BatB-Stop hating Prince AdamBatB-Stop hating Prince Adam5 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Why you hate Prince Adam so much, while you always love Beast so much?
You always complain that Adan should change back into Beast becuase according to you "Prince Adam is Ugli!!1!!" "He looks bETTER as a BeAsT!"!!" "The Beast is more cute and flufly"!"!"!, "he looks like Raoul, whi I despise both I depise very mUCH!!":!"!, or becuase the Beast looks "sexier", "hot", "better looking" than his "boring" human form (or for you that "thing")
Hello! Did you missed the whole damn point of the movie?!?!
The narrator said
..."Not to be deceived by appearences, for beauty is found within."
I don't hate the Beast, but can you please accept his human form? Besides Beast/Adam and his servants have been enchanted for too long...don't you think is very cruel (or very heartless) to force them to stay enchanted forever just becuase "according" to you their human forms are "ugly, "boring" "uninteresting" while their enchanted form
MalnoirMalnoirMalnoir2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It is very possible, as humans, to lose ourselves in a good book. It happens randomly, and can occur on the first page or the last, and often times breaking out of the hypnotic trance is near impossible. It’s an addiction of sorts, reading, and it’s also the greatest talent than mankind has every developed. But nowadays, as my body begins to give out from age and I find myself cooped in my apartment, reading to pass the time, I often wonder if the books can lose themselves in us. As we read them they stare back at us and watch and think and ponder and admire the human form. But we often find ourselves too enthralled to notice the words that seem to be talking to us, the sentences so bizarre that they couldn’t possibly be directed at a character in the book, but must instead be directed at an individual reader. I often wonder this as my body begins to fail me, as life begins to abandon my soul, leaving it for atrophy, and I can’t help but think of my olde
Second Street El stands under muted chrome lights, legs splayed apart and left hip cocked out like the jagged end of a lipstick smear. The soft undercurrent of voices drifts from the club crowd up to the stage, quiet murmured conversations below the chink of glasses and clicks of the mike stand slotting into place. If she listens close enough she can almost hear the bare echoes of a young man's laugh, a woman's soft tinkling sigh, the swell of a family's conversation.Second Street3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
"All ready," the man before her grunts around the toothpick hanging out the corner of his sun-cracked mouth. El reaches a hand over to tug at the length of color-faded silk knotted around her left wrist, stepping forward to take the place he vacates. The same hand rises to wrap around the cold silver shaft, glossed lips parting as she ghosts them towards the microphone.
The crowd has dropped in volume, calm falling over the haphazardly arranged three-legged stools and half-rickety tables. It's a quiet she's felt
Runna's Shoe, Chapter 2: The Coming DarknessXeras pulled on the reins at just the right time to keep the horse on track after rounding a corner, Runna sitting beside her. "My aunt's name is Silvita." Not long after the dwarf's admission about her missing shoe, the conversation had turned to Xeras and her son. Despite their best attempts to keep their business private, the blue woman had recognised Leolamin's symptoms as that of a disease that could prove deadly if left untreated. The dwarf's attention had turned on the two humans in full, and while Xeras kept some things private, she admitted that they were heading for Mirabar. Genuine concern had shone through on the strangers' faces and they'd offered to escort them.Runna's Shoe, Chapter 2: The Coming Darkness2 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
Normally, Xeras wouldn't accept such help. She'd always managed on her own, and just because they'd helped her against the orcs didn't mean they were friends. Xeras preferred to play it safe, and this group might attract more trouble than they were worth. It wasn't until Leolamin fainted from the combination of hi
Moonlit NocturneThere was blood on my hands when I played the piano for you that day.Moonlit Nocturne6 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was the same street piano on the corner of the park that we used to play in, outracing the butterflies that gathered around the roses that grew there. We used to pretend we could fly like them, dancing from petal to petal, free from the world's cruelties. So happy. So naive.
A skid of a wheel had changed all that.
That day, your butterfly wings had been torn out of their sockets. They joined a long list that had been stuffed into jars over the centuries, to be ogled over by Death, the sadistic collector who never failed when it was our turn to submit. You were captured too early, too soon, but there was nothing I could do. I was on the piano, playing your nocturne, when you crossed the busy road. Blood sprayed, horns screamed and I turned to see you flung over a windscreen, unmoving.
There was a funeral, of course. There were tears, but none slid down my face that day.
I saved it for the piano.
You should have see
The Beggar's Gift (A Love Story)She wandered the shadows of the streets day and night, face hidden and a frayed basket in her hands. A beggar. Shunned, she became like a bit of dust in the breeze, lost among the many faceless passerby. But she would not be deterred. Her task was one worthy of determination, it was too important to be left to chance.The Beggar's Gift (A Love Story)2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
For she was not trying to get, but to give.
The beggar bore the basket before her as if it were made of spun glass and it was only her sheer will power holding it together. She offered it up to any gentlemanly face that came her way.
“Please sir, will you take this gift?”
But those few that did not pass by her wordlessly, simply gazed at it momentarily before unintelligibly muttering what she presumed to be an apology and continued on their way.
“Please sir, will you take this gift? All I ask is for one in return.”
Each day she tirelessly asked her question, hoping that one day someone would accept.
Once there was a man. He stopped, peering in the
The Other's Orange FlowersMy brother’s asleep on the couch and I have a pen in my hand. At first I was going to draw on his face, but that would wake him up. So I turn the pen upside down and dangle the orange feather at the end just above his nose.The Other's Orange Flowers2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
“What are you doing, Allie?” he asks without opening his eyes. I sweep the feather across his nose. He looks and his face wrinkles up. “Orange.”
“It’s just a colour,” I say. “I’m looking after you. Mum told me to.”
He pushes me off the couch with one hand and I slump onto the floor. “You’re too little to look after me, Allie.”
“But you’re sick, and you can’t look after me, so . . .” I have to look after him. It’s my job now.
“Sure, I can,” he says. “And I’m not sick, just tired.”
“You’ve been tired a lot. That might mean you’re sick.”
“Allie. There’s nothing – underline that –&
love poem from a pillar of saltthe words 'i love you'love poem from a pillar of salt2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
have always tasted like forbidden fruit
an apple offered by a helpful serpent-
sweet and fleeting but
the words 'i loved you'
just taste of
i always thought that leaving you would be like leaving gomorrah
that i couldn't help looking back
and when i did i'd feel an ocean dry itself beneath my skin
but this is so much quieter
and so much worse.
my knuckles taste of blood,
there is no new testament here
just old testament fire
just lot's wife standing on a forgotten hill
rocksalt freezing her outstretched hands
watching her hometown burn below her.
there is no forgiveness here
just mutual loneliness
just a lost religion and a broken girl
far too tired to play pretend
watching you fall apart behind me.
Phineas and Ferb Older Years 3Chapter ThreePhineas and Ferb Older Years 37 years ago in Fan Fiction More Like This
Candace slowly opened the door till she heard her dad say, Candace! Weve been waiting for you.
She let out a groan before putting on a fake smile. Mom, Dad hi
And this must be your new friend, her mom said.
Ah, yeah, Vanessa said as she walked into the house.
Well, its nice to know you both made it here alright, Candaces mom continued. Anyway, dinners going to be ready in a little bit, and your brothers are in the living room. Theyre excited that you decided to come home for the summer.
Candace groaned as her mom left the room. Im not going to talk to those two freaks, she said.
A voice from another room said differently. Hey, is that Candace? Phineas walked in followed closely by Ferb. Cool! You really did come ho
Fingernails, Please“Fingernails, please.”Fingernails, Please1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The girl smacked her gum, fussed with her hair a little, and turned her attention back to her phone. After a few seconds she glanced up again, clearly irritated: “Well?”
“Right. Um.” Thomas suppressed the urge to look at the fingernails she was currently wearing. “Color?”
“Green. Do you have something in a sort of limey chartreuse, maybe?”
“Uh, yeah, the list's over here –” But his customer had turned her full attention back to the phone, and was clearly ignoring him. Thomas cleared his throat. “Do you want lime, or chartreuse?”
“Uh... yeah, lime. Sure.”
Thomas winced. The long ones were always worst. “I'll be right back.”
He had 18 mm lime in stock, still in their larval stage, pale and wriggling under the blue light of the stasis chamber. He tried hard not to look at them too closely as he de
I am eight years old.I am eight years old.I am eight years old.4 years ago in Emotional More Like This
My lips are perfectly pink. They don't need to look glossy or tinted redder. My cheeks don't need this, either. My eyes stand out well enough on their own without being lined with black paint. The mascara weighs on my lashes and makes me tired and itchy. This shit on my eyelids shouldn't be there, either.
That was a bad word. I am afraid to say bad words, but I've got a few in my head. My friend told me that the word "bitch" means "female dog," but I think she's wrong. I don't think I've ever heard it used in this context. Actually, I think it's a word for people like you. I say this to you with my eyes. You threaten me because you hear me loud and clear.
Every other weekend, I have to sit here and endure as you put this shit on my face. But that's not why you're a bitch. That's why you're an idiot. What makes you a bitch is the fact that you expect me to be silent and still every time your hand slips and the curling iron burns the top of my ear, or you
The Queen's Monster, Chapter #6The Queen's Monster, Chapter #68 months ago in General Fiction More Like This
"Where have you been?" Anna demanded as she walked into Elsa's study. The Queen continued scouring over the paper in her hand.
"What?" She asked, her eyes never leaving the writing. Anna stared at her sister for a moment before she paced to the desk, sat down on the mahogany, and tore the paper from Elsa and slammed it down. Elsa let out a whine of protest and reached for it again but Anna stopped her.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about." The sister deadpanned. "Do you really think I wouldn't notice that you leave the castle almost every day without telling anyone where you are going?"
"I hoped so." Elsa mumbled under her breath. She looked at Anna and frowned lightly. "I don't have to tell you everything, Anna. I'm not a child."
"But you are my sister and I worry about you. I can't help it, Elsa, but every time you step out, I'm worried something will happen to you or-" Anna stopped in her sentence when she noticed Elsa staring at the ground. Most would take it
Geiger's CourierAs I walked, the blue of the desert sky began to fade. I pulled my hood over my head, even though my machine body needed neither protection from the sun nor shelter from the wind. Simply put, I didn't like the feeling of the unending void above me, looming, watching, infinite. I knew I shouldn't have such feelings, so I ignored the rationale and allowed my hands to move as they pleased.Geiger's Courier2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I adjusted the leather strap. The sky was pale. Gray. Stars blinking into view, I refused to meet their eternal gaze. As I walked I was dying. As I walked, I was not yet born.
But as I laid my feet in a careful pattern, one in front of the other, I didn't notice. Day, night, it didn't matter, for I'd been given the unenviable position in life of a courier, and I neither knew nor cared for anything else.
Not yet, at any rate.
My body was a vessel for my vague sense of self, for I was water gathered between shaking palms, a cup half-filled, a fleet lif
RoutinesdrivingRoutines3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
my left arm
tanned darker than my right arm
the habits of daily life
Godsfall Chapter 1: Call to the Gods.The priests had said prayer would save his mother, so Osar prayed for a year and a day. Dawn til dusk, beseeching shadow and sunlight. Oft late past the darkening hour he’d bowed his head and grovelled, bargained, begged. He had devoted himself to Dionas the Golden God. But Dionas hadn’t heard the prayers, or worse, refused to answer them. Even the gods couldn’t cure cancer.Godsfall Chapter 1: Call to the Gods.2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Osar wrenched another weed from the overturned earth.
And for all of his devotion what did he have to show for it? A grave dug by his own hands and a dead woman to fill it. The Golden God might have been the city’s patron and its father, but Osar didn’t want to trade his mother for a surrogate deity.
Osar gained his feet, brushing dirt from his vestments. His knees were muddied and earth was jammed between his toes thanks to the open-end sandals. His hands, soft and delicate from months of prayer, were bloodied and engrained with dirt from tending to the grave.
A voice from behind Osar
Here Is No WhyHere Is No Why2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The bus was late. In the four switches Ben had made so far, he had come to accept lateness as an unavoidable part of this mode of travel. The first three times, he had been irritated. Now, at a little after eleven at night, he really didn’t care. If the bus was at least running, he would be happy. Working air conditioning was a bonus. Timeliness was asking too much.
He wished he could call Mae again, even though he had just talked to her half an hour ago. It had been a little over two weeks since he had seen his fiancée, and hearing her voice helped ease his frustration. But it was late, and she had gone to bed. She would still answer, he knew, and talk as long as he needed, but he didn’t want to keep her up.
Instead, Ben just sat at the little station, staring almost listlessly into his paper coffee cup. He let his mind wander. Of all places, it went to the station’s seating arrangements.
The orange plastic chair wasn’t particularly comfortable, but
HomesickI am the river's son,Homesick3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
my arteries flowing turquoise
and turning to rapids
rushing around my frame,
filling me with this sense
of buoyancy, minnows
tickling my sternum.
I am the river's son.
My palms caress each
silty shoreline, every
battered bank and bend,
and these places I know
so well become me
as my fingerprint,
even the bridge above me
inflamed by the afternoon
sun-glow, burning rusty and
the steel blue sky.
I am the river's son;
I bring my home along
like hermit crab,
where I step
I pull water from the earth.
Suffocate“I didn’t want him,” she says. “I wanted something, something I saw in the eyes of Libby, Sam, Sandi, and Agnes. Something that would have made our new world, our safe world, a home. Children were a part of that world and so I found myself a child. Perhaps, I thought, I would love him and everything would fall into place. Perhaps with a child I could be content with safety, and normality, and a world without knives taped on mop heads.” A cold smile. “I still catch myself thinking that. I still think that maybe tomorrow will be the day where I can fall asleep with the lights on.”Suffocate2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Carmen’s features are stark and cold; like the chiseled lines of Soviet propaganda etched onto an icy street corner. A straight decided nose, high sharp cheekbones, and thin pinched lips. Her eyes are black. We sit together in a small, bare walled, room on a pair of fold up chairs.
I frown. “You mean off?”
“No. I mean on. During the war
Journeyed Too Far WestJanuary 24th, 1872Journeyed Too Far West2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Arrived in Rose Dust today. Got a good overlook from the stagecoach as it crested a hill. Little more than a collection of shabby buildings all jumbled together in the bottom of horseshoe-shaped gulley. Timber frames of future dwellings out on the fringes, plenty of carpenters at work. Only places of merit seem to be the assay office and the town hall, maybe the local saloon. Not sure why Rose Dust has the name it does, but clearly a fresh boomtown; even the railroad hasn’t come out this far.
Met with Mayor Chandler, took me to Hoc’s saloon for drinks and to discuss my settling into town. Said his wife didn’t tolerate the thought of him drinking in his office. Friendly, just like in the letters. Offered to put me up in the hotel for the night while he finishes getting my place secured. Never met a man so outright welcoming in my life. Odd that he greets me so warmly; they must really need an undertaker.
January 27th, 1872
Been a few days now, and am
The Reality of SaltYou came back to me last night,The Reality of Salt5 years ago in Emotional More Like This
A smile in the right place but eyes all wrong.
Sadness hung there now.
A stretched body beside me, sheets creased
Cool. Calm. Caressing.
No contact was made, never needed,
Your breath whispered against my neck
Your chest rose and fell.
You caught the single tear I gave,
Trailing a snail kiss across bereft skin,
You rubbed a finger across my lips,
I could taste bittersweet and knew.
You were not a dream.
for basilyou found a boy in the ashesfor basil3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and you made him a star ;
a mere pile of dust and leaden colours
but oh, how he shone
fools wish upon shining stars,
and fools fall in love ;
twice he made you for a fool
but oh, how he shone
he's a boy, just a boy
but stars have to burn to shine brighter,
and your artist heart melted
as the burning dust boy grew darker,
dry and shrivelled and harsh,
-- he shone
boys are cruel,
and stars even more so ;
hard and bright and so far away
lost in their own time
but oh, how they shine
and oh, how they shine