He’s not ever coming back.”

My heart raced as my body trembled beneath his. I arched my back, my chest reaching forward and meeting his lips as they caressed my curves, “Eddie…”

“I got you, Alex,” he whispered gently, pressing another series of wet kisses over my breasts. I gasped when his tongue laved over one of my nipples. His arm held me firmly against him as his hips never faltered, “Fuck…”

I felt my walls clenching down around him as we both reached our highs. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut to ride the wave of pleasure, but I couldn’t tear myself away from his gorgeous orbs. He stopped peppering my chest in kisses, instead choosing to capture my lips.

I swallowed his moans as his balls tightened and I felt his warmth spreading throughout me.

My steps sounded hollow.

I felt hollow as I made my way through the funeral home.

There was a place for everything.

Old ex-military members that were friends with him had come. But a majority of the people were from the club. They had come from other chapters to worship the ground that the prospect had walked on.

He was a hero in their eyes.

He died for the club.

He died trying to protect the vp’s kid against that Irish bastard.

I felt tears sliding down my cheeks as my dad led me to the main room. My breath hitched when I saw the coffin. It had trinkets on top of it. A kutte. His kutte. My heart ached even more when I saw that the prospect patch had been ripped off and in it’s place it read ‘redwood original.’

“One day I’m going to be a full-fledged member,” he smirked. I giggled lightly from his chest, my fingers drawing little shapes across the expanse peppered lightly with chest hair. He gave me a look, his features puckering together ever so slightly, “what? You don’t think I’m going to be a member one day?”

“Oh, I know you are,” I smiled, leaning into him, “and when you do, I’m going to be your old lady…”

“What are you talking about baby,” he chuckled, his hands tucking themselves underneath of my chin, “you’re already my old lady.”

“Things you should never say to an eighteen-year-old.”

He laughed, his grin breaking free, “what? You don’t wanna be my old lady?”

“I’m eighteen, Eddie. I don’t want to be called an old lady in general.”

“Fine…you’re my girlfriend,” he conceded, “better?”

“Much…”

“I-I have to go,” I said quickly, pushing myself from my father’s grasp, “I-I can’t be here, dad. I’m sorry.”

“Alex…wait.”

I could hear the smallest of footfalls behind me as I bound out of the funeral home.

“It’s raining…you shouldn’t be up here.”

“Fuck off, Kip.”

He frowned, looking between me and the bottle of liquor, I’d pulled from downstairs, “did something happen?”

“Who the fuck is she?”

His brow furrowed, “what?”

“The chick from Nevada,” I growled, taking another long pull from the bottle, only to cringe at the taste of it, “who the hell is she and why is she here? I know she didn’t come for Clay. Everyone knows Gemma, and she wouldn’t risk being murdered by her.”

“She doesn’t mean anything, Alex.”

My gaze flickered to his, “she followed you from Nevada, Kip.”

“Stop calling me Kip,” he frowned, “I hate when you call me that…it makes me feel like I did something wrong.”

“You cheated on me.”

“I never cheated on you…I would never-“

“BULLSHIT!” I yelled, throwing the bottle of liquor down as I stood up, “That’s fucking bullshit Kip. Why would she follow you if-“

“She came on to me and I told her to back off!” he said quickly, “she’s trying to become an old lady by any means necessary, okay? She came onto me, and Clay saw it so he fucked her. She came for Clay, but Gemma broke her damn nose, Alex. I don’t love her. I don’t even care about her though. There’s only one woman I love in this world and she’s standing in front of me.”

“Y-you love me?”

The look on his face made my heart hurt. He looked like my question had been a knife and I’d been the one to stab him, “of course I love you, Alex. I wanna marry you one day.”

“ALEX!”

I didn’t bother looking behind myself.

A van had stopped in front of me, and the door slid open. I was so lost in my thoughts that the fact that he was in all black and had his face covered didn’t set off any warning bells.

I could hear the screams behind myself as the man’s gun came into view.

The heavy footfalls that had to be my dads behind me as he tried to make his way towards me in time.

And it all seemed to go in slow motion as the first bullet left the chamber.

I fell to the ground because of the blowback.

My head hit the cement behind me.

But it didn’t hurt.

I didn’t feel any pain.

I only felt a warmth in my belly that exploded outwards, encouraging me to close my eyes and sleep it all off.

#sons of anarchy season 1 #sons of anarchy season 2 #sons of anarchy #tigs daughter #soa tig #tig trager #alexander trager #soa half sack #half sack #eddie epps #kip #motorcycle clubs #motorcycle #mc #charming

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comm-caribou · 1 year

Text

Chapter Eight: The Good Generals:

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: death (let me know if I missed any!)

————

Juliette gently scooped up the primarily white plush with long limbs and black detailing.

“Hardwire, is this a doll?”

Hardwire hopped out of his desk chair, blushing crimson as he shut his door.

He turned to her, and awkwardly smiled.

“So… that’s Snugs,” Hardwire explained, “my… first General gave him to me.”

Juliette smiled, cradling the small plush clone trooper in her arms, “and you keep him under your pillow?”

Hardwire sat down on the edge of the bed, “please don’t judge me.”

“I don’t think I can judge,” Juliette held up her baby blanket.

“That’s different,” Hardwire smiled, “if you didn’t tell me that was your baby blanket, I’d assume it was just any old blanket.”

“So, what’s the story behind Snugs?” Juliette handed the toy back to him. “Why did a Jedi give you a little plush clone trooper?”

Hardwire brushed the trooper’s helmet, “where do I begin to tell you about Master Kip?”

****

“The General gave you a pastry?”

Hardwire hurried away as his Corporal chased after him.

“Vhere did he get it? Is it fresh?” Keks questioned, “vhat type of frosting?”

“Medic!” Hardwire laughed, “I need assistance!”

Laughing, CT-3396 got up from Hardwire’s desk, hopping on Kek’s back.

“Hide in the closet!” Tracks instructed.

“You all are so mean,” Cooper smiled. “But he is a glutton.”

Hardwire ducked into his practically empty closet, “exactly.”

Keks whined outside the closet, “no fair…”

“You didn’t share any of your burnt cookies with us,” Chaser reminded him.

“I tried,” Keks reminded. “You all said they were like rocks!”

Happily, Hardwire unraveled his pastry, and ripped it in half. Putting the bigger half back in the bag, he cracked the door open, sticking it out.

Like a gremlin, it was snatched away.

“Say thank you,” he heard Cooper scold.

“Thank you,” Keks said, with a mouthful already.

****

Juliette cuddled into his side, “so, I wasn’t the first General who bought you all presents?”

“No, you weren’t,” Hardwire wrapped an arm around her, “although, most gifts were bought more for me than the others.”

“Why’s that?” Juliette yawned into her fist.

“I kind of was a loner,” Hardwire wrapped her blanket around her, “and I was the first clone he ever met. Therefore, he worried about me.”

****

A salmon colored Quarren with kind turquoise eyes hobbled with a cane around the Stormrider, listening to Hardwire give his report.

He liked the old Jedi. While some found him odd—maybe even a bit annoying—Hardwire looked forward to these patrols.

“Very good, Commander,” Master Kip would say at the end, in that voice that sounded too high and bouncy for an old man from Mon Cala.

It always felt like a pat on the head, and Hardwire found himself walking a little taller.

“Tell me though, Commander,” Master Kip stroked his tentacle beard, “have you eaten today?“

“I’ll be heading to the mess now, sir,” he assured, “meeting some of the men there.”

“Excellent, can’t face the day on an empty stomach,” he chuckled to himself. “And we have a battle today. Not that I am looking forward to it.”

Hardwire turned to his General, his gaze now to the floor.

“So many lives lost,” Kip sighed, “I wish I could protect you all.”

****

Hardwire laid beside Juliette, facing her in his bed.

She looked tired, but her eyes remained opened, “you still haven’t answered my question.”

Hardwire smiled, “do you want me to skip ahead? I was going to tell you about how Boomerang got his name. Or how Mirage came to be his best brother.”

“I know both those stories,” Juliette pouted, “you’re stalling.”

Hardwire chuckled, “fine, I’ll tell you about Snugs now.”

****

It had been a hundred days since boots hit the ground, and a hundred days of being under Master Kip’s care.

When the old Jedi came to his private quarters at the end of the day, he expected the present he hinted at to be food. All his brothers loved food, and Hardwire did like the occasional treat.

What Master Kip was so excited to give him, was not edible at all. In fact, it was quite an odd gift in Hardwire’s opinion.

The item was less than a foot in height, and consisted of loose, lanky arms attached to its plush body. It was white and black, resembling a standard clone trooper with his helmet on.

“I could not resist,” Master Kip smiled, “you may find it silly, but I wanted you to have a least one item that is truly just yours. Consider a symbol of your brothers perhaps.”

Honestly, Hardwire didn’t know what he’d do with a toy. He was a soldier, not a child. Nor did he know the purpose of toys other than giving them to children on relief missions for comfort.

Still, he traced the troopers soft helmet, “thank you, sir.”

****

Juliette’s eyes were now closed, but she still tiredly murmured, “that’s sweet…”

Hardwire took Snugs, and placed him in her arms, whispering, “he’s very good at scaring away nightmares.”

Juliette softly sighed, hugging Snugs close as she started drifting off.

Hardwire got up, and crossed the cold, metal floor to the light switch. He flipped it off, and returned to his bed, getting under his blanket and pulling her closer to him.

Her head laid on his chest, snuggling in closer to him.

He wrapped his arms around her, and ran his fingers lazily up and down her back. He closed his eyes, and fell asleep alongside his best friend.

****

Besides a little bit of chatter, the gunship was quiet.

Master Kip was sadden to hear that he was given this very big, dangerous mission. The last thing he wanted to do was put his troops into more danger than they already were in.

From the moment the war began on Geonosis, Master Kip wanted to walk away. From the war he didn’t want to be apart of, the bloodshed he didn’t wish to bare, and the Jedi Order that he known his living years.

However, as he was about to go tell Master Yoda his plans to leave, he met a curious young man who left the impression of a child in the Force.

He was tall, muscular, and wore the same armor as the men who rescued them from the Battle of Geonosis.

The trooper turned to him, his helmet tucked under his armor revealing a face of twenty year old Jango Fett. Yet, this wasn’t Jango.

He smiled, and gave a respectful nod like a gentleman and returned his gaze forward with a half smile.

As Master Kip studied the mysterious figure in lilac painted armor and a kama on his belt, the familiar presence of Master Yoda approached.

He turned, seeing his dear friend approaching with Mace Windu and Master Ki-Adi-Mundi.

The small, green Jedi chuckled to himself, “Master Kip, see you met your Commander, you have.”

My Commander?

Master Kip turned back to the trooper, he was watching him from the corner of his dark, brown eyes.

“The 952nd will primarily be doing relief and rescue missions. Commander CC-0143 will be your right hand man,” Master Windu explained.

“Nine hundred fifty… CC-10… this a lot of numbers,” Master Kip stroked his tentacle beard, I’m an old man who’d be lucky to have ten more years left in him. I can’t possibly be apart of this.

“Permission to speak, sir?” asked a man with Jango’s accent, but not quite his voice.

He turned back to the Commander, now facing him.

Was that him? Is asking permission to speak really a thing?

“Yes?” Master Kip said unsurely.

“My brothers call me Hardwire,” he said, “you may also call me that, therefore you have one less number to remember.”

Master Mundi said quietly, “I was not informed they have names.”

Master Kip’s thoughts of leaving got pushed back into the deep crevasses of his mind. All the upset that plagued him of losing both his own Master and his former Padawan on Geonosis was replace with a need to protect this little boy who looked like a grown man.

Now here he was, over a hundred days later, with a Commander who he looked at like a son.

The Jedi Code forbid attachment, but he couldn’t help himself. This soldier had went from child to an adult in a matter of days in the Force, and Master Kip felt a nagging need to protect him the same way a parent coddled their own flesh and blood.

“We’re approaching the coordinates,” Tracks announced over the gunship’s speakers.

Master Kip looked at the men he brought with him for this assignment to locate General Grievous.

Sergeant Cooper had Corporal Keks were a pair.

Boomerang the medic was tight knit with his ARC brother, Mirage.

The pilots—Tracks and Chaser—had each other to keep company.

Then there was his Commander.

The first clone trooper he ever met would just drift from brother-to-brother. No one in particular stood out as someone he was close to more than the others.

Who is your person, Hardwire? Who do you reach out for when you are scared?

The ship softly landed, and the doors opened up.

His five brave troops exited the ship, helmets on and ready to face danger.

If this war never happened, these boys never would have existed. I would’ve continued on with my life, and these amazing young men would’ve remained unmade. They don’t even realize the change they made. The good they brought into my dull life.

“All good, General?” Hardwire asked quietly, “you’ve been quiet today.”

“Oh, it’s nothing for you to worry about, lad,” he replied tiredly. “Just been thinking about this war and where we’ll all be after it’s over.”

The clones remained quiet, not saying a word.

He knew what they were thinking.

Their purpose is to die fighting.

The next few minutes blurred together, all Master Kip could put together was they found Grievous—or he found them—and they were going to die.

“Tracks! Chaser!” Cooper barked, “get the ship ready for retreat!”

“Swinging back for you now,” Chaser responded.

As the only one with a lightsaber, Kip was engaged with the metal monster.

He could hear the gunship arrive, the men running aboard… all but one.

“General!”

Hardwire!

“General, come on!”

Using the Force, Master Kip pushed General Grievous back enough to look back at the ship. He could’ve made it, but he had grown too tired from this fight to run.

Hardwire took a step towards him, and then another.

This soldier was too loyal to leave him behind.

Master Kip pushed him back with the Force, but the Commander got back up again.

General Grievous also got up, and was charging at him.

Master Kip held both of them back, arms extended out holding them both away. With all his strength, he pushed back Grievous again.

Then, tiredly turned back to his troops.

He still had Hardwire pushed back, keeping him at bay. Yet, he now had his answer.

The clones—as Master Kip had noticed—always reached for each other. In the face of danger, their hands always extended out to their brothers both to receive strength and share it. The closest bond any of the clone soldiers had was with each other.

Cooper to Keks, Tracks to Chaser, Boomerang to Mirage.

Then there was Hardwire, who didn’t reach for any of his brothers. With both hands extended out, his Commander was reaching out to him.

It was forbidden to form attachment, and maybe this was why. For when Jedi Master Kip looked at that one soldier, he saw a child.

His child, willing to die for him.

Master Kip couldn’t help but love and admire Hardwire for that loyalty, and he hoped the next General valued his Commander just as much.

General Grievous got up again, coughing and hacking with four lightsabers ignited.

Soon, his own lightsaber would be his.

Master Kip was okay with that…

“General!” Hardwire cried out as he was lifted to the air. “Don’t do this! Wait!”

…as long as his son lived.

#caribou stories #caribou ocs #952nd #star wars #star wars the clone wars #commander hardwire #juliette trix

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dreamlandsystem · 2 years

Text

We wanna talk a bit about fronting in our system…

For us, fronting can be a bit weird, and we’re usually at least a little blurry. We tend to blend when we front - hardly ever is there just one of us fronting by themself.

Our host, Parker, is usually in the fronting space, but he is most often dissociated and doesn’t really pilot the body all that often. It feels like whoever fronts sort of speaks through a “Parker filter,” so even if it’s Alucard or Cecil or anyone else fronting, to those outside the body it probably seems like nothing much has changed. This is likely due to our upbringing; self-hate was always a big challenge for us and that was in part due to the fact that Parker would try to fight or shut down any aspect of us that didn’t feel like him. So as a way to adapt, we’ve just sorta picked up his mannerisms and ways of speaking. We’re comfortable like this now, and don’t really have a strong desire to unmask or change how our system functions, although we recognize that might change as we learn and grow!

But like, right now, Margo and Kip are writing this post together before we go to work. Ralsei is up here too chiming in sometimes and Parker is, like usual, sort of here, but not really. This is how our system functions. When we go to work, Kip will most definitely swap out for Ghost, and pup and Margo will front together while we’re there. At home, Margo will leave, and will be replaced by someone else. We’re in a constant state of flux, with headmates swapping in and out and doing like Steven Universe gem fusions in the fronting space.

We can’t always tell who’s fronting. Sometimes we can only recognize one of us even when multiple headmates are fronting. Quite often, we can’t recognize anyone and don’t really know who we are. It’s hard not to panic when that happens, and it’s something we’re still working on!

We’re really not sure how common this kind of experience is. We’re not sure if any other system functions similarly to the way we do. We’re just trying to make the most of life with who we are, striving for positive change along the way! It’s certainly an uphill battle, but I think we’re making great strides in terms of self-acceptance. And after so many years of such adamant self-hatred, it’s nice to know that we’ve been making some progress :)

#sys.txt #systuff

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akillysheel · 2 years

Text

❝ Well, That’s on You. ❞ ( 3/75 )

Summary: Kip learns what is meant by “a rotten assignment”. Characters: Kip, Jagger, Basil. Prompt: ❝ Well, that’s on you. ❞ Warnings: Drugs ( fictional ).

A/N: A direct continuation of the previous chapter because uhhhh I said so.

“Wakey wakey.”

Kip stirs when Jagger nudges her shoulder with a gloved hand. He’s fully dressed, excluding his coat, and is clearly already prepared for the day ahead. Hung over his arm are her freshly washed clothes, offered to her with an unexpectedly cordial patience.

"Okay," she mumbles, not knowing whether to thank him or not. She may have just woken up, but she recalls how that had panned out yesterday. Her poor forehead. "Um–"

"You've got twenty minutes to make yourself…" He pauses, looking her over, his mouth curling into a spiteful sneer. With evident disdain: "... vaguely presentable."

Kip squints before kicking her blanket aside and standing up. She snatches her clothes from him with a sour scowl before trawling off to the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. If there’s one thing she can’t understand above all else, it’s why some people make the conscious choice to be unpleasant. Jagger must have one hell of a reputation to protect. After how they’d met, that wouldn’t surprise her in the slightest.

The second that the cold water hits her face, Kip breathes out a sigh of relief. She’s never been a morning person, but she can always count on that icy jolt to kick start her day. She washes as efficiently as she can without a designated flannel or sponge, and after hunting in a couple of cabinets for a toothbrush and subsequently feeling bad about it, draws a stripe of toothpaste across her finger and attempts to brush as best she can. By the time she’s finished, hands washed and hair arranged as neatly as she’ll get it without the use of a hairbrush, she feels semi-confident.

With gusto, Kip points at her reflection, a determined look flashing across her face like lightning. “Today’s a new day,” she tells herself with a smirk. “And you’re not going to let Jagger ruin it. You’ll keep your cool, and you’ll kill him with kindness.” Her smirk becomes a sheepish smile then, shoulders sagging a little. “... well, maybe don’t kill him.”

Not even in a hyperbolic sense can she imagine hurting somebody that bad.

With pep in her step, Kip leaves the bathroom and, after stopping to slip her boots on, descends the stairs.

“Just in time.” She turns her head to see Jagger watering one of his house plants, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Against her better judgement, she feels the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. “What?”

“Nothing!” Her hands wave defensively as she looks away from him. It’s not her fault; the image of a ruthless drug lord sparing time to water his house plants every morning is just a little too adorable to fly under her radar. She shouldn’t be swayed by such normal tendencies, but she certainly doesn’t expect them from someone like him. Just like the candles and the soft blankets, it feels so out of left-field that it’s almost laughable.

He puts down the spray bottle with more force than necessary and bridges the distance between them. “Share with the class.”

“What’s his name?”

Jagger’s eyebrows raise. “... huh?”

“The plant’s,” Kip elaborates, arms tucked behind her back as she beams wide.

“What’re you talking about? It’s a plant.”

“I name my stuffed animals,” she replies with a shrug, and her smile widens until she’s positively glowing. Jagger backs away, looking a little disturbed. “It’s only the same.”

“We’re not the same,” he states bluntly, nose wrinkling with displeasure. “What are you, ten?”

Kip clenches her fists tight, sharp fangs pinching her tongue until she feels the urge to insult him back pass her by. Not once does her smile falter. “Try naming them. It’s free therapy.”

“Don’t need therapy.” His voice is uncharacteristically light as he sticks out his foot and kicks a rug aside, revealing a trapdoor beneath it. "Need money."

Kip stares wide-eyed at the secret entrance, suddenly feeling light-headed. They can talk about house plants and gratitude all night long, but come the end of things, Jagger is a man she knows little about. If his occupation is anything to go by– which it most certainly is when she's face to face with a hidden door in a house that he uses only to lay low in– then she can only imagine that there's something nefarious going on down there.

Her eyes follow the broad sweep of his arm as he unhooks a latch and opens the door, eventually settling on that black hole in the floor. Humid air reaches them like the breath of a beast, a faint hint of something spicy reaching her nose. The longer she stares, the darker it seems to become, until it's so black that she thinks it can be nothing other than a gateway to hell. She’s trying so hard not to let him get under her skin, but she won’t lie: this makes her nervous.

If he has anything to say in response to her apprehension, he doesn't make it known. Instead, he drops to a crouch and finds the first prong of the ladder that'll take him down into the basement.

"Come. And pull the door shut behind you," is all he says before vanishing into the dusty depths.

Her options are limited. She gets the feeling that if she climbs down that ladder and enters that room, there’s a good chance she won’t come out of it the same, but what else can she do? The last thing she wants to do is upset the man who has already proven that he’ll do some nasty things to the people that inconvenience him. She doesn’t want to land herself in any more trouble, nor does she want to put Basil on Jagger’s map.

I’ve got a truly rotten assignment for you tomorrow.

Begrudgingly, Kip lowers herself down into the dark, her knees feeling wobbly and weak.

A soft squeak of shock leaves her as the place is suddenly awash with ugly fluorescent light. Its sickly yellow glow illuminates the basement, and Kip gets her first real taste of anxiety. It comes not from something abjectly horrifying, rather the knowledge that she’s been exposed to something that she otherwise would never have seen; a side of life that she was content to know of only from newspaper clippings and crime novels.

Packages. Packages, packages, packages. No matter where she looks, head turning this way and that, the basement is little more than a bunker full of these hand-wrapped bundles. There’s nothing in the room excluding the table they sit on, and hot blazing lamps arranged in a row along the brick wall. In comparison to the house above, the basement is a hole; a bleak, stuffy, vacant void that smells overwhelmingly of pepper, smoke and ash. Kip’s nose wrinkles, creases forming beneath her eyes as she fights back stinging tears. They find Jagger at the far end of the room.

He’s smirking wide, looking the most excited she’s ever seen him look. “Beautiful, ain’t it?”

“It stinks!” she exclaims, watching as he pats one of the bundles with a surprisingly hearty laugh.

“It’s not that bad once you get used to it. And you will be getting used to it. 40,000 paals is a lot to owe, little lady.”

She grits her teeth, refusing to bite. In as neutral a tone as she can: “This won’t cover it? How can eight tiny tabs be worth more than a basement full of stock?”

The look he gives her is one he might give a sulking child. There’s a genuine inkling of pity there. “Y’know, I was still on the fence about you being a massive cheat, but you really don’t know squat about the business, do you?”

“I told you I don’t!” Suddenly, she remembers her mirror pep-talk and how determined she was to have a good day. The contents of this room may be testing her, but she isn’t about to let it break her that easily. Her smile is forced, corners twitching at the grim nature of it all, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “... but I can learn.”

He’s watching her intently, so intently that she feels a little scared to move beneath such a watchful gaze. A gloved forefinger and thumb rub gently together, as if he’s calculating something unseen to her, before he breaks the tense silence with a thump of his palm against the closest package.

“No need!” he exclaims, disarming her with a good-natured grin. She’s never seen him quite this happy, and she can’t decide whether it’s endearing or unnerving. “At least, not yet. All I want you to do is move this stock for me.”

Kip blinks. Of all the things he could have said, this hadn’t even made the list. Slowly, her brow furrows. “Sooo, that super spooky job you said you had for me… this is it?”

“I believe the word I used was rotten,” Jagger replies, stroking his chin as if deep in thought. The light stubble there makes a quiet, scratching sound, and Kip feels momentarily mesmerised. “And yes. This is it.” He picks up one of the many parcels and hands it to her. “How’s that feel? Is it heavy?”

Kip raises an eyebrow at him before tossing the package upwards a short way. It’s as light as can be, hardly a problem, even for a girl her size. “You’re kidding, right?”

Jagger lets out a low chuckle before placing a second one on top. She may not be able to toss it anymore, but they sit comfortably in her hand, weighing no more than the average phone. He repeats the process until she begins to struggle; she can hold about fifteen of them in both arms before it becomes uncomfortable.

“Well, now you need to go upstairs.”

Kip’s smile dims a little. “Huh?”

“Mhmm.” He’s barely holding back a smile of his own. Contrary to what she thinks, Jagger doesn’t hate her. He doesn’t want to cause her unnecessary strife, if only because he has deadlines to meet - but he does feel as if he’s being challenged. This new-found positivity she’s wielding like a weapon only makes him more keen to take her down a peg or two. “I have a van parked out front. It’s painted like a mail truck. You can’t miss it. That’s where they need to go.”

He watches the wheels in her head turn, the full extent of what he’s asking her to do dawning on her like daybreak. Petulantly, Jagger glances at his phone before tucking it back into his pocket.

“It’s just gone five-ten. I need this moved by, ohhh… six?”

“A-All of it?!” Kip exclaims, feeling the life drain from her body. She has no idea how she’s going to lug all of this up and down the ladder in fifty minutes. There's an ungodly number of these things sitting around. Thousands upon thousands of them, if she had to guess.

Jagger says nothing for a moment before mercifully shaking his head. "No. The van won't be able to carry all this in one trip - and it's not all going to the same place anyway. I need two-hundred and fifty of them to go."

“But how am I supposed to move that many on my own?”

“Well, that’s on you to figure out.”

"Okay." Kip breathes in deep through her nose before nodding, a mix of trepidation and determination filling her face as she tries to work out the best way to proceed. To her astonishment, Jagger offers some support.

"You're holding fifteen there. Shed however many you can't carry under one arm and we'll start from there. I will count them."

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t trust you to do it right.”

Kip deflates noticeably. It’s the first outward chink in her armour today.

After much trial and error, she finds that if she tucks seven under her arm and two in her jacket pockets, she can move about nine at a time.

The first trip is a breeze. She wriggles her way up that ladder and out of his front door with hardly a pause. This emboldens her - which makes her steady spiral into exhaustion that much more painful. By the twelfth trip, she comes to fear that ladder. She’s a healthy young woman; she was a track runner in college and has lived a life full of secret bases in trees and leaping over rivers as opposed to taking their respective bridges. She still skates with her brother on most evenings and she runs to every gig she gets. Even so, that awkward, one-handed shimmy up the steep ladder leaves her lungs burning and her gut clenching. By the time she’s clearing the last of it out, her legs resemble jelly and she’s trying not to pant for air too obviously.

“H–Here’s… the last of it…”

Jagger is leaning against the side of the van with a yoghurt in his hands. He regards her shaky legs with the ghost of smirk on his face before feeding himself a complimentary spoonful of strawberry, tiny plastic utensil lingering against his lips long after he’s finished. She’s undoubtedly tired (and he knew she would be), but she managed. Despite their contentious relationship, he’s impressed.

“Good job, little lady. And here I thought you’d pass out.” He turns, tossing his now-empty yoghurt cup over her head and into his general waste bin. “What did I tell you? A rotten assignment.”

Kip gives him a smile that reminds him of a switchblade. After a big, stubborn inhale: “That’s the second time you’ve underestimated me, Jagger. You ought to start learning I can take it.”

“Well damn,” he replies, eyebrows raised high. “Check out the attitude on this one. One job strong and feelin’ fine.” He can’t say it isn’t earned though. He really has put her through the ringer already, and the sun has barely risen. He’ll allow her an ounce of victory.

An arm reaches through the rolled-down window of the door nearest before it withdraws with a second yoghurt cup in tow. “Here.”

Kip blinks at it, as if she’s never seen one before in her life. He must not have taken it out of the fridge long ago for it’s cool to the touch. She all but snatches it from him, only realising in that moment how hungry she is. The pink carton is about the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“Now get in,” he orders, patting the door with a gloved hand before circling the van and climbing into the driver’s seat. She obeys him without question, already halfway through tearing the foil lid from her snack. The passenger seat has quite the incline, but she’s more focused on trying to pull her seatbelt on with one hand as the other feeds her plastic spoon into her mouth. If Basil was here, he’d be criticising her lack of patience something fierce.

“Where’re we going?” Kip asks as the engine hums to life. Daylight is beginning to paint Leylan in its usual golden glow. Soon enough, the early risers will be starting their morning routines, readying themselves for a day of work. Given the type of goods Jagger is moving, it makes sense why he'd want to minimise his chances of being seen.

"I'm taking you home," he answers as he pulls out of the side street and onto the main path. Leylan's roads are narrow and not entirely clear, far better equipped for bikes and skateboards, and the idea of a van this heavily loaded making some of the turns to her house has a knot forming in her stomach. "Tell me your address."

It's pointless, but she still holds her tongue for a moment. Her place of residence feels like the last personal thing she has left. Sacrificing it means letting him into all aspects of her life, and she isn't keen to have that layer of separation broken.

"I can walk it…!"

Jagger glances at her out of the corner of his eye as he fiddles with the radio dial. A smooth, thumping bass line fills the space between them.

"I don't want to trouble you! I–I made it here on foot, I can–"

"Just tell me your fucking address," he interrupts tersely, and Kip stops talking. It seems that no matter how she tries to play it, she's going to have to capitulate. She does so with a heavy heart, settling on finishing her yoghurt in silence. She needs to find a way to explain to Basil exactly where she's been without letting him know about Jagger. If he finds out about the steaming pile of shit she's found herself in, he'll worry himself to death– or worse yet, attempt to save her from it. He means well, but Basil has never been a fighter; she can only imagine the kind of mess that Jagger will make out of him if he tries to play the hero. He'd almost broken her arm without so much as flinching. She dreads to think what he'll do to someone who swings first.

The roads gradually become more and more familiar as time rolls on, and Kip finds herself soaking in the feeling of a car ride with just a little too much willingness. She's never ridden in a vehicle like this before. It differs a lot from a monorail ride, and even more so from rollerblading. There's something intimate about sharing the passenger seat of a van being driven by somebody else; a display of trust she's really quite conflicted about, given her less-than-stellar opinion of the man sitting beside her. As usual, she tries to put a positive spin on it, tries to tell herself that she's not in danger. He might be a little prickly, but he hasn't done anything grievous to her beyond their first meeting. In fact, he hasn't so much as laid a finger on her again since their unfortunate meeting. He could've left her for dead last night but he didn't. He could've let her go hungry but he didn't. He could've physically forced her to do any number of tasks for him at this point, but he hasn’t. No matter how sour he's been with her, there's some good in his heart. She believes in that, if nothing else.

Eventually, her house comes into view. It's a tiny one-story building nestled between two others identical to it on a hill.

"Hold on," Jagger says as she unbuckles her seatbelt, and she pauses obediently. His hand dips into his pocket before offering her her phone. Her eyes widen immediately.

"Oh shoot!" Hurriedly, she accepts it, unable to believe she forgot about it completely. It's definitely seen better days. The screen is cracked and the stickers on the back are fading, but it still works fine. "Thanks… I didn't even think about–"

"Hey. How old are you, Kip?"

The shift in tone all but gives her whiplash. After fumbling over her words for several seconds, she stammers out a confused, "Th–Three thirty…? Why?"

Jagger taps his fingers against the steering wheel, the sound of leather squeaking quietly as he sucks in a breath through his teeth. She looks adult to him, but definitely too young to be caught in the crosshairs of criminality like this. She’s supposed to be full of promise; studying something convoluted that didn’t exist when he was a boy. He can’t understand why a young woman like her, so bright and full of life, is hovering on dirty street corners, robbing people and getting herself into trouble. He can’t just let it slide, not when she’s cost him so much money, but part of him wishes he could.

“You’re too young to be caught up in this shit-storm,” he admits, giving her a sober look. “I’m gonna get you out of this mess as quickly as I can. I don’t want you caught up in this scene for too long.”

The words take her aback. There’s that consideration he keeps denying he has. It reaches into her core, elicits a form of gratitude that she’s never felt before.

“I’m okay. It was an accident, but… it was still my fault.”

“Still. I don’t want you to start liking this life.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever like it, Jagger.”

“You’d be surprised. That’s what we all say,” he says with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. It disturbs the gelled back strands enough to leave some loose, and she looks away as if she’s walked in on him naked. It’s just too strange, seeing him as anything other than the perfectly composed businessman. With a smile that could just as well be a grimace: “Just, be prepared to work your ass off for a couple of months. Then we can wash our hands of each other, deal?”

“Deal,” she replies, returning the half-hearted smile.

“Good. Now go on. Ske-daddle. Get the hell outta my van.”

Kip exits the vehicle, yoghurt cup and all, and stands on the white pavement that leads to her house as the van roars to life once more.

“I’ll be in touch,” Jagger calls over the purr of its engine, almost looking devious against the glare of sunlight that pours in through his window. “I don’t ask for permission. I call, you answer. It’s that simple.”

“Got it.” It’s said through her teeth, pinched and tight, but with a smile that could absolutely class as agreeable. In spite of his tone, he’s made it evident that he’s at least sympathetic to her circumstances. The best she can hope for is that he’s telling the truth– that he really will find her enough work to absolve her of this bothersome life as soon as possible. Her eyes follow the vehicle until it rounds the corner and disappears from sight.

With a sigh, Kip drags herself up the hill and to her front door, unlocking it and shuffling inside.

“Basil?” she calls as she walks into the cramped living room, all too aware of the time. She can’t imagine that he’s left for work yet, but when she pokes her head into his room she discovers that it’s empty. With a frown, she makes her way to her own and plugs her charger into her dead phone. The moment it sparks to life, she discovers that she has seven missed calls and fifteen unread texts from her brother.

Hey, where are you? Kip, it’s getting late. Are you coming home soon? I’m at the platform and the last tram just left. You weren’t on it. Where are you?!

She lets out a groan and dims the screen with a click of the power button, guilt washing over her in waves. Her brother may be an anxious mess by nature, but it’s hardly an over exaggeration to be worried about her not coming home. In her heart, she knows that he won’t have done anything foolish-- that he won’t have attempted to brave nightfall-- but she can’t imagine how sick to his stomach he must have been. It’ll be a wonder if he’d slept at all.

The latest message is a haphazard string of capital letters; incredibly out of character, for he’s a stickler for grammar.

KIP. IF YOU DON’T REPLY BY TOMORROW AFTERNOON I’M CALLING THE POLICE! CALL ME.

“Damn iiiit…”

His last call was at 5:34AM. Her phone must have already been dead, because she absolutely would’ve picked it up otherwise, whether Jagger had been breathing down her neck or not.

Quickly, she hits the speed dial and brings the phone to her ear. It barely rings once before it’s picked up. “Hey, Basil–”

“Where were you?! I’ve been worried sick!”

“I know, I’m sorry, I…” She pauses, feeling overwhelmed by guilt and grief and anger. As much as she wants to blame Jagger for this entire fiasco, she knows that she’s the one that landed herself in it. This is what she gets for being a thief. It was always only a matter of time before she got more than she bargained for. “Um… I… lost track of time with my set. Ended up staying over in the bar I played in. My phone died. I’m okay!”

She hears him tut, pacing so viciously that she can almost envision a trail of fire being left behind him.

“I’m sorry, Basil! Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad, I’m–” His words abruptly stop, and she hears the muffled voice of his boss barking orders at him. Her brother mutters a timid “sorry, sir…” before he comes back to the phone. “We’ll talk later, okay? I have to go. I’m glad you’re safe. I love you.”

“I love you too, Bas.”

When the line goes dead, she only feels marginally better. With a defeated huff, she puts her phone beneath her pillow before laying face-first on her bed. She’s been awake for no longer than three hours and she already wants to go back to sleep.

#writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #short story #drabble challenge #oc story #original cast #fandomless oc story #drabble #writing ;#drabble challenge ;#kip ;#terrence ;#basil ;#tomorrow ;

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