Note: Another short T.A.K.K.A ficlet set in a alternate universe where Tera can't handle all that's happened and Captain is left to comfort her. Not meant to be romantic or "fluffy", just a drabble really. I'd love to post this on the other blog, but again, it's not canon and probably contains many spoilers, even though I've covered most of them! Please comment with thoughts and/or review, if you'd like.
"Fractura de la cordura"
Swing, snap, fracture.
Sob, drum, silence.
Kick, breath, swallow.
Pipe.
Ebullition, retaliation, requital.
Detention.
They got back to the flat four hours and three interviews later. The damage was severe enough that Allison's mom thought it was out of the question to not to file a lawsuit. Two broken ribs, a nose, small torso hemorrhaging and a few fingers were apparently a just cause for complaint.
Tera didn't mention that she had planned to beat the kid's brains out with the pipe.
Captain didn't say anything, not that she was expecting him to. When they finally let him through the school's security all the initial interviews were done and the only thing left on the precinct and school's agenda was to talk with him. Even from down the hall Tera could hear everyone in the room yelling.
By the time they let him go she could tell he was agitated just by the way he walked towards her and drove the car. He didn't mention that the principal diagnosed her as a sociopath. She'd already heard.
The flat was pitch black when they arrived. She walked in and went straight for the second guest room, not noticing the second set of footsteps following her. Her foot hooked around the door instinctively and moved to shut it behind her. His hand stopped it at the last second and she ignored him while changing out of her uniform and into some of the clothes spread across the bed.
She was waiting for him to do something. Yell, get angry, start tapping his fingers against the door, anything. Just waiting for the tiniest sign that showed he acknowledged what she did and that he didn't approve. She wanted him to care, wanted something about her to matter to him. To provoke him.
To make him help her.
Empty. That's how she felt. A shell that was given a job and expected to act how people wanted her to. Scared, damaged, afraid. Cureable Curable by therapists and medicine. Not placid. Not quiet. Not angry.
And that's why they provoked her.
It only takes one incident for people to start talking. How the poor girl snapped after all those months and finally lashed out. Poor her, so damaged by that man and those creatures that she'd turn against her own friend. Stop, she'd say, when they take him away. But who would listen to someone so deranged? So damaged?
He stared at her from the doorway. She slouched on the bed and stared back squarely.
Nothing. He did nothing, and the wall she'd build to keep everything in convulsed.
A half-choked sob made it's way out and she curled in on herself to keep it in. He moved, darting into the room and lifting her up into him without hesitation. She latched on and wrapped herself around him, practically shaking with the force of her own crying and gripping the collar of his jacket until her knuckles were white.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and held her until her shoulders stopped shaking and her breath calmed. The grip on his jacket loosened and he realized she'd cried herself to sleep.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Shh-You-Didn't-See-This Writing (Part 4)
Note: Another short T.A.K.K.A ficlet set in a alternate universe where Tera can't handle all that's happened and Captain is left to comfort her. Not meant to be romantic or "fluffy", just a drabble really. It's in a series similar to the shipping shorts I've written, but this series mainly focus' on Captain's Thoughts, thus the name. I'd love to post this on the other blog, but again, it's not canon and probably contains many spoilers, even though I've covered most of them! Please comment with thoughts and/or review, if you'd like.
"Moribund"
He'd always believed people ran on batteries. He'd seen people when they were low on charge and people who were practically sizzling with left-over energy, and he knew when a person's battery was going out.
Two years. Two years he waited to see when her's would drain. Day by day he waited, expecting to see it coming at any minute and by the time it actually arrived that he almost felt surprised. Almost hoped that it would be delayed a little longer.
It was a Tuesday.
A Tuesday, when she pulled herself out of bed two hours later then usual.
It started at a pace so sluggish he almost wondered if it was just a phase and shook it off. Two weeks, and he changed his mind. Two weeks, and he started noticing the torpid look in her eyes. The way she picked at her food while trying to convince him she was eating, and how early she started climbing into bed.
Two more weeks.
No words.
She stopped speaking until the only sounds that surrounded them were the chirps of Crocs. Eventually he had to sit with her periodically to make sure she would eat. She'd refused fish weeks beforehand.
He took over the scavenging and food collecting after she got to the point where walking to far made her dizzy. She stayed in T.A.K.K.A most of the time, sleeping. That's all she did, sleep. It was the only time when she seemed to be content. He'd let her stay like that for days, only interrupting so she would eat. He'd cut down the scheduled sittings but made sure she ate twice as much. It was the only thing he could do.
Just another thing to make her more comfortable.
He'd watched people die before. Hundreds, either in the fire of war or writhing in pain from disease and famine. Friends, family, fiance, all gone. He'd been with them all while moribund, but watching this particular person slip was by far the worse.
"Moribund"
He'd always believed people ran on batteries. He'd seen people when they were low on charge and people who were practically sizzling with left-over energy, and he knew when a person's battery was going out.
Two years. Two years he waited to see when her's would drain. Day by day he waited, expecting to see it coming at any minute and by the time it actually arrived that he almost felt surprised. Almost hoped that it would be delayed a little longer.
It was a Tuesday.
A Tuesday, when she pulled herself out of bed two hours later then usual.
It started at a pace so sluggish he almost wondered if it was just a phase and shook it off. Two weeks, and he changed his mind. Two weeks, and he started noticing the torpid look in her eyes. The way she picked at her food while trying to convince him she was eating, and how early she started climbing into bed.
Two more weeks.
No words.
She stopped speaking until the only sounds that surrounded them were the chirps of Crocs. Eventually he had to sit with her periodically to make sure she would eat. She'd refused fish weeks beforehand.
He took over the scavenging and food collecting after she got to the point where walking to far made her dizzy. She stayed in T.A.K.K.A most of the time, sleeping. That's all she did, sleep. It was the only time when she seemed to be content. He'd let her stay like that for days, only interrupting so she would eat. He'd cut down the scheduled sittings but made sure she ate twice as much. It was the only thing he could do.
Just another thing to make her more comfortable.
He'd watched people die before. Hundreds, either in the fire of war or writhing in pain from disease and famine. Friends, family, fiance, all gone. He'd been with them all while moribund, but watching this particular person slip was by far the worse.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Shh-You-Didn't-See-This Writing (Part 2 & 3)
Note: If you don't remember, I've mentioned my other blog dedicated to my original story T.A.K.K.A. I love writing it, and I post all the chapters/info there, but, there is a exception. I, of course, ship my own OC's sometimes, and when I do, I usually write secret little ficlets with them. Ficlets meaning they're fictional non-cannon situations I conjure up just so I can write my couples in peace. :')
So, like I said, awhile ago I was absolutely consumed with writing a ficlet for T.A.K.K.A with a character couple. I've written two other ficlets in the series, and I'm working on the third one right now. The third one is the one I put up earlier today, and I thought I'd post the other two that came before it! They're shorter then the third part, so I'm grouping them together in the same post. Anyway, enjoy!
Part One: "Klipp"
"Two months. That's as long as I could stand it. Little by little, it started to get more and more irritating. I'd be walking and it would itch. Sitting, standing and especially when I was climbing into bed it would get on my nerves. I never had to deal with it before, but times had changed.
Hair.
It was stupid. The fact that it legitimately bothered me was embarrassing enough, and it wasn't like I could run to the store and pick up a new razor to cut it. The only ones for miles were currently in a combination locked box.
I twisted around in my chair and let out a long groan. A few rows down I barely heard Captain shift before going back to his book. That was the nice thing about him. He'd acknowledge your pain. Not that he had any idea what I was angry about.
I flipped onto my stomach and stuck my head out to look down the hall. He was lounging in the back row reading one of his bad romance novels.
He didn't look up.
I sucked in another long breath and started walking towards the front of the plane. There were a couple of mangos left from break fest and half of a cooked fish sitting in one of the antique bowls we'd picked up. They looked gross, especially the fish. Why we decided to put them in the same bowl was a mystery, but maybe we were just tired.
I grabbed one of the mangos and sat down at the table. It was mushy but I didn't care enough to actually stop eating.
Hair.
It was really starting to bother me, and that was stupid. It shouldn't be a big deal. It wasn't a big deal. Lots of girls had long hair, it was natural, and the hair tickling my back wasn't even that long. It was barely there. Barely noticeable.
My teeth were half-deep in the mango and I was already starting to feel sick.
It looked bad. I knew it did.
I tossed the mango back in the bowl and sat up straighter. No one would care if it looked bad. It was a fact that Captain couldn't care less how my hair looked, and he was the only other person on the island so it really didn't make sense for me to be freaking out about it.
From the back row I heard him shift and close his book with a quiet thump. I stared at the mango and kept thinking. He stopped beside me and stared with me through his mask. After a few seconds he turned and sat down at the table, saying nothing, as usual. He picked up his book again and flipped it back open to his page.
I eased down into my chair again and stared at him. I couldn't see his expression so I focused on his hands instead. Even if they were gloved, his hands held most of his personality.
One of them held the book open at base while he held the next page between his thumb and index fingers. If you hadn't been looking you'd never see the tiny way his thumb would rub the paper when he'd turn the page or how he always ran his fingers along the spine before opening the book in the first place.
It was relaxing to watch him. His entire body was molded into the chair in an almost smug way. All traces of definition hidden away behind his jacket and no special details to take away from him. Simple.
The feeling of panic in the back of my head shifted and as soon as I focused on it the entire mess dilated. A whole wave of paranoia and stress flooded in and the only thing I could do was let out a small sigh and roll my eyes.
I barely caught sight of Captain's knife, firmly strapped to the length of his boot and looking sharp as ever. He never let me touch it. I chewed on my lip and ran a hand through my hair before glancing back at it. It could definitely cut hair.
"Can you cut hair?" My voice broke the silence and it sounded awkward. We never really talked, and the sudden interruption almost seemed rude. He glanced up from his book and looked at me. I could've sworn he was raising his brows from behind the mask. He followed my eyes to his knife and gracefully picked it up and set it on the table, still looking at me.
I didn't look. In fact, I actually closed my eyes as soon as I knew he had skin showing.
The brief moments that his fingers brushed against my neck felt strange. I hadn't felt another person's skin in so long it seemed weirdly intimate, especially considering it was Captain who was getting in my business. The man walked head-to-toe in clothes all day and did everything he could to avoid being seen, so the fact that he trusted me to not look sent a fuzzy feeling down my back.
He pulled back and I heard him grab one of the water bottles from the counter top. The lid popped open and I heard him splash some of it onto his hands before coming back. He massaged my head and made sure to spread it all over, which was surprising because I thought he'd forget that part. I relaxed into his touch and felt myself loosen up.
It really was relaxing, and after awhile I just got lost in it. Little by little it started to feel less like a haircut and more like a massage treatment, which was fine by me. At one point he even seemed to drift towards my temples and rub some of the stress out, but as soon as I realized it he was gone and moving towards another area.
When he finally stopped I was starting to doze off just while he actually began cutting, and by the time I opened my eyes there was a small pile of hair by my feet and a lighter feeling on my shoulders.
I groggily lifted my head and looked around for him, feeling the sudden need for affection. He was sitting down where he was before, reading. I looked down at the pile of hair and suddenly felt like crying.
I wasn't even there anymore and they were still taunting me to the point where something that simple got me worked up.
From the corner of my eye I saw Captain motion for me to come over. I glanced down at him and took a deep breath before standing up, stretching, and walking over. I plopped down beside him and he handed me a book to flip through. I hated reading, but sometimes it was nice to flip through anyway.
"Thanks for the haircut." I muttered.
He scoffed."
XxXxX
Part Two: Fisken
"I hurled myself sideways and missed the fish by inches, my hand sinking into the mud while a wave of water hit my back. My shirt stuck to my back and it was the last straw. I whipped it off and hurled it back towards land before turning my attention back to the fish.
We'd been running low on food and it was time to go out and get some more. Apparently, it was my job even though Captain could've speared five from 15ft away and it took me 30 minutes just to catch one. While I did all the dirty work, he was on land reading and keeping a look out for any stray Crocs.
I growled and looked around for fish. They always gave off a tiny flicker because of the light, and if one of them went in the open it would be easy to spot.
As soon as one caught my eye I lunged towards it and aimed for the water ahead of it. Amazingly, the fish went exactly where I'd wanted it to, and the knife went through without any problems.
I flipped around in the water and took it off the knife while coming up. Everything felt much better against my skin and it was almost relaxing. I floated down and started moving back towards the bank where I could drop off the fish. So far I'd only gotten two, and it was a bit pathetic compared to the load Captain usually brought in.
He was sitting with his back respectively to me and I could've sworn he was sleeping if it hadn't been for the book. One day I knew I'd find him in the act, he had to sleep sometime.
I waded up the bank and walked towards him and the basket we kept the fish in. I tossed the fish into it and turned back towards the water. "Do we need any more?"
He glanced over his shoulder and looked at the basket before waving me off and shifting to stand. I walked over to where my shirt was and rinsed it off before throwing it back on again. The wet fabric felt gross but I knew I could just whip it off again as soon as we were back in the plane.
By the time we got back it was already half dry and smelled like fish. The basket had been wearing out so some of the juices leaked out on the hike back. I wrinkled my nose and set the basket down on the table while Captain latched the door. We didn't need to cook anything yet, so it was lounging time.
I walked down to my section of chairs and grabbed one of the blankets nearby. I whipped off the shirt and hung it over the lower-class chairs while wrapping the blanket around me and throwing myself across the chairs.
Captain messed around in the kitchen for a few minutes then moved past me and back towards his rows. I turned and watched him sit down to resume reading. I didn't even have to look to know it was romance.
He loved romance novels, especially the really cheesy ones that were predictable. There were a lot of times when I wanted to ask him why he liked that kind of stuff, but I knew he wouldn't answer. No matter what the question, he never would.
I rolled my shoulders and fell sideways onto the seat. "Captain, I'm taking a nap."
He tapped his fingers against his book in acknowledgement and then drifted back into silence. I moved up to my pillow and relaxed against it with the blanket. For a make-shift bed, the whole set up was surprisingly comfy.
***
She was out in fifteen minutes, which was usual considering her normal track record. Too many nights awake, not enough ways to burn off the energy. Such was the cycle.
He started moving once he was sure she was out. It almost felt betraying to do anything without her, but some things were better left to him.
He walked at a brisk pace to the front of the ship and grabbed the basket of fish and his knife before sitting down to gut them. When they were done he took the innards and threw them out the window and down into the river. Something would eat them. He set the fish back into the basket and cleaned his knife before going into his room.
It was the only place in the plane she wasn't allowed to go, and it was also where he kept his arsenal.
He always cleaned his guns, no matter what was happening around him. Keeping them in top-notch condition was what he was trained to do, but in the end the only reason he'd kept going was because it calmed him. The clinical way they had to be treated was reassuring, no surprises, and no unpredicted turn of events. Same thing every week.
He finished an hour later. The process hadn't been as relaxing as he'd hoped, but it was nothing a good book couldn't solve.
He paused. Farther up in the plane, Tera was making small noises of discomfort.
It usually started an hour or two into her naps, and each time he'd do the same thing. She had no idea, of course, and he preferred it that way.
He set down his book and walked out into the hall and towards her. Since he'd last seen her she had twisted around and curled in on herself, most likely because of whatever dreams she was having. Her brows were furrowed and her leg gave the occasional twitch, only stopping when he gently touched it and sat down next to her.
He didn't do anything at first and let her body realize that someone was close. The first time he'd checked on her she'd elbowed him in the face before bluntly falling off the bed. A combat reflex.
He smirked at the memory.
Once she stilled he quietly took a glove off and rubbed her head. She relaxed immediately. In some ways, seeing her loosen was more calming then his gun maintenance. Whether she realized it or not, Tera was always tensed. Always tightened up in the most obvious ways and sometimes it pained him just to look at her like that.
She sank farther into her pillow and he rubbed her temples and smoothed out her hair absently. Her breathing slowed down and he moved with her until his motions came to a complete stop. His hand stayed there for a moment before withdrawing. Her head leaned into the empty space.
She'd stay like that for a little while longer until waking up. It was always amusing for him to watch her confused expression when it came to her hair. It only lasted a moment, but he always caught it."
xXxXxXx
So, like I said, awhile ago I was absolutely consumed with writing a ficlet for T.A.K.K.A with a character couple. I've written two other ficlets in the series, and I'm working on the third one right now. The third one is the one I put up earlier today, and I thought I'd post the other two that came before it! They're shorter then the third part, so I'm grouping them together in the same post. Anyway, enjoy!
Part One: "Klipp"
"Two months. That's as long as I could stand it. Little by little, it started to get more and more irritating. I'd be walking and it would itch. Sitting, standing and especially when I was climbing into bed it would get on my nerves. I never had to deal with it before, but times had changed.
Hair.
It was stupid. The fact that it legitimately bothered me was embarrassing enough, and it wasn't like I could run to the store and pick up a new razor to cut it. The only ones for miles were currently in a combination locked box.
I twisted around in my chair and let out a long groan. A few rows down I barely heard Captain shift before going back to his book. That was the nice thing about him. He'd acknowledge your pain. Not that he had any idea what I was angry about.
I flipped onto my stomach and stuck my head out to look down the hall. He was lounging in the back row reading one of his bad romance novels.
He didn't look up.
I sucked in another long breath and started walking towards the front of the plane. There were a couple of mangos left from break fest and half of a cooked fish sitting in one of the antique bowls we'd picked up. They looked gross, especially the fish. Why we decided to put them in the same bowl was a mystery, but maybe we were just tired.
I grabbed one of the mangos and sat down at the table. It was mushy but I didn't care enough to actually stop eating.
Hair.
It was really starting to bother me, and that was stupid. It shouldn't be a big deal. It wasn't a big deal. Lots of girls had long hair, it was natural, and the hair tickling my back wasn't even that long. It was barely there. Barely noticeable.
My teeth were half-deep in the mango and I was already starting to feel sick.
It looked bad. I knew it did.
I tossed the mango back in the bowl and sat up straighter. No one would care if it looked bad. It was a fact that Captain couldn't care less how my hair looked, and he was the only other person on the island so it really didn't make sense for me to be freaking out about it.
From the back row I heard him shift and close his book with a quiet thump. I stared at the mango and kept thinking. He stopped beside me and stared with me through his mask. After a few seconds he turned and sat down at the table, saying nothing, as usual. He picked up his book again and flipped it back open to his page.
I eased down into my chair again and stared at him. I couldn't see his expression so I focused on his hands instead. Even if they were gloved, his hands held most of his personality.
One of them held the book open at base while he held the next page between his thumb and index fingers. If you hadn't been looking you'd never see the tiny way his thumb would rub the paper when he'd turn the page or how he always ran his fingers along the spine before opening the book in the first place.
It was relaxing to watch him. His entire body was molded into the chair in an almost smug way. All traces of definition hidden away behind his jacket and no special details to take away from him. Simple.
The feeling of panic in the back of my head shifted and as soon as I focused on it the entire mess dilated. A whole wave of paranoia and stress flooded in and the only thing I could do was let out a small sigh and roll my eyes.
I barely caught sight of Captain's knife, firmly strapped to the length of his boot and looking sharp as ever. He never let me touch it. I chewed on my lip and ran a hand through my hair before glancing back at it. It could definitely cut hair.
"Can you cut hair?" My voice broke the silence and it sounded awkward. We never really talked, and the sudden interruption almost seemed rude. He glanced up from his book and looked at me. I could've sworn he was raising his brows from behind the mask. He followed my eyes to his knife and gracefully picked it up and set it on the table, still looking at me.
I didn't look. In fact, I actually closed my eyes as soon as I knew he had skin showing.
The brief moments that his fingers brushed against my neck felt strange. I hadn't felt another person's skin in so long it seemed weirdly intimate, especially considering it was Captain who was getting in my business. The man walked head-to-toe in clothes all day and did everything he could to avoid being seen, so the fact that he trusted me to not look sent a fuzzy feeling down my back.
He pulled back and I heard him grab one of the water bottles from the counter top. The lid popped open and I heard him splash some of it onto his hands before coming back. He massaged my head and made sure to spread it all over, which was surprising because I thought he'd forget that part. I relaxed into his touch and felt myself loosen up.
It really was relaxing, and after awhile I just got lost in it. Little by little it started to feel less like a haircut and more like a massage treatment, which was fine by me. At one point he even seemed to drift towards my temples and rub some of the stress out, but as soon as I realized it he was gone and moving towards another area.
When he finally stopped I was starting to doze off just while he actually began cutting, and by the time I opened my eyes there was a small pile of hair by my feet and a lighter feeling on my shoulders.
I groggily lifted my head and looked around for him, feeling the sudden need for affection. He was sitting down where he was before, reading. I looked down at the pile of hair and suddenly felt like crying.
I wasn't even there anymore and they were still taunting me to the point where something that simple got me worked up.
From the corner of my eye I saw Captain motion for me to come over. I glanced down at him and took a deep breath before standing up, stretching, and walking over. I plopped down beside him and he handed me a book to flip through. I hated reading, but sometimes it was nice to flip through anyway.
"Thanks for the haircut." I muttered.
He scoffed."
XxXxX
Part Two: Fisken
"I hurled myself sideways and missed the fish by inches, my hand sinking into the mud while a wave of water hit my back. My shirt stuck to my back and it was the last straw. I whipped it off and hurled it back towards land before turning my attention back to the fish.
We'd been running low on food and it was time to go out and get some more. Apparently, it was my job even though Captain could've speared five from 15ft away and it took me 30 minutes just to catch one. While I did all the dirty work, he was on land reading and keeping a look out for any stray Crocs.
I growled and looked around for fish. They always gave off a tiny flicker because of the light, and if one of them went in the open it would be easy to spot.
As soon as one caught my eye I lunged towards it and aimed for the water ahead of it. Amazingly, the fish went exactly where I'd wanted it to, and the knife went through without any problems.
I flipped around in the water and took it off the knife while coming up. Everything felt much better against my skin and it was almost relaxing. I floated down and started moving back towards the bank where I could drop off the fish. So far I'd only gotten two, and it was a bit pathetic compared to the load Captain usually brought in.
He was sitting with his back respectively to me and I could've sworn he was sleeping if it hadn't been for the book. One day I knew I'd find him in the act, he had to sleep sometime.
I waded up the bank and walked towards him and the basket we kept the fish in. I tossed the fish into it and turned back towards the water. "Do we need any more?"
He glanced over his shoulder and looked at the basket before waving me off and shifting to stand. I walked over to where my shirt was and rinsed it off before throwing it back on again. The wet fabric felt gross but I knew I could just whip it off again as soon as we were back in the plane.
By the time we got back it was already half dry and smelled like fish. The basket had been wearing out so some of the juices leaked out on the hike back. I wrinkled my nose and set the basket down on the table while Captain latched the door. We didn't need to cook anything yet, so it was lounging time.
I walked down to my section of chairs and grabbed one of the blankets nearby. I whipped off the shirt and hung it over the lower-class chairs while wrapping the blanket around me and throwing myself across the chairs.
Captain messed around in the kitchen for a few minutes then moved past me and back towards his rows. I turned and watched him sit down to resume reading. I didn't even have to look to know it was romance.
He loved romance novels, especially the really cheesy ones that were predictable. There were a lot of times when I wanted to ask him why he liked that kind of stuff, but I knew he wouldn't answer. No matter what the question, he never would.
I rolled my shoulders and fell sideways onto the seat. "Captain, I'm taking a nap."
He tapped his fingers against his book in acknowledgement and then drifted back into silence. I moved up to my pillow and relaxed against it with the blanket. For a make-shift bed, the whole set up was surprisingly comfy.
***
She was out in fifteen minutes, which was usual considering her normal track record. Too many nights awake, not enough ways to burn off the energy. Such was the cycle.
He started moving once he was sure she was out. It almost felt betraying to do anything without her, but some things were better left to him.
He walked at a brisk pace to the front of the ship and grabbed the basket of fish and his knife before sitting down to gut them. When they were done he took the innards and threw them out the window and down into the river. Something would eat them. He set the fish back into the basket and cleaned his knife before going into his room.
It was the only place in the plane she wasn't allowed to go, and it was also where he kept his arsenal.
He always cleaned his guns, no matter what was happening around him. Keeping them in top-notch condition was what he was trained to do, but in the end the only reason he'd kept going was because it calmed him. The clinical way they had to be treated was reassuring, no surprises, and no unpredicted turn of events. Same thing every week.
He finished an hour later. The process hadn't been as relaxing as he'd hoped, but it was nothing a good book couldn't solve.
He paused. Farther up in the plane, Tera was making small noises of discomfort.
It usually started an hour or two into her naps, and each time he'd do the same thing. She had no idea, of course, and he preferred it that way.
He set down his book and walked out into the hall and towards her. Since he'd last seen her she had twisted around and curled in on herself, most likely because of whatever dreams she was having. Her brows were furrowed and her leg gave the occasional twitch, only stopping when he gently touched it and sat down next to her.
He didn't do anything at first and let her body realize that someone was close. The first time he'd checked on her she'd elbowed him in the face before bluntly falling off the bed. A combat reflex.
He smirked at the memory.
Once she stilled he quietly took a glove off and rubbed her head. She relaxed immediately. In some ways, seeing her loosen was more calming then his gun maintenance. Whether she realized it or not, Tera was always tensed. Always tightened up in the most obvious ways and sometimes it pained him just to look at her like that.
She sank farther into her pillow and he rubbed her temples and smoothed out her hair absently. Her breathing slowed down and he moved with her until his motions came to a complete stop. His hand stayed there for a moment before withdrawing. Her head leaned into the empty space.
She'd stay like that for a little while longer until waking up. It was always amusing for him to watch her confused expression when it came to her hair. It only lasted a moment, but he always caught it."
xXxXxXx
Shh-You-Didn't-See-This Writing
Note: If you don't remember, I've mentioned my other blog dedicated to my original story T.A.K.K.A. I love writing it, and I post all the chapters/info there, but, there is a exception. I, of course, ship my own OC's sometimes, and when I do, I usually write secret little ficlets with them. Ficlets meaning they're fictional non-cannon situations I conjure up just so I can write my couples in peace. :')
So, awhile ago I was absolute consumed with writing a ficlet for T.A.K.K.A with a character couple. I've written two other ficlets in the series, and I'm working on the third one right now. The third one is the one I've been obsessed with lately, and so I thought I'd share the WIP!
The main reason I'm not putting this on my other blog is because of two reasons. One, one of the characters doesn't canonically show up in T.A.K.K.A until the ending rounds of the story. Two, the couple technically isn't canon, and I have no desire (lie) to make it so. Haha! So, if you're interested in reading some romance I threw together, here you go! (You don't have to know the story to understand the situation, although there will be references to in-story things that might confuse you. Also, bear in mind this is a WIP).
Set Command// Start ==> AFTERWARDS, Mörkt
"Explosions erupted from behind and the shock wave sent me flying forward and into the gravel of the tunnel. My hands flew out to brace me and I was back up on my feet in seconds, running further into the dark and hoping that Crocs would just wait me out instead of pursuing.
I could barely make out the road-blocks ahead and almost ran head first into one. I kept running and slid behind some of the last few, crouching and holding my breath to make sure nothing would notice me.
Minutes rolled by and I started noticing how cold it was, and the fact that a Croc could be less then a foot away from me and I'd never see it. Cold, alone, and most definitely in trouble.
I'd lost track of Captain as soon as the first explosions went off. The tunnel wasn't too far away so I went there without thinking about it. It seemed like a good idea, but after ten minutes in the dark I realized it was probably the worst thing I could've done.
I sucked in a shaky breath and tried pulling my jacket down over my legs. The shorts I was wearing didn't cover much so I was freezing. I ran a hand through my hair and leaned back against the road block.
After an hour I started panicking and got twitchy. It was ridiculously quiet and hearing my own heart beat was creepier then you'd think. I willed for something to happen but another hour passed without a sound.
By the time I heard gravel crunching a wave of panic spiked so high it hurt. I flattened myself back against block and waited for a Croc to loom over and finish me off, but wall of black passed instead and I squinted against the dark. Unless it was a Croc who was a bit on the heavy side, the 'wall' could easily pass as Captain.
"Cap?"
The gravel crunching stopped then picked up again at a slower pace. I looked in front of me and tried finding his outline but couldn't make anything out. I reached out and ran my hand through the air but it bumped into nothing. Just as I was about to pull it back my fingertips brushed against something and I jerked it back reflexively.
Captain's hand reached down and closed around my shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze before retracting. I stood up and dusted myself off before squinting up to look at him. Something seemed off, and after a minute or two of staring, I realized that unless he'd switched to a lighter colored mask, I was probably looking at skin.
"What happened to your mask?" I wondered, narrowing my eyes and fighting the urge to get closer and look. I couldn't see anything. No details, no shadow or outline. Just the faintest color that let me know it was skin and not metal. Even then it wasn't clear enough for me to even make out the color.
I stopped squinting and looked back towards the direction of the tunnel entrance. Captain didn't seem to be moving so I had no idea what the plan was, or if we were even staying. I looked back towards him but kept my eyes downward. "Are we staying here then?"
He gave me a nod (at least, that's what I could make out) then sat down against the road blocker. I sat down with him and closed my eyes. It must have been at least 8pm, and after a long day of scavenging, not to mention getting tossed around by Crocs and shock waves, I was a little sore.
As tired as I was, the cold kept me awake every time I started to doze off. I tried pulling down my jacket several times but it just rode up when I tried getting comfortable. It might have been easier to sleep if I had a pillow, but asking Captain if I could borrow his shoulder didn't seem like a good idea. The fact that he didn't have his mask meant he was probably feeling irritated anyway. He probably only had it off so he could see at least to a reasonable extent, after all, he'd be blind with it on in the dark.
I started pushing gravel out of the way with my feet and once a small patch was cleared I moved forward and laid down on it, feet against the road block. It was much colder and the jacket didn't do much to help. Tiny bits of gravel stuck my back and I immediately regretted the position. I sighed and sat up, taking the jacket off and folded it into a make-shift pillow. After tucking it behind my head I laid back down and tried again.
It was much more comfortable, but still cold. I tried ignoring it and eventually started to slip off. I was up five minutes later, irritated. I started to sit up but something hit me. I yelped and thrashed against it for a second then realized it was Captain's trench coat.
My hands flattened against it and I lowered it down onto me. It was big enough to serve as a full body blanket and blocked out all the chill. I rested my head back down on my make-shift pillow and pulled the jacket up with me, hearing Captain shift and smiling under the coat.
"Thanks." I called meekly.
In the back of my head I started checking off a list of reasons why he’d be taking extra care. Usually he’d let me fend for myself and only help if I asked, that’s just the way things worked. He never took any steps I didn’t ask for.
A heavy feeling of anticipation started in my stomach.
It happened once in a blue moon, and it was completely random. All of a sudden he’d be much more okay with affectionate things or stuff that slightly teetered off the “friendship zone” we usually stayed in.
He’d always do something extra during those times, just little things that almost seemed like apologies for him wanting affection. He never said or did anything that told me he felt that way, but his body language was obvious. After living with him for so long, little things like letting me lean on him sent off a warning bell.
I swallowed and felt myself flatten out against the asphalt. The feeling of anticipation was overwhelming and I closed my eyes against it. It wasn’t scaring me or freaking me out, it was just the fact that I had no idea what was coming that was so unnerving.
As soon as I heard him shift the anticipation rose and I was left in the dark. He must have been wearing more layers because I heard his cloths shift with him and pause for a few moments before continuing his movement. After that he didn’t make any more sound.
I realized how tensed up I was and relaxed. The pressure on my back eased up and I started breathing again. I hadn’t even noticed I was holding my breath until then, and everything seemed to cool down once I settled. I had just started to drift off again when I felt a hand touched my face. I relaxed further into it and kept my eyes closed while it ran through my hair gently and rubbed my head before tilting it up.
Feeling someone else's skin on mine was exhilarating. After not touching another person for at least a year, it felt grossly intimate. The urge to throw myself forward and drown in it was overwhelming, and I almost lost it when I felt him hover over me and kiss.
It was the chastest thing I'd ever felt and the feeling in my gut shrivelled. He kept moving his hand and rubbed small circles into my forehead while holding my head up with the other. His lips were chapped and I could feel small places where they'd split while he moved them against mine.
I'd heard people describe kisses as electric or passionate, but neither of those words fit the situation. It was hazy and fervent, and the constant need to smother myself in him was exigent. I wanted to be closer but didn't move because I knew he'd stop if I did.
I tried stopping myself from making a sound, or anything that would bring him back to reality. It was so hard, and when he shifted to get closer, everything fell apart. I whimpered and he stopped immediately.
It was a barely-there sound but he caught it. Everything stopped. He pulled back and the hand that rubbed circles moved away and down to where his coat was on me. He pulled it down until my arms were free and waited.
A invitation to leave.
I felt numb and the feeling in my gut came back as soon as he moved away. I wanted to go after him so bad but it seemed like a death sentence now that he was back in his own head. I opened my eyes and looked up for him but couldn't see a thing, even though I knew he was right in front of me.
Everything felt wrong. Wrong because he was right there and I couldn't touch him. Just out of reach, and the only person stopping me from reaching out was me.
*In a split-second decision I reached out and curled my fingers into the fabric of his shirt. I laid there and didn't move, just holding him there and quietly breathing while seconds ticked by. I flinched when he moved his hand over mine and held it. I closed my eyes against the feeling."
Note 2: So that's it! Thanks for reading this WIP, the first piece of semi-romantic/creepy thing I've written between two people in a long time. Ah, I live for those moments! If you have any critique or comments, don't be afraid to comment below telling me so! Feedback is key for a writer, and it always helps the process.
So, awhile ago I was absolute consumed with writing a ficlet for T.A.K.K.A with a character couple. I've written two other ficlets in the series, and I'm working on the third one right now. The third one is the one I've been obsessed with lately, and so I thought I'd share the WIP!
The main reason I'm not putting this on my other blog is because of two reasons. One, one of the characters doesn't canonically show up in T.A.K.K.A until the ending rounds of the story. Two, the couple technically isn't canon, and I have no desire (lie) to make it so. Haha! So, if you're interested in reading some romance I threw together, here you go! (You don't have to know the story to understand the situation, although there will be references to in-story things that might confuse you. Also, bear in mind this is a WIP).
Set Command// Start ==> AFTERWARDS, Mörkt
"Explosions erupted from behind and the shock wave sent me flying forward and into the gravel of the tunnel. My hands flew out to brace me and I was back up on my feet in seconds, running further into the dark and hoping that Crocs would just wait me out instead of pursuing.
I could barely make out the road-blocks ahead and almost ran head first into one. I kept running and slid behind some of the last few, crouching and holding my breath to make sure nothing would notice me.
Minutes rolled by and I started noticing how cold it was, and the fact that a Croc could be less then a foot away from me and I'd never see it. Cold, alone, and most definitely in trouble.
I'd lost track of Captain as soon as the first explosions went off. The tunnel wasn't too far away so I went there without thinking about it. It seemed like a good idea, but after ten minutes in the dark I realized it was probably the worst thing I could've done.
I sucked in a shaky breath and tried pulling my jacket down over my legs. The shorts I was wearing didn't cover much so I was freezing. I ran a hand through my hair and leaned back against the road block.
After an hour I started panicking and got twitchy. It was ridiculously quiet and hearing my own heart beat was creepier then you'd think. I willed for something to happen but another hour passed without a sound.
By the time I heard gravel crunching a wave of panic spiked so high it hurt. I flattened myself back against block and waited for a Croc to loom over and finish me off, but wall of black passed instead and I squinted against the dark. Unless it was a Croc who was a bit on the heavy side, the 'wall' could easily pass as Captain.
"Cap?"
The gravel crunching stopped then picked up again at a slower pace. I looked in front of me and tried finding his outline but couldn't make anything out. I reached out and ran my hand through the air but it bumped into nothing. Just as I was about to pull it back my fingertips brushed against something and I jerked it back reflexively.
Captain's hand reached down and closed around my shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze before retracting. I stood up and dusted myself off before squinting up to look at him. Something seemed off, and after a minute or two of staring, I realized that unless he'd switched to a lighter colored mask, I was probably looking at skin.
"What happened to your mask?" I wondered, narrowing my eyes and fighting the urge to get closer and look. I couldn't see anything. No details, no shadow or outline. Just the faintest color that let me know it was skin and not metal. Even then it wasn't clear enough for me to even make out the color.
I stopped squinting and looked back towards the direction of the tunnel entrance. Captain didn't seem to be moving so I had no idea what the plan was, or if we were even staying. I looked back towards him but kept my eyes downward. "Are we staying here then?"
He gave me a nod (at least, that's what I could make out) then sat down against the road blocker. I sat down with him and closed my eyes. It must have been at least 8pm, and after a long day of scavenging, not to mention getting tossed around by Crocs and shock waves, I was a little sore.
As tired as I was, the cold kept me awake every time I started to doze off. I tried pulling down my jacket several times but it just rode up when I tried getting comfortable. It might have been easier to sleep if I had a pillow, but asking Captain if I could borrow his shoulder didn't seem like a good idea. The fact that he didn't have his mask meant he was probably feeling irritated anyway. He probably only had it off so he could see at least to a reasonable extent, after all, he'd be blind with it on in the dark.
I started pushing gravel out of the way with my feet and once a small patch was cleared I moved forward and laid down on it, feet against the road block. It was much colder and the jacket didn't do much to help. Tiny bits of gravel stuck my back and I immediately regretted the position. I sighed and sat up, taking the jacket off and folded it into a make-shift pillow. After tucking it behind my head I laid back down and tried again.
It was much more comfortable, but still cold. I tried ignoring it and eventually started to slip off. I was up five minutes later, irritated. I started to sit up but something hit me. I yelped and thrashed against it for a second then realized it was Captain's trench coat.
My hands flattened against it and I lowered it down onto me. It was big enough to serve as a full body blanket and blocked out all the chill. I rested my head back down on my make-shift pillow and pulled the jacket up with me, hearing Captain shift and smiling under the coat.
"Thanks." I called meekly.
In the back of my head I started checking off a list of reasons why he’d be taking extra care. Usually he’d let me fend for myself and only help if I asked, that’s just the way things worked. He never took any steps I didn’t ask for.
A heavy feeling of anticipation started in my stomach.
It happened once in a blue moon, and it was completely random. All of a sudden he’d be much more okay with affectionate things or stuff that slightly teetered off the “friendship zone” we usually stayed in.
He’d always do something extra during those times, just little things that almost seemed like apologies for him wanting affection. He never said or did anything that told me he felt that way, but his body language was obvious. After living with him for so long, little things like letting me lean on him sent off a warning bell.
I swallowed and felt myself flatten out against the asphalt. The feeling of anticipation was overwhelming and I closed my eyes against it. It wasn’t scaring me or freaking me out, it was just the fact that I had no idea what was coming that was so unnerving.
As soon as I heard him shift the anticipation rose and I was left in the dark. He must have been wearing more layers because I heard his cloths shift with him and pause for a few moments before continuing his movement. After that he didn’t make any more sound.
I realized how tensed up I was and relaxed. The pressure on my back eased up and I started breathing again. I hadn’t even noticed I was holding my breath until then, and everything seemed to cool down once I settled. I had just started to drift off again when I felt a hand touched my face. I relaxed further into it and kept my eyes closed while it ran through my hair gently and rubbed my head before tilting it up.
Feeling someone else's skin on mine was exhilarating. After not touching another person for at least a year, it felt grossly intimate. The urge to throw myself forward and drown in it was overwhelming, and I almost lost it when I felt him hover over me and kiss.
It was the chastest thing I'd ever felt and the feeling in my gut shrivelled. He kept moving his hand and rubbed small circles into my forehead while holding my head up with the other. His lips were chapped and I could feel small places where they'd split while he moved them against mine.
I'd heard people describe kisses as electric or passionate, but neither of those words fit the situation. It was hazy and fervent, and the constant need to smother myself in him was exigent. I wanted to be closer but didn't move because I knew he'd stop if I did.
I tried stopping myself from making a sound, or anything that would bring him back to reality. It was so hard, and when he shifted to get closer, everything fell apart. I whimpered and he stopped immediately.
It was a barely-there sound but he caught it. Everything stopped. He pulled back and the hand that rubbed circles moved away and down to where his coat was on me. He pulled it down until my arms were free and waited.
A invitation to leave.
I felt numb and the feeling in my gut came back as soon as he moved away. I wanted to go after him so bad but it seemed like a death sentence now that he was back in his own head. I opened my eyes and looked up for him but couldn't see a thing, even though I knew he was right in front of me.
Everything felt wrong. Wrong because he was right there and I couldn't touch him. Just out of reach, and the only person stopping me from reaching out was me.
*In a split-second decision I reached out and curled my fingers into the fabric of his shirt. I laid there and didn't move, just holding him there and quietly breathing while seconds ticked by. I flinched when he moved his hand over mine and held it. I closed my eyes against the feeling."
Note 2: So that's it! Thanks for reading this WIP, the first piece of semi-romantic/creepy thing I've written between two people in a long time. Ah, I live for those moments! If you have any critique or comments, don't be afraid to comment below telling me so! Feedback is key for a writer, and it always helps the process.
Journal Snippet: Late Night Bitter
Note and Explanation: The following is a snippet from my journal, and because it's from there, the chances of it making sense are very low. A forewarning, there will be a lot of run-on sentences and things that may provoke you to ask if I was high while writing, but don't fear. This is just a glimpse at what I'm really thinking a good 70% of the time, and you'll probably look at me funny afterwards.
Note #2: The point in posting these is so I can look back at my inner thoughts during my teen years. Think of this as a experiment. After all, who doesn't want to look back and see how stupid they really were? Haha! This particular piece was written roughly around 3:15am after I marathoned Doctor Who. I also would like to note that I sound like a angry drunk during this one. A angry drunk who likes to use extravagant words far to much and is overly melodramatic. Perfection in it's prime.
"--There comes a point when enough is enough. When "what did I do?" no longer stands as a innocent question and becomes a statement of ignorance instead.
Pity is not a suitable reason to continue doing something that makes you suffer. Hope, if you can call it that, eventually has to give way to the undeniable truth.
When someone bothers you, and I mean really bothers you, there comes a point when it has to stop. No matter how bad the consequences may get, or no matter how much pseudo 'trust' you place in them, things need to disperse.
When you look at the situation and realize that you've heard the words you're saying and remember that someone else has said them to you before. When you realize that the person patronizing you, and how you feel, is nothing new. When you realize that all along, this is the game you've played. Roles reversed.
Maturity is when you can no longer use the word as a noun for boasting.
The walls break and you know and realize the faults you've done and seen, the faults you've been delivered and the faults you've had to fix for other people. The faults you've had to apologize for voicing concern over, and the absolute arrogance a brat has to tell you otherwise.
The sheer arrogance alone stands for a disperse. The sheer ignorance some people have towards others...
Anger is a ugly thing. Something that a lot of people bury and deter and try to sway until it fades back again. But when someone, someone your at fault for keeping around, scratches against the wall you've built and whines until it's fallen, then a stand has to be taken.
An island. Shrouded and shielded by oceans of nothing.
Isolated. That's where you go.
That, is where you flee after the great fight. That, will either be your undoing, or the moment you turn to ash.
Being alive doesn't depend on whether your walking and talking. It's all in your head. Fantasy, history, theory, question... These are the things that keep you running, aren't they?
Life on Earth is powered by different forms of energy. One of the greatest sources is the sun, isn't it?
Funny.
Bitterness. That's another thing that keeps you running. Another core thing that floats around in that vacant head of yours. What else is there? Hmm? Stories, definitely. They're one of the only reasons we're here today. And her, of course.
It's therapeutic, talking to yourself. Most people don't realize how strangely intriguing it can be. For example, the last few paragraphs. Stupid.
I'm bored. Always. It's a dull feeling, but every once and awhile it fades and I get a few moments of enjoyment. Still angry though. I'm always angry. Always primed for a fight, after all, all that un-solved melodrama has to have some use."
Note #2: The point in posting these is so I can look back at my inner thoughts during my teen years. Think of this as a experiment. After all, who doesn't want to look back and see how stupid they really were? Haha! This particular piece was written roughly around 3:15am after I marathoned Doctor Who. I also would like to note that I sound like a angry drunk during this one. A angry drunk who likes to use extravagant words far to much and is overly melodramatic. Perfection in it's prime.
"--There comes a point when enough is enough. When "what did I do?" no longer stands as a innocent question and becomes a statement of ignorance instead.
Pity is not a suitable reason to continue doing something that makes you suffer. Hope, if you can call it that, eventually has to give way to the undeniable truth.
When someone bothers you, and I mean really bothers you, there comes a point when it has to stop. No matter how bad the consequences may get, or no matter how much pseudo 'trust' you place in them, things need to disperse.
When you look at the situation and realize that you've heard the words you're saying and remember that someone else has said them to you before. When you realize that the person patronizing you, and how you feel, is nothing new. When you realize that all along, this is the game you've played. Roles reversed.
Maturity is when you can no longer use the word as a noun for boasting.
The walls break and you know and realize the faults you've done and seen, the faults you've been delivered and the faults you've had to fix for other people. The faults you've had to apologize for voicing concern over, and the absolute arrogance a brat has to tell you otherwise.
The sheer arrogance alone stands for a disperse. The sheer ignorance some people have towards others...
Anger is a ugly thing. Something that a lot of people bury and deter and try to sway until it fades back again. But when someone, someone your at fault for keeping around, scratches against the wall you've built and whines until it's fallen, then a stand has to be taken.
An island. Shrouded and shielded by oceans of nothing.
Isolated. That's where you go.
That, is where you flee after the great fight. That, will either be your undoing, or the moment you turn to ash.
Being alive doesn't depend on whether your walking and talking. It's all in your head. Fantasy, history, theory, question... These are the things that keep you running, aren't they?
Life on Earth is powered by different forms of energy. One of the greatest sources is the sun, isn't it?
Funny.
Bitterness. That's another thing that keeps you running. Another core thing that floats around in that vacant head of yours. What else is there? Hmm? Stories, definitely. They're one of the only reasons we're here today. And her, of course.
It's therapeutic, talking to yourself. Most people don't realize how strangely intriguing it can be. For example, the last few paragraphs. Stupid.
I'm bored. Always. It's a dull feeling, but every once and awhile it fades and I get a few moments of enjoyment. Still angry though. I'm always angry. Always primed for a fight, after all, all that un-solved melodrama has to have some use."
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Journal Snippet: Writer's World
Note and Explanation: The following is a snippet from my journal, and because it's from there, the chances of it making sense are very low. A forewarning, there will be a lot of run-on sentences and things that may provoke you to ask if I was high while writing, but don't fear. This is just a glimpse at what I'm really thinking a good 70% of the time, and you'll probably look at me funny afterwards.
Dear Journal,
detail is one of my favorite things. they're what makes something interesting, what can change a idea into something completely different and show it in a light that could completely change the way it's not only viewed, but is.
sometimes all you have to do is look at something in a way that varies from your own and a whole new world is revealed. a whole new palet of colors that light up a canvas into new tastes and textures, and has the potential to redefine the way something has been wired to do.
detail, thought and colors are some of life's greatest things. they shape our world into something completely different and it's beautiful in a way that most things could never hope to achieve.
the canvas of life and nature come in many colors and shades even though some people like to believe that it's all black and white. there are so many ways things can be looked at that it's almost arrognat to think that there can only be a certain way to see things, and that your view is correct.
thought and imagination comes across as certain colors in my mind, different swirls and shapes that can be redefined and woven into stories and pseudo lives that can give people the same life essence then if they were the characters themselves.
detail apon detail layered into a carefully woven story or painting filled with colors and shadows and the omnipotent beings that hover it their wake.
how different things are and how effective those colors and thoughts and worlds can be are what details make up. the tiny yet beautiful way things are stringed along and how in moments of distraction how smothering how lives can seemed compared to the bliss that other people live.
a writer's world can be shattered and rebuilt a hundred times over with details removed and added with a flick of our fingers and a change of palet. the gritty green of a grape in a italian wine grove can change into a coffee on a rainy day in a shop located in downtown new york with a single train of thought.
moods and colors, textures and life can be breathed into the harshest stories. even those surrounding death can paint the canvas with dark blue despair and white pain.
the most devine thing a writer can experience is when the line between our canvas and the grey of our own world blurs and the cavas and palet we've used to forge a world with becomes a part of our own in a slash of colors and feelings that never fade. the thrill of adventure we get while writing our characters, our silent friends, running across rooftops or fighting off their foes.
the feeling of immersion and importance it brings is almost addictive in the way it allures us across the line and our world flies by with the words we write or draw.
how devious are we that we could create our own masterpeices and be overtaken by them? it's a question left unanswered, because in the end, why would we care?
Dear Journal,
detail is one of my favorite things. they're what makes something interesting, what can change a idea into something completely different and show it in a light that could completely change the way it's not only viewed, but is.
sometimes all you have to do is look at something in a way that varies from your own and a whole new world is revealed. a whole new palet of colors that light up a canvas into new tastes and textures, and has the potential to redefine the way something has been wired to do.
detail, thought and colors are some of life's greatest things. they shape our world into something completely different and it's beautiful in a way that most things could never hope to achieve.
the canvas of life and nature come in many colors and shades even though some people like to believe that it's all black and white. there are so many ways things can be looked at that it's almost arrognat to think that there can only be a certain way to see things, and that your view is correct.
thought and imagination comes across as certain colors in my mind, different swirls and shapes that can be redefined and woven into stories and pseudo lives that can give people the same life essence then if they were the characters themselves.
detail apon detail layered into a carefully woven story or painting filled with colors and shadows and the omnipotent beings that hover it their wake.
how different things are and how effective those colors and thoughts and worlds can be are what details make up. the tiny yet beautiful way things are stringed along and how in moments of distraction how smothering how lives can seemed compared to the bliss that other people live.
a writer's world can be shattered and rebuilt a hundred times over with details removed and added with a flick of our fingers and a change of palet. the gritty green of a grape in a italian wine grove can change into a coffee on a rainy day in a shop located in downtown new york with a single train of thought.
moods and colors, textures and life can be breathed into the harshest stories. even those surrounding death can paint the canvas with dark blue despair and white pain.
the most devine thing a writer can experience is when the line between our canvas and the grey of our own world blurs and the cavas and palet we've used to forge a world with becomes a part of our own in a slash of colors and feelings that never fade. the thrill of adventure we get while writing our characters, our silent friends, running across rooftops or fighting off their foes.
the feeling of immersion and importance it brings is almost addictive in the way it allures us across the line and our world flies by with the words we write or draw.
how devious are we that we could create our own masterpeices and be overtaken by them? it's a question left unanswered, because in the end, why would we care?
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