#iamwrite

[voicefeedus]

I AM WRITE @nigelwrite Colorful Language Conversation on #VoiceDiversity #Spotify #SpokenWord [ PRESS PLAY ▶ ]

[zoranwrites-blog]

Its awoken me

It gives me purpose

No matter what you say

I. Am. Write. 

[iamretnodwi-blog]

Time to fall word. #iamwrite #onchapter6 Right.now

[obsessiveskylark]

Little Arsons Keeping You Alive

He was trapped, but the battle outside wasn't ceasing. The hit was deadly to the machinery and the systems are shutting down, including the heating. The interior is getting colder and colder, everything freezing. He is gripping the metal controllers, no feeling left in his hands. The metal is frozen and his hands are leaving layers of skin on the surface.

He is whispering. "It's so cold…"

He is still aiming, still shooting, he doesn't even know what is going on.

Someone is screaming, pleading, crying out into his earpiece, but he doesn't understand. He looks down at his bruised and bloodied hands. The skin is gone, it's a mess of meat and bones. He grips the controllers one last time, but he doesn't have any strength left, so he just leans. The screen is blank. The lights are dimmed. He closes his eyes.

 It's warm, it's hot, it's scalding. He feels something burning his skin and he screams. He screams and screams and he can't even cry, because everything is too much, too much, I beg you, stop. His mind shuts down and he can't feel anything anymore.

He opens his eyes, the blurry lights coming into focus. Someone says his name and he looks to the side.

"Shiro?"

Keith, Shiro thinks, but he can't respond. He is so tired.

 "Keith."

Keith's head shoots up. He looks both relieved and worried at the same time. Shiro wonders how he is managing to do that.

"Keith, why can't I feel my hands?"

Keith's expression is falling, there is panic there and pain, and something is glistening in his eyes.

"They had to amputate them. They were beyond saving."

Shiro looks down. His hands are gone.

He closes his eyes and he drifts to sleep. He wonders why he doesn't remember his dreams.

 Shiro is woken up by screaming. It takes him a moment to realize it's him.

Warm arms sneak around his shoulders, scooping him up. Keith is holding him, close, close, closer. He is muttering nonsense and Shiro shakes and cries.

 Shiro was given a ball to play with, to practice using the prosthetics. He is getting better every day. When Keith walks in, Shiro tosses the ball at him, missing only by a meter or so.

"One day you might actually make it."

Shiro snorts. "Tomorrow you will get hit in the face for doubting me."

"The rest will be coming over later, Pidge can't wait to see you, Hunk was grinning like mad when he heard they will be allowed to visit and Lance was whooping the whole time," Keith says as he puts down the tray with Shiro's dinner. Shiro obediently sits back and let's Keith feed him; his hands don't obey him enough for him to eat by himself, yet.

Keith looks crestfallen when Shiro reaches out and touches his face. For once the prosthetics do what Shiro wants them to and as he pulls Keith closer, he tries to remember what Keith's skin felt like.

Seconds later, he knows. His lips are warm.

[obsessiveskylark]

So I wrote a wee bit thing on Frank/Karen and maybe you would be interested in checking it out

http://archiveofourown.org/works/6397666

I would be extremely happy to know what you thought!

[obsessiveskylark]

Wooden Chair

Deep in the mountain, where no one ever wanders, a wooden chair stands. Battered, old, worn, surrounded by darkness, rarely the light of an oil lamp chases away the shadows.

Heavy footsteps descend from the stairs, along with the light. With a sigh, the dwarf sits. His hair is gray with still black streaks.

He leans forward, rubbing at his face. He sits in silence, for hours at time, separated from the life higher up in the mountain.

Finally he gets up and reaches for the chisel. He prolongs his work, carving in the stone slowly, deliberately, thinking about every grain that falls down on the floor.

Today he lets himself do the whole branch. His knees are hurting when he gets up. He puts away the chisel, hiding it in the corner.

He picks up the lamp and reaches to pat the lid of the tomb, but he can’t. He stops himself, rubbing at his heart instead.

As he walks away, the dancing light makes the leaves on the oak carved in the stone seem to tremble in the non-existent wind.

[obsessiveskylark]

Warmth

Thorin was sitting close to the fire when Bilbo came in. His hands felt so cold as of late, and nothing seemed to be able to warm them up. He smiled tiredly at Bilbo.

"How was your day?" Bilbo asked, sitting down beside him on the sofa.

"Tiresome," he confessed and Bilbo nodded encouragingly. "There was some trouble in the guilds, the representatives came to protest and nothing seemed to satisfy them. There is the next session planned tomorrow, but I don't even want to think about that."

Bilbo hummed and reached for Thorin's palm. "Are you cold?" he asked.

"Not so much, it's just my hands."

Bilbo started rubbing at his hand, trying to make the blood in his hands flow quicker and create some warmth. Thorin looked down at him with fondness, the silver strands in Bilbo's hair and crow's feet in the corners of his eyes barely visible in the dusk. Bilbo has let his hair grow longer recently, but it had as much life in it as it did twenty years ago. It curled at the ends and, thoughtlessly, Thorin reached to tuck a loose strand behind the pointed ear.

Bilbo looked up at him questioningly, but Thorin shook his head a little.

"It's nothing," he said, letting his hand slide down on the cheek. He stroked his thumb across the cheekbone and put his hand back on his lap. "How is Kili and Tauriel?"

"They are well. Their daughter has grown a lot since the last time I saw her. Such a sweet child."

"Did you tell them to come visit?"

Bilbo huffed. "Of course I did. They are planning to come next month. Apparently your sister has been nagging them about it too."

"I expected nothing less," Thorin grinned. His hands felt warmer already.

[obsessiveskylark]

Of ravens and flowers

"You draw very well," Bilbo heard from behind. He smiled back at Thorin, who stood behind him, looking intently at the papers in Bilbo's hands.

"Nowhere near as well as I would like," he confessed. Charcoal smudged all over his fingers contradicted the incompleteness of the drawing, hinting that he was sitting there for a lot longer than it would seem.

"Your hand will catch up with your eye, given time and practice," Thorin assured him. "May I?" he asked, gesturing to the empty space on the bench next to Bilbo.

He sat down when Bilbo nodded. Two ravens from the Hill flew down on the balcony and started playing with each other airily, so Bilbo flipped the papers and tried to sketch them. They moved too quickly though, and he let out a frustrated sigh.

Thorin extended his hand and spoke softly. The ravens stopped playing and one of them hopped closer, eventually spreading its wings and perching up on Thorin's hand. It stayed there, crooking its head left and right as Thorin murmured to it. Bilbo completed his drawing and smiled at Thorin, when he put the raven down. It hopped up excitedly to its companion and cawed urgently. They both flew up and disappeared from the view.

"Thank you," Bilbo said. Thorin nodded curtly.

For a moment, charcoal scratching on paper was the only sound interrupting the silence as Bilbo went back to his previous sketch. Suddenly, he knitted his brows and stopped.

"Has the court session been canceled? It usually takes place around this time, doesn't it?"

"It does. And it has not been canceled," Thorin replied, a bit sheepishly.

"Then why…"

"My sister decided I needed more free time and said she will manage it today, since the cases are not that important."

"She threw you out, didn't she?" Bilbo offered sympathetically. Thorin pursed his lip, clearly disgruntled, but didn't oppose. Bilbo laughed. "The only person in the mountain who dares order the king around and she uses it to make you rest."

Thorin opened his mouth to protest, when a hearty caw cut him off. Two ravens flapped their wings as they landed on the balustrade, one of them cawing and hopping in place while the other preened with a flower in its beak.

"Aren't those the ones from before?"

"They are. I sent them to find something they liked and apparently it was this flower," Thorin looked questioningly at the raven that flew up to him and now sat again on his hand.

"What for?"

"For you to draw them with, of course."

Bilbo blinked and grinned. "I have no choice now, do I?"

"None," Thorin smiled warmly back at him. The raven straightened when Bilbo turned his attention to it, posing eagerly.

Once the sketch was done, Thorin took the flower from its beak and both ravens flew away again. Without much thought, he offered it to Bilbo.

Bilbo looked uncertain as he gazed at the flower in his hand. "Aster," he said quietly, the tips of his ears turning a bit pink.

"Is something the matter?"

"No no no, nothing at all," he replied hastily. He put the flower down and flashed Thorin a quick smile. "Thank you."