Fluffy Promptables
Jun. 24th, 2014 12:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scribblemynameWe're prompting fluffy, lighthearted stuff of any variety, no canon/pairing/character information required, though permitted.
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Date: 2014-06-25 06:59 pm (UTC)"Sometimes, the person who's been there for everyone else needs someone to be there for them."
And:
"The greatest beauty is found in the hearts of those who love."
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Date: 2014-07-01 04:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-01 05:48 pm (UTC)Whisper for the singing?
I'm sorry. I'm not much help right now. Really, I'm useless.
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Date: 2014-07-01 05:51 pm (UTC)"Sometimes, the person who's been there for everyone else needs someone to be there for them."
My brain keeps saying, "Cate," and I keep telling said brain, "not Cate. Next."
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Date: 2014-07-01 06:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-01 06:17 pm (UTC)...
I've been hanging around lithiumlaughter too much.
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Date: 2014-07-01 06:26 pm (UTC)Storm or Meld.
Vred's just one of those characters that rarely gets acknowledgement of what he's done for others so he came to mind first.
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Date: 2014-07-01 08:22 pm (UTC)threefive. :grins::cracks knuckles: is a keyword for :goes to work: It's just really what
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Date: 2014-07-01 08:58 pm (UTC)Ah, yes.
I don't think I've ever cracked my knuckles...
3 Times Meld Was There for Someone Else and 1 Time Someone Else Was There for Him, Part 1
Date: 2014-07-02 04:20 pm (UTC)She woke up to retching emptiness. Her whole body stung with pins and needles type pain and shivered with trembling she could not stop. She was merely a child, a very young one, and she frowned, struggling through her pounding headache to make some sense of the world around her. Where was she? Who was she? What was her name? What was she doing here?
The walls were grey and dark. Dim sconces barely lit up the small room with its one door. Padded ties restrained her wrists and chafed.
She bent her hands and squirmed until she was free. She went to the door. The handle turned easily despite the feeling that this was a prison cell she’d woken in. Perhaps it wasn’t. There were children on the other side of the door in a wide bay of dark grey walls and high rafters and catwalks overhead. No windows, just stairs leading up into some other level.
She hesitated at the door, her hand still on the handle.
A small boy slid off the railing he’d perched on, shoved his hands in his pockets, and came over to her. They stared at each other for a long moment.
She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and let him draw her over to a small clump of children who were quiet. The cool air ached on her skin. Every part of her still hurt, but the longer she held onto him, the more the pain receded into a background hum she could ignore. That is what he gave her: quiet.
2. Justus
Meld watches quietly from the corners of team life as Justus figures out how to assimilate into it. Shift had been prudent to train him alone for the first three months, prudent to only let him meet Meld twice and no one else on the team, but it had was not helping Justus settle into his new team. It had exacerbated the culture shock.
The first time Meld had to do a major healing for Justus came soon on the heels of his second mission with them.
“Trust me,” Meld reminded gently as he always did, pressing his hand over the bloody leg wound and staring straight into Justus’ eyes.
Justus had difficulty with trust.
But he trusted this time; his mind resisted, then surrended in a single rush of breath, and Meld pushed more than life into his new teammate. He pushed in the threads of trust between the team members—the secrets Sear kept as she guarded her teammates’ back, the self-sacrifice Shift was always willing to make, the cool-headed protectiveness Kilter gave to every one of them, the Database’s inability to give up, Kismet’s unwavering support, Protector’s unspoken reliability and watchful guard. He gave Justus the good memories they had, the hopes they kept burning that one day, if they survived, they would be free, so they always survived.
Justus needed an anchor, and Meld had spent all of his life learning to be one. He poured himself into Justus, all the questions and promises and unflinching hope he held to. One day, they would be free.
But healing had never been a one-way street, and Justus poured into Meld in equal measure, like the flash of agony of wounds reopening and lancing through him: family, laughter, dreams, and the certain knowledge of what it was to grow up with goodness and normalcy, a sense of right and wrong that could protect without killing or drawing blood.
The leg was healed.
Meld pulled away, gasping, and didn’t let the Database catch him when he stumbled into the chair in the corner of the medical room. He closed his eyes against Justus’ shocked but knowing gaze and wept for the things he had never known.
3 Times Meld Was There for Someone Else and 1 Time Someone Else Was There for Him, Part 2
Date: 2014-07-02 04:20 pm (UTC)Meld had always been able to find them. He had no gift of telepathy or enhanced senses, he had no internal tracker to use to find his own, but somehow he could always find the members of his team.
He wondered sometimes if he had threaded the physical substance of his life into theirs so often that they had all become a part of each other in some way deeper than blood transfusions and emotional bonds.
He found Kilter on a park bench overlooking the water of a small lake near the heart of Bellyn. Kilter had led their team as second from the very beginning when they were only small children with powers they had never wanted.
“I love her,” Kilter said quietly, as if he too could sense the nearness of a teammate.
Meld nodded as he sat down beside him. It was a known quantity, the way Kilter could never extricate his heart from Shift. Meld had often watched Kilter study her fierce beauty and the violence in how she moved among the team with helpless desire and love. Kilter loved her. He had always hated that he did.
Meld could never regret loving his teammates. They did what they had to in order to stay alive, and Shift did what she had to in order to keep all of them alive. Whether she regretted that choice or not, every last team member owed her something for having made it.
“She was protecting you,” Meld said at last, breaking the tentative silence veiling deep hurts beneath.
Kilter inhaled shakily. “You knew,” he said. He looked at Meld with something like betrayal welling up in his eyes. “You knew I had a daughter.”
Meld had healed Shift so many times. He had no way of not knowing she had traded her right to a conscience for protection for her child.
He held out his hand, wordless offer.
Kilter jerked his head to one side, jaw tightening in anger. He took it. He clenched Meld’s hand and experienced flashes of Meld’s knowledge, of Shift’s choices, of the burden she had taken wholly on herself to spare Kilter from losing his own right to say no to their handlers.
“She told you now.”
Kilter pulled away, head crumpling into his hands onto his knees. He rocked forward, and if his breaths were too ragged, too wet, Meld would never tell.
+1 Sear
“What are you going by now?” Sear’s matter-of-fact alto rang through Meld’s tiny one-room apartment. “Josh, was it?”
Meld didn’t answer. His eyes felt crusted over and closed with weariness and pain, and even the idea of uncurling slightly on the bed made him wince. How long had it been since he’d healed Rachelle? He wasn’t sure. Time had moved hazily in passing bars of sunlight and he had gone from sprawled across the bed to curled up tightly some time ago. His legs were cramped and sore. His mouth was dry. There was nothing left but small trickles of life generating at an achingly slow pace until eventually, he might feel human once more.
A hand slid under his head and he heard himself mumbling in protest.
She was gentler than he had ever known Sear to be, barely lifting him up as she set something cool and wet to his mouth.
“Drink some water.” Her voice had softened.
He made himself crack open his eyes and regretted it as biting pain stabbed through his head from the light.
“Ssh now.” Sear hushed him gently. “Just be still.”
He swallowed down what water he could then let her lay him back. For once, he let someone else be the healer and breathed slowly, shallowly as he let himself obey her and be still.
Re: 3 Times Meld Was There for Someone Else and 1 Time Someone Else Was There for Him, Part 2
Date: 2014-07-02 07:21 pm (UTC)Is there something between Sear/Meld?
Also... the whole let's be still reminded me of a song and maybe you can use it: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/headandtheheart/letsbestill.html
Re: 3 Times Meld Was There for Someone Else and 1 Time Someone Else Was There for Him, Part 2
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From:Ficlet: Teammates
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From:no subject
Date: 2014-07-02 09:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-02 10:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-07-02 10:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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From:Fic: My Couch is Always Open, Part 1
Date: 2014-07-03 06:18 pm (UTC)He saw no surprise on any of their faces as they traipsed through three rooms large enough to hold all of them in a pinch, a kitchen comfortably sized for large family gatherings, and wide, solid furniture chosen with safehouse comfort in mind. Red Wolf laughed at him silently when he saw it, head shaking, shoulders with that slight tremble of amusement. Whisper simply smiled slightly to herself. Minder paused in the master suite, the only area he had clearly arranged for privacy, and looked at him with faint flickerings of concern.
“You’re still taking care of us, aren’t you?” she asked, arms sliding into a crossed position.
Rett leaned against the doorway, one hand reaching out to trail along the frame. “The couch is always open.”
She didn’t say anything else to that. She ducked under his arm and went out into the living room.
They would all end up taking him up on the offer over the years, even the ones he’d assumed wouldn’t—Wolf and Whisper, both of them so strong and reliant on each other, no one would ever guess they needed someone else.
Maker was the first. He simply never left.
After the Rebellion, the whole team had staked out his guest rooms until they could get their own places, which they did at an almost alarming rate, but Maker took a few weeks longer than the rest. Rett and Maker had been close from the beginning, but the normally open, lighthearted sniper was brooding. Even Rett wasn’t sure what was on his mind.
About a week after everyone else had cleared out, some to their birth families, some to new homes and fresh starts, Rett came home from another round at the new medical center and working out terms for which medical records he wanted ported from the old program. In the middle of the low-slung living room table, a dark folder rested in front of Maker on the couch. Maker’s head was in his hands and he didn’t look up at the sound of Rett’s entrance.
Rett dropped his keys in the bowl on the counter by the door and crossed the hallway into the living room to pluck the file from the table and slide it open. A few flips of the sheets; he closed it and looked at Maker patiently.
The clock on the mantle ticked into the stillness while the two men waited with the patience of snipers and strike operatives for something to give.
Maker took an uneven breath. “I have no idea who I am anymore.” He brought his head up and propped it on his fists, elbows on knees. “Whoever that kid could have been, he’s dead, I think.”
They were not a small thing, the words ‘I think.’
Rett heard what was behind them. He could read between the lines of this file on the table, the record of who Maker had been before he’d been taken and turned into a genetically modified human and outstanding military operative. He knew that behind the names and faces and lines scrawled about a family that Maker had no memory to make up the difference. The years had been unkind, widening the gap between who he was and who he could have been.
Rett handed him the file.
After a long moment of tense body and taut muscle, Maker exhaled and took it. “I’m not him,” he said, hefting the file then dropped it on the table.
Papers spilled in a loose sheaf, sliding messily across the glass surface. They stared up accusing instead of waiting for judgment.
“No, you’re not.” Rett held out his hand.
Maker clasped arms with him and stood to go back into the bedroom.
The next morning, he started looking for a place. Within three weeks, he had found one. In the fourth, he moved.
Fic: My Couch is Always Open, Part 2
Date: 2014-07-03 06:19 pm (UTC)Surge stormed back into his life the week after he landed his first job with an accounting firm. She curled up wordlessly on the couch while he left her mugs of warm chamomile, not hot, and a blanket tucked around her shoulders at night. She left her books on the table in the morning, and he knew she would return once more and pretend not to hear her cry.
Rett loved Surge dearly, but she had never been the kind of girl to want comfort. She laughed brightly, teased mercilessly, and hugged freely when she was happy. When she wasn’t, she needed the silent support her team offered.
Until… Well, until.
She wasn’t crying.
Rett left the tea on the table, then sat in his favorite chair off to one side with his own mug while he waited for her to sit up in her nest of blankets and studiously not look in his direction. Eventually, she did—slowly, as if she knew he was going to say something.
“What’d he do?” Rett asked, quiet but matter-of-fact.
Surge had been the one Rett and Maker shared. They both cared for her and laughed with her equally, and she loved them both. That she was here and hadn’t been near Maker at all was a fairly certain indication of who the problem was.
Surge huffed. “He didn’t do anything.”
“What’d he say then?” Rett moved the target easily, voice still lazy and comfortable.
She shook her head, choked down a laugh, and sipped her tea. “Nothing.” She shot him a pained smile.
It smacked him then, hard. “Ouch.” He hadn’t seen that coming, and he wondered if Maker had. “When did that happen?”
She sniffed delicately, all mock miffed. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Okay.” Rett set down his tea—hot—and obliged. “When did you fall in love with him?”
Surge’s hand made a fist in the blanket. She swirled gently the hand holding her tea. “I don’t know.” Her shoulders slumped. She looked utterly defeated.
Rett studied her for a long moment as mentally he put pieces together and considered both of his team members, all the times Maker and Surge had interacted, how inseparable they’d always been. “Well, get some sleep.” He stood and patted her cheek before leaving her. Her sigh followed him out of the room.
The next day, he ambushed Maker in his apartment, shoving his friend against the wall, ducking under the reflexive kick, and taking him in armhold. Oblivious or mistaken, Maker had somehow missed how Surge felt though Rett knew he felt the same way.
“She’s in love with you. Now do something about it and get her off my couch.”
Breathing heavily, Maker stared at him for a long time. If he were another member of the team, he might have cursed, but he’d cut out swearing years ago because Surge didn’t like it.
Three days later, Surge was off his couch.
Red Wolf floored him.
“You have a house,” Rett reminded him. “And a wife. And a baby.”
“And a job starting tomorrow,” Wolf almost growled. “Can’t sleep with the baby.”
Rett stared at him, then laughed so hard he surprised them both.
Fic: My Couch is Always Open, Part 3
Date: 2014-07-03 06:19 pm (UTC)Minder moved in for a few weeks when her birth siblings made it clear they didn’t actually want her. Rett had to pry the story out of her with an ungodly amount of chocolate and even then it only came out in pieces. He’d been there. He knew how bad it could be when your enemies were your own family and shared your blood.
Whisper came when Red Wolf gave her a week off from watching their five kids.
Ashen didn’t show up until years later when she finally went from in a relationship to engaged and needed someone to tell her whether she would steal another’s life force while she slept.
In between, there were break-ups, proposals, crises, births, laughter, love, and pain. His couch saw them all.
The night after the wedding of Shift and Kilter, two operatives from another team, Rett walked into his sprawling, comfortable house that he had bought large enough to hold his team or a family, he stared into the emptiness and wondered why it felt too spacious any more. His team members had married and started families. They came through in whirlwind visits, but there was a distinct change in that this was no longer the team safehouse, the communal home. It was just… his and too large for only one person.
He had tried relationships with normals and coworkers and friends. He still got offers from women at times, and he still turned them down. He saw his sister every once in a while, but that was a road that didn’t lead home any more. She had made what choices she had to in order to survive and he had made his. For the longest time, that meant he had a team and she was alone, but now as he looked around him, Rett wondered if he had left anything at all for himself.
He walked into the dark quiet of his living room and stopped, instincts coming alive with the sensation of being watched. He waited for a heartbeat’s pause, then flicked on the light. “Minder.”
“It’s Marcella, actually.” She had curled up in the corner of his couch, much like the previous time she’d come, but this time claiming her birth name and a brilliant smile over a mug of what had to be triple espresso Marcella-style.
He leaned on his arm over the light switch. “Good to see you too,” he said dryly, a clear indication she should elaborate on her purpose for invading his home in the middle of the night.
She drank deeply from her mug and straightened to walk over to him and lean against the wall beside his arm.
He raised his eyebrows.
“Good to see you,” she said cheekily. Her breath smelled like dark roast, super-concentrated coffee. Marcella never did anything by halves. She stared up at him, eyes sparkling, red hair glinting in the soft light.
“What are you doing here?” he asked more directly. Rett could do blunt as easily as she could do coy.
Marcella cocked her head and looked at him for a bit. He studied the few faint freckles on her nose, the Latinate tilt to her cheekbones and jaw, the way her eyes unfocused when she started thinking and second-guessing herself. What was she thinking for her to be second-guessing?
“As much as I’m enjoying the staring contest—”
She cut him off by standing on tiptoes and kissing him.
His brain froze for just a moment, then he kissed her back, lightly, cautiously, and pulled away. “What was that for?”
She huffed and stalked back to the couch where she finished off her coffee and set the mug on the table. “I’d think that’d be obvious.” Her voice sounded liquid and cracked a little at the edges. She never did do anything halfway.
Rett took a deep breath and looked around his house, waiting for somebody to fill it. He walked over to the couch, dropped down beside her, and asked. “Stay.”
She rolled her chin on her hand and looked at him, eyes narrowed slightly to read him. She nodded curtly, then tucked herself under his arm, and lay her head on his shoulder. “Yeah, Rett, I’ll stay.” Her fingers wound through his, and he held her for a very long time. #
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From:Ficlet: Blurring the Lines
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From:The Frequently Asked Questions for Brittany Rachelle Winslow, Part 1
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From:Fic: A Helping Hand
Date: 2014-07-02 07:08 pm (UTC)Three days, two countries, and too much work for just one person. Vred’s tracking sense was stretching him thin, the desperate fear of two more family members working through his blood.
He settled into an inn for one night and allowed himself a few hours’ respite before he travelled again. He was startled awake before the time he’d appointed for himself.
“Alik.” He sat up in the bed and pulled on the shirt he’d left by it.
Malina’s dark-eyed older brother barely spared him a glance, just continued his agitated assessment of the room. “Malina told me to come get you.”
Vred grimaced, knowing how that conversation had probably gone. He’s working too hard. He shouldn’t still have to do this now that we’re accepted. And perhaps their kind were slowly coming to be accepted in the Territories, but the islands were home to a large portion of the Revente clan and only so much training could be completed in a single year.
Alik held out a sheet of paper. “Names. Addresses. Let me help.”
There were so few Vred trusted. He sighed, leaning forward on his arms. “You’re tired too.”
“From babysitting a flu-ridden Enadar,” Alik pointed out. “Names.”
Vred hesitated only a moment longer before taking the paper and beginning to write.
Re: Fic: A Helping Hand
Date: 2014-07-02 07:43 pm (UTC)Ah, but I do love when Vred and Alik work together.
Re: Fic: A Helping Hand
Date: 2014-07-02 07:48 pm (UTC)I don't think you're just biased. It was just the perfect idea.
Re: Fic: A Helping Hand
Date: 2014-07-02 08:09 pm (UTC)It is a good idea. I just think I like them working together more than I probably should. (Like creating a whole AU for it, *sigh*)
Seven Days Fill: That's Beautiful
Date: 2014-07-10 06:12 pm (UTC)Lena popped her head up from behind the counter where she'd been stashing a few holds. "Is that Angelita over there or an imposter?"
Angelita laughed, her usual no-nonsense tone back with a vengeance. "Come on, you guys are like my grandparents already and you haven't even had years under your belt. You and Wesley have the something everyone always dreams about. He can't even remember you and still he wanders in her like a lovesick puppy and gets all shy and cute. Come on. That's lovely."
Lena raised her eyebrows. "I'm not sure about the way you describe it..."
Angelita plunked her elbows on the counter and gave Lena a frank expression. "You love each other, the real deal, and that's beautiful."
Re: Seven Days Fill: That's Beautiful
Date: 2014-07-10 08:03 pm (UTC)Re: Seven Days Fill: That's Beautiful
Date: 2014-07-10 08:07 pm (UTC)