#trying to write things

[piratefishmama]

my energy levels are pretty much non-existent right now having to act as an unpaid carer for an asshole, so i'm trying to write, but i'm pretty dead so... yeah, tired.

[roseofbattles]

He never quite loses the look of the city he brought with him – he still has those long, skinny limbs and where his shorts are rolled up his skin is still pale and white as paint along dusty baseboards, too long tucked away from the sun.

His cheeks and shoulders though, grow sun kissed and freckled, feet no longer as soft as the palms of his hands.

She knows, because she has held them both; his feet to pull out the stinger of a bee, stepped on in the garden, with a pair of her mother's tweezers. His hands, under the cover of night, listening for the whisper of stars falling to earth, waiting to see their gold comet trails in the lens of her father's old telescope. X

[vox-ex]

Comfort

supercorp/danvers sisters one-shot

Summary: How does Kara find comfort in a world that sometimes feels so numb?

From “How Living Feels” Series - find it here on AO3 too

"Touch has a memory" - John Keats

Touch has a memory.

It is a reminder of who we are, of the things we’ve loved, of the things we’ve lost.

And there are some who would wish to forget it, who would not bear the pain of it.

And there are days when she feels like one of them.

Days when the memories it leaves her with seem too painful or remembering seems too hard.

But she knows those memories are what let her be held and feel it completely, to be loved and know it wholly.

Because she remembers when her hands could find no comfort in the things they touched; when they could only brake what they held.

And she remembers how the same world that was never quiet and never still had felt nothing but numb. And there were times when she wished that it all felt like that, that the colors felt as muted, that the noises felt as faded, but at least they made her feel something —so she tried.

And at first, all she had were the memories of something else. She would feel one world but remember another; would replace the feeling of Eliza’s hand with that of her mother’s or imagine the roughness of the earth under her fingertips like one of Krypton’s moons.

But even before Krypton was lost it was dying, there were no trees, no grass, no waves, and with no memory of them, she could not know them. So, she had to learn to feel them through the colors she saw and the sounds she heard, had to learn them through the vibrations against her skin and the rhythms under her hands.

And eventually, she did. Eventually, every new thing had a memory of its own.

But the hardest things she had to learn weren’t the things she had to replace or the things she never knew. The hardest things she had to learn were the things she had to learn again.

To be loved again.

To feel safe again.

To find comfort again.

And even now these are still the hardest to feel, even now there are still moments when she feels numb to them.

----- ----- ------ -----

Kara stands still, hands braced against the tile in front of her, water pounding against her back and soaking into her suit. She tries to feel the weight of it, tries to let it calm her. And when she can’t, when it doesn’t, she closes her eyes and searches for the memory of it.

She remembers herself outside on the roof.

Remembers waking from a nightmare.

Remembers sitting alone with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms folded around herself as she watched the colors of her shirt darken; how she had felt the vibrations of the wind, had heard the sound of the rain that fell hard against the ground, had matched the rhythm of the sounds to the feeling of the rain against her skin until she could feel each drop that fell.

She thinks of that night and remembers the rain until she can feel it again, until the feeling of the rain is replaced by the feeling of the water falling around her now; the way it rolls off her shoulders, the way it lands at her feet, the way it tries to wash away other memories she wants so desperately to forget.

She thinks of the rain and she stands there until the water runs clear again, until every bit of blood and ash is gone, until she hears the door open, until Alex is reaching in to turn it off.

She sees the goosebumps on her sister’s skin and wonders how long she must have been standing there, wonders how long Alex has been trying to reach her.

And she hates herself for worrying her again.

Hates herself even more for not being enough again.

She remembers that night on the roof once more.

Remembers Alex coming to find her then too.

Remembers her wrapping a blanket around her shoulders and the comfort of the weight of it as it grew heavy in the rain; how that was the first time Alex ever held her as she cried.

She thinks of Alex and the way her hands hold her now, pulling her forward, pulling her from her nightmares again, and Kara lets herself follow blindly, her body searching for the comfort she remembers but cannot ask for.

She feels the bed give way underneath her as she sits down, Alex's hands guiding her still with the same gentle touch and quiet understanding they always have. She tries to concentrate on every feeling, on every motion. She grabs at the blanket underneath her, looking down at the fabric held tightly in her hands as she tries to find that same feeling of comfort again— to ground herself in it.

She holds on tighter still, hears the faint echo of footsteps and the quiet exchange of words as the sound of Alex’s heartbeat is replaced by another.

She looks up and sees Lena in front of her; watches as she slowly reaches out, her hands hesitating as if unsure of where they are needed most, but then, as if knowing what Kara’s stillness is asking for, they start to rid her of her ruined suit.

She closes her eyes and imagines the movements of her hands. Focuses until she can feel the faintest ghost of fingers on her skin.

And she wants to tell her not to stop, wants her to keep touching her until she remembers every good thing she can, because even more than the promises made in the words she whispers, it is the feeling of her there with her — the reminder that this world is not a cold dead place — that she needs most.

She feels a hand on her forehead, feels it trace a line down to her cheek, feels it when it’s gone again.

She opens her eyes and sees Lena in front of her holding out a worn and faded sweatshirt that still smells like her. She feels her with her as they move together, Lena sliding the fabric over her head as she pulls it down to cover her exposed skin.

Kara looks between her and the pieces of her suit now discarded on the floor and remembers the first time Lena’s fingers traced the outline of her family’s crest, how they stilled over the place where her heart was, how it felt to be able to feel something so gentle so completely.

Lena helps her with the rest of the clothes, each touch between them lasting just a bit longer until she is sure that she can feel it.

Kara runs her fingers over the edges of the fabric, over the uneven wear and loose threads along the ends of the sleeves and she finds comfort in the familiar feeling. It reminds her of the old clothes that Alex would give her when they were younger, of the first piece of comfort they shared with each other.

Lena takes her hand again guiding her out into the open space of the loft and over to where Alex is waiting. Kara steps forward and into her sister’s arms and she thinks that there are things she should say. Apologies she owes her for the risks that she took, for the orders she didn’t follow, for the people she still couldn’t save. But when she feels the way her hands shake against her back she knows that she isn’t the only one who needs something to hold onto, to feel, to remember.

So she doesn’t say anything.

And then they are all in each other’s arms and she closes her eyes and feels every bit of that moment she can — the pain of loss and the weight of failure; the sound of Alex’s heartbeat in her ears and the softness of Lena’s skin under her hands.

She feels all of it.

She feels all of it because it had taken so long for her to feel the comfort of others again, to feel it more than as just a memory. And she knows now that to be able to feel anything she has to be willing to feel everything.

----- ----- ---- -----

Touch has a memory.

It remembers things words cannot.

Speaks of things that can only be felt to be real.

And sometimes remembering is painful.

And sometimes it is cruel.

And there are some who would wish to forget it, who would not bear the pain of it.

But she is not one of them.

[sunalsolove]

I have kink!bingo squares for staticquake, simmorse, and pipsy, but I’m coming up blank for one-shot ideas. If there’s anything you’d like to see (any rating) hit me up in my asks or message me.

[sorryaboutthemessfellas-arc-blog]

//I am really debating if I want to keep this account or not. I don’t use it much, cause I can’t write or rp for shit anyways. I don’t know.//

[pastel-gecko]

Kiss me on the kitchen table among the silverware, Till the stars above all turn to stare and the porcelain plates despair. And you kissed me on the countertop next to the gas-lit range, And amid the spices, the pepper flushed and the butter blushed And you turned the fire to air And if I were a chocolate mousse and you a silver spoon I’d want my love to fill you up So you’d love me all afternoon.

A.F. I Spilled Tea On Your Hand But It Was Mostly Alright

[winchestersandwordprocessors]

Sometimes I think I'm pretty good at this whole fanfiction thing.

Then I go and read someone else's story that they spun from the gossamer hair of Sam Winchester and I just want to smash my fingers under a piano lid.

[silverowlet]

Balancing on a tightrope High over the ocean On one side is insanity On the other is pure suffering Ahead of you is the end Behind you are your friends A breeze blows Threatens to knock you into hell The rope turns into a snake And your friends? Wolves. No escape Nowhere to go So you close your eyes And jump Blindly hoping That something will catch you