“I can give you something to ease the withdrawals, Smith.” Sips informs him, taking a seat behind his desk. “You’re one of the best Repo men I have now.” He smiles and swirls his drink. “If you need something…you only need to ask.”
Smith shakily sits down across from him. “You’d- you’d do that for me?” Once again he isn’t sure if he’s earned his place, with all that Sipsco has given him.
“Course I would.” Sips smirks darkly. “I take care of my own, Smith. It’s the least I can do.”
Smith was never one for the aimless chatter in the locker room after a shift, but now he doesn’t even startle like he’s snapped out of a daze when he’s addressed. He mumbles and seems half asleep during and after a shift. He used to be the one to drive them all back but soon Trott takes over that, and Smith doesn’t even seem to care.
Ross and Trott, kept awake at night by Smith’s later restlessness, start wondering what exactly’s going on behind the curtain at Sipsco. “Sips didn’t get to where he is with a heart of gold…”
(a chatfic collab with CookiesandKatanas)
CW/Tags: murder/death/knives/killing; abuse and manipulation; twisted morals; violence; drug use/addiction/drinking; arguing. dubious.
If we need to tag anything else, let us know.
Random ideas/headcanons that won’t get fics anytime soon. If anyone wants to add on/chime in/create something, feel free.
Prompt: we’re in a group research project together, and somehow we all ended up in a polyamorous relationship. Maybe it was fate, if fate deals in species of bread mold.
This was on my phone, last edited on Feb. 2, 2016. The science lab project is based on a true story- everything else is fabrication. My lab partners and I were not as fab/attractive/compatible as the Hats and Kim.
Smith can’t help but keep grinning, running his eyes along the panels of buttons and reminding himself of what they were all for. His first spaceflight, in the jets built to handle low atmospheric pressure and interplanetary warfare. His heart is thudding in his chest and his palms are sweating through his gloves. He knows Ross and Trott are watching from the sidelines, and wonders if they’re as nervous as he is.
“This is not fun, I take it back! I take it back!” Ross whined as he tried to stop his spinning in zero gravity.
“I’m going to fucking hurl.” His momentum propelled him closer to Trott, who tried to back away in panic.
“Don’t fucking puke on me, Ross. I’ll kill you.” Trott tried futilely to paddle away, to no use.
Smith was upside down, laughing so hard at his friend’s flailing that his sides hurt.
Smith, Ross, and Trott, newly recruited to the space division, experience zero gravity for the first time.
Rating: Teen (for language)
CW: mention of vomiting though it doesn’t actually happenIf I need to tag anything else, let me know.
Smith runs. His feet pound the pavement so hard it hurts, his chest tight as he forces himself up three flights of stairs to the apartment. By the time he reaches the door, he is so out of breath he can hardly get the key in the lock.
Smith gets his acceptance letter to the space division.
CW: cursing?If I need to tag anything else, let me know.
Ross is halfway inside the underbelly of a plane when he gets the phone call. He extracts himself and hooks his wrench in his belt, feeling his pocket vibrate. His grubby hands fumble his phone out of his overalls. “Trott, mate. What’s up?”
Trott’s voice is tired. “You need to come meet me down at medical.”
“Medical? Why, did something happen?” Ross rolls out from under the plane, heart thudding in his chest.
“Smith got in a fight again.”
CW: Minor Injuries, Fighting/Bullying, mentions of homophobia. Bruises, hurtcomfort If I need to tag anything else, let me know.