The Autumn Child (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sharpeningthebones) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2013-08-15 04:30 pm
sharpeningthebones) wrote in rainbowfic2013-08-15 04:30 pm
Quill Grey, Ghost White
Name: Mallory
Story: And The Devil Makes Three
Colors: Quill Grey: Ink and paper are sometimes passionate lovers, oftentimes brother and sister, and occasionally mortal enemies. - Terri Guillemets
Ghost White: Gaki
Supplies: None
Rating: PG
Warnings: Someone feeding off another person's thoughts/words I don't know if that requires a warning but I fel like it may bother someone somewhere.
Word count; 439
Notes: Technically the Word Eater doesn't belong to this universe but I really wanted to use him for this fic and I could not resist being able to write him in general. He is one of my favorite people and even though he scares the hell out of me for some reason, he is still treasured in my heart.
Summary: Percival acquires a psychic parasite.
Fingers dance across the keyboard and he prays. He whispers sweet words to the air hoping that things will stay this good, that he can keep working and that the words flow easily as anything form his mind to his fingers to the screen.
~
He's a ghost, he's a hunter, he's something you'll never see coming. Long fingers move across your mind, playing sweet songs and picking out what you don't think you'll need. He's a parasite but he's a polite one and isn't that something?
he'll only take what you don't need, or what you think you don't need. He won't leave you wordless and alone. He won't leave you without anything to survive.
He's better than that.
~
Percival can feel the pull of something at his mind, feel words getting harder, his mind getting sluggish. He's not sure why though and it's irritating. He wants to growl, to hiss, to hit his head against the keyboard because he has thins to do and he an't afford to be this way. But...but the words are so hard right now, it's like pulling teeth and he hates when the writing process is this hard.
He looks over at john who's half asleep on his chair. Maybe he should just sleep but something keeps him from doing so. He feels like, if he does sleep, he'll lose any grasp he had on them, the words. He'll fall into a space where they're so hard to work with, he'll be left in tears.
~
he breathes in, breathes the words you think in your sleep. Breathes the wonderfully creative tales you keep in your mind. maybe he's being selfish today, maybe he can't hold back ut you give him such wonderful things. Sweets better than the richest chocolate.
And he's always been a bit of a glutton.
He'll leave you some, he promises. If he doesn't leave you anything, there's no way for new words to grow, no way to cultivate a harvest for later.
Because he will be back, he'll find you again. There's no doubt about that.
~
His sleep, when he does finally lay down to rest, is fitful and jaged. He can't shake the feeling of being hunted, of being stalked nad picked and consumed out of his mind.
He doesn't know what to do with it, cant' jar himself out of the mindset. He tosses and turns and prays that whatever is hunting him in his dreams doesn't win.
~
He watches you from the window, fingers pressed up against the glass, a smile on his face.
He wishes you a good night, wishes that you rest well.
Story: And The Devil Makes Three
Colors: Quill Grey: Ink and paper are sometimes passionate lovers, oftentimes brother and sister, and occasionally mortal enemies. - Terri Guillemets
Ghost White: Gaki
Supplies: None
Rating: PG
Warnings: Someone feeding off another person's thoughts/words I don't know if that requires a warning but I fel like it may bother someone somewhere.
Word count; 439
Notes: Technically the Word Eater doesn't belong to this universe but I really wanted to use him for this fic and I could not resist being able to write him in general. He is one of my favorite people and even though he scares the hell out of me for some reason, he is still treasured in my heart.
Summary: Percival acquires a psychic parasite.
Fingers dance across the keyboard and he prays. He whispers sweet words to the air hoping that things will stay this good, that he can keep working and that the words flow easily as anything form his mind to his fingers to the screen.
~
He's a ghost, he's a hunter, he's something you'll never see coming. Long fingers move across your mind, playing sweet songs and picking out what you don't think you'll need. He's a parasite but he's a polite one and isn't that something?
he'll only take what you don't need, or what you think you don't need. He won't leave you wordless and alone. He won't leave you without anything to survive.
He's better than that.
~
Percival can feel the pull of something at his mind, feel words getting harder, his mind getting sluggish. He's not sure why though and it's irritating. He wants to growl, to hiss, to hit his head against the keyboard because he has thins to do and he an't afford to be this way. But...but the words are so hard right now, it's like pulling teeth and he hates when the writing process is this hard.
He looks over at john who's half asleep on his chair. Maybe he should just sleep but something keeps him from doing so. He feels like, if he does sleep, he'll lose any grasp he had on them, the words. He'll fall into a space where they're so hard to work with, he'll be left in tears.
~
he breathes in, breathes the words you think in your sleep. Breathes the wonderfully creative tales you keep in your mind. maybe he's being selfish today, maybe he can't hold back ut you give him such wonderful things. Sweets better than the richest chocolate.
And he's always been a bit of a glutton.
He'll leave you some, he promises. If he doesn't leave you anything, there's no way for new words to grow, no way to cultivate a harvest for later.
Because he will be back, he'll find you again. There's no doubt about that.
~
His sleep, when he does finally lay down to rest, is fitful and jaged. He can't shake the feeling of being hunted, of being stalked nad picked and consumed out of his mind.
He doesn't know what to do with it, cant' jar himself out of the mindset. He tosses and turns and prays that whatever is hunting him in his dreams doesn't win.
~
He watches you from the window, fingers pressed up against the glass, a smile on his face.
He wishes you a good night, wishes that you rest well.
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You did this fantastically.
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And I completely agree with serpentine: the familiar feeling when you try to write the words you had, but they disappear even though you just had them. So recognisable. And very very very well written! ^^