Safe Haven

[[Condemned]]

[underangelswing]

the-quantum-repairman​:

‘I mean… you’re kinda my saviour and on’y ticket out of here so it’s not like I was planning to do owt to you anyway,’ Thomas said, watching as Faith started to slip out. If the President was the most expendable person, who else was on the team? ‘It’s just nice to be trusted again by someone, that’s all. That storeroom is all liquor, the crates are massive but they can hover and follow behind a mech if you input the right code. The keypad is in Iziwun numerals… can you read them? Doesn’t matter; press upper right, upper right, centre, lower centre, upper left, centre, lower right, upper right.’

Faith dropped to the floor.  The moment her feet touched the ground, she was acutely and deeply aware of how vulnerable she now was.

Without another word, she moved straight for the gap in the door, mindful of any sharp edges as she shimmied through it.

Crates.  Staring down the first one, she thought maybe she ought to have asked how many they could bring.

Upper right, upper right, center, lower center, upper left, center, lower right, upper right.  Upon inputting the code, Faith didn’t wait to see if it reacted before bolting to the next crate.

In the cockpit, there was an exasperated sigh over the intercom and a “Would you please hurry,” that Kinzie muttered under her breath.

[underangelswing]

the-quantum-repairman​:

Servos whined when Thomas moved the mech’s hands to one corner of the gap and pulled up, widening it by a small amount.

‘You sure? I was gonna offer to go but if you reckon you can shimmy through then be my guest,’ he said. ‘You’re putting a lot of trust in me, though.’

“He’s right, you know.”

Kinzie, however, somehow managed to sound bored.  Faith shrugged, and leaned forward to pop the transparent canopy open.

"If you’re gonna stab me in the back, it doesn’t really matter if you do it now or later,” she pointed out.  Other than that later would be on the ship they’d hijacked, which would also be leading him to all the resistance what was left of Earth had.  “And if not, I’m still the most expendable person on this crew.”

She spared Thomas a glance as she moved to slide out of the cockpit, legs first.  “What am I looking for, other than liquor?”

[underangelswing]

the-quantum-repairman​:

‘Pretty sure you wouldn’t know ‘em,’ Thomas muttered, trying to concentrate while all sorts of endorphins started to fizz in his brain in response to the closest thing he’d had to a hug in what felt like years. It probably had been years, now that he thought about it.

‘Some of the Zin soldier lads were celebrating a raid; they wiped out a group of poor twats on a research station nearby if I remember rightly. Ran out of booze and went for a joyride in one of the mechs, busted the warehouse door wide open. S’how I know what’s in there. I had to retrieve the mech and fix it up.’

While he was speaking he managed to right the balance with a tap of the jump thrusters, then sent the machine hurtling towards the door once more. Another loud bang and a jolt, and the doors buckled enough for someone skinny to crawl through at the base.

Faith’s mouth twisted up as she absorbed what he was telling her, but she didn’t say anything.

Bracing herself as best she could against the impact, she did make a small disgruntled sound at the doors not being as cooperative as she would have liked.  It took her a mere half a moment to notice the gap.

Where was Kinzie when Faith needed her?

“Is this gonna take much longer?”

...stupid question.  A better one: Where was Matt when they needed him?

“If you can get it open a little wider,” Faith mused, when neither of them miraculously appeared, “I might be able to slip through.”

[underangelswing]

What shape does your pain take? 

Glass Cage

You feel disconnected from the world around you. You can see everything, everyone can see you, but you're not really there. No one can really communicate with you, can they? You're isolated, even when you're around people you're alone.

You want desperately to be close to someone, but you're afraid of what will happen if you shatter your glass prison. You don't want to let someone in, you don't want to leave, and it's a constant battle of your own will.

It's easier to be alone, where no one can hurt you... Isn't it?

[snagged from @the-quantum-repairman; feel free to snag]

[underangelswing]

the-quantum-repairman​:

The pinched look on his face probably telegraphed the fact that he was thinking the same thing loud and clear. When the mech’s balance tipped backwards he moved for the controls once more.

‘Nearly there,’ he said with a forced brightness. ‘Perhaps they’ve reinforced ‘em since the last time someone tried it?’

Faith tried to pull herself out of his way.  As well as she could, anyway - the cramped cockpit didn’t make it easy.  She drew one hand back from the panel completely as she tried to twist a little sideways, and - with little place to really put it - slid her arm behind Thomas’ back.

“When’s the last time someone tried it?” she asked.  It might’ve a small spark of hope that maybe they weren’t the only resistance on the playing field.  “Who was it?”

[underangelswing]

the-quantum-repairman​:

It had been a long time since he’d had any real contact with another person. Thomas probably didn’t need to guide her hands, an explanation would likely be enough, but… it was nice. Gods, he was touch-starved.

‘Eh, I’d say when it comes to finite supplies of ammunition then aye, it is a waste,’ he said, bracing himself with his knee and his hip as the mech drove forward, dipping its ‘shoulder’ low just as they were about to hit the doors’ centre line.

There was a loud CLANG! on impact, a scream of tortured metal. The bottom third of the doors buckled inwards.

Thomas relinquished the controls and rubbed his ear. ‘Another one should do it.’

Faith still eyed him at the edge of her vision.  She jolted a little from the impact, but didn’t seem overall bothered by it.

“Eh, maybe you should be driving,” was all she said.

Nevertheless, she backed the mech up so as to follow his example, and gave the door another heavy slam.  Beyond the sensation of the doors yielding, they teetered - maybe Thomas should have been driving.

[underangelswing]

((snagged from: @the-quantum-repairman.  feel free to snag!))

[underangelswing]

(( sneaked from: @the-quantum-repairman.  feel free to snag the thing.  <3 ))

[underangelswing]

[Let me describe you in one adjective]

((snagged from @the-quantum-repairman; please feel free to snag!))

electric

you're alive, aren't you? maybe it only feels that way when you're making them laugh, or you're wanted in the last hours of the day, or you're singing together with them, but don't forget that that same electricity runs through your body when you're alone. and maybe the issue is that that energy has nowhere to go, nothing to ground it. it's not easy to be here, or to light your way through the darkness. but you can.

[underangelswing]

the-quantum-repairman​:

‘Don’t waste a roc–’ Thomas flinched at the explosion, despite being safe inside the mech’s armour and shields. ‘Ah, nevermind. Already wasted. You know this thing can make a powered charge forwards, right? Lemme show you…’ He tried to put his hands over hers on the controls, to demonstrate the mech’s melee capabilities.

“Is wanton destruction ever really a waste if it makes you feel better?” Faith asked.

Nevertheless, she didn’t try to stop him from... whatever it was he was trying to show her.  Merely turned her head far enough to raise an eyebrow at him in their cramped quarters.

[twistedsinews]

I'm not even sure who this would work for but ... how about ... 189. “You made us enemies. I never wanted this.”

Saints Row; Faith/Dex, Faith/Gat, Gat/Dex? the world may never know; PG-13

And that might’ve been true, but what were his alternatives?  Go down on a sinking ship?  Rat out Troy and take the risk that the next cop that came in to replace him was that much smarter?  Die in a standoff with SWAT trying to keep Johnny alive for five more minutes?

All he did was take a fucking job.  It was already over.  How was he supposed to know she was going to jump right into the thick of things?

And here they are again, in a standoff that can’t be negotiated because there is no negotiating this.  It’s not the fact he has a gun trained on her that’s kept her from shooting him dead, he knows damn well, because he knows her, knows that she has to make an artform out of murder.  To give it meaning. And the morbid part of him wonders what meaning, if any, she has in mind to I loved you, once.

Just pushing him off the roof or shooting him in the head won’t do.

Or maybe she’s hoping if she terrorizes him enough she’ll hear why he did what he did, or for him to find a reason that she can understand and forgive, but he sincerely doubts it and if so she’s going to be disappointed, because he’s done making up excuses for trying to live his life.

And before Dex can think of a goddamn word to say, Gat makes his appearance.  A flash of purple from the rooftop door, sauntering clear into view. Kai, Faith, whatever name she’s going by this week, she knows it, too.

If she truly wanted to kill him, then now would be the time.

But what might very well save his life today is that she’s more terrified of Johnny, like any right minded person would be, than she wants to see him dead.

“Fuck’s sake, ‘Stas,” Gat grumbles out loud.  Walking right up beside her, he snatches the gun from her hand.  “Give me that.”

He flips it up in the air, standing between them, and just like that, all her ire shifts to her right hand man.  To the fact that he won’t let her have her way and be done with it. To the man standing in the way of her revenge.

And if Dex were smart, he’d shoot them both.

“Dex, put the fuckin’ gun away before I gotta come over there an’ shove it up your ass, myself.”

But there are degrees to being smart.  It causes him to hesitate, but he ultimately complies.

In front of him, Faith shoves Johnny.  He can’t see it, but he sees how Gat slides back a step, and Dex has the perfect view of the roll of the muscles down his back as he shoves her right back.  Johnny catches her before she can fall on her ass, and throws her over his shoulder.

Déjà vu.

She looks pissed.  At him.  At Gat.  Maybe at the world.

Her problem, not his.

She gets swung sideways as Gat looks over his shoulder, looks like maybe he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it, instead trudging off the roof with the leader of the Saints slung over his shoulder and fighting him every step of the way.

Leaving Dex alone, with the city skyline and a past that haunts him no matter how much blood he could ever in his life wash it away with.

[underangelswing]

If money and logistics were no problem, what would your dream writing space look like/contain?

((Ahhh...

HMM.

So pretty much what I’ve ever needed to write is my laptop, a desk to set it on, and some quiet, private space.  Which, traditionally, has been my bedroom.  I don’t need like, a pinboard or anything to post up plot progression?  I wouldn’t make the best of it if I had that kind of setup... and I can’t really think of any tools I don’t already have...

But...

...ideally?  I would like a either a somewhat larger bedroom with better walls for shelving or a media room so I can move my gaming stuff out and have more space in my room to make into kinda a nest space for Good Relaxing Brain reasons, and hope it would spill over into writing more comfortably and therefore more easily, which would still likely be a thing to stay in my room.

And a picturesque view of trees or a garden from the window would be nice.  And posters, which I don’t really have a way to hang in this room due to sloping roof ceilings.  Maybe some cat furniture, for luring in moral support.))

[twistedsinews]

Tentative kisses given in the dark

Saints Row; Faith/Gat; PG-13

There are times he ends up wondering how much more of this life his body can actually take.

His glasses are broken; so's the Boss's arm, going by the the way she's holding it.  His ribs are only bruised, he thinks, or maybe cracked, but he's no doctor, what would he know?  He's always been better at taking bodies apart than putting them back together.

She's gone completely still beside him, only the warmth of her body and the soft flutter of her breath on his arm any indication at all that she's still alive.

But they've got cover and a moment to rest and regroup, so he sits up straight that he can ease his shirt off.  The abruptness of it startles her, and she squints at him in the dim light as he pushes her far enough off him for him to slide the bright purple cloth around her waist.

She settles right back against him, this time with her cheek right up against his jaw.

In the darkness, her hand finds his where it rests on his knee.  He twists his hand to squeeze her fingers, and she raises his bruised and split knuckles to brush against her lips.

Gat chuckles.

Beside him, the Boss grows still again.

But before long, she shifts against him, craning her neck just far enough that her mouth touches his shoulder.  Then the side of his neck.  Then his jaw.

And at least one of them should really, really be watching the door, but-... fuck it.

He presses his thumbnail under her chin, and tilting his head her direction, guides her straight to his mouth.  Cocky and arrogant, like they might still get out of this alive.

If she'd've asked, he'd give them good odds of it anyway.  But she won't and besides he's never been one to keep score like that.

Some small part of him hopes that she'll feel it, though, like he feels the flutter of her pulse under his thumb.  Like so much of them already bleeds into one another.

There's a scuff of footsteps in the hall.  Curling one arm over the back of the Boss's head, Johnny grabs for the handgun on the floor.  Even practically blind and in the dark, the door isn't that difficult of a target, and he doesn't need to see, only needs to hit.  Four or five consecutive shots - overkill, but he's not subtle - and there follows the satisfying, if muffled sound of a body hitting the floor.

As they both stand - with him leaning into her, just because it's easier - Gat tosses the her gun up for her to catch, and grabs his shotgun from where it leans against the wall.

[twistedsinews]

@fatvivienne

How I said “I love you.” 25. In a blissful sigh as you fall asleep

Saints Row; Faith/Gat; PG-13

Keep reading

[twistedsinews]

Hygge: The act of relaxing with loved ones and good friends, usually while enjoying food and drink; the word is associated with coziness [Any ship]

Saints Row; Faith/Gat/Aisha; PG-13

“Do you have to talk business when I’m trying to eat?”

Gat shoots Aisha a sidelong glance, and finds her having abandoned her plate with her face in her hands. Across the table from him, Faith flicks her gaze between them, fidgets in her seat, and shoves a forkful of pasta into her mouth.

“Guess you had to have been there,” she remarks, regarding the decor down the table.

“It was funny as hell, though,” Gat puts in.

For a handful of moments its quiet, other than the clink of the dining ware.  Johnny reaches over and touches her arm, just above the elbow that sits on the table, and Aisha raises her head just far enough to peer at him over her fingertips.

“This shit really make you queasy or it the principle of the thing?”

The look she grants him turns sour.  Breathing a deep, even sigh, she drops her hands and pulls her plate closer again to systematically progress through her last few bites.

He’s not that far behind her, and he finishes what’s left of his beer before leveling his gaze across the table.

“You done?”

“Ah huh,” Faith intones, sopping the last bit of flavor off her plate and tonguing it off her fingers.

Shaking his head, Gat claims her plate and the utensils on top of it, stacks it with his, and meanders over to the sink where Aisha’s left hers ahead of him.

“What’re we watchin’, anyway?” he asks Aisha, starting on the dishes while she’s handling the popcorn.

“It’s Stasia’s turn.”

“...it is?”

Twisting to glance behind him at Faith where she sits watching them over the back of her chair, Gat realizes with a sinking feeling that yes, it is her turn.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“I think you’ll like it,” Faith tells him.

“And let me guess, it’s got talking mice.”

“Not talking, no.”

“Sorry, singing mice.”

“Nope.”

“...it’s not the goddamn lion movie is it?  ‘Cause I am not sittin’ through that shit a second time.”

“Not everything I pick out is gonna be Disney.”

“Believe it when I fuckin’ see it.”

Once the dishes are done, he ends up on the couch anyway.  Aisha curls up under his arm, while Faith lays claim to the bowl of caramelized popcorn and, dragging her feet up onto the couch, reclines against his other side.  She hits play on the remote, already crunching away and sating her sugar fixation.

Johnny squints at the menu that pops up on the screen; the title in particular.

“So it is a fucking princess movie,” he grumbles.

“Not a Disney one, though.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s gonna make all the difference.”

“Give it a chance, will you?” Faith insists, hitting play again and dropping the remote on the floor where she can reach it.  “It’s got swordfights and torture and shit; I’m telling you, you’ll like it.”

Glancing down at her, Johnny opts to drape his arm over her shoulder, and slips his hand under the waistband of her jeans to rest flat against her hip.  When he looks again, she’s squinting up at him in quiet confusion, a bite of popcorn pressed to her lips.

It vanishes in a soft crunch, and Faith offers him the bowl, like that’s what he wants.  Aisha reaches across his lap to claim some popcorn of her own.

The opening credits start to roll, and Faith is still staring, so he pinches her.

“Watch your damn princess movie, ‘Stas.”

[twistedsinews]

Desvelado for whoever you like 💓

Desvelado: Being unable to sleep or to be sleep deprived

Saints Row; Faith/Johnny; PG-13

He hasn’t seen her in two days, and when he does find her she’s in the office, watching the club below over a bottle of liquor.  At first he thinks she might’ve been painting; her gloves are tucked into her back pocket and her white clothes are smudged with color, but then he notices there are healing scabs and bruises on her knuckles, which changes the narrative but affords him some small amount of pride.

She doesn’t notice him at first, not until he steps up beside her at the railing, and it’s only then, when she smiles at him – sluggish and more than a little drunk, not that he’s not glad to see it – that it clicks and he notices how worn down she is.

Her fingertips graze his face, and his mind stills.  Her hand slips over the back of his neck, and his arm finds its way around her waist.

And it’s nice, he’s not complaining.  But Johnny can’t get past that dullness in her eyes; the lethargy where there should be preternatural grace.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep, Boss?”

She pulls back far enough to squint at him, then pulls away altogether and takes a drink from the bottle. “I dunno.  What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“Three days?” she ventures, sounding uncertain.  “When’d I see you last?”

“Tuesday.”

She gives a little shrug. “Two days, I guess.”

It’s not the worst she’s ever gone, he’ll grant her that.

She offers him the bottle.

He takes it, takes a swig...

...and lets it slip from his hand, over the railing.

She makes a grab for it. Maybe too tired.  Maybe too drunk.  Far too late to catch it, in either case, and he gets a fistful of the back of her shirt, just to make sure she doesn’t tumble over after it.  Dropping one shoulder, she shoots him a sour look.

“Oops.”

“Oh, fuck you, Johnny.”

“Yeah,” he grins at her, “maybe later.  If you ask nicely.”

Gat tugs her back by the shirt, away from the railing.  She stumbles back, and he lets go to get a hold of her arm instead.  She gives a little huff of indignity, but lets him lead her back to the desk.  He kicks the chair back towards it, and sits down.

He tugs her over to gather her up onto his lap, and she doesn’t really resist, she just squirms.  And pouts. And sighs, with her face tucked up against his neck.  He kicks his feet up on the desk, and rubs his hands down her arms, and up her back.

She nuzzles his throat, and he smirks at nothing.

“Tired,” she finally admits, softly.

“Mhhm.”

In his arms, her breathing slows and deepens.  He sates his fidgety restlessness by trailing his fingers over her exposed skin and through her hair, and maybe that helps, maybe it doesn’t, like he’d know.  Her lips move against his thumb, but he’s pretty sure she’s out, and really?  Right now, that’s the important part.

[rp-memes-atyourservice]

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