scribblemyname: (Default)

For origfic bingo:


Arc’s lying in bed, humming a lullaby to herself, before she stops and bites her lip. She glances across the room, but for once, her normally insomniac roommate is actually asleep, exhausted from over-training and getting thrown hard into the wall by another team member.


There’s always curiosity from Skylight, questions pooling in her eyes. Where did you hear that? Do you remember it? Do you remember?


Her mother used to sing her to sleep, and Arc still remembers her father tucking her in.


He betrayed her, let them bring her here.


She shakes her head and tries to forget.


scribblemyname: (Default)

For origfic bingo:


The sand got stuck between her fingers and toes. Skylight studied the way it looked, barely paler than her skin, and let herself feel the grit.


She remembered still the grit between her teeth, that got stuck in her eyes, when her braid came loose from how she’d wrapped it and whipped into her face when the desert winds blew fierce out on a harsher ocean of sand. She’d been a fighter than, if little more than a child.


She waded out from under memory and stood on the front of an ocean of water instead.


New memories. Better ones.


scribblemyname: (Default)

Ice Queen made it out injured, but it wasn’t injury keeping her awake.


On the other other side of the bedroom, Wolf breathed steadily, as though she slept, as though today weighed nothing.


Ice Queen rolled over and stared at the wall, into flames crackling beneath the cries of her mare, village burning because her raiders invaded and she couldn’t break cover.


She shuddered, scrambled abruptly out of bed, and crawled in beside Wolf, who blinked groggily but didn’t stop her.


It felt better to be held snugly, as though she were still innocent, unaware of what she could do.


scribblemyname: (Default)

“Would you do it differently? Any of it, knowing everything we do now.”


Arc turned her head slightly, still not quite looking at Ice Queen, fingers delicately not quite holding the jar of tea in her hand.


Ice Queen didn’t really look over either, didn’t break her staring contest with whatever new nightmares had lodged in her memories from today. They were still girls, children to an unwitting observer. They were weapons and there were so many things to regret.


“If the consequences were the same,” Ice Queen finally said, softly, the tip of her mouth tightening in disgust, “no.”


scribblemyname: (calligraphy)
I have this story I'm working on, called Collateral Damage, which is basically about Shift and the Database when the Database's ability finally is hitting terminal. And major spoiler: she's not going to die, and I've got to keep her alive. Oh, joy.

In the meantime, I think I'm going to write pretty much none of it from either of their perspectives because the whole point is the collateral damage rather than the primary damage.

Just a driveby writerly mulling note for the day.
scribblemyname: (k&t)
(but somehow my brain didn't get the memo)

En brief, I had a lot of issues with Tracing Trouble after I got the fic done enough to post for heroinebigbang and as the art never showed up despite promises, I'm about ready to yank the thing, which I'm not happy with anyway. Somehow working on this very late rare pair treat got me thinking and I apparently realized I needed to see Cate and Killinger meeting to get Tracing Trouble to come together correctly.

Thus, words. 1487 words and counting. Oops.

“Catherine April,” Killinger named her coolly.

The face of the Rebellion, the woman who had stood at the front of treaty negotiations to lock the Thorn Republic out of half of their own territory.

She flicked an eyebrow and corrected to, “Cate.”

Her gaze flickered over the entire office quickly with an efficiency familiar to Killinger from when she had once audited military installations and programs for the Thorn Republic.

Cate tilted her head slightly, the calculation becoming clear in her expression. “Ilsa Killinger, registered situational empath, founder of the Special Unit, approved by treaty law for law enforcement against special type humans, married. Correct?”

Killinger studied this young woman for a long moment. For all the impression of professional adult she gave, it struck her that Cate was likely not twenty years old. “Are you trying to intimidate me?” she asked, unruffled by the exchange.

Cate shrugged, indifference clear. “You are not a woman easily intimidated.” She settled into a chair and leaned back, expression shifting again, flickering to a matter-of-fact practicality that was decidedly less irritating. “I am joining your unit because our people did not reach our quota for remaining in the business,” she said bluntly. “You were expecting a volunteer, but we have none available willing to do the dirty work you’re going to need. I know the law inside and out.” Having been instrumentally in drafting and negotiating it, that was doubtless true. “It will be easier for both of us if you know where we stand.”
scribblemyname: (fiction)

there's a fire burning in my bonesI bleed when I fall downit's gonna be forever
waiting on the love of my liferest your fragile bonesmiles and miles in my bare feet
bandaids won't fix bullet holesall we need is just to beI can read you like a magazine


all we need is just to be
(drabble)


They stumbled in together— No, they would have stumbled had they not had each other. The Database had thrown Meld’s arm over her shoulders; he let her lean on him just so. They walked together in from the dirtiest, bloodiest fistfight they’d had to extract their target out of in a long time.

Target delivered, they sat down beside each other in the waiting area for the medical bay assigned to their team. They didn’t say anything. They weren’t impatient at the wait for others more urgently wounded.

His shoulder bumped into hers. Their contentment bled together through the touch.


rest your fragile bones

Those who remembered—Whisper remembered, voices over her sleepy in the bed, fighting—they had something solid under the haziness of memory, the ruins of who they could have been, fragile bones beneath the packed dirt of the cities they had become.

Whisper stirred on the familiar couch, older than she was; it had been her fathers before she’d been taken by the military. She studied her father’s worn visage in the firelight, hand never leaving her husband’s unconscious form.

“Do you remember,” she asked softly, as though he were another operative, as if he knew what she meant, “before?”

Her father exhaled the weight of all the years they had been apart. She could feel the heaviness in her bones.

She remembered the whispered voices of her family, remembered it was not the military that taught her to tread softly and to be quiet and still until danger passed.

“Sometimes it’s better not to,” he answered, as though he too remembered.

Whisper could not say he was wrong.


I bleed when I fall down

This is the girl they call Shift. She’s eight years old on a retrieval mission, learning to break into secure facilities, and a guarding hostile puts a bullet in her stomach.

She’s bleeding and she goes down, choking on the blood, knife leaving her hand and finding its mark.

She doesn’t die. She’s too angry to die that they shot her, that they’re after the rest of her team, and she’s yanking together her molecules and holding them tightly, willing them to hold in the blood as she struggles to clamber to her feet.

Her leader holds her down, holds her wound. “Stay down, Shift. Don’t you die on me,” Watcher whispers fiercely in Shift’s ear.

This is the woman they call Shift. She’s eight years old and she’s bleeding out, but she isn’t hurt, she isn’t dying. She’s too angry to die.
scribblemyname: (Default)


lest we ever forgetlife is like a tangled dreamwe'll take this way too far
counting up the lines on the highwaygo tell the world that I'm still alivesing me anything you want
scale the walls around my heartlet me hold your handeven in the darkest night



we'll take this way too far



They are not children. Shift never bothers to explain this, never points out to their targets that they were brought down by adolescents and younger. She just digs in the knife, cuts the wires, and washes the blood off her hands before keeping vigil by the beds of her own.

She loves these men and women in their child bodies, loves them because they're hers, and she'll protect them with everything she is: all her fierceness, all her strength. She cradles them in her arms and whispers truths into their ears to block out the nightmares.

This wasn't our choice. We'll make it out. It wasn't your fault. You're alive.

They look at her with ancient eyes. They are not children, but their hands are clean of blood. She washed them herself.


go tell the world that I'm still alive



They all think that Mirage is dead. She slips out of silence and failure to communicate to drop beside her brother at his campfire. He is not surprised, and she has never expected less of him. She would have been disappointed had he not known she would come.

"Kalien," he rumbles softly in a man's voice.

The last time she heard him speak, he was a boy, scrawny but strong and protective. He wrapped himself around her when she could not protect herself.

She places her palms on her knees and kneels before the fire, a promise to keep her abilities to herself and away from causing him harm. "Kiernan," she says, respect in her tone because he is the one person left she has any for.

His name was Rett and her name was Anna to the man who abused them so badly. His name is Storm and her name is Mirage to the ones who know them now. But between each other, they have always gone by the names their mother gave them.

He stares at her with dark eyes, unreadable. She would think less of him if she saw unmitigated affection. He leans forward, breathes, "Sister."

She waits a moment, a beat of a heart, a crackle of flame. "Brother," she answers with a warmth in her voice she will only ever save for him.


scale the walls around my heart



Rachelle reads each entry as Justus casts them aside, paper forays into the Word of a God he wishes he could stop believing in.

Justus was raised unlike Rachelle. He was raised to right and wrong, good and bad, and he still has a conscience that bruises him for all the things he's done.

She reads this journal he is writing to his God about every word of this Book he is reading again, every argument in which she recognizes Shift's dark resignation, every scattering of Justus' own stubborn hope. And there she finds the description of a virtuous wife and stops cold when she sees what Justus thinks of her.

Rachelle is not virtuous by her own understanding. She is not a good woman in the eyes of this world that has treated her harshly and been treated harshly in return. She is not a good daughter, not a good anything but perhaps a sister, and here Justus writes that she will do him good and not evil all the days of her life, that she is the blessing he has received from all that has happened.

She doesn't know what to make of it, and she is no romantic, but when she sinks down onto the bed beside him that night, she brushes gentle fingers over his sleeping face and feels a flare of something soft and protective and wholly unlike the fierce, harsh way she has guarded him before. She wonders if this is what others call in love.
scribblemyname: (raining story and song)

  1. Drabble: It Takes Three (Take the Lead, Sasha/Danjou/Ramos): LJ


  2. Drabble: Everything at All (The Neverending Story, Bastian): LJ


  3. Drabble: Universally Acknowledged (Take the Lead, Sasha/Danjou/Ramos): LJ


  4. Drabble: Unrepentant (Kingdoms and Thorn, Whisper/Red Wolf): DW


  5. Drabble: Tangled (616, Rogue/Gambit): DW


  6. Drabble: In the Rain (Seven Days, Lena/Wesley): DW


  7. Drabble: Comfort Food (Original): DW


  8. Drabble: A Violent Grace (MCU, Natasha): DW


  9. Drabble: In the End (Kingdoms and Thorn, Justus/Rachelle): DW


  10. Drabble: Don't You Trust Me (Andromeda, Harper + Beka + Rommie): DW


  11. Drabble: This is How You Hear Your Name (Kingdoms and Thorn, Sunshine + Red Wolf/Whisper): DW

scribblemyname: (k&t)
A/N: Written for the au apocalypse square on my Trope Bingo Card.

Summary: No one should walk through Dreamer's dreams. Two in this what if world might make it real.




Read more... )
scribblemyname: (abyss: rogue)
Warnings: The usual for the 'verse - child abuse and exploitation, underage, violence and references to violence.

A/N: Written for the "secret child" square for my Trope Bingo card. Not quite as storyish as I was hoping and far more fanficcish, but ah well, it exists.

Summary: When she woke up nauseous and sick and went to fight and train anyway, when she stumbled off the mats to find a private corner with a trash can to lose all the food she hadn't eaten, when her body ached in strange places and she couldn't find a comfortable way to sleep—she hadn't known any better. She hadn't known she was pregnant, so she didn't tell Kilter.

Shift knew now. She still didn't tell him.




Read more... )
scribblemyname: (gun to head)

Published, Canonical


  • Dowse and Bleed (Rachelle + Special Unit): Website [landing page, not full story]

  • Songs from the Dust: poems: Website [landing page, not full story]

Poetry List )





Unpublished

Subject to editing/revision on publication. Most pieces were written to prompts originally on LJ, so crossposted version may already have edits/revisions. Some pieces are expansions/remixes of other pieces. Shift's daughter went through several names before it settled on Elisabeth.

Excluding pieces in the end I disliked. Not everything stands alone. Drabbles may be doubled on occasion. Not in chronological order. I arranged in an approximation of order written.

Team Operatives

Ficlist )

Spanning Before and After the Thorn Rebellion or During It

Ficlist )

Post-Thorn Rebellion

Ficlist )

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