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MemoryWe sit down beneath
our favorite tree
who only shares its shade
with you and me.
Crack open that picnic
basket, let's start to eat,
enjoying it with
critters at our feet.
Do you remember how
you and I
fell for each other? Oh, how
our love reaches the sky.
Your smile simply melts
all of my worries away.
Don't you see how our love
continues to grow each day...?
"Who are you?"
LifeOne moment, you're there. The next, you're not. Simple as that. And yet, it's so complex, so mystifying. It easily perplexes many. How can it be so close, so intimate to us, and yet remain a mystery like that? Such a small event being so big? Having such a huge effect? These unanswered questions express the mystery and uncertainty of those who feel its effects. They were so healthy, so happy...
But now you'll never see their face again. Hear their voice. Feel their touch.
The tears stream down the faces of the close ones. They hold onto one another, thinking that, if they hold on tight enough, that person passed might feel as well, and come back to them. They don't want to recognize the fact that it's all over. All of it. They cling to a wish. That wish is slowly pushed away as time progresses and sanity returns. They run out of tears. The future is dark to them, filled with some more of these tragic cases. They turn to the past, where everyone is still "there." They let themselves get
Dear WorldHave you forgotten me?
It sure feels like you have.
Is who I am not enough?
My confidence, my knowledge in all that I am too little?
Worth just a glance, once, less than fifteen minutes, just to be passed over, lost once again to the shadows?
Is speaking to me too hard to do? An effort?
Do I annoy you? Is that it?
Why can I not find and hold onto you?
We meet, we connect, and then.
Even if just mentally, it seems.
Magic turned to dust.
What have I done?
What have I not?
Am I really this forgettable?
I'd like to believe otherwise.
Amongst the Moon and Frost: Chapter 1
Cake scattered the floor.
It was a beautiful red color. Red velvet. Splattered all across the tile that was yellowed with time. There was one big chunk, surrounded by others that slowly grew into smaller and smaller crumbs the further they were from this central fragment. A few of the slightly larger pieces had been grinded into the kitchen floor, smushed into it, trampled by angry feet. They looked like random dark crimson blotches among the innumerable crumbs. The way the broken cake looked, the whole scene strongly resembled a horrible, grotesque, quite unique murder scene.
Like the floor was tainted with blood.
It would have been quite the wonderful, delicious cake, too. It was moist, but not too much so. Fluffy. Just the right balance of ingredients. Holding together on your fork until the moment you ate it. Melt-in-your-mouth. A delightful quality only found in the culinary creations of true masters of pastry. She had quite the plans for this cake. It was going to be shaped like
Amongst the Moon and Frost: Chapter 7
Time stands still.
Here is a character that is me. In every way and form, me. We are so much the same. Me. That is, if I had spiky hair that was white as freshly-fallen snow, command over winter phenomena, and mesmerizing blue eyes. Oh, and one other thing that I am not. I’d have to be a boy. But that is where the differences end between me and him.
My Jack Frost.
He went unseen, unheard for three hundred years. I haven’t had quite that lengthy existence, but it has felt like an eternity. Nobody believing in him. In me. To try to reach out and be heard only to be walked right through like nothing but air. And yet, to continue to assist others and bring them goodness—bring them happiness and fun—despite the fact that it would not change my invisibility even though I secretly hoped it would, despite the implications it had for me. That’s us. Alone in the world.
Four. Hand-in-hand with the previous, I suppose.
Calling out to one unearthly for an answer.
FANGIRLING. HARD.OH MY GOSH YOU GUYS. IT CAME. IT CAME EARLY. I'M FANGIRLING SO HARD RIGHT NOW.
What, you ask?
My "Art of Rise of the Guardians" book!!!! IT CAME A DAY EARLY. AWESOME SURPRISE. It has a foreword by Alec Baldwin, a preface by NONE OTHER THAN WILLIAM JOYCE HIMSELF, and is written by Ramin Zahen.
OHMYGOODNESS. IT'S AWESOME.
It had chapters on each of the characters and their lairs!! AND THERE'S AN ENTIRE. FRIGGIN. SECTION. ON. JACK.
Anyway, I'm writing Chapter 28 right now and should have it up! After that, I'm going to continue fangirling hard as I read through this entire 155-page book.
And then probably write some more. Because I'm going to be inspired.
I'll be sure to end up including some findings that this art book will provide in my writing so it stays accurate!
Thanks, and sorry about the spam.
SOMEONE PINCH ME, I MUST BE DREAMING.
Oh, and I'm going to go see the movie again for the seventh time tomorrow. Fangirli
A Small RequestDon't leave me here alone,
at the mercy of
The loneliness scares me.
It suffocates me,
puts chains on my wings,
and traps me.
Please...don't let it do this
to me. Stay by my
side, right here.
Whisper something sweetly,
softly, to me...like
Tell me that it will all
be all right...as long
as you're here.
Reach out your hand toward
me, touch me gently...
Let me feel your presence;
know you're here with me;
Everlasting Snow: Chapter 59
Warning: This chapter kinda sorta contains little spoilers regarding the Rise of the Guardians movie!
“I take it that you have taken notice of my little…collection,” Pitch purrs, waving his hand a little to indicate the endless mounds of golden boxes.
The lost baby teeth of all of the people of the world.
Rolling, gleaming hills of billions upon billions of memories.
You warily nod. Is he wanting you to do something regarding the teeth?
“Our dear Jack seems very interested in it,” he continues, looking over his shoulder at the closest heap. “And then there was that show last night…such power! I simply cannot leave him to continue assisting those weirdos that call themselves Guardians. He must join me, and he has given me a very useful piece of information that will let me do just that.
“Now, tell me, what does he want with the teeth? Don’t answer, it
Amongst the Moon and Frost: Chapter 3
November, senior year of high school. Chapter title: “Decision.”
I think it was poetry. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” I believe. But I’m not too sure.
You see, I was too busy daydreaming to really pay attention.
Or, should I say, “lost in thought”?
Anyway, my brain was so preoccupied with other thoughts that there just simply wasn’t room for even the discussion going on in one of the two classes I didn’t absolutely despise—English. The other was Calculus.
Oh, my brain.
Engineering? For NASA, so I could send rovers and shuttles into space and be the first to see new pictures of the Great Beyond that I had grown to love and gaze up at so much? That sounded wonderful. But, as much as I sincerely loved math, it didn’t like me back. That, and I had recently learned that you don’t actually get to see pictures. Just locked up in a room cranking out numbers as you get back codes and images tha
One last kiss before the Apocalypsethe day of the apocalypse
I will be near to thee
nestled in thy arms
the day of the apocalypse
my memories will parade in my head
my fear will disappear
the day of the apocalypse
I will put my ear onto thine heart in order to hear our love one last time
the day of the apocalypse
my lips are going to arise onto thine lips for one last kiss
I love you, I will love you, here or in another world
Tread harshly on my nightmares
Make all my fears disappear
Hold me close, my rainstopper
So I won't be alone...anymore
A night like tonight-
It'll be alright
Tears seem to fly-
Within glistening light
Relieve thy tired heart
Put thy pain in my arms
Allow those woes to depart
The strong are the weak ones / Once the damage is finally done
Crack and shatter my soul / My protected tears are no more
Don't let my sympathy be wasted / My morals won't become faded
I'm leaving my heart open / Don't let yourself worsen
I will always care / I will always be here
This is what I will always be / The vanquisher of your agony
A day like today
You'll be okay
Bathe in this sunshine
Doubts will ignite
Recover thy power
You survived t
Maybe you are my inner demon
I have my inner demons.
And they are tearing me apart.
Through my rib cage,
They are eating away my heart.
I have you,holding me tight.
You can feel the pulse of my soul
I am afraid,save me.
Make those evil creatures go.
I have monsters under my bed.
They whisper only bullshit in my ear.
Their voices are so quiet for others,
But so loud for me to hear.
I feel like losing my balance,
I will fall soon,
I wonder,did Lucifer
Have his inner demons,too.
I trust them,
And they say you'll leave.
It's like they want to kill.
But you caught my body,
You're the one with my soul's key.
With the color of my artery's blood
on your body,you said to me:
"Don't talk to monsters under your bed,
Cause they don't like us at all.
Sleep,I am here,my love.
They don't know what we know."
So much time, so little to doI have seen the beauty of a dove beneath the skies
I have told the harshest truths, and I have told some lies
I have seen a child cry into its mother's arms
I have been that weeping girl who held onto self-harm
I have heard the laughter of a man about to die
I have seen the anger resting deep within their eyes
I have been the victim of my own disgusting thoughts
I have seen the best of people slowly start to rot
I have felt the heartache; I have seen a love go blue…
So much time is left to spare, but so much less to do…
In the interest of full disclosurei am not the person you think
and you will realize that all too soon.
i am not what people have built me up to be
and i am destroying myself in trying to measure up.
i am not interesting.
if i were a puzzle, all of my pieces
would be careworn with age and wear
colors dull and muted--
a picture prosaically familiar;
there is nothing pretty to look at here.
i am not beautiful. i am not the kind of person
that they write about,
stories and poems that make you cry.
i am not strange enough to be special,
but i am not normal enough to fit in.
i am not fragile enough to engender support,
but i am not strong enough to help myself
let alone those who are foolish enough to rely on me.
i am not a delicate collectible
that people wish to adopt
and call my problems their own.
i am a dusty cliché
that has seen better days.
let me be clear:
i am none of these things.
i am not.
[SH] SherlockxReader - Love Me Drunk or NotSherlock sat in his chair, his hand to his mouth and his leg shaking. Something was wrong, he could feel it. John sat at the table, typing away on his laptop. He sighed, the sounds of the keys stopping. Looking over, he was watching him, giving him an annoyed expression. Groaning and turning back, he rolled his eyes and waited still.
John began typing again, fingers pressing the keys as if with difficulty. The buttons were pressed too hard and he was doing it slowly. Rolling his head back, Sherlock jumped around in his seat. “John, by the way you are typing, you seem to be distracted and anxious.”
“And by the way you are fidgeting, you seem worried.” John muttered, not looking up from his work.
Pausing and twitching his fingers, Sherlock nodded and pointed at him, sitting back down. “You’re right, I am worried. She hasn’t come home yet. It’s nine o’clock and she’s still not home.”
John sighed again and closed his laptop,
respectHow dare you?
Who are you to place yourself so high above me?
Are you a divine being? a God?
What makes you so superior to me?
You have done nothing to deserve my respect,
and yet you try to place yourself in a better rank.
You are nothing to me,
so don't you dare expect me to honor you.
Respect is not a right, it is a privilege.
Love Is...Love is a foreign and dangerous concept once conceived.
Love is naïve hope, easily breakable.
Love is blind, foolish pain.
Love is wishing, praying, yearning for what can never be yours.
Love is a double-edged sword, bliss and paradise to one side, but fall carelessly into the other abyss from the paper-thin precipice, and receive a gift of eternal heartbreak.
Love is endless pining, torment, and worry.
Love is a hopelessly botched mess.
Love is despising a person for allowing you to become this way, yet always singing their praises.
Love is consciously torturing yourself to ensure your beloved's happiness.
Love is knowing they'll never pick you even if you were the last living, breathing thing on Earth.
Love is a horrible act of human nature.
Love is willing to make anyone its helpless, unwilling prey.
Love is hurt.
Love is wonderful, blissful pain.
Always Your MeisterIt isn't the first time during the battle that you find yourself breathlessly thanking the fates that Stein is a strong enough Meister to be able to handle any weapon----to be able to handle you---so well. Without that power, that deranged, persistent, beautiful power the man has, you both surely would have been killed already. As it is, you are both taking quite a few unpleasant hits, the fight leaving its toll on both body and soul. But still, he fights on. You both fight on. For the sake of the students, you tell yourself half heartedly. For the sake of those "too determined for their own good" students that have gotten themselves in more trouble than they can handle. Again. But it is more than that and you know it. As much as the two of you fighting together is to protect these kids just kids it is for him too. It has always been for him. And always w
WaterStill as death, silent as the dark,
Empty as the cold, it sits there.
There is has been for centuries,
seeing all, nothing seeing it.
It longs for one thing: company;
the one thing it will never get.
Nothing dares draw near its surface
in fear their eyes will be opened.
Not the swan, not the stars nor man.
Even the majestic mountains
Go to lengths to avoid its face.
In loneliness it waits longer
for the single brave creature
who will look into it, realize
the hidden truth, touch it with a
finger's tip, and cause uncalming,
calling, wondrous ripples.
But, until then, it waits.
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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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