DW: His Hideous HeartsBa-bum-ba-bum. Ba-bum-ba-bum. Ba-bum-ba-bum. Ba-bum-ba-bum.
This was the cadence of his lifemoments lived in fast staccato, building a crescendo right behind his temples. If he concentrated very hard, he could ignore it, push away the throbbing noise for a few precious minutes and see everything the way it was meant to be. The universesuddenly new and clean and beautiful, a thing outside his own twisted mind. But then the beating would start again, softly, softly, and it would grow louder and faster (andlouderandfaster) until it was all he knew, all he understood. First, it matched the beating of his hearts, and then it quickened them, and then there was nothing apart from the drum-drum-drumming in his head.
There was no relief. All the running and screaming and kissing and killing in creation couldn't rid him of this sickening pulse. It turned his stomach, sucked his mouth dry. He would do anything, anything at all, to escape it, but there was nothing that co
Hunger for HeavenSometimes I long to trace my tongueHunger for Heaven5 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
across the milky sky
and let the clouds drip down my lips
and taste them with a sigh
and bite the sun and all its warmth
and wash it down with rain
and pop the moon between my teeth
and proudly lick the stain
It's this hunger for a heaven
that keeps me drawing near
and reaching up to stir and sip
some holy atmosphere.
But am I starving for a heaven
that's only in my mind,
counting ribs and empty spoonfuls
for something I can't find?
I'll keep yearning for a heaven,
my meal of light and air.
Could I crave it this intensely
if it's not even there?
It's this hunger for a heaven
that keeps me drawing near
and reaching up to stir and sip
some holy atmosphere.
And once I have tasted heaven
If I can keep it down
I'll float above these human veins
And never hit the ground
mind over mattermind over matter5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
"you have no power over me."
oh, what a lie.
because he is barely touching her--no, he never touches her, only his fingers a breath away from her skin, only his lips warm by her ear, only the strange wild scent of him around her--
he never touches her, but already, as always, she is threatening to shake apart. she can feel the tremors starting, deep, bone-deep from the places in herself that she was born afraid of, from the dark recesses where once she swore she would never go.
not with him.
but no matter the promises she made to herself, no matter the bravery she once possessed, she was wrong. she has always been wrong. because she's possessed, now, possessed by his radiance, by the warmth of his body behind hers, by the hot sweet whispers of magic that he breathes with every word.
she's run so long, so far. and still every night he finds her, walks out of the storm bright with magic and power and she can't resist him, she never could. fear him--she does. love him--she must. do
10 Myths About IntrovertsI came across this list recently and felt like sharing it. I am an introvert, myself. I found myself completely agreeing with all of these things !!10 Myths About Introverts3 years ago in Personal More Like This
Myth #1 Introverts don't like to talk.
This is not true. Introverts just don't talk unless they have something to say. They hate small talk. Get an introvert talking about something they are interested in, and they won't shut up for days.
Myth #2 Introverts are shy.
Shyness has nothing to do with being an Introvert. Introverts are not necessarily afraid of people. What they need is a reason to interact. They don't interact for the sake of interacting. If you want to talk to an Introvert, just start talking. Don't worry about being polite.
Myth #3 Introverts are rude.
Introverts often don't see a reason for beating around the bush with social pleasantries. They want everyone to just be real and honest. Unfortunately, this is not acceptable in most settings, so Introverts can feel a lot of pressure t
Yes, Steven, we get it.(Warning: rant ahead)Yes, Steven, we get it.8 months ago in Personal More Like This
Steven, We get it. You don't have to knock us over the head.
This is your homage to Tennant-era Dr Who. Because you know that fans (GIRLS!) like Tennant-era Who.
But you still don’t know why. You can’t figure it out.
Let me give you a hint: It’s not robots, or explosions, or romance with the Doctor that made us like RTD Who. It’s not witty banter. It’s not even, and especially not your brand of ~*feminism!*~ (Hey! You dumb broads want feminism? have two women! Lesbians! And they kiss! And they kick ass with swords! Yeah! Bechdel or something! pow pow MEN ARE PIGS!)
We liked Tennant-era Who because it had meaning. It had moral. It had story. Not random, oh-so-witty plot twists. Not bizzare mysteries that drag on for far too long while the characters stand around unable to solve simple riddles. It had heart. You stripped it of its heart when you took over the show and now you want to somehow put it back in.
I mean, go ahead and try. Tha
india inkfor some reason shes dipped a paintbrush in ink, taking a thick oxhair brush and soaking it with a cheap replacement for india. you see, she says as she drags the brush across an enormous piece of banner paper, this is art.india ink6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
no its not!, you want to scream at her, because something in you is rebelling against this scarring of a clean white sheet, at this waste of ink and time. your fingers ache to rescue her brush.
the curve of her lip when she smiles at you is another name for irony: you know she isnt happy with you and the smile is a lie. she keeps smiling, though, maintaining the mask as she makes a dark slash across a white corner. your hands jerk, unconsciously.
art isnt only pictures, she tells you, beaming at you pleasantly. to you it looks like the leer of a barbarian. the falling ink makes round black dots on the edges of the paper, inappropriately perfect. art is expression of emotion. any expression.
lie to me: first drafti'm the way a child knows without being told that her father is not coming home. (i'm the reason why she can feel the fatal moment, like a blow. she's too young to understand what the pain means, but not too young to feel it.)lie to me: first draft4 years ago in Scraps More Like This
i'm the way a husbands heart stops when his wife breathes her last ragged breath. (i'm the reason why their hearts beat in tandem, and why his arrests along with hers.)
i'm the way you felt when your brother died in a cold hospital bed, too many miles away from you. (i'm the way your heart broke when you realized that your bones and marrow and heartbreak did not save him. i'm the reason why the pain you felt after they punched tiny holes in your fragile back to try to save him does not begin to compare to this.)
this, this is the difference between death and me: death wants nothing to do with you. death is concerned only with his own dark businesswith stealing your children, mothers, sisters away without so much as a backwards glance.
project penpalproject penpal5 years ago in Scraps More Like This
1) your best friend.
I don't know who you are, and most of the time I don't mind. but sometimes I wish I could put a name to you. sometimes I get a little lonely.
2) your crush.
you don't exist for me right now! haven't since I got to college. I'm pleased about that, I must admit. normally you do nothing but cause me trouble.
3) your parents.
I'm going to make you proud, I promise, I promise--you just have to give me time.
4) your sibling or closest relative.
you're shaping up to be better than me at a lot of things (everything), and while that still scares me, it scares me less than it used to. sometimes I am angry at you because you're better than me. I'll get over that, someday soon, but I need time for that too.
5) your dreams.
miss you. come back. you used to build palaces in my mind--no events, no adventures, just sprawling, magnificent, gorgeous settings, places that take bits and pieces from the real world and make them a dozen times more wonderful. I want that back.
6) a stran
two:string.He asked her out with, of all things, a piece of string.two:string.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Or rather, five pieces of string, deposited on her desk over a week. She didnt find out until long after how theyd gotten onto her desk in the first place.
She thought the first one, a heart made of a two-inch snip of thread, had been a rare thoughtful gift from her brother. When questioned, hed asked her politely if she was crazy.
Not her brother, then.
It was followed the next day by a simple picture of a sun, draped in vibrant orange thread across one of her papers. In the mail that afternoon was a panorama of a mountain range, silhouetted against a gorgeous sunset. A tree appeared on Tuesday, artfully done for string art. Leaning against her door when she went outside was a package, which contained a black and white photo of a forest.
She woke up the next day to find eleven translations of love written in string on the bare glass of her desk, which was too much. She went downstairs and startled h
Battle I've not fought beforeLying there across the floor,Battle I've not fought before6 years ago in Other More Like This
Spread eagle- arms stretched wide,
Face aghast, just can't believe,
The one I trusted lied.
The path I tread is filled with blood,
And all I see is black,
Whispering voices in my head,
I see the things I lack.
'Tis is a battle I've not fought before,
Not in all my life,
Walking down the blood-stained floor,
Past the weary strife.
Ghosts rattle chains as I walk past,
Calling out my name,
Deathly voices sing to me,
And I am left with shame.
Dear deviantWRITERS...Dear deviantWRITERS, allow me to offer you some advice. While I realize that you may not want that advice at all, I will cheerfully ignore that, because I really think dA's literature community could use a bit of setting straight.Dear deviantWRITERS...5 years ago in General Non-Fiction More Like This
The reason writers like you and me are on deviantART at all is because we want people to read our work. No one would argue with that. So the way you do things should help get people to read your writing, not flee screaming.
That being said, the preview image that dA gives each literature deviation is your best friend. It gives you about 110 characters of text to impress anyone who might be randomly browsing through lit deviations--to catch their eye and make them want to read more. So! Here's a few tips.
Before that, though: I am not saying that every reader on dA agrees with the suggestions I present here. These are things that I think are important, and that I recommend. This is conceited, maybe, but I believe that good readers would agree wit
the topography of faces.when you are angry with me your face caves into furious hollows. there is one in the corner of your left eye, dark and defined, sharply. it reminds me of crevasses, on snowy peaks wreathed in clouds made of smoke and dreams, where men slip on treacherous ground and fall, to die and shatter. it reminds me of the bottom of the ocean.the topography of faces.6 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
under your lip there is another; you press your lips together and a tiny shadow forms underneath, gently rounded, as if weathered by the sea. it is there i am reaching for when i put my hands out to you, i would like to put my fingers on your mouth and whisper to you,
i would like to put the harsh creases in your forehead under my hands. i would like to run my fingers over you, feel the dark angry lines dissolve, soften, slowly, until you are perfect again. i would like to smooth away the hollows, like pockmarks or scars on your skin, until they melt back into the topography of your face and you are whole.
EPIC: they are almost murderedThere really was nothing like imminent death to encourage teamwork, Robin thought, hand in hand with her current worst enemy. Dashing haphazardly through bushes, over roots, past one hapless-looking (but, she noted with relief, normal-sized) squirrel, they crashed indiscriminately through the brush until she had the presence of mind to ask, "Where are we going?"EPIC: they are almost murdered4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"I don't care. Anywhere," he said, panting. "As long as it's away from that monster."
It didn't sound like much of a plan to Robin. "Can we look fora thicket, or somethingsomeplace useful" she tried to say, but then he halted so suddenly that his grip on her hand wrenched at her shoulder and she stumbled painfully before she caught herself.
"Um, ow? Some warning in the future?" she said, snatching her hand out of his and rubbing her shoulder.
He was looking hard at something she couldn't see. "Trust me, I don't think that's the worst you'd suffer if we keep going this way," he said, backing away.