Just keep on clicking
Almost got the Time Machine
Just one more grandma
Raising Hell - Epigraph Start“I am nothing special, of this I am sure. I am a common man with common thoughts and I’ve led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten, but I’ve loved another with all my heart and soul, and to me, this has always been enough.”
—Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook
She was taken from me before her time, and as I’ve trudged through the years, I could have sworn each passing day was a decade, maybe more. Without her in my life, I could feel the time draining what was left of my energy and will. Work and friends did nothing but let time skip ahead, if only by brief seconds, and while I appreciated their efforts, it didn’t help.
The home she and I had shared now became barren and dark, and each passing night only felt colder. And yet I persisted, her memory leading me by the hand through my days, as if pleading with me to carry on, for her. I was never one to refuse her, even as my legs grew he
Harrison Home Prologue P1The air was still as the hour grew later and later, the only pulses within the high-security facility were that of its highest ranking official and another unknown to him. As he sat smugly in his swivel chair within his office on the highest floor, looking down through his full-wall window at the world his family had worked hard to create, Edward Miller was deaf to the footsteps of his undoing coming ever closer.
His desk phone rang, cutting through the silent air with a blast of noise. He grimaced, but answered it; his new secretary had already gone home for the night. "Hello?"
"Yes, is this Mr. Miller?" the voice on the other end was that of a woman.
"Who is this?" he asked.
"I believe we spoke a while ago, a couple days at most. Amelia Harris from Midland U?" the woman answered.
"Ah yes, Miss Harris," Miller grinned upon recalling his previous call with her, "good for you to call, I had completely forgot to inform you that the board has agreed upon your internship here. Your trainin
Chapter 5: The Caramel Tavern [P2]By the time Marshall awoke from the pleasantly empty dream he had, the room he was in was pitch black, and his ice pack had melted. He didn’t recall seeing any sort of lamp in the room, but regardless he sat up and moved his hand out to see if he could find anything that would provide him some light. As he moved, he heard the familiar tinkling of the bell Alma had used. It had been close to his hand, and he knocked it over onto the floor. As he reached down to see if he could find it, the door to the room creaked open, and that older girl from earlier — wasn’t Tiana her name? — peeked inside.
“You awake?” she asked quietly. Marshall nodded from where he now sat up in bed. “Oh good, Mell was starting to get worried.” She entered the room by pushing the door open with her hip, and she carried in a tray of food. “We tried waking you up earlier to eat, but you just wouldn’t wake up! She gave Zero such a scolding after that, she wa
Chapter 5: The Caramel TavernPulling his way out of the hole he had made, Purple popped out into a dark and dank space between the walls of the cells. He had to move quickly, should any of the guards coincidentally look into his cell and find him missing. The space was just a short length wider than his shoulder width, pretty much a perfect fit for his escape; now all he had to do was figure out how to get out.
He chose to turn left directly out of the hole, not paying any mind to the dust that stuck to his clothes, and began to walk quickly. He felt as if a timer lingered over his head, telling him to keep moving, he didn’t have the luxury of hesitating now. As much as he wanted to search the walls for an opening that would lead to Red, he couldn’t risk getting caught and trapped again. He wouldn’t be of any help if he was still stuck in a cell.
But he still had no clue where he was. Was he above ground, or underground? Was he just getting himself lost with going one direction with no turns? He
Next MealAs it comes to the break of day after a briskly cold Bloomsburg night, I find myself at my favorite post in the square. A quaint little bench stained with graffiti and not with a friend in the world. I seat myself accordingly, and flip open The Finalized Analysis of Dracula, my favorite book, as the light begins to flood the air around me. I read to myself until the flow of the locals’ morning commute comes to a peak. Then I merely glance up from the words I’ve since memorized to find a curious pair of eyes peering at me from amongst the bodies of the passersby, shuffling along to the rhythm of their routine. It is always just one pair of eyes that I meet for that day, for just that one fleeting glance leaves a permanent imprint on the recesses of their mind, making them all the more curious of me. My sophisticated attire, my perfected posture, my nearly unknown identity; thoughts of such things flood their mind through their day, until they are drawn back to me when
The Witch's SonIn the dead of night, within the stables inside the castle walls, a young boy lay awake in a makeshift bed of straw and a blanket for warmth. He shivered not from the chill of the wind but of fear for his future. His eyes were rubbed raw from wiping his tears, and a prominent bruise stood shamelessly upon his cheek. Those men adorned in white were none too keen on his sobs for his mother as he was being dragged away from their forest home. They had shoved him into the stable with an order to be quiet and to sleep, both of which were hard for him.
He longed for the gentle voice of his mother, and the warmth of her embrace. But as he fought back his sobs, the familiar warbling of the blackbird sounded from outside the stable. He sat up in the pile of hay; blackbirds at this late hour? He knew of only one such bird that would sound its cry in the dead of night.
As quietly as he could, he snuck out from the hay and approached the stable door. His small stature could not see over the half-d
NAPOWRIMO 30 Days of PromptsDay 1: I am a poet.
Day 2: I own my flesh.
Day 3: Tell a lie.
Day 4: Love through letters.
Day 5: A thousand kisses deep.
Day 6: Monochromatic fears.
Day 7: You have 7 days to live.
Day 8: Glow in the dark stars
Day 9: Misplaced bones
Day 10: Write as if you are a body part.
Day 11: Wake the dead.
Day 12: Love bites
Day 13: I never think about ____ anymore.
Day 14: Find me.
Day 15: 7 Deadly Sins
Day 16: 3AM coffee
Day 17: Kiss the stars on her arms.
Day 18: ‘Last night—’
Day 19: What is your sign? Write about it.
Day 20: Galaxy skin
Day 21: What is tangled up in your heartstrings?
Day 22: A fight in a stairwell
Day 23: A forbidden desire
Day 24: Stitched the words into my heart
Day 25: Cross-hatched skin
Day 26: Artist fingers
Day 27: Holding up the universe
Day 28: Dig deep
ImagesI had a dream that I was dead.
Most of the faces I did not recognize.
There was a room; and a voice.
I felt like I shouldn't have been there.
There were so many people, and I was scared.
There was a familiar face in the endless crowd;
Someone from long ago.
They were smiling.
And then the room was gone.
I was stood in a park, in the rain.
It was so sad, but beautiful too.
The ground was covered in dead leaves,
and I could hear trees rustling in bitter wind.
There was thunder, but I wasn't scared.
I wanted to stay there forever, in the rain.
I had a dream that I was alive.
with her eyesshe undressed him-
crept up beneath his shirt as a loft breeze
and allowed the wind to swallow their unnecessary layers
letting her fingers be wary she grazed his marble slab skin
pirouetted atop his collarbones
threw her full self into a tour jeté,
floating along his abdomen
and landed atop his belt buckle.
silently she slipped her palms
(eager with sweat)
beneath his jeans
and nested her head at his chest
to find his pulse thrumming,
parallel to hers.
her hunger began insisting through the pores of her skin,
flooding out in an attempt to feed.
she glanced at him, beneath him, onto him and into him.
her eyes submerged in his honey skin and she inhaled a heavy breath,
and as he finally looked into her eyes she-
rushed to turn her gaze, embrassed he had caught her staring.
PE: The Basics of Giving CritiqueA lot of people seem to think that giving a critique requires you to have an art degree and a lifetime of experience. This is merely an excuse barrier to stop you from trusting yourself in the art of delivering a fine critique. Today's Project Educate guide is an aid to help you consider the basics of critique, and in particular critique on dA.
This article has been written as a guideline overview only and one persons advice. There are hundreds of existing "how to" guides for critique already existing on dA, so if this one doesn't suit you, take a browse and see what else you can find!
The key rules to critique
1. Keep in mind you are writing a CRITIQUE not a CRITICISM. Be wary of your word choices and make sure you keep in mind you are helping the artist for improvement. Be Constructive, not Destructive.
2. Consider you audience- who is the artist reading this critique? How may they react to your words? Be wary of patronising the person you are c
The SlendermanI waited for Master to come. To save me.
I wasn't expecting HIM to come instead. The name whispered through the wind, alerting me to his presence. Master didn't come...
But the Slenderman did.
His tendrils slid over my body in the darkness, and I gasped as he turned me around.
"Liiiiillllyyyyyy....Commmmeee wwiiitthhh mmmmeeeee..." His voice spoke softly, filling my entire being with his sound. I remained silent and tried not to look at him. Master was coming, surely he was.
"He's never hhhhheeerrrreeeeee...." He smiled and grabbed my chin with an actual hand, forcing me to look at his faceless...well, face. I grimaced and tried to turn, but he wouldn't let me.
"I'm heeerrreee to take his pplllaacccceeeeee.....Heeeee said I ccooouuullllddddd...." Slendy tightened his grip, making me cry out. I was paralyzed with fear. I knew he would take me for sure this time.
The last thing I had said to master was that I was never going to see him...
My neck popped as Slenderman whipped my head up.
Slendy's LullabySomeone's always watching me.
Someone's always there.
When i'm sleeping he just waits
and, he stares.
Someone's always standing in
the darkest corner of my Room.
He's tall and wears a suit of black
Dressed like a perfect groom.
Where are you going?
Why won't you stay?
They might be scared of you,
But i just want to Play.
He has no Face.
He hides with the trees.
He Loves little children
When they Beg and Scream.
StasisDreams only take you so far
before they crush you
and their un-fulfillment.
You cannot move
with bones so broken,
and a stomach
with swallowed pride.
And wing'd hope flies from the fear
of a life well wasted,
leaving you nightmare-shackled
to your potential
screaming in stasis.
PE: Finding Critique on dAWhere to find Critique on deviantART?
So, you just uploaded your latest image/writing onto deviantART and featured it in your gallery with a slight satisfaction you have achieved something. Fantastic, that is step one and now you can sit back and watch everyone's responses come pouring in and showing you everything you need to do to make your work even more fabulous.
The fact is; getting someone to critique your work isn't as easy as that. If you want critique, you need to seek critique and put in the good effort to get it. It won't always work, no plan is fool proof, but here are some places and advice that could help you find the feedback you desire. Not every place on this list will be your cup of tea, but try and see what works for you.
Step one: Make sure people know you want a critique!
If you are a subscriber, make use of the critique function that deviantART provides. You can do this my selecting "Request Critiques" when submitting an
All the KingsAll the king's horses
And all the king's men.
Couldn't put me back
Hold that piece.
Devious Journal EntryENGIE KEEPS RAMBLING SOMETHING ABOUT THE TIME-HOLE INSTABILITIES.
HOW MANY YEARS IN ZEE FUTURE DO YOU THINK ZEE CAPTAIN PRESIDES IN?
You just have to listenDo not ask the reason of my sadness,
I have lived for too long in silence and
it is not easy for me
to explain this with words.
Do not ask for the reason why I was crying,
for too long I have been the prey of pain
that no one has been able to comfort.
Do not ask for the reason why I was silent,
you just have to listen, to understand what I need.
Listening and hearing the beating of your heart,
this constant rate
that incessant tam-tams
like a panting breath
that just like me
it takes that continuity,
to find a little recreation,
in the daily struggle
post-conflagrationoh, darling, look at us;
a crooked collection of
ashen-faced chaotic nobodies,
struggling to stand straight.
we used to burn so bright,
but we're just now learning
why no-one loves fireworks
after they've gone out.