26 Jun 2:16
11 months ago
photo
♥ 103 notes
  

teaat2am:

He remembers her monthly visits. The careless kiss left on his cheek at the end of each visit, and the look of disgust barely suppressed in her eyes.  As far as she was concerned she had no son, just a stranger and an awkward charade.  

He didn’t want her to hug him, to pat his head and to kiss his cheeks as though she loved him. He didn’t want it.  He didn’t dare want it.

‘Who is she?’

He hated the boy who asked too many questions.

‘Why does she kiss you?”

He hated the boy who asked questions he didn’t have the answers to.  

‘Why does she look as though she’s terrified?’

He hated the boy who asked questions he wished he didn’t have the answers to.
He hated how the boy stretched his neck and planted a careful kiss, replacing the filmy trace of her.

“I don’t know why she doesn’t like it.  You taste like pop-rocks to me.”

teacup nostalgia…..

7 Mar 6:54
1 year ago
photo
♥ 297 notes
# art
# oc

There was once a princess
who began to fade away little by little,
washing away in her own tears.

Everyday, the birds brought her gifts,
hoping to dry her eyes.
But eventually, her tears washed away even her face
and they could no longer remember what she had loooked like

Finally they asked,
‘what is it that you need from us, princess?’

she answered,
‘for someone to listen to my story’

and then she disappeared.

27 Feb 9:03
1 year ago
photo
♥ 1,025 notes
# bbc
# art

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sherlock.  You haven’t forgotten how to tie your shoe laces.”

“I have. I must have.  Otherwise I would have no reason for you to tie them for me.  Therefore I must have forgotten how to tie them.”

“You’ve broken your arm.  That’s a reason”

“No, I haven’t.”

It’s all psychosomatic.

Orphanage au again.

I actually have the roughs of page 2 of the first short done but I figured it’d just be best to upload them all in one go.

4 Dec 1:59
1 year ago
text
♥ 22 notes
the walking dead

one

It’s easy enough to want things.

To want things to go back to how they were.
To wake up one morning, covered in sweat, still in our own beds, with the only danger being far off stories in the newspapers and television.
To lean that this was all just an elaborate nightmare.

But we know better now.  After Amy, after Jim, after Sophia.

It’s terrifying what nightmares we can get accustomed to.



two

What once were routines become rituals, every one of us holding on to our daily activities with the utmost urgency.  We are faithful to our duties, as if we were never at Hershel’s, as if we never lost Sophia. 

As if Sophia never existed.

The only thing betraying this normalcy is the complete silence.



three

We no longer cheer at successful expeditions into super markets or at deer hunts.  Rick and Lori embrace each other at each return, bound by routine more than affection. And Shane’s eyes no longer meet anyone’s. Nor does anyone’s want to. Anyone’s except Lori’s. When she succeeds, she turns away immediately, as if she was just making sure he was still there. But she’s never sure.

Only at night is there any semblance of noise, Carol whimpering in her sleep.  But no one bothers waking her from her nightmares anymore. We all just toss and turn, hoping Carol will bury her face a little deeper into tear soaked blankets this time.

taking a break from thesis writing to jot some things down that is TWD related

9 May 9:39
2 years ago
photo
♥ 51 notes

“Only super heroes are allowed to live here.”
His voice sounded spiteful. Childish, even.

It wasn’t a voice unfamiliar to her. But it was different.   Different from what she heard when she sat in Uncle Adam’s lap too long, or if she took too many lollipops from Uncle Claire. It was different from what she heard when her daddy was around.

There was no warmth in the blue eyes staring at her with impatient fury, no playfulness in the crinkled nose twitching as though worried this abrupt confession would be interrupted.

Dee opened her mouth to defend her self.  She was a super; they both knew, and she wasn’t afraid to remind him. 

But she wouldn’t.   Not to him. 

She clamped down, her lips crushing a sigh.  As tempting as it was, as habitual it had become, she wouldn’t.  She wouldn’t threaten him with an equally childish ‘I’m going to tell on you to daddy!’

Not to him. 

She would never admit to him she was a child too.

Just something quick ahhh
The picture doesn’t really go with the blurb now that I look at it eheh

oops deleted it by accident sry about that

6 Apr 1:57
2 years ago
text
♥ 9 notes
# amp

Sometimes, in the early days, he pretended he was the night. He became the darkness; touching everything, but never being touched.  He was intangible. Free. Ethereal.

But he was older now. He knew the truths of his intangibility. 

He was a ghost; a reflection rippling with inviting smiles and welcoming words. But he was wiser than Narcissus. He knew what was beyond the water, beyond himself.

But that’ would be alright.
He would always be at an arm’s length. For who could grasp the darkness within their fingers or wrestle a reflection?

An arm’s length.

and he would be alright.

5 Apr 3:23
2 years ago
photo
♥ 33 notes
# amp
# art

Inhale

The roof had always been his own domain.  The intimacy of the night sky acted as walls to secure his thoughts, its vastness allowing him to recollect, to recreate. He could hurt the darkness no more than he could grasp it within his fingers, still buzzing with traces of previous excitement.  No one was going to miss a few old paintings anyway.

Exhale

He had to focus now. After all, it was always harder to keep it still, without a set path of destruction. His fingers trembled as the electricity danced in his hands.  Just a few more breaths and it would glow now.  He knew what they looked like, but a peek at the progress never hurt. 

He knew he couldn’t be one of them.  But maybe being a cheap imitation was good enough.

Oops, I’m getting too distracted to finish this.   I’ll work on it later. Past Eli

28 Mar 2:21
2 years ago
photo
♥ 63 notes
# amp
# art

It was a word he hated most but also one he was most familiar with.

21 Mar 21:33
2 years ago
photo
♥ 103 notes
# amp
# past
# art

He remembers her monthly visits. The careless kiss left on his cheek at the end of each visit, and the look of disgust barely suppressed in her eyes.  As far as she was concerned she had no son, just a stranger and an awkward charade.  

He didn’t want her to hug him, to pat his head and to kiss his cheeks as though she loved him. He didn’t want it.  He didn’t dare want it.

‘Who is she?’

He hated the boy who asked too many questions.

‘Why does she kiss you?”

He hated the boy who asked questions he didn’t have the answers to.  

‘Why does she look as though she’s terrified?’

He hated the boy who asked questions he wished he didn’t have the answers to.
He hated how the boy stretched his neck and planted a careful kiss, replacing the filmy trace of her.

“I don’t know why she doesn’t like it.  You taste like pop-rocks to me.”

21 Mar 15:20
2 years ago
photo
♥ 102 notes
# amp
# art

‘I’m sorry.’

He never meant it, but it was the only thing that made him feel human when he used his powers.

Just something quick to test out the calibrations on my new intuos pen.

Little Eli.

20 Mar 23:23
2 years ago
text
♥ 16 notes
# amp

‘You’ll eat when you’ve learned to behave like a human’
It was never enough for Elijah to mutter it under his breath, even though when he did, it was always audible enough for the other boy to hear. Or would hear, if he could.  Elijah still wasn’t sure just how much of the boy’s, its, body functioned properly.  

It.

Elijah repeated in his head as he scarfed down his food, his eyes steadfast on the blue eyes staring blankly at him. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t hungry.  That wasn’t the point. He wanted the boy to feel hunger, the desperation.   Desperation great enough to leak envy through those dull eyes. Maybe even great enough to pick up the fork he always put besides its limp hands.  But those eyes remained unfocused, vacant of any visible signs of response or thought.

‘Try’, they said.

‘If not, there’s always the feeding tube’, Elijah mimicked. He didn’t remember if he had feigned sympathy when the Earl entrusted the boy to him.  After all, emotions weren’t his strongest suit, and empathy was something he never understood. He remembered searching the Earl’s face for any cues. 

But did I find any? he mused.  Oh well. Not important.

‘You don’t deserve survival if you don’t fight for it’
Elijah seethed.  He wasn’t mimicking the Earl anymore.  Instead, it was the voice of those who handled him before he came to Teacup. Those broad shoulders he learned to hate, but couldn’t stop himself from understanding. More than he understood the Earl, more than he understood the ideals of Teacup, and certainly more than he understood this- boy.

‘You’ll eat when you’ve learned to behave like a human’

Elijah stood up, taking his plate with him. Those blank eyes did not follow.

‘If not, there’s always the feeding tube’

Just some random thoughts on the early days of Elijah and Jackie before they became close. I always imagined BB as a wreck when he first comes to Teacup, almost vegetative and Eli was an angry angry kid. They probably would be around the same age (10~ ish) at this time and Eli was given Jackie to take care of.   Eli being the angry little pessimistic survivalist he was at the time wasn’t so happy and doesn’t try to feed BB like he’s supposed to.

idk.  I guess this is all speculative mumbo jumbo cuz I don’t quite know BB’s full backstory yet. Can I have my stylus back pleaseeeee