Just keep on clicking
Almost got the Time Machine
Just one more grandma
Blank StreetIt wasn't the best decision of my life. I know it, he knows it, but that isn't really what matters right now. What matters is that I almost missed the last train home.
"... Street Station, final train, now boarding."
That word before Street was always muffled, like they were trying their best not to say it. I knew what it was now; at first I found it strange they'd censor such a weird word. But nowadays, I think back and I can say that I understand.
It's not a censor. They're just pronouncing it the way it should be.
Because Blank Street is where you go to disappear. It makes sense the word should be smudged, halfway to silence but still needing to be said.
Did I want to disappear? No, I just wanted to find my mom. At least, that's what I always told myself. But I guess the idea of just... vanishing. It appealed to me, in the deepest recesses of my juvenile mind. I didn't know any better. I was angry, I wanted out, but I didn't want to die.
I just wanted to disappear.
Game NightThe night was quiet, and a late chill crept up my neck as I walked quickly towards old man Smithers' liquor shop. I had tried dozens of times over the past few months, but now, earlier that day, I had finally cracked the code in the paper. Those slimy snakes, I hated to admit that they were pretty clever, laying hidden codes right under the noses of the citizens. But of course, who was I to say that they were the ones constructing such intricate puzzles? The boys at the printers seemed to know nothing, so I could only assume it was someone working behind the scenes... maybe even He himself had a hand in it, but I could never be sure.
Coming up to Smithers' shop, I adjusted my tie and the holster under my vest. I had to act casual, though I was walking in half-blind into hell's gates, I could only be so prepared.
"'Ey, Lukey boy." Smithers greeted me cheerfully as I strolled in. A few of his customers eyed me carefully. "What brings ya 'round 'ere at this hour? Yer mum's gonna give ya a
'Such is Life'Broken bones
Covered in scrapes
"Don't worry, I'm fine"
Stabbed and sliced
"It doesn't hurt, really"
Unluckier than your black cat
Every day it's something new
Knives, shocks, busted doors
It's like they're drawn to you
And every second I worry
And I insist that you heal
No matter how much it hurts
You act as if pain isn't real
At work, at school, with me
You're tossed around endlessly
Yet you get up and wave it off
You accept you're just unlucky
"Such is life" you always say
Yet I think there's something more
I'd gladly hand you all my luck
The man that I adore
Excerpt from 'Watercolor'By the time Laurel awoke, she found herself in some sort of a wooden shack. Light filtered in through the curtained window and through cracks in the walls. Her bed was a flimsy cot, and the blanket she snuggled under was hand woven and half-ragged. The dirt floor was dusty and worn flat, but the air was clean. Waking refreshed and rested, she hopped out of bed and surveyed her surroundings. The walls were covered with feathers and pelts, and to the side near a window, was a thin wooden structure bearing a flat board. All the more curious, Laurel approached it, but was intercepted by Cerras, who was checking on her to see if she was alright. Laurel assured her that she was okay, nothing hurt and she was rested, and then inquired about the board on the stand. Cerras, being an intangible ghost, hovered towards the board to see for herself, before motioning Laurel forward.
The board itself was a fine, grainy texture, as accentuated by the roughness of the lines drawn on it. But it was what
[Rare-Pair Week] Day 3: FamilyTitle: Love You Daddy
Ship: AbeMihaShino [Abe x Mihashi x Shino'oka]
Word Count: 1215
"Chiyo... Chiyo?" Takaya called from the living room.
"What is it?" she answered from the kitchen.
"She's staring at me." he said. And from his seat on the couch, he never broke eye contact with little Chisame, who gazed at him with wide grey eyes. Her older twin sister Ringo occupied herself with a jingling set of toy keys, unconcerned with her father's current predicament.
"She probably just wants to play." Chiyo suggested. "Try giving her one of her toys."
Carefully, Takaya nudged one of the specially structured toy balls over to Chisame with his foot. The little one looked at it blankly for a moment before returning her attention to him.
"I don't think she wants to play." he called back to their mother. "She's just watching me..."
"She'll whine if she needs something." Chiyo replied. "Ren will be home soon,
[Rare-Pair Week] Day 1: BeginningsTitle: Heart in My Hands
Ship: MihaShino [Mihashi x Shino'oka]
Word Count: 2273
There was nothing remarkable about today, as far as Hanai knew. Practice went well, class was boring; everything was going as usual. Except for Mihashi fluttering about outside the door to Class 7 during lunch period.
The captain raised an eyebrow before delicately tapping the pitcher on the shoulder. Instantly Mihashi lurched back and nearly smacked into the adjacent wall as he spun around. Hanai grimaced as this common behavior, but he shook it off to get to the point.
"Something wrong?" he asked. "You need Abe or something?"
Mihashi shook his head furiously, spluttering halves of words before pausing to collect himself. He always got a sense of annoyance whenever he talked to Hanai, so he thought for a second before speaking.
"No, I... need to talk to Shino'oka..." he said carefully.
"Shino'oka?" Hanai repeated, and Mihashi nodded. There was an awkward pause before Hanai internally sighed. "You need me t
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
SchizophreniaThe bell rings
I sit, like everyone else
I put my textbooks over the table
Without a complain
Everyone is expressing
Screams of boredom
Rustle of impatience
I just remain in silence
Teacher tells me to read
I forget how I hate to talk
To be judged by those eyes
And I let my voice drain
In a helpless sound
My head starts to lapse voices
It gets all drenched in sorrowful thoughts
Chained by mad ideas
Until it bursts
In a frenzy quantity
Of frenzy desires and illusions
And then I remember
I forgot to take my drugs
I get nervous
I get desperate
They will appear soon
And the teacher knows that
And he asks me if everything is alright
And others laugh
At the junkie I am
All kind of antipsychotic
Drugs for insanity
Drugs for delusions
Drugs to be who Im not
I answer to the teacher I am OK
Though I am trembling like crazy
And he continues with the lesson
Ignoring the signs my body gives
Ignoring the creepy monster
That is about to come
fuck the instinct to apologize for everythingwe neglect ourselves, sometimes
we do not pay attention
we forget, the best of us,
that we need some time between the endless rush of moments,
the neon flash of wet streets at night and the flick-flick-flick of cars passing us,
on the right
we forget that we need that space of hours,
to let our breath out
and cry a little--use up some tissues--
and admit to ourselves what the state of things is
and why we've been treating ourselves like strangers,
rather than friends
OnceI met Death, once.
And he was welcoming.
I smelled the blood
as it escaped from my body; as it ran from my wounds.
I tasted the salty tears
of which he kindly wiped from my face.
I felt his bony hands;
and they were like daggers that pierced my skin.
I watched as his dark cloak
engulfed me into a black nothingness.
In my suffering, I waited,
waited for his unforgiving clutch upon my soul.
I heard his rattling breath
as I drew my last.
I met Death, once.
And I welcomed him with open arms.
your cupped hands
the grace of my rib cage
as we drift toward
the shelter of a quiet cove
my hair tangles
the valves of your heart
holding you at bay
for a moment
till I return your breath
the children we were
share ev'ry secret
rolling in the grass, always
laughing in our dreams
Creepypasta : SlendermanA long time ago, there was an old man, who lived near the woods of a small village.
His name unknown, his face unknown, some people didn't even know he even existed.
The only thing that truly was knows about this man is that he was a loner since his wife passed away.
He was often seen wandering through the woods.
He lived in a small house, without a television or radio, the only sound coming from the house were slow sad songs, the man sung himself.
On a misty morning the man was found dead in his house.
People began to become curious after they hadn't seen the man for weeks.
The fishermen, who saw the man each morning, looking at them from a safe distance, so that no one would recognize him, were the ones who called the cops.
He passed away in a terrible accident.
His face was ripped off and his hands were gone.
No one knows what happened that night and no one really wishes to know.
Some say the man never passed on.
Years have passed since the passing of the old man, nothing happened e
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.
time travel (continued)
time heals, remember?
burying despair: death.
grandfather time, immortal?
on loving counterclockwise.
All the KingsAll the king's horses
And all the king's men.
Couldn't put me back
Hold that piece.
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