Ficbits
These are some prompts that I filled from the Brad/anyone fest held a few months ago on generation_kill, plus a tidbit I wrote which is part of a massive HDM Fusion I have in mind. Yes, I'm so original, I know.
For this prompt:
A World of Possibilities (Brad/Eames)
Brad doesn't really know what's going on, not usually his normal state of being. When he had volunteered for the test run of a new virtual
reality marine training program, he hadn't expected this.
‘This’ being a man in a pinstriped suit, grinning and flicking a poker chip at him while discussing some finer points of the mission in an accent that dripped honey.
The man's stuck a needle in his arm now, Brad would say an IV but it's attached to something he's never seen before, a piece of equipment pulsating and glowing with strange light. Brad's trying to figure out how new this technology is when he finds himself
suddenly... not in the chair.
But not somewhere unknown. The familiar stench of sweat and dust clogs his nose, and he feels moisture running down his face in salty rivulets, sunlight beating down on his back. And somehow, he’s in a MOPP suit in the middle of the desert, crouching in the sand and squinting into the bright glare. The man is gone, and instead there’s another marine squatting next to him, aiming over the crest of a sand dune at a couple of dark splotches far off intothe distance.
He doesn’t think; instinct takes over. Sighting the targets is child’s play, and he takes them out with two shots. A quick spray of blood, and they’re down. The unknown marine looks over athim, grinning.
“We’ll have to get you something more challenging, eh darling?” And something’s wrong, because he recognizesthat accent, having heard it less than a minute ago. But that’s impossible, really, because the marine doesn’t have the slicked back hair or full lips of the poker chip man. Except Brad turns to him, and there he is, full white smile and glinting eyes. He knows something, the punchline of a joke Brad’s never heard.
And then the sun blacks out, but the moonlight takes over and Brad can see men in the trees and it’s a nightmare all over again. He turns to the inside of the humvee, except Ray isn’t there, and he catches a glimpse of a flat spinning oblong before he’s left all alone, surrounded by the roar of fire.
There isn’t a lot he can do, Brad knows this. He’s fighting for his life, and he can sight out a few and pick them off, but he knows there’s going to be a bullet with his name on it somewhere in the chaos.
The world still comes to a standstill when it rips through his chest, and then he’s falling, falling, falling…
And sitting up, breathing hard, coughing up blood that isn’t there. He doesn’t really know what happened, but he does know that the man is still there, right in front of him, still smiling like he’s got a secret that could end Brad, and he’s so angry because he had known that it was all over, but then suddenly it wasn’t, and it has something to do with this man.
He’s lunging out of the chair and slamming the man against the wall before he even registers his muscles working, but he won’t apologize, and glares hard at the man whose eyes are still laughing.
“Explain. What did you do?”
A chuckle, and a hand pats the front of his shirt, rubbing smoothly. “Nownow, dear, don’t get yourself all worked up. My, you’re worse than
Arthur, aren’t you?”
Brad backs off, if only so the hand on his chest stops moving, because it had started going in a circular motion and it was making him...uncomfortable. He doesn’t say anything; doesn’t have to really, because as Ray’s said many times, his glares scare the ever-loving shit out of all human beings.
The man’s face softens a bit, the edges of his smirk dimming down so only the corners of his lips are upturned. “I can see how this might be a bit of a shock, even for someone like you.” He steps closer to Brad, revealing the bright color of his eyes, and starts explaining about dream traveling, and forging, and inception. It all sounds pretty trippy, and Brad vaguely
thinks he should have forced Ray to come along, because he would get off on this shit.
The other parts of his brain are concentrated onhow pink the man’s lips are, and he tries to stop this line of thought because it can’t be conducive to his current situation, but it doesn’t really help.
He can see the man must have noticed something off, because the smirk is back, accompanied by high color lining his cheekbones. “I know I’m distracting, love, but you must really learn to concentrate better”, pats his forearm and doesn’t let go.
Brad almost snarls, because his concentration is fucking awesome, thank you very much, but gets off track when the man runs his hand up
to Brad’s shoulder, stroking along the line of his collar bone, and resting his other hand lightly on Brad’s hip. It’s really hard to not shudder at the feel of the soft contact, and Brad’s so busy focusing on this difficulty that he doesn’t even notice when the man noses along his neck until stubble scratches his chin.
He gives in to the urge to shudder, and clasps the man’s hand so it stays on his hip, stretching his neck to give the man wordless permission. Brad’s not really sure what’s happening now either, except the man smells delicious, and he’s not even cowed by Brad’s most evil stares, and he’s doing something with his tongue that feels amazing .Brad’s just about to stop thinking and go along with his temporary madness when the door behind him slams open.
There’sanother unknown man standing in the doorway, dressed in a nondescript vest and dark colored pants, scowling at them both. “Eames, how many times do I have to tell you? No fraternizing with the clients!”
The man-Eames-steps back from Brad, squeezing his hip gently before lettinggo, and grins at the other man. “But he’s so delectable, don’t you agree? Length is important, and his stature-” he breaks off to leer at Brad, indicating that he’s clearly not talking about his height, “-is
simply marvelous”.
The other man simultaneously glares hard, and turns red. This seems to send Eames into fits of joy.
“Why, Arthur, are you blushing? I had no idea how virginal you were. Well actually,” he puts a hand to his cheek in mock concentration, “I did
have some idea. I’m so sorry for offending your delicate sensibilities.”
Arthur blushes even more furiously, before straightening himself stiffly. “I refuse to let you bait me. Now, if you don’t come out in five minutes, I’ll…tell Dom!” With this, he stalks out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a loud snap.
Eames looks up at Brad, smile still fixed firmly in place. “I’m sorry about him; he’s just too repressed for his own good. We’d better finish up, though there may be a time later on that we could continue..?”
Brad hears the hesitance in voice, his lips quirking up. What the hell; if he’s going to have his conscience broken into, he might as well have some fun.
For this prompt:
Brad is pretty sure there are more painful ways to go than by burning at the stake, but he sure as hell isn't interested in testing that theory
at the moment. Or ever. So it's probably imperative to cut Ray off now, before the angry man sitting on the throne decides to exact punishment.
"-but seriously homes, Brad here will fuck your shit up. I mean, he doesn't have a sword which, bummer because then he could be properly outfitted for his warrior ways, but just hand him anything that's pointy and sharp and I can guarantee results. So yeah, we may have to work on that chivalry bullshit but otherwise I'd say he's your best bet for being initiated into your creepy cult of men in tin cans. In fact-"
He isn't able to complete this sentence before Brad actually claps a hand over his mouth and attempts to hide his skinny hick body behind his own considerable height.
Fortunately the angry man seems merely nonplussed by Ray's stream of thought, rather than offended, but Brad's sure once he catches up they will be in deep shit.
Nate chooses this time to burst through the doors to the throne room, followed closely by a dark-haired boy who seems to be tripping every other step. Nate takes one look at them, Brad restraining Ray who is currently trying to climb his shoulder or something, and turns on Angry Throne Man, plastering on his most harmless expression.
Nate starts addressing the man-a king, Brad realizes when Nate uses the phrase 'KingUther' at one point (and really, how the hell did Nate even know that?)-but Brad doesn't catch much else as he's more focussed on how Ray is simultaneously trying to lick his hand and vault over his back. Brad manages to subdue him with an elbow jab before going back to stare at the king. There's a tall blond haired man standing next to the throne who's looking at Brad with a rather glazed expression. Naturally, with all the instincts of a gossipy southern housewife, Ray spots him and remarks none too quietly how "Brad is so fucking awesome he can use his Nordic sex god powers to seduce the enemy" until Brad is forced to kick him in the shins a couple of times.
He's pretty sure that his day started off normal, and then Ray had to go and break some stupid looking amulet and faster than Ray talked on ripped fuel they had been stranded in the middle of some great hall, staring at a bunch of very startled men dressed as though they belonged in one of those gay ass medieval fairs.
And in typical fashion, Ray had opened his mouth and things had gone to hell. Of course, now that Nate was talking he was merely standing off to the side as innocent as could be, observing the men and leering at the some of the women with low cut dresses.
So naturally, this was when Walt dropped put of nowhere, covered in some shiny substance which, when combined with his wide eyed expression of shock, made him look like he had just stepped out of a Disney movie.
Ray grinned his lunatic I-should-be-put-away-for-the-good-of-the-world smile and cackled. "Walt, homes, where you been at? And why are you covered in glitter? Man, that stuff is a bitch to get off."
Brad tried to avoid wondering how Ray Person had come by such intimate knowledge of glitter.
For this prompt:
Brad/Nate
It wasn't about Nate. Except maybe it always was.
---
The stupid thing shouldn't have even worked, really. There had been massive problems with the server, and the profiles, and hacking into other houses had been risky at best. He didn't know-
That's a lie, he did know. He was angry, and hurt, and just drunk enough to let himself push off the edge of the knife and damn the consequences. Ray had confronted him with a serious face, and that in itself was so inherently wrong that Brad had turned his back on him, on the world, and let himself figure out ways to get back at her.
He can't even imagine how he looked, hunched at his desk like an overgrown crow, eyes glued to the screen. He remembers hearing Ray and Walt conversing in the background at some points, in frantic whispers. Ray was actually using his indoor voice.
And then Nate had come in, dashing as always in pressed clothes that should have identified him as a pretentious douche bag but only enhanced his air of authority.
That was where it began, really. Not in some sweaty bar, her face cringing in an apology he didn't want, and not alone in his dorm room with only the endless digital world stretched out in front of him. It started with Nate's cautious smile, his hand clasping Brad's shoulder, his eyes soft and bottle green, reflecting the low lights.
It began when Nate said yes, I'll do it, the unspoken for you hanging in the space between them.
---
Now, they're sitting on both sides of an invisible barrier created by a long oaken conference table and frowning people in black suits. Now, Nate's eyes are hard, and Brad can hear because of you, and you did this, and I don't know you.
That's okay; he'll take these accusations because at least he still has one last connection between them, one last thread pulling them together.
Brad doesn't know what will happen when Nate turns around and walks away, taking his silence with him.
For the HDM Fusion that will probably never be finished:
Brad/Nate
There are rumors about Nate’s daemons, but they are just that: rumors.
Ray likes to tell new recruits that “the LT, he’s such a badass motherfucker see, he killed a man once.” And the recruit will scoff, like they haven’t all ‘killed a man’ once, twice, a hundred times.
“Well yeah,” Ray will say, the mockingbird on his shoulder chirruping innocently, “but right before he was dead and gone Fick took his daemon. And it’s been with him ever since.”
The recruit will laugh sharply, disbelieving, and retreat. The next time he sees the LT, he doesn’t make eye contact, and the recruit will curl a hand around his daemon without quite knowing why.
Even speaking the word aloud causes heads to turn. ‘Daemons’. A plural that was never meant to be applied to one being, put in context to a man as unassuming in manner as they come.
There’s another story Ray tells, when his hands are stained with dirt and his bird is pushing her beak against the calloused curve of his neck. It starts with Fick’s heart being broken in two, continues with his soul splitting, and ends with two daemons. Not many people hear that story. Brad knows it, and Walt, and Reporter caught the end once, but the first one is the company’s urban legend.
Neither of them are true, but the second one is closer to the mark then even Ray knows.
---
Yes, so that all happened. If anyone actually reads this, I am working on the GK/Austen Megamix, and I should be posting some cleaned up and added bits soon. I promise!
For this prompt:
A World of Possibilities (Brad/Eames)
Brad doesn't really know what's going on, not usually his normal state of being. When he had volunteered for the test run of a new virtual
reality marine training program, he hadn't expected this.
‘This’ being a man in a pinstriped suit, grinning and flicking a poker chip at him while discussing some finer points of the mission in an accent that dripped honey.
The man's stuck a needle in his arm now, Brad would say an IV but it's attached to something he's never seen before, a piece of equipment pulsating and glowing with strange light. Brad's trying to figure out how new this technology is when he finds himself
suddenly... not in the chair.
But not somewhere unknown. The familiar stench of sweat and dust clogs his nose, and he feels moisture running down his face in salty rivulets, sunlight beating down on his back. And somehow, he’s in a MOPP suit in the middle of the desert, crouching in the sand and squinting into the bright glare. The man is gone, and instead there’s another marine squatting next to him, aiming over the crest of a sand dune at a couple of dark splotches far off intothe distance.
He doesn’t think; instinct takes over. Sighting the targets is child’s play, and he takes them out with two shots. A quick spray of blood, and they’re down. The unknown marine looks over athim, grinning.
“We’ll have to get you something more challenging, eh darling?” And something’s wrong, because he recognizesthat accent, having heard it less than a minute ago. But that’s impossible, really, because the marine doesn’t have the slicked back hair or full lips of the poker chip man. Except Brad turns to him, and there he is, full white smile and glinting eyes. He knows something, the punchline of a joke Brad’s never heard.
And then the sun blacks out, but the moonlight takes over and Brad can see men in the trees and it’s a nightmare all over again. He turns to the inside of the humvee, except Ray isn’t there, and he catches a glimpse of a flat spinning oblong before he’s left all alone, surrounded by the roar of fire.
There isn’t a lot he can do, Brad knows this. He’s fighting for his life, and he can sight out a few and pick them off, but he knows there’s going to be a bullet with his name on it somewhere in the chaos.
The world still comes to a standstill when it rips through his chest, and then he’s falling, falling, falling…
And sitting up, breathing hard, coughing up blood that isn’t there. He doesn’t really know what happened, but he does know that the man is still there, right in front of him, still smiling like he’s got a secret that could end Brad, and he’s so angry because he had known that it was all over, but then suddenly it wasn’t, and it has something to do with this man.
He’s lunging out of the chair and slamming the man against the wall before he even registers his muscles working, but he won’t apologize, and glares hard at the man whose eyes are still laughing.
“Explain. What did you do?”
A chuckle, and a hand pats the front of his shirt, rubbing smoothly. “Nownow, dear, don’t get yourself all worked up. My, you’re worse than
Arthur, aren’t you?”
Brad backs off, if only so the hand on his chest stops moving, because it had started going in a circular motion and it was making him...uncomfortable. He doesn’t say anything; doesn’t have to really, because as Ray’s said many times, his glares scare the ever-loving shit out of all human beings.
The man’s face softens a bit, the edges of his smirk dimming down so only the corners of his lips are upturned. “I can see how this might be a bit of a shock, even for someone like you.” He steps closer to Brad, revealing the bright color of his eyes, and starts explaining about dream traveling, and forging, and inception. It all sounds pretty trippy, and Brad vaguely
thinks he should have forced Ray to come along, because he would get off on this shit.
The other parts of his brain are concentrated onhow pink the man’s lips are, and he tries to stop this line of thought because it can’t be conducive to his current situation, but it doesn’t really help.
He can see the man must have noticed something off, because the smirk is back, accompanied by high color lining his cheekbones. “I know I’m distracting, love, but you must really learn to concentrate better”, pats his forearm and doesn’t let go.
Brad almost snarls, because his concentration is fucking awesome, thank you very much, but gets off track when the man runs his hand up
to Brad’s shoulder, stroking along the line of his collar bone, and resting his other hand lightly on Brad’s hip. It’s really hard to not shudder at the feel of the soft contact, and Brad’s so busy focusing on this difficulty that he doesn’t even notice when the man noses along his neck until stubble scratches his chin.
He gives in to the urge to shudder, and clasps the man’s hand so it stays on his hip, stretching his neck to give the man wordless permission. Brad’s not really sure what’s happening now either, except the man smells delicious, and he’s not even cowed by Brad’s most evil stares, and he’s doing something with his tongue that feels amazing .Brad’s just about to stop thinking and go along with his temporary madness when the door behind him slams open.
There’sanother unknown man standing in the doorway, dressed in a nondescript vest and dark colored pants, scowling at them both. “Eames, how many times do I have to tell you? No fraternizing with the clients!”
The man-Eames-steps back from Brad, squeezing his hip gently before lettinggo, and grins at the other man. “But he’s so delectable, don’t you agree? Length is important, and his stature-” he breaks off to leer at Brad, indicating that he’s clearly not talking about his height, “-is
simply marvelous”.
The other man simultaneously glares hard, and turns red. This seems to send Eames into fits of joy.
“Why, Arthur, are you blushing? I had no idea how virginal you were. Well actually,” he puts a hand to his cheek in mock concentration, “I did
have some idea. I’m so sorry for offending your delicate sensibilities.”
Arthur blushes even more furiously, before straightening himself stiffly. “I refuse to let you bait me. Now, if you don’t come out in five minutes, I’ll…tell Dom!” With this, he stalks out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a loud snap.
Eames looks up at Brad, smile still fixed firmly in place. “I’m sorry about him; he’s just too repressed for his own good. We’d better finish up, though there may be a time later on that we could continue..?”
Brad hears the hesitance in voice, his lips quirking up. What the hell; if he’s going to have his conscience broken into, he might as well have some fun.
For this prompt:
Brad is pretty sure there are more painful ways to go than by burning at the stake, but he sure as hell isn't interested in testing that theory
at the moment. Or ever. So it's probably imperative to cut Ray off now, before the angry man sitting on the throne decides to exact punishment.
"-but seriously homes, Brad here will fuck your shit up. I mean, he doesn't have a sword which, bummer because then he could be properly outfitted for his warrior ways, but just hand him anything that's pointy and sharp and I can guarantee results. So yeah, we may have to work on that chivalry bullshit but otherwise I'd say he's your best bet for being initiated into your creepy cult of men in tin cans. In fact-"
He isn't able to complete this sentence before Brad actually claps a hand over his mouth and attempts to hide his skinny hick body behind his own considerable height.
Fortunately the angry man seems merely nonplussed by Ray's stream of thought, rather than offended, but Brad's sure once he catches up they will be in deep shit.
Nate chooses this time to burst through the doors to the throne room, followed closely by a dark-haired boy who seems to be tripping every other step. Nate takes one look at them, Brad restraining Ray who is currently trying to climb his shoulder or something, and turns on Angry Throne Man, plastering on his most harmless expression.
Nate starts addressing the man-a king, Brad realizes when Nate uses the phrase 'KingUther' at one point (and really, how the hell did Nate even know that?)-but Brad doesn't catch much else as he's more focussed on how Ray is simultaneously trying to lick his hand and vault over his back. Brad manages to subdue him with an elbow jab before going back to stare at the king. There's a tall blond haired man standing next to the throne who's looking at Brad with a rather glazed expression. Naturally, with all the instincts of a gossipy southern housewife, Ray spots him and remarks none too quietly how "Brad is so fucking awesome he can use his Nordic sex god powers to seduce the enemy" until Brad is forced to kick him in the shins a couple of times.
He's pretty sure that his day started off normal, and then Ray had to go and break some stupid looking amulet and faster than Ray talked on ripped fuel they had been stranded in the middle of some great hall, staring at a bunch of very startled men dressed as though they belonged in one of those gay ass medieval fairs.
And in typical fashion, Ray had opened his mouth and things had gone to hell. Of course, now that Nate was talking he was merely standing off to the side as innocent as could be, observing the men and leering at the some of the women with low cut dresses.
So naturally, this was when Walt dropped put of nowhere, covered in some shiny substance which, when combined with his wide eyed expression of shock, made him look like he had just stepped out of a Disney movie.
Ray grinned his lunatic I-should-be-put-away-for-the-good-of-the-world smile and cackled. "Walt, homes, where you been at? And why are you covered in glitter? Man, that stuff is a bitch to get off."
Brad tried to avoid wondering how Ray Person had come by such intimate knowledge of glitter.
For this prompt:
Brad/Nate
It wasn't about Nate. Except maybe it always was.
---
The stupid thing shouldn't have even worked, really. There had been massive problems with the server, and the profiles, and hacking into other houses had been risky at best. He didn't know-
That's a lie, he did know. He was angry, and hurt, and just drunk enough to let himself push off the edge of the knife and damn the consequences. Ray had confronted him with a serious face, and that in itself was so inherently wrong that Brad had turned his back on him, on the world, and let himself figure out ways to get back at her.
He can't even imagine how he looked, hunched at his desk like an overgrown crow, eyes glued to the screen. He remembers hearing Ray and Walt conversing in the background at some points, in frantic whispers. Ray was actually using his indoor voice.
And then Nate had come in, dashing as always in pressed clothes that should have identified him as a pretentious douche bag but only enhanced his air of authority.
That was where it began, really. Not in some sweaty bar, her face cringing in an apology he didn't want, and not alone in his dorm room with only the endless digital world stretched out in front of him. It started with Nate's cautious smile, his hand clasping Brad's shoulder, his eyes soft and bottle green, reflecting the low lights.
It began when Nate said yes, I'll do it, the unspoken for you hanging in the space between them.
---
Now, they're sitting on both sides of an invisible barrier created by a long oaken conference table and frowning people in black suits. Now, Nate's eyes are hard, and Brad can hear because of you, and you did this, and I don't know you.
That's okay; he'll take these accusations because at least he still has one last connection between them, one last thread pulling them together.
Brad doesn't know what will happen when Nate turns around and walks away, taking his silence with him.
For the HDM Fusion that will probably never be finished:
Brad/Nate
There are rumors about Nate’s daemons, but they are just that: rumors.
Ray likes to tell new recruits that “the LT, he’s such a badass motherfucker see, he killed a man once.” And the recruit will scoff, like they haven’t all ‘killed a man’ once, twice, a hundred times.
“Well yeah,” Ray will say, the mockingbird on his shoulder chirruping innocently, “but right before he was dead and gone Fick took his daemon. And it’s been with him ever since.”
The recruit will laugh sharply, disbelieving, and retreat. The next time he sees the LT, he doesn’t make eye contact, and the recruit will curl a hand around his daemon without quite knowing why.
Even speaking the word aloud causes heads to turn. ‘Daemons’. A plural that was never meant to be applied to one being, put in context to a man as unassuming in manner as they come.
There’s another story Ray tells, when his hands are stained with dirt and his bird is pushing her beak against the calloused curve of his neck. It starts with Fick’s heart being broken in two, continues with his soul splitting, and ends with two daemons. Not many people hear that story. Brad knows it, and Walt, and Reporter caught the end once, but the first one is the company’s urban legend.
Neither of them are true, but the second one is closer to the mark then even Ray knows.
---
Yes, so that all happened. If anyone actually reads this, I am working on the GK/Austen Megamix, and I should be posting some cleaned up and added bits soon. I promise!