Things I've been writing
Criminal Minds-verse. Did this in Creative Writing today because the other angsty ATITM things in my head wouldn't come out and play. Apparently this is reason enough to mess with the young genius..?
Title: My Last Breath
Characters: Spencer Reid
Words: No idea and can't be arsed to count.
Summary: I don't know. It just happened. My mind says it eventually becomes Morgan/Reid. I- Don't question it. Not like anyone can. This will be locked soon.
Warnings: Er... Reid (being in the process of) dying? Oh yeah, and my utter fail at writing him. Have never written CM-anything. Likely will not again.
He sucked in breath sharply, desperately, and for a moment it came.
Then it was sputtering out, leaving him like the blood from the wound on - in? - his stomach. He tried again and it came, then choked out too soon.
Wide eyes clouded in pain as his head bowed to gravity and his mortal weakness. There was blood in his mouth and he reflexively spat it out, splattering the shiny shoes and coarse black pants of his assaulter, and leaving dark red flecks on his dry lips.
The unsub pulled the knife free and left him in the run-down house to hopefully die, alone and abandoned, unreachable, unfindable for the sirens wailing down the streets. He trembled when he stood, thinking to call out, to move, to do anything that would lead his team to him, but nothing worked.
He couldn't answer the voice yelling for him just outside the house.
His knees buckled underneath him and he fell with a shaky, exhausted and hurt - godhowhehurted - outward whoosh of air, like a newborn calf except calves weren't gutted fresh from the womb.
As his head connected with the moldy carpeting and vertigo washed over him, he caught a hazy glimpse of someone running to him just before his eyes fluttered shut. He distantly hoped the spike of fear was unwarranted this time.
This next thing I did in Creative Writing about a week or two ago. It was supposed to have traces of ATITM in it, but I don't know. I have no idea why I wrote this. Actually, I do. I was trying to write dark, angsty poetry to cheer myself up. I got neither cheerier nor did the poetry come out dark and angsty. It turned into an inscription in a ruined castle. Nice. And I don't feel motivated to write any more and slowly kill off the people like I was supposed to so I am posting this to get it off my jump-stick since it's kind of abandoned or something.
I do not know if I like the inscription/poem thing as one long stanza or broken up like this. :/
“A fiery vision keeps these halls
though why we still know not.
Each step on stone,
Or bat of air lays claim to that we forgot.
Hunt her, once, we tried to do
but never again, we swore.
Blood wine lips still haunt us swift;
We fear the fangs they bore.
Heed our warning, mortal swine-
Do not come here again.
The fate you’ll meet is worse than death;
She owns the minds of men.
“Pretty little poem, that.” Worn fingers feathered across the inscription, lingering briefly over the last two lines. The hand’s owner turned and jumped the five feet to ground level from the broken marble pillar. “Think maybe we should find another place for the night?”
“No, we stay,” another of the group said decisively, gazing around the dilapidated ruins of a castle no one knew the origins of. “The walls are crumbling here, but there are said to be rooms still intact farther in. We just need to find them.”
“Not worried about losing your mind, Tobias?” the sole female inquired teasingly.
“I hold no fear of ghost stories.”
“We are safe for tonight anyway,” the fourth and final group member said. He pointed towards the bottom lines of the inscription. “‘Do not come here again. The fate you’ll meet is worse than death.’ It is not until after we leave that we need fear the secrets of this castle.
“Come, let us find a room or rooms for the night.”
The woman and Tobias followed the third man through a crumbling doorway without complaint. Only the first lingered, giving the inscription one last, curious glance before he strode after the others. It was only one night, the first and last night. They had nothing to fear...
Title: My Last Breath
Characters: Spencer Reid
Words: No idea and can't be arsed to count.
Summary: I don't know. It just happened. My mind says it eventually becomes Morgan/Reid. I- Don't question it. Not like anyone can. This will be locked soon.
Warnings: Er... Reid (being in the process of) dying? Oh yeah, and my utter fail at writing him. Have never written CM-anything. Likely will not again.
He sucked in breath sharply, desperately, and for a moment it came.
Then it was sputtering out, leaving him like the blood from the wound on - in? - his stomach. He tried again and it came, then choked out too soon.
Wide eyes clouded in pain as his head bowed to gravity and his mortal weakness. There was blood in his mouth and he reflexively spat it out, splattering the shiny shoes and coarse black pants of his assaulter, and leaving dark red flecks on his dry lips.
The unsub pulled the knife free and left him in the run-down house to hopefully die, alone and abandoned, unreachable, unfindable for the sirens wailing down the streets. He trembled when he stood, thinking to call out, to move, to do anything that would lead his team to him, but nothing worked.
He couldn't answer the voice yelling for him just outside the house.
His knees buckled underneath him and he fell with a shaky, exhausted and hurt - godhowhehurted - outward whoosh of air, like a newborn calf except calves weren't gutted fresh from the womb.
As his head connected with the moldy carpeting and vertigo washed over him, he caught a hazy glimpse of someone running to him just before his eyes fluttered shut. He distantly hoped the spike of fear was unwarranted this time.
This next thing I did in Creative Writing about a week or two ago. It was supposed to have traces of ATITM in it, but I don't know. I have no idea why I wrote this. Actually, I do. I was trying to write dark, angsty poetry to cheer myself up. I got neither cheerier nor did the poetry come out dark and angsty. It turned into an inscription in a ruined castle. Nice. And I don't feel motivated to write any more and slowly kill off the people like I was supposed to so I am posting this to get it off my jump-stick since it's kind of abandoned or something.
I do not know if I like the inscription/poem thing as one long stanza or broken up like this. :/
“A fiery vision keeps these halls
though why we still know not.
Each step on stone,
Or bat of air lays claim to that we forgot.
Hunt her, once, we tried to do
but never again, we swore.
Blood wine lips still haunt us swift;
We fear the fangs they bore.
Heed our warning, mortal swine-
Do not come here again.
The fate you’ll meet is worse than death;
She owns the minds of men.
“Pretty little poem, that.” Worn fingers feathered across the inscription, lingering briefly over the last two lines. The hand’s owner turned and jumped the five feet to ground level from the broken marble pillar. “Think maybe we should find another place for the night?”
“No, we stay,” another of the group said decisively, gazing around the dilapidated ruins of a castle no one knew the origins of. “The walls are crumbling here, but there are said to be rooms still intact farther in. We just need to find them.”
“Not worried about losing your mind, Tobias?” the sole female inquired teasingly.
“I hold no fear of ghost stories.”
“We are safe for tonight anyway,” the fourth and final group member said. He pointed towards the bottom lines of the inscription. “‘Do not come here again. The fate you’ll meet is worse than death.’ It is not until after we leave that we need fear the secrets of this castle.
“Come, let us find a room or rooms for the night.”
The woman and Tobias followed the third man through a crumbling doorway without complaint. Only the first lingered, giving the inscription one last, curious glance before he strode after the others. It was only one night, the first and last night. They had nothing to fear...