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Two Demons - Chapter 01Thunder and lightning are commonly known to be electric charges that nature creates within rumbling clouds and soaked ground. And being hit by lightning is a very rare occurrence, but not unheard of. You’d think that being hit by one of these God’s walking sticks would render you burnt to a crisp or veggie-fied, but many have survived these unfortunate meetings.
It was a terribly stormy weekend, and while my conscience knew better, my fridge was nearly empty and my stomach ruled out staying at home. I parted the blinds on my window, and stared out into the dreary streets of Seattle. The radio buzzed in my room, blurting out little bits of forecast: “...100% chance… throughout the week… advised to stay indoors… minor flood warnings…”
I sighed. What else could I do? I lived in a one-room apartment with barely enough space to stretch, much less throw a tantrum. A tiny screen flickered behind me, reminding me that I’d left my little
Lonesome FigureThe first thing I feel is the lining of my right sock gently caressing my tired toes. The cushion beneath it slowly compresses as my sneakers wrap tightly around my foot, the soft cloth bending and folding into an intricate origami. I begin to feel pebbles take their shape through the thick foam and plastic, slowly pressing against my sole as a masseuse might. Something creaks beneath these stones, the hard dead cells of wooden planks slowly being crushed beneath my weight. The ground’s support slowly reaches up my leg, my knee locking into place and my hip coming to a temporary rest.
This happens all over again, but this time with my left leg. One wooden plank after another, slowly traversing this bridge on the cold hard dirt. The light angels dance among the treetops, making their passage across the sky at a pace only one truly at peace would be able to perceive. A faint sound rumbles through my skin, but I care not. Trifles such as this don’t matter in the world of chaos
The Borrower Arrietty 2 - Chapter 20 (Finale)It had been a week since Arrietty began her intensive-care period with Aerite. Though each day grew more forlorn, Sho knew that saving her life was probably the better option than to satisfy his selfish needs. Besides, Spiller’s words reverberated within his hollow mind, the surges of guilt coursing throughout his veins every time he thought of the little borrower girl. Why did fate have to do this? Why did fate have to match them together, only to tear them apart?
Jane could only offer so much consolation before she began to grow tired of the same ol’ story of ‘I love her’ and ‘I want her’. Sho’s tie with Arrietty was special, indeed, but if he never learned to let go, chances were that Arrietty would never be able to return to normal. In any case, neither Jane nor Sho knew what ‘normal’ was anymore. To put it thoughtlessly, having borrowers in their lives had turned their world upside-down. Perhaps they were as much a nuisance as
Life in Beacon - A RWBY Fanfiction - Chapter 01
The events that occur in this story are considered day-in-the-life, therefore do not necessarily have a fixed interval or date. Some will weave in and out of the realms of canon, following some episodes closely, while others may fill in the gaps or be completely unrelated. The deviation description often will give you a good idea of the time that the story arc occurs. Do note that the stories are in chronological order unless stated otherwise.
Thanks for viewing this story, and happy reading!
Life in Beacon – A RWBY Fanfiction – Chapter 01 – “Hunger”
Ruby was hungry.
Now, it wasn’t the normal kind of hungry, the kind that made you ravenous for meat or pasta, that made your stomach grumble and made you smell even the slightest whiff of food. No, it was a hunger that ransacked her mind and agitated her more and more every passing moment.
Ruby wanted chocolate chip cookies.
Who could deny that begging face, the puppy-dog eyes, or the sweet voice
float onnow I'm thinking
that the moon's smarter than me:
she's in love with the earth
but keeps her distance,
I lose my orbit
when you're not around,
and I find myself without gravity,
waiting for you all night
when I know you'd rather be
The ArtistShe talked to rocks, asking them if they’d be happy
To leave their home for her newest installation piece
She cried sometimes for no reason other than
She felt like having a good cry
Her house was covered in her students’ drawings
She said the best art was produced from innocence
She went mad once, and painted canvas after canvas
In furious strokes of black
The soft blue world of youth at last faded, she grew old
People shook their heads when they saw her
And whispered “poor dear” under their breath
But she was never poor
Her love for everything and everyone never died
It was swept in all directions like a summer breeze
Making people smile without knowing why
But the river rocks know
AlphaThere is an ocean
of wolves battering
my heels, teeth
bared, breaking skin.
Lightning is laced
into my spine, it
takes no prisoners,
but electricity is
no match for their howls.
I stand as the lioness
within roars and spits
out a hundred curses.
They are now prey,
with tumbleweed trolls
sinking their brambles
into matted fur.
Unique? Pathetic.You say that you are unique? Pathetic.
You are not, nor will you ever be unique. There are 7 billion people in the world- people just like you.
The same hair color, the same hair style; the same eye color, the same crooked smile. The same jacked up teeth that you forget to brush and the same chipped nails you pick at when you're in a rush. The same chapped lips- which you never stop biting; the same non-pierced ears that you never stop tugging. The same exact skin color, even when you tan; the same exact tan lines seen on every woman. The same exact figure, whether you lose or gain weight; the same exact death sentence, this is your fate.
A fate to always want to look like that girl in 3rd; to be as funny as that guy in 6th; to be as smart as the transfer in 2nd; and definitely be as happy as your teacher in 1st.
You can't say that you're unique when you have this fate. You can't be unique when you're just made of different people, and I will bet you anything that they're
the only timei say baby there’s too much weakness
we bled god to death like a dried up felt-tip pen
it is time to find another excuse for our shortcomings
but when your gutter vessels shudder
under pockmarked blotter
it is guilt
underscored in red
the sellotape the tear duct
the paper knife
the whip of risk the bodies at your feet
the every inherently senseless sacrifice
couldn’t satisfy this
i say there’s nothing to apologize for
the yellow in the sky feels dated
as i walk away
from tree to femur.
from wave to throat.
from cliff to iris.
from rust to skin.
slivers to paper mache,
creases to flame,
ashes to steel.
C19H28O2Testosterone is not a measure of a man.
C19H28O2 cannot make me smile
or feel safe in a claustrophobic world
in which breathing causes the piercing
colostomic pain of being alive
to rip through my thoughts.
C19H28O2 doesn't determine how a man loves
or how I love him in return.
It does not tell me whether or not
he will enlighten the biting nightscape.
It does not tell me who, or how to love,
because testosterone is not a measure of a man.
Soles (City Boy)Soles (City Boy)
i tugged at your arm and pouted
as you scratched our initials into the park bench
with our apartment key.
“can our lives be any more like a cheesy romance novel?!”
and you pushed up your glasses
and flashed me a smirk
and said simply,
“don’t test me.”
i’d always been a forest girl,
counting rows of corn instead
of cracks in the concrete,
sitting cross-legged under my bridge
listening to birds croon on crooked telephone lines
used to carrying a different kind of call.
but you showed me this place
where the sky glowed with
the beacons found below,
on passing cars
and the skyscrapers
like older brothers
looming far above our heads
yes, now we were living among the stars.
i arrived in the morning
and by mid-afternoon
i had internalized the sounds
of a hundred soles
scuffing across ill-kept sidewalks,
but our soles were dancing up on the rooftops
and no one could hope
to call us down.
i held tight to your hand
as you pulled us through the
ephemeral ( again )and i woke up in a
without knowing where i stood, snow
falling like dead raindrops
from a sky filled with
fall along my axis
and forget which way goes
the way our mind makes concentration
a little more
(to the left)
and there's a piece of you
you couldn't find;
don't forget that
there's monsters beneath the
sheets - ghosts without
(oh, how the sky is caving
in - )
run faster or
you'll just wake up to try
a dangerous hallucinationThe light coming through the window was bright,
much too bright.
Even though my eyes were closed
I could see it-
The skin of my arms prickled,
sweat dripped from my brow.
It was two in the afternoon but…
the sun was setting
through the window facing east.
I should have seen the hutch,
shelves lined with bone china
decorated with delicate leaves and vines.
I was so thirsty
and reaching for cups that should have been there.
Instead I found a billboard of butterflies,
the colors raging
more than any rainbow
I'd ever seen.
Their wings fluttered and flashed
yet somehow they moved in slow motion.
I wanted to stand,
wanted to reach out and touch them but…
I couldn't move,
and yet I laughed
ignoring my dry mouth
and the tingling in my feet.
There was a tempest
on the rise
and in my blood.
A sugar rush disguised
as a riot of butterflies
and they were swarming me.
There was a small vial
of insulin in my pocket
that I nev
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More