PMD-EoTD-Chapter 1Pokemon Explorers of Time and Darkness: Chapter 1: The SeparationPMD-EoTD-Chapter 17 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Where am I? Am I dreaming this? I feel a pleasant breeze..." ...........
.....Um, hello? Wake up!" "Ugh, that was a horrible storm..." *eyes open* How did I end up here?
"Hi! I found you knocked out here! How'd you get here?" the Turtwig said. "AH! You..you can talk?" the green Pikachu said. "Of course! All Pokemon around here can talk! My name's Turtwig. And yours? What's your name?" Turtwig said. My name? "My name is Solaurea. But I'm a human!" Solaurea said. "A human? You look like a Pikachu, except you're green, with light red stripes and yellow rings on your forehead and thighs." Turtwig said. Solaurea looked down at her hands. They were green. Her thighs really did have glowing rings. Solaurea ran over to the ocean water, and looked at her reflection. Everything Turtwig had said was true! But how? Solaurea wondered. She was exhausted. Solaurea closed her eyes and tried to remember what happened. All she could remem
Tserith: MistletoeThe main Midgar shopping plaza was quite a sight this time of year. Bright decorations that seemed to glow for miles, rings of smoke that filled his nostrils with the soft smell of sugar hinted with the spice of gingerbread and elaborate window displays that made even him want to stop and stare.Tserith: Mistletoe5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Still, even away from his office and colleagues, Tseng turned away from the tempting sights and continued on his way.
This time of year was supposed to bring out the best in people. The time of year when everyone... even lazy asses like Reno seemed to be a little nicer. When people could smile at each other. Hell, even Sephiroth welcomed Christmas wishes with a simple nod and a smile in return.
So why did he just feel... normal?
"It's beautiful!" Cissnei said, taking the delicate plant in her hand and examining it under the soft glow of the street lamp, "Look at the leaves, it doesn't even look real!"
"Holly has that effect," Aerith said, smiling as the Turk examined t
On WritingTo be a good writer, you have to be a Man. Not just a man, but a Man. I envy the hell out of chicks that decide to write mainstream fiction. Rehash a few awkward or painful teenage memories, chuck your crystallized adolescence into the defroster and pawn it off to Oprah, ba-da-bing, youre a millionaire. Not with guys. Oprah doesnt have your back if youre swingin around a dick. Did you see what she did to James Frey? Jesus. That should teach him to potentially exaggerate any fragment of a story.On Writing8 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
Writing is easy. Anyone with a superiority complex and a pen is already a writer. But to be a good writer, one of them literary-types who actually sell books, you have to toe the borderline of godhood. You have to eat lightening and shit victory. You have to drink like Hemingway and be at least 70% more bulletproof. You have to be able to chop down a redwood with your knuckles and whittle it into a massive club using only your teeth. The phallic imagery only adds to the m
grudges inside your fistsI am disgusted by my skin.grudges inside your fists8 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
I have stretched out my foot and seen the blurs of veins: the blazer-blue rivers and roads running into each other, overlapping, daring to spill over, pounding on the roof of flesh and warmed by the red within; and I have seen them scatter, disappear as I pull my foot inwards, stretch themselves taut when I thrust out. The top of my big toe is a sunrise and the melted cow-white of my skin has been swallowed by the air, and when you breathe it all in, I hope you can taste the rain, not the salt and the blood.
My teeth have taught me the intricacies of my hands. With two solid cubes of yellowing calcium, I have found the ridge of wing-bone just below the red patch; I have felt the gummy lid between your thumb and your forefinger, and the lines like pencil shavings there; I have discovered the protruding semicircle of bone, angry and upset, kicking out with a defiance against skin; and I have been perplexed by my knuckles, the months counted off from each ledge
The Terrifying GorgerThe Terrifying Gorger9 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Name: Gregor Samsa
Name: Gorger (Smith or Ex or whatever slap dash moniker lets him into large cities)
Age: Gregor is thirty, Gorger is technically twenty one years old, having been created fully formed when Gregor was nine.
Height: Gregor is 5'9'', Gorger is 6'2''
Weight: Gregor is a malnourished 110 lbs. Gorger lives up to his namesake, but prefers to gain density as opposed to visible mass. He is 200 pounds.
Background: Gregor had a German father and a Ukrainian mother. Gorger has no blood, and, by proxy, no DNA. Gregor was born in Alaska. Gorger was created in Gregor's head.
Gregor Samsa was an average, All American, Joe Everyman.
His hair was a dull brown bowl cut, flecked with gray. His eye color was the reverse of this. His face was plain and unmarked. He was barely noticeable and instantly forgettable.
Most maniacs are stopped dead early on in their careers because they ring very deep alarm bells in the people they meet. The alarm bells state very clearl
the problem of evilHe fills his fingers with my skin.the problem of evil8 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
You're quiet today, he says.
I do not tell him. I don't lift my eyes like the breasts of angels in churches. I do not tell himI am learning to accept the end of the world.
He pricks the back of my hand, and I bend forward, my forehead against my knees. I think about names and I wonder if I were to whisper the name of a long-dead mother, a hospitalized father, a brother in denial, a sister without her hair, a dog leaning on two stubby arms and a cat with her tail wrapped inside her mouth, a baby choking on the roots of life and a girl battling her Adams' appleI wonder if I could save them, my mouth choked against my jeans, his face tucked away in the crevices of my palm, a desert inside.
No, I say, I'm not.
There is an amputee in the dark playing war games. He presses shift and his gun comes out, and he hits ctrl twice to shoot. Two enemies fall with their arms streaming behind them, graphics tearing at pixels, his screen a mi
y te grito:sequel to o balmy breath; continuation of passages from invitation to a beheading, by vladimir nabokovy te grito:7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
"Well, why not drink this mush of hope, this thick, sweet slop my hopes are still alive and I thought that at least now, at least here, where solitude is held in such high esteem, it might divide into two parts only, for you and for me, instead of multiplying as it didnoisy, manifold, absurd, so that I could not even come near you this is why I am writingthis is my last attempt to explain to you what is happening, Marthe make an exceptional effort and understand, if only through a fog, if only with a corner of your brain, but understand what is happening, Marthe, understand that they are going to kill mecan it be so difficult
I do not ask lengthy widows lame
MotherTitle: MotherMother5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Author: Enide Dear
Pairing: Hojo centered, implied HojoxLucretia
A/N: For :iconcrimsonsun: who will still hope will go as drag!Hojo to the con
The boy needed a female role model, there were no doubt about it. Shuffling through his papers, Hojo sighed and rubbed his weary eyes. As if he didn't have enough problems to deal with on a daily basis, what with the Turks still sneaking around after Lucretia's 'disappearance' for Shiva's sake it was years ago! He had no idea where the blasted woman were and had no real interest in finding out either the way prices for prime test animals had sky rocketed and the way ShinRa president kept nagging him for when his super Solider would be ready for action.
Well, Hojo had told him testily, we expect your super Solider to outgrow diapers in a few months so there's bound to be some 'action' in the mean time.
The president was not pleased.
And now said toddler Soldier were showing disturbing signs of mo
Thick as a Brick - Jehtro TullReally don't mind if you sit this one out.Thick as a Brick - Jehtro Tull10 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink.
So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick.
And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away in
the tidal destruction
the moral melee.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play as the last wave uncovers
the newfangled way.
But your new shoes are worn at the heels and
your suntan does rapidly peel and
your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick.
And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today -- and you
shake your head and
say it's a shame.
Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth.
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song.
See there! A son is born -- and we pr
The PastTitle: The pastThe Past5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Author: Enide Dear
Pairing: VincentxLucretia *le gasp!*
Rating: work safe
A/N: art exchange for a 'kiddy!Remnants sleeping in the lab' pic my CrimsonSun! The prompt was Veld and Vincent talking, no pairing I had to do some research on Veld. He seemed even more uptight than Tseng
"You are too emotional." Veld steeple his fingers and looked at the Turk over them. "It's a trait you have to learn to get rid off."
Burgundy eyes locked on to his, angry and hurt. The colour alone was strange enough to make most people back away, but Veld was not most people. He sighed.
"You are a good Turk, Valentine, but you feel too much. It's a common fault amongst young people, but you are past the age where such behaviour could be accepted. A Turk is "
"Is what, sir?" The angry man cut him off, eyes flaring under a mop of unruly black hair. "Is a Turk someone unable to feel friendship or love? Someone who is de
Tseeve: Drabbles Meme part IITseng had left a note for Reeve; it was a private affair and therefore the words were not traceable over the usual communication systems. Instead the Executive had found it when taking lunch. Opening his metal lunchbox, a piece of paper fluttered towards the floor. Reeve caught it within his fingers and with a puzzled expression, lifted it to read.Tseeve: Drabbles Meme part II6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Meet at Wall Market entrance, 1900 hours. Wear something comfortable.
Enjoy your lunch...
Reeve recognised the script as Tseng's own hand and a faint embarrassment crept up his neck at the last comment. The Turk will undoubtedly use the fact his lunchbox bore a rendition of an ancient beast to tease him in the future. However, he put that thought to the side, as well as the other questions raised about the invitation, and concentrated on his work for the day.
At 1845 hours Reeve had made his way down into the slums dressed in a pair of grey jogging bottoms and light blue sweatshirt, his apparel of choice during the rare times spent re
10 quick drabbles. DoneFor Brok3nKistuneD0lly Renoxanyone (which is a *very* dangerous thing to say to me .)10 quick drabbles. Done6 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
"Tseng! Tell your damned boyfriend to knock it off!" Tseng looked up surprised as his second-in-command came rushing into his office, drops of oil splattering all around him.
"Reeve?" Tseng frowned, protecting his precious folders from stains. "*Reeve* is getting on *your* nerves?" It was usually the other way around.
"He was gonna help me with a few strange noises on my chopper and you know I love that chopper, right?" Reno flapped his arms agitated. "And well, fuck, he did!"
"Yes? So?" Tseng didn't get why this should be a problem. Reno loved the helicopter in a way that outside of the Turks would have been considered unhealthy. Inside the Turks, however, it was just one of those charming quirks everyone had.
"He brought the Gods-damned chopper to *life*!" Reno pulled his hair in despair. "It's talking! It has a personality! My chopper! My baby!"
Tseng's eyebrows rose.
"I can see
Hojo's Beach VacationTitle: Hojo's Beach VacationHojo's Beach Vacation5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Author: Enide Dear
Pairing: HojoxOFC (other female characters)
Warning: see above
Rating: work safe
A/N: for :iconcrimsonsun: I hope you like it!
A/N 2: Thank gods for Wikipedia, is all I'm saying
A/N 3: anyone even attempting to make a Mary Sue joke about this fic will face a vengeance that is swift, cruel and unusual .
It was ridiculous. Preposterous. Quite unacceptable. Pacing the floor, Hojo rubbed his eyes and spat a few well chosen curses even as he skimmed through the results of last week's data. Not two of the damn numbers added up straight! Furious, he flung the clipboard across the lab, feeling some small matter of satisfaction as beakers crashed to the floor and test animals screamed in fright.
But that satisfaction was short lived indeed. Slumping on a rickety chair, he took of his glasses and leaned a pounding head in his hands. This was the third week in a row his test results came back like this all messed up and us
of monsters and menTime does not wait for you. He walks down the train tracks with squared shoulders and looks ahead like he is going somewhere. In his eye you can see the horizons of concrete buildings dying for a touch at the sky, raising antennas up to grasp onto God's outstretched palm. Time is the seventh grade boy in overalls who walks unfumbling along the gutter with his feet like bound rivers, and if he were to stop and smell the roses we'd all be afraid we'd have none left, sucked up his nostrils into the secret garden of his lungs. Time wears wristwatches like snakes along his arm, traveling up to find his clavicles bent out of shape with want and desire, and his knuckles could pinpoint you from miles away. Time is the seventh grade boy that you watch enviously, his skilled feet and his unfurled tongue and the confident way he sits at his desk and speaks Latin in school, and you are the kid who sits in the back row and draws ants on the back of his neck with your scrunched fingers, mumbling a dof monsters and men8 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives More Like This
Absolution - Chapter 21Chapter Twenty One.Absolution - Chapter 218 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
You should go to school, Frank told me as we left the hospital a little while later, Youre gonna be in so much trouble cause of me.
I dont care. I told you, Im not leaving you, I assured him.
He didnt say anything after that; he just gripped my hand tightly as I looked at the timetable on the bus stop.
11:40, I read, There should be a bus in a few minutes.
A bus to where? Frank asked, looking at me anxiously.
It stops near your house I think.
Frank nodded and looked back at the hospital sadly.
You have to go home eventually, I told him.
He turned back to me, dejected, Thats not my home, not anymore.
I tried to pull him into a hug, but he wouldnt move. He blinked back at me, chewing on his bottom lip so hard I thought he might rip it off.
Cant I, cant I just stay with you? Please, I cant s
someday i will build a walli am still jealous of watersomeday i will build a wall8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
the rivulets and crescents of your palm
while your skin mimics an ocean;
but as soon as you start to take it
it slips, slides, trickles
it will be held,
bending to fit the poetry
of your hands,
we gathered around your hospital
bed and if i closed my eyes i could pretend
it was thanksgiving,
when the house is gold
and our hands are
pinked like bent and pale knees;
and we clasped our hands across
our nipples and you look up
and wave to god like he is
coming for you, and we touch
our nails to our chins and
make new freckles on
our skin. it withers,
lost to a sea of blood too quick
for your veins, and
as if your heart is already
i liked you better
when i could take your head in my hands
and hold it like a coin,
and your curls would fall around and
mash against me, and my palms would
be made of silvery thread and
thick skin for the rest of the day;
and when i opened m
Disaster Looks Fine...She smelled of artificialDisaster Looks Fine...8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
lilacs with faint notes of
lemon. Hair had grown
considerably, skin was
as soft looking as to the touch
belied and I couldn't begin
to remember why I walked
away once prior.
I tried to fight off my
typical male tendencies
but soon gave in;
she was wearing a
low cut blouse, after all.
Some time eloped, thinking,
trying to remember, but
it came eventually,
I again remembered the
why, the falling out of us.
Rather not dwell on the
reasons, know I should
remain the angry one
but I couldn't seem to
locate that emotion.
Compassion shone through
and I found myself becoming
fond of you again.
This street corner
rendezvous wasn't in today's
plans but I couldn't think
of any other upstart better
than the one staring into
my soul, I still believed
she could have seen right through.
I swear to you, up and
down, I was trying to fight
my typical manly ways,
but she eventually said
why not come back to her
place, out that windy corner and the
expectant rain cloud we spied
WhoreTouch me where we're not supposed to,Whore11 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Just to let me know you care.
Hold me close and kiss me hard,
Just so I know you're really there.
Take off my cloths and I'll take yours,
We'll let this happen as it should.
Make love as has never been made,
Or at least the best we could.
I feel dirty and amazingly cheap,
So overrated and used.
I guess it could have been better,
But at least I'm still amused.
I'm a whore not worth a dime,
Kill me now to clean the streets.
Spray me down and hang me to dry,
Just leave me with the sheets.
You should hold me now the most,
When I really need a hand.
But instead of being close to me,
You're with another man.
You look dirty and oh so cheap,
So damn easy and wrong.
Now I truly realize,
Cyclical loveI see a beginning and an endCyclical love1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
clasped within the lines of your palms, echoing
in the ripples of your irises;
I remember the apricot april morning
stumbling over your outstretched legs
in the park which I had never seen as
anything more than a cut-through, but
my life changed course and the park
became a destination and I still don’t know
when I noticed that I was waking up
twenty minutes earlier just to
talk to you before work, just to hear
your lilting voice flow through my ears and
fill my mouth with ideas;
And I remember the dew drops kissing my feet
when you convinced me that it was practically illegal
to wear shoes in june and I watched as
the grass pressed hatched patterns into your skin
and for a moment I wished that they were my fingers
holding you in eternal summer lawns, swan choruses,
whirring rollerskates, the smell of peach blossoms;
And I remember you blooming and shedding
the remnants of your cocoon as you pointed out
made-up constellations littering a swelling augu
Love is irrelevant.I've written a dozen poems like thisLove is irrelevant.6 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
they make me feel sick, they clench my ribs
searching for the words to match.
I start them same, the kindness in your
hipbones, your heart swelling in my gut,
the swallowing of each other with water
or a cold drink. Not to be chewed.
I continue with the distance, drinking wine
from a plastic bottles and clutching a telephone
on Rue de Foch. You talk to me for while and hang up,
you cycle around Canada for hours,
searching for something that may or may not be me
and I wait by the phone, by the keyboard, clicking my mouse.
Then I tell the story of when we both come back
and you are ugly, and I am embarrassed.
Your face is a cancerous lung and it disgusts me,
you spill yoghurt on my bedsheets and shove
sharp crisps in your mouth,
you offer me one and I am afraid.
Next is the months after, the years after:
my skin looks strange. I'm an alcoholic.
I puke up everything I eat, everything I feel,
everything that reminds me of you
and I still wait
ComforterComforter5 years ago in Concrete Poetry More Like This
(the triple lunes that
Cheshire Cat's LullabyDear little Alice, please don't cryCheshire Cat's Lullaby8 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Tears of woe won't help you get by
I know that you feel scared, lost and alone
Since you cannot find your way back home
Have strange things happened?
Is there anything I need to know?
Did you taste things that make you shrink or grow?
Did you suffer any, please say it isn't so!
I will help you out, just wait and see
You'd be glad that you found a cat like me
I'll show you around this fascinating place
Only if you keep a smile on your face
No more reading signs that say "This way" or "Yonder"
Now you don't have to sit down and try to ponder
Which way should you go, you ask?
I seem to find that a fairly simple task
Just follow my grin, for you will know soon
How much it looks like a glowing crescent moon
Don't be afraid, please follow my advice
Surely you don't even need to think twice...
Oh look, there's the Queen all dressed in red,
Hear how she screams "Off with your head!"
Those are the very words that everyone dreads
Would you like to keep your he
a burialimagine being the first person to discover death.a burial4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
your lover has passed in her sleep.
you kiss her, you touch her thigh,
you whisper her name and stroke her hair,
you listen to her empty heart
and wonder at her silence
you wore red to her funeral because
that was her favorite color and
the pastor wouldn't let you play
landslide on the speaker system
in the chapel.
the gospel choir watched you like
the trees sighed.
and when the service was over
everyone asked how you were
but no one really wanted to know.
thursday the air tasted like stale apples.
grief holds you in
like a corset
red twine tying you
when you feel like
the wind is stagnant
and all you know
is the heaviness in the breeze
that never comes.
and you can see it now-
she ferments in the ground the way
juice once fermented beneath your
kitchen window in the sun, you are
drunk on her body and
you never meant to be,
and the heat becomes the
only thing that is thorough
and the only thing that mat
The Umbrella LettersDear Mr. and Mrs. Umbrella,The Umbrella Letters8 years ago in Socio-political More Like This
I'm writing out of concern for your son Charlie. Since he first started in my class I have noticed odd tendencies in his behaviour. I know Charlie is a special boy, but the way these tendencies develop is beginning to worry me. He seems to be having troubles communicating with others. He rarely plays with the other children and does not respond when I speak to him. His writing is beginning to stray from the alphabet. Last week he even refused to partake in morning prostration! I took him to see the school nurse but he remained silent for the entire time and did not subject himself to examination. I therefore ask you to bring Charlie to a doctor in order to find out what is causing these problems.
Miss Edna Umber, Umbrellium Primary School
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Umbrella,
After the examination of your son, we have been able to establish that he is not suffering from any apparent physical illness or dysfunction. There appears to be nothing wrong wit