AkuRoku:Floodgates-recapture- by Tseecka, literature
Literature
AkuRoku:Floodgates-recapture-
This. This is it.
Floodgates floodgates just want them open
scared.
there's something beyond that that i just can't see.
scared to push, to really really push and find it.
not enough words, and everything is inadequate.
emptiness.
there's a void here, where there used to be you, and you, and all the yous that in the end are only one. one and two.
eight and thirteen.
the answer is there, and it was once so familiar and now
now is only emptiness, blacknessbleakness darkness
welling up, something within is just welling up unspeakably, words bleed and drip like droplets of redundancy and all i want is to let it out
but you don't remem
Unto Certain Poor Shepherds by Tseecka, literature
Literature
Unto Certain Poor Shepherds
Title: Unto Certain Poor Shepherds
Author:
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Cas, Sam
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3,664
Spoilers: None I can think of, but let's say up to most recent episode, just to be safe. ^^
Warnings: None (unless extreme fluff and a little bit of angst count), unbeta'd.
Summary: An angel's gift at Christmas; to humanity, whom he already loves, and the human he's learning to. An idea that occurred to me (actually, an amalgamation of ideas that occurred to me at various times and all worked themselves into one long-ass oneshot) while listening to Christmas carols on the radio.
It's the third time in as many towns that Dean's
Clark snorted in his sleep, and Brainy looked over at him, eyes wide and glowing in the dark, holding his breath. The teen shifted under the blankets a little, muttered something, and then settled once more. Brainy allowed himself a small smile, his hand resting on top of the blankets where Clark's shoulder was. He did love Clark, he was sure enough of that. But all the human emotions in the world couldn't make up for the fact that he was an androgynous amalgamation of human and cybernetic parts; that he'd never be able to fill that one certain void that was needed for real human love.
He'd been through vid-reels in his head over the last fe
Brainy was unnaturally quiet for the rest of the day. The circumstances of the BORG's appearance on the Kent farm was disconcerting, and his mind kept whirling through the possibilities. There were far too many, and even his advanced mind was having trouble keeping track of ever single permutation of circumstance that could have brought the device to Earth. Clark noticed his silence, but didn't make any mention of it, assuming that Brainy was merely having more trouble than usual sorting out a complicated problem.
Brainy noticed the faith his friend had in him to figure out the solution to the puzzle. It warmed him, despite the worry he had
In Your Time of Need--REPO FIC by Tseecka, literature
Literature
In Your Time of Need--REPO FIC
He'd been robbing since before she was born, before her mother's death. To the graveyards every night, in and out, and weaving among the cold gray tombs and the stones that marked forgotten, failed bodies. It was usual, ritual--always the same. Quiet like a mouse and hope they don't find you. Keep all the variables the same--keep control, always stay in control--know the patterns of things and don't change them--and you'd be fine.
Simple, really. A tenet that wasn't hard to come up with and even easier to adhere to, just like drawing that glow from the bodies of the deceased.
Then things got out of his control. One night, just one, and it o
He wonders if Amber knows what she's doing.
Her hair is new, again, dark and long, shiny against his dull, rank sheets. Her eyes are dark, too--full lashes like rushes surrounding a deep, still pool. There is none of that achingly beautiful pain reflected in them, but they are so familiar, so haunting. And she's paled her skin, until it's an unnatural white, like fine china or delicate porcelain, reflecting the Zydrate's light like the full moon on her body of snow.
He has to push the vial away, that glowing face too achingly familiar from the vivid dreams that haunt his upside-down nights, and he wonders again just what it is Amber Sweet k
He can't get that blue light out of his head.
It's not that he's never looked at it before--it's beautiful, it's wealth and power and never having a shortage of warmth for his bed, he can't get enough of looking at it--but there is something different about the vivid memory in his mind.
The pale sheen of indigo-lit skin, already so white, now glowing phospherescent (like a nightlight); eyes so dark, like oceans going on forever, intense and beautiful and only deepened by the shadows the blue light throws over them; hair that catches the light in a shimmering, iridescent rainbow, a gradient of shining blue in constant motion as she sings to
Picture Perfect: A LoSH Drabbl by Tseecka, literature
Literature
Picture Perfect: A LoSH Drabbl
Brainiac 5 wasn't even aware of the fact that his tongue was sticking out between his teeth. He had no idea that his left eye was twitching slightly; he couldn't even feel his right hand trembling as he hesitated before the canvas. A tiny droplet of white paint slowly grew towards the end of his brush, getting larger and larger as it neared the tip, until it was so heavy that it fell away. It splattered on the ground beneath his feet, joining so many other products of hesitation. He couldn't make a mistake. He couldn't mess this up. It had to be perfect.
The brush touched the paper, instantly coloring its surface, lightening the shades and s
Metal and wire and tiny bits of silicon. Everytime he starts to feel lonely, that's what he thinks about. They're all different, and unique, and alien, but at least they're all flesh and blood. They have beating hearts and working lungs, and sometimes there are more or less than the standard one or two but somehow 3 hearts is still more /normal/ than none. At least they still beat.
They're all flesh and blood and he is engineered bits and pieces, a perfect computer, a flawless machine. He feels everything they do, fear and hate and joy and pain and (oh GOD) love. But while they have synapses and neurons and emotional centers in cerebral lobe
AkuRoku:Floodgates-recapture- by Tseecka, literature
Literature
AkuRoku:Floodgates-recapture-
This. This is it.
Floodgates floodgates just want them open
scared.
there's something beyond that that i just can't see.
scared to push, to really really push and find it.
not enough words, and everything is inadequate.
emptiness.
there's a void here, where there used to be you, and you, and all the yous that in the end are only one. one and two.
eight and thirteen.
the answer is there, and it was once so familiar and now
now is only emptiness, blacknessbleakness darkness
welling up, something within is just welling up unspeakably, words bleed and drip like droplets of redundancy and all i want is to let it out
but you don't remem
Unto Certain Poor Shepherds by Tseecka, literature
Literature
Unto Certain Poor Shepherds
Title: Unto Certain Poor Shepherds
Author:
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Cas, Sam
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3,664
Spoilers: None I can think of, but let's say up to most recent episode, just to be safe. ^^
Warnings: None (unless extreme fluff and a little bit of angst count), unbeta'd.
Summary: An angel's gift at Christmas; to humanity, whom he already loves, and the human he's learning to. An idea that occurred to me (actually, an amalgamation of ideas that occurred to me at various times and all worked themselves into one long-ass oneshot) while listening to Christmas carols on the radio.
It's the third time in as many towns that Dean's
Clark snorted in his sleep, and Brainy looked over at him, eyes wide and glowing in the dark, holding his breath. The teen shifted under the blankets a little, muttered something, and then settled once more. Brainy allowed himself a small smile, his hand resting on top of the blankets where Clark's shoulder was. He did love Clark, he was sure enough of that. But all the human emotions in the world couldn't make up for the fact that he was an androgynous amalgamation of human and cybernetic parts; that he'd never be able to fill that one certain void that was needed for real human love.
He'd been through vid-reels in his head over the last fe
Brainy was unnaturally quiet for the rest of the day. The circumstances of the BORG's appearance on the Kent farm was disconcerting, and his mind kept whirling through the possibilities. There were far too many, and even his advanced mind was having trouble keeping track of ever single permutation of circumstance that could have brought the device to Earth. Clark noticed his silence, but didn't make any mention of it, assuming that Brainy was merely having more trouble than usual sorting out a complicated problem.
Brainy noticed the faith his friend had in him to figure out the solution to the puzzle. It warmed him, despite the worry he had
In Your Time of Need--REPO FIC by Tseecka, literature
Literature
In Your Time of Need--REPO FIC
He'd been robbing since before she was born, before her mother's death. To the graveyards every night, in and out, and weaving among the cold gray tombs and the stones that marked forgotten, failed bodies. It was usual, ritual--always the same. Quiet like a mouse and hope they don't find you. Keep all the variables the same--keep control, always stay in control--know the patterns of things and don't change them--and you'd be fine.
Simple, really. A tenet that wasn't hard to come up with and even easier to adhere to, just like drawing that glow from the bodies of the deceased.
Then things got out of his control. One night, just one, and it o
He wonders if Amber knows what she's doing.
Her hair is new, again, dark and long, shiny against his dull, rank sheets. Her eyes are dark, too--full lashes like rushes surrounding a deep, still pool. There is none of that achingly beautiful pain reflected in them, but they are so familiar, so haunting. And she's paled her skin, until it's an unnatural white, like fine china or delicate porcelain, reflecting the Zydrate's light like the full moon on her body of snow.
He has to push the vial away, that glowing face too achingly familiar from the vivid dreams that haunt his upside-down nights, and he wonders again just what it is Amber Sweet k
He can't get that blue light out of his head.
It's not that he's never looked at it before--it's beautiful, it's wealth and power and never having a shortage of warmth for his bed, he can't get enough of looking at it--but there is something different about the vivid memory in his mind.
The pale sheen of indigo-lit skin, already so white, now glowing phospherescent (like a nightlight); eyes so dark, like oceans going on forever, intense and beautiful and only deepened by the shadows the blue light throws over them; hair that catches the light in a shimmering, iridescent rainbow, a gradient of shining blue in constant motion as she sings to
Picture Perfect: A LoSH Drabbl by Tseecka, literature
Literature
Picture Perfect: A LoSH Drabbl
Brainiac 5 wasn't even aware of the fact that his tongue was sticking out between his teeth. He had no idea that his left eye was twitching slightly; he couldn't even feel his right hand trembling as he hesitated before the canvas. A tiny droplet of white paint slowly grew towards the end of his brush, getting larger and larger as it neared the tip, until it was so heavy that it fell away. It splattered on the ground beneath his feet, joining so many other products of hesitation. He couldn't make a mistake. He couldn't mess this up. It had to be perfect.
The brush touched the paper, instantly coloring its surface, lightening the shades and s
Metal and wire and tiny bits of silicon. Everytime he starts to feel lonely, that's what he thinks about. They're all different, and unique, and alien, but at least they're all flesh and blood. They have beating hearts and working lungs, and sometimes there are more or less than the standard one or two but somehow 3 hearts is still more /normal/ than none. At least they still beat.
They're all flesh and blood and he is engineered bits and pieces, a perfect computer, a flawless machine. He feels everything they do, fear and hate and joy and pain and (oh GOD) love. But while they have synapses and neurons and emotional centers in cerebral lobe
Hey everyone/anyone who still follows me:
I'm leaving deviantART. The sense of camaraderie and community that I used to enjoy is no longer present, and a lot of the policies that have been cropping up the last few months are making me angry/want to throw/punch/blow things up. I have never really felt welcome since I passed the torch on the AkuRoku club; writers aren't exactly appreciated around here.
I'm not sure yet if I'm going to deactivate my account, or just leave for good, but either way--don't expect to see me around. If there is actually anyone out there who gives a crap about me/my stuff, feel free to hunt me down on other sites--I
APPARENTLY I'VE POSTED SOMETHING
WHAT THE SHIT IS THIS
Don't start thinking this means I'm gonna be posting crap all the time now, but I wrote this and had this weird rush of nostalgia and figured, "Ah what the hell, might as well throw it up here." Because I'm cool like that. :P
Hey~ I don't know if you remember me but I just wanted to let you know that I'm changing deviantART accounts from this one to my new one at . I wanted you to know that's me since I won't be using this account anymore and I'll be stalking you from there. Kthxbie!