Tuesday: Bonds
Sep. 7th, 2010 07:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
misslucyjane posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
comment_ficThere are all sorts of bonds: positive bonds like the bonds between family, friends and colleagues; negative bonds like slavery and co-dependence; and literal bonds like playing hostage and captor, nudge nudge. Your prompt should be anything that binds people together, holds people back, or keeps someone in place, whether emotional or physical.
A reminder of the rules:
Remember to follow the format for our lovely coders:
For a single fandom:
For multiple fandoms / crossovers:
Nothing here makes your toenails curl? Take a look at the archive of Lonely Prompts.
tag = bonds
A reminder of the rules:
- No more than three prompts per fandom
- No more than five prompts in a row
- If one or more of your prompts is filled, you can then prompt again
- No spoilers within prompts until a week after the airdate/release
- Warn for spoilers in bold and leave at least three spaces before the text
Remember to follow the format for our lovely coders:
For a single fandom:
Torchwood, Jack/Ianto, sometimes Ianto wants to make coffee in peace
True Blood, Sam + Bill, Sam wants to stop feeling Bill’s emotions, except when he doesn’t
For multiple fandoms / crossovers:
Iron Man/A.I, Tony/Gigolo Joe, getting his money’s worth
Nothing here makes your toenails curl? Take a look at the archive of Lonely Prompts.
tag = bonds
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:39 pm (UTC)Anytime...
Date: 2010-09-08 03:57 pm (UTC)He sat on the grass beside the stone path, his eyes closed, his sword placed unobtrusively at his side. People walked by him, the sunlight reflecting off of vibrant umbrellas and shining black hair. Women clung to their men, chattering away in Chinese. The main river flowed sluggishly in front of him, the ancient stone wall obstructing his view. Around him, the city thrummed, thousands of years old and still desperately holding on to more history than entire countries could claim.
Those people passing him by refused to spare him a glance. They ignored his closed eyes, the pale skin, the too-dark circles that gave him the appearance of a ghastly raccoon. Instead, they walked by and refused to leave their ecstatic bubble.
Minutes or hours passed, during which the man continued to sit silently, refusing to allow tears to fall, refusing to back down against the too-consuming grief that threatened him. His family, his clan, were gone. Despite being outcast, he had always believed that one day he could go back. Had always hoped that maybe, once it was over, he would even be welcomed. It no longer mattered. There was no one left to welcome him.
He started when he felt gentle fingers touch his temple, ghosting over his hair, and moving back again in a soft massage. For a moment, he almost let himself smile when he felt a body wedge itself next to him, imposing itself between himself and his sword. The sound of said sword being moved even farther away actually did cause him to smile.
"You'd think I was going to do something drastic."
The massage faltered briefly before resuming more firmly. "I did think that, Wufei. You know how it is for me."
"Why do you think I was in such a public place? I knew if I just waited a little longer..."
Another, deeper voice came from behind him. "...we'd come. Of course."
The body beside him wriggled until there was a head in his lap. "You even made it easy to find you. Sometimes it doesn't matter how bad you want it to end, buddy, you still don't want it to end."
"We're not ready to let you go, anyway. It isn't our time, yet."
Wufei was silent, feeling the presence of his friends around him. It didn't matter where they were, how long between talking. Any time one of them needed something, the others came running. Sometimes they didn't even have to call. All it took was Quatre feeling agony, Duo hearing something through his network, or Heero finding something suspicious in his hacking, and suddenly, there they were. All together.
Maybe he wanted it to end, wanted to feel the chill of his sword slicing through skin and muscle and body parts far more visceral, but Trowa was right... It wasn't their time.
Re: Anytime...
From:Re: Anytime...
From:no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:41 pm (UTC)No fic, but
Date: 2010-09-07 02:06 pm (UTC)no fic
From:no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:42 pm (UTC)Honor and Duty (G)
Date: 2010-09-07 02:12 pm (UTC)“Officially, I have to tell you not to give chase. It has been 48 hours and Starfleet considers Captian James T. Kirk to be Missing In Action,” Admiral Pike said sorrowfully. “They need you to let this go.” He was a decorate admiral, one of Starfleet’s most highly respected officers. He would not flinch at the stony glare that Nyota Uhura was giving him. He would not. Well, not much anyway.
“With all due respect, sir, our captain is missing, our first officer is in a coma, and Starfleet wants us to let. it. go.?” Uhura asked from between clenched teeth.
“As I said, officially that’s what I have to tell you.”
“And unofficially, sir?” the communications officer asked without inflection.
“Unofficially, don’t get caught, Lieutenant. I am issuing the stand-down order for the Enterprise, Starbase 6 is expecting you to dock for general maintenance in 3 days time. I’m afraid I can’t give you any more than that to play with. If you can’t get him back within that time, I can’t know where you are or what you’re doing.”
For the first time since the conversation started, Uhura’s stance relaxed slightly and her eyes softened. “We’ll bring him home, sir. Don’t worry.”
With a nod, the view screen went blank, and Uhura turned to Scotty. “Well, Commander Scott, since you’re now the one in charge of the ship, it’s your decision.”
The engineer shifted uncomfortably in his seat on the bridge. By unspoken agreement, no one sat in the captain’s chair. “Aye. It’s not really a decision now, is it? Mr. Chekov, start recalibrating the sensors to find the Bird of Prey’s signature. Mr. Sulu, set course for that damned ship’s last known coordinates. We’re bringing our captain home.”
Re: Honor and Duty (G)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:43 pm (UTC)FILLED: Bobby's Sons
Date: 2010-09-07 03:52 pm (UTC)So what if they don't call him Dad? That's not important. What is important is that the boys always come to him.
When Sam returned from Hell, Dean called Bobby first, crying his eyes out. And all three of them may have been crying when they reunited.
Dean and Lisa give him two grandchildren - Robert John and Samantha Mary. He spoils RJ and Samantha rotten, but no one cares.
He leaves everything he owns to Sam, Dean, and the grandchildren in his will when he dies. Sam and Dean are by Bobby's side when he dies after a battle with cancer. Sam inherits his book - and the house. Dean, Lisa, Ben, RJ, and Samantha end up moving in there.
Bobby Singer was happy during his last years alive because of his two boys and grandchildren.
Family isn't just blood, and the Winchesters and Bobby know that.
Re: FILLED: Bobby's Sons
From:Re: FILLED: Bobby's Sons
From:no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:44 pm (UTC)*untitled*
Date: 2010-09-08 01:09 am (UTC)Later, she’ll be able to think about it rationally, and she’ll laugh at herself a little, because she trusts him, trusts him implicitly, and it’s ridiculous to have been afraid. Really.
But that will be later. Right now, all she can think about is the duct tape around her wrists, the gun barrel resting against her temple, and the aura of violent menace emanating from the man whose iron grip is bruising her arm as he yanks her about like a rag doll.
Later, she will scold herself for overlooking what should have always been obvious – that the affable, unthreatening act Eliot could put on so easily for a con must naturally have a darker equivalent, just as far in the other direction from his true nature. Farther, even, because she knows at heart he’s a gentle man. Still, a man does not get the reputation Eliot Spencer has by just being grumpy and making empty threats. She should have known he could intimidate a room full of people if he chose. She should have realized he could be utterly terrifying, even to someone who should know better.
But that will be later. Right now, she has to fight not to whimper from the pain when she twists her ankle as he drags her behind him and shoves her toward the door. She must be silent, be good, because she doesn’t want to force him to follow through on his threats to hurt her. She has to trust him. She has to remember that she was dead if she stayed in that room one more minute, that his cold glare and hard words are not the real danger, but her rescue.
Later, he will hold her against him, and kiss her softly, and murmur apologies. When he thinks she is asleep, his fingers will lightly trace the bruises he left on her skin. She will know that gentle exploration is made out of guilt and regret, because that is the man she knows, the man he is. She won’t fear him then.
But that will be later. Right now, she can’t stop silent tears from running down her cheeks, from the pain and the panic as he hustles her ungently down the fire stairs and out of the building. He’s a silent, menacing presence at her back. She’s known dangerous men. She’s known killers. She knows one when she sees one. The gun barrel is hard and solid against the back of her skull, and she knows if he pulls the trigger the exit wound will mean a closed casket service.
Later, she will shake her head at herself for her terror. She will know that he would never shoot her. She will realize that the gun was never even loaded, just a prop. That it was all just an act. Just a very convincing act that saved her life from a con gone bad. She will understand that he had to keep it up until they were out of the building, clear of the cameras.
Later, he will cut the tape away from her wrists with exquisite care, will brush the tears from her cheeks with gentle hands. Later, he’ll undress her carefully and hold her loosely until she stops shaking. He’ll be more pliant than usual, he’ll let her take control, let her hold the reins, the power, fully in her own hands. He’ll let her do what she needs to reestablish equilibrium between them.
But that will be later. Right now, he all but hurls her through the fire door, and she staggers the few feet to the team’s van, and bites her own tongue against the urge to scream when he grabs her roughly from behind. He lifts her and tosses her into the back, and she tries to remember to roll with the impact, but then she doesn’t have to because Nate and Parker have caught her. Parker strokes her hair while she trembles, and the van peels out as soon as Eliot’s slammed the passenger door.
Later, she will lie, and tell him that of course she was never truly frightened. It was all an act. How could she be afraid of him? Later, he will smile, and pretend he believes her.
But that will be later. Right now, he climbs into the back of the van, shoulders Nate and Parker aside and cups her face in his hands, eyes wide and worried. “Sophie,” he whispers, “sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
Right now, she blinks away her tears and manages a tremulous smile, covering one of his hands with her own. “It’s alright, Eliot,” she tells him. “You saved me.”
Right now, she knows that’s all that really matters.
Re: *untitled*
From:Re: *untitled*
From:Re: *untitled*
From:Re: *untitled*
From:Re: *untitled*
From:Re: *untitled*
From:Re: *untitled*
From:Re: *untitled*
From:Re: *untitled*
From:Re: *untitled*
From:no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 05:37 pm (UTC)"Hey," Sirius murmured. Remus managed a weak smile.
"Hey back," he said, voice rough. The hard wood of the Shrieking Shack hurt his already aching spine. "Don't you have class?" Remus said with effort.
"You're kidding, right?" Sirius said quietly. "Please tell me you're kidding. Because... If you think I'd leave you here to go to class... You've been hit on the head once too many, mate." His eyes were dark and solemn. "I'm not going anywhere, Remus."
The morning sunlight poured through the broken windows of the Shack, washing everything in blinding white light. Remus had to concentrate on breathing. It was hard, when Sirius stared at him like that. "Are you up for something to eat?" Sirius asked finally, after a few awkward moments of silence. Remus' stomach clenched at the thought.
"Not just yet," he admitted. Sirius pushed himself up on his elbows and carefully leaned over Remus. He placed a feather-light kiss on Remus' forehead.
"I'll get you cleaned up then." It seemed ridiculous that Sirius should say that, when he was the one caked in mud and had a leaf sticking out of his hair. Remus closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of Sirius magicking a cloth, clean water, and a bowl. For some reason, Sirius had bound himself to Remus. Moreso than James or Peter, and Remus still couldn't fathom why.
Sirius settled on the floor beside him once more, and the sound of him wringing the cloth into a bowl echoed loudly in the intense silence of the Shack. The first touch of the soft cloth to his skin was too much. Sirius' breath hissed out lightly as a tear ran down Remus' cheek. "Are you all right, Moony?" Sirius asked anxiously.
"Why are you doing this?" Remus asked, blinking furiously against his traitorous tear glands.
"Moony, I can't-" Sirius cut himself off, looking agitated that he even had to answer. "I can't just leave you here."
"Aren't you scared?" Remus asked, his voice tight with restrained tears.
"Of the werewolf? Remus..." Sirius sighed in exasperation. He tossed the cloth into the both and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. "I'm not scared of the wolf, Remus. I'm scared that one day he'll hurt you so badly you'll never recover. That's what I'm scared of. That's why I have to be here. Every morning. I just need to see you're safe." When he glanced back at Remus, his eyes shone. "Now can we stop talking about this? You're going to make me cry. And that is going to leave a bad impression on the ladies."
"What ladies?" Remus latched onto the subject change with relief. Sirius smiled at him and pushed a hand roughly through Remus' hair.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:51 pm (UTC)"Wrongly accused." "Oh? Me too."
no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-14 05:07 am (UTC)James had always been content about being an only child. No siblings for his parents to dote on, worry about, or compare him to. He'd never considered the possibility of having a sibling ever in his life. Until the summer before his sixth year at Hogwarts.
James was used to receiving "calls" on the communication mirrors they shared from Sirius where he'd be angry, furious, hurt, and sometimes crying. This call was different. There was a finality in Sirius’s voice that plainly stated: I cannot take this anymore.
"James, I need to come over now. . . Is that possible?" Behind the "is" was a very obvious, "I need support now, please take me in. I need you to". James could read Sirius's pride through any words that exited his mouth and had never heard his friend sound so desperate and in need of support. There was a blasting, tearing sound behind Sirius and James saw the doorway and height of 12 Grimmauld Place as Sirius hurried out the front door. Sirius's face was dark with rage, hair mussed up, and what appeared to be tear tracks running down his cheeks.
"Yeah, mate. What happened?" James asked, concerned.
"I'll tell you when I see you soon." Sirius cut the conversation short as James began hearing Sirius's mother bellow angry, psychotic shrieks.
read the rest here (http://buftie.livejournal.com/3286.html) ()
no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:51 pm (UTC)“And so at night I still raise my eyes
to study the clear but mysterious skies--
that arch above us, as cold as stone.
Are you there, God? Are we alone?”
(Dean Koontz, The Book of Counted Sorrows)
no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 01:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 02:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 02:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 02:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 02:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 02:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 02:14 pm (UTC)