#safchouse

[mvncesa]

safchouse : bandage patch them up when they get hurt. — for jack

“I’m okay.”

The fact that he had bullet holes in his sweater and blood dripping from his noise said something else. He seemed to be more than used to the whole thing. Half the time, Jack barely even noticed that he was injured in any way. There was an actual reason for that but he barely thought about that. Shove the trauma down, apparently. 

“I can do it myself.”

[synthmama]

@safchouse replied to you

"you don't like seeing yourself reflected on my head, doll?"

“Right. Because that’s your entire reason for being bald -- to indulge me in case I need to powder my nose.” 

[synthmama]

@safchouse said:  “I wanted to tell you again that I am completely serious, just in case you didn’t believe me.” // meme.

“Pfft, please. Where’s the fun in that?” She’s never registered much sensation since crawling her way out of Vault 111. Neuropathy’s made sure of it. But if she could, she’d probably be lamenting the ice-cold waters they have to wade through in the canals -- the best route to avoid The Big Green Guys, according to Deacon. “Maybe I like you more when you’re still a guessing game for me. Ever consider that?” 

[hellbentwidow-moved]

@safchouse​ said: "this town ain't big enough for the both of us."

“goodneigbor  is  plenty  big,   stranger.   don’t  know  what  the  hell  you’re  talkin’  about.”   she barely looks up from her drink,   since she’s not one to come to the third rail for casual conversations.   and something about this guy tells her he’s a moron.   she definitely doesn’t have time for morons,   especially ones who keep looking at her like she’s got something funny on her face.   if he’s planning to pick on her,   he chose the wrong woman in this bar.

[o-rusted-heart]

“It’s like somebody put sunglasses on a goose egg.” 

[dxctxrii]

@safchouse​ gets a hug!

After what was supposed to be a very well-thought-out plan, circumstances had gone seriously wrong.

In the grand scheme of things, it was only meant to be a simple operation - gain access to the Prydwen, find the TARDIS, which the Brotherhood had lawlessly taken as their own property soon after its true pilot’s arrival in the Commonwealth, and carefully steer it to freedom. The Doctor, for one, had managed to pull off far more complex tasks without any problems, so he assumed that he’d be in and out with his beloved craft in no time at all.

However, in an unexpected twist, he and his new young friend had become separated. Deacon was a mysterious individual to say the least - something that the Time Lord couldn’t help but admire, in spite of the problems it brought about - and somehow, the Brotherhood had found him, and had now dragged him onto the main flight deck, in the presence of none other than their leader - Maxson, he was apparently called.

The Doctor, who had still evaded capture, felt his blood boil at the sight. Instinct, as well as a rush of adrenaline, kicking in, he immediately sought to barrage his way past the small cluster of Brotherhood personnel, snatching Deacon out of their grasp and clinging tightly onto him - a caring, if not anticipated embrace.

“Leave the poor man alone! I’m the one you want! I orchestrated all of this, that blue box is mine! Do what you want with me, but I shan’t let you harm a hair on this one’s head!”

[dxctxrii]

While an intense mass of gunfire and explosions were commonplace in the dirty, ruined suburbs of Cambridge’s outskirts, what was perhaps considerably more interesting was the subject of such a commotion.

Trying his utmost to scarper - presumably for his life - a short, stout man dressed in oversized, baggy clothing, complete with tartan trousers that were too short for him and a bow tie that was fastened onto his shirt with a safety pin succeeded in demonstrating how skilled he wasn’t at remaining inconspicuous. Behind him, a small group of individuals sporting, unbeknownst to their target, power armour etched with the Brotherhood of Steel insignia, followed in pursuit, firing their weapons at regular intervals.

To the amusement of anyone who might have been passing by at the time, each BANG! created by whatever grenades they sought to aim prompted an audible YELP from the strange gentleman, followed by an instinctive jump into the air, an attempt on his part to dodge their attacks. It would have been entertaining if the stakes hadn’t been so high.

The Doctor, desperate for a way to evade capture, quickly vanished into a dark, secluded alleyway. Spotting a nearby wheelie bin, he wasted no time in opening the lid, immediately clambering inside and shutting out all but the tiniest hints of daylight. Granted, it wasn’t the most ideal of circumstances - nevermind the fact that he was now hiding within a pile of rubbish and goodness-knows-what-else, but that group, whoever they were, meant very serious business indeed, and he was in no mood to linger.

Where in the world had the TARDIS decided to bring him now?

@safchouse​ liked this for a starter.

[cheatdeathsarchive]

@safchouse​ sent: “there is very little left of me and it’s never coming back.”

They’re alike, but Deacon is his own Benny -- how much of himself has he killed and rebuilt? Six relates and she’s sorry that she does. Maybe this just means he’s a better liar than she is, but Six wants to believe him. There is plenty to lie about without having to lie about how lost and alone and how scared it would make anyone feel.

She wants to say she understands, but it’s all lip service. She knows that, because if she was the one opening up she’d hate to hear it. Does he want the parts of him that still remain? Do they still fit him comfortable, or does he wish they’d go away, like a dress that doesn’t fit right anymore or a hat that used to look right on his head but just... for some reason doesn’t anymore?

Does he wish he could be who he is, or who he’s tried to become? How do you ask someone something like that? She steps closer, bites her lip. She’s never related to someone so much before, and that scares her. Still she steps closer, because she’s never felt this connected to another human before.

Sometimes there are no words, and so Six holds his hand and with her other hand she rubs his back. Her own vulnerability on display for Deacon to see, just as much as her own. She hugs him.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs like it’s a lullaby, and if he’s lying that’s alright. Maybe this is just for her, then.