|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
That Which is Lost chapter 2Coffee never smelled this bad. Normally Steve would start his day with a cup of the stuff, but with how it smelled he didn't think he could stomach it. He was sure it would make him puke. Not that he hadn't thrown up earlier that morning. And yesterday morning and the morning before that. If it weren't for the fact that he seemed to feel fine for the rest of the day except when he was puking he would think he had caught something. Actually he thought there was a good chance he was sick with something, but not with anything he recognized. For all he knew he could be over reacting and it was just something he ate.
Nonetheless, he decided to skip the coffee and go straight to looking for breakfast. Both the refrigerator and the pantry were stocked with a wide variety of foods to suit at least six different palettes. Steve had all of this to choose from and yet, for some reason, only Thor's p
That Which is Lost chapter 1The white light from the computer screen was the only source of light in their bedroom besides a digital alarm clock which read 1:14 am in cool blue numbers. Steve had pulled out the laptop that Tony had given him and everyone of the other Avengers when they moved into Stark Tower several years ago and was scrolling through Google searches. The first few results had seemed promising until he made the realization that there were a lot of people in the United States, let alone the world, with the same name. They had come up with nothing and now he was in the desperate section of the Os in Google. At the bottom of the page there was a link with M Rogers in the title. He clicked it. Realizing that he hadn't noticed an R next to the M and that this was a conspiracy theory about a children's show host, he sighed. The noise caused the man laying next to him in bed to stir.
"Mmh Steve? What are y
Familystuck: Chapter 2Two months on, Eridan and Feferi were exhausted with all the hard work they'd had to undergo to prepare for the babies' arrival. Eridan had been out searching for potential baby supplies, from abandoned stuffed whales to lost bottles. He also was given two cots by his father, one deep purple and the other tyrian, since there were two babies arriving. Eridan knew his father had been a sensible, down-to-Alternia troll, but in his opinion, the fellow's decision to include their blood colours proved he had no creativity at all.
He had given them the cots shortly after Eridan and Feferi dropped by the house to give him the good news. To his son's embarrassment, he had insisted on holding an exquisite banquet to celebrate the occasion, which he was pretty sure was just him showing off to Feferi. Eridan presumed his father had not actually taken the time to ask if she was okay with the idea, since it had been a knee-jerk reaction.
He was grateful for the cots, but declined to tell his father
Familystuck: Chapter 1WARNING: This chapter contains some things that may not make sense at first but will pop up in later chapters so please read the description
Eridan had been extremely glad he had taken Kanaya's advice. He had learned long ago never to doubt her and there was a good reason why. Her advice had helped him more than make up with Fef. They had taken the first step towards producing the heir she longed for and he couldn't be happier. Who cared if they both got pregnant? With the mood he was in the more the merrier. As she snuggled closer to him in her sleep he felt like the happiest troll in the world. With her by his side he fell asleep happy.
The next morning wasn't quite as magical as the night had been. It had unfortunately started with Feferi waking up abruptly to throw up. Eridan had barely gotten there in time to hold her hair and to empty the contents of his own stomach as soon as she finished emptyin
Familystuck: IntroFeferi had stormed off in a huff and Eridan wasn't sure what to do. His matesprit had gotten in an argument with him over a subject they had tiptoed around for quite a while, of all things children. Troll biology dictated that the more assertive of two partners regardless of gender would be the one in the relationship to carry the children. Eridan with his pompous, everyone is beneath me attitude was the more assertive of the two if only by a little and seadwelling males had a way of being the one to get pregnant regardless so it was clear that he would be the one to get pregnant. However Her Imperious Condescension or in this case Her Imperious Condescension To Be was more than just a title. It was also a set of genetics that came with the very rare blood colour. Thanks to those genetics Feferi would get pregnant as all the Condesces had despite Eridan's assertiveness. They weren't sure exactly wha
HS: Unironic IdolizationYour name is Dirk Strider and many of the things you love you love ironically. However there are a great number of things you really love, free from all irony. Some of these you feel like sharing with others and some you keep to yourself. One of these things is one of your idols. Unknown to everyone there is someone you admire more than anyone and that is the famous adventurer, explorer, inventor Jake Harley. You remember being fascinated by the tales of his adventures when you were a child. As you grew older this fascination morphed into something else as you discovered your sexuality. The man was old enough to be your father, but when you looked at the pictures of him as a young man you couldn't help but be attracted to him. You didn't tell anyone about your idolization of Jake Harley because you were afraid of what people would think if they knew it wasn't ironic and you didn't want to pass him o
Life As We Know It: Chapter 7Jack was happy. When he woke up that morning he didn't know why, but he was uncontrollably happy. For the first time since he got pregnant he felt comfortable and he almost even felt good about it. The smell of breakfast was drifting up the stairs so he dressed quickly. As he walked to his door he stopped for a moment to look into the mirror hanging on it. He put his hands on his stomach feeling the rapidly growing baby bump.
"Good morning Q'Zirex!" he said smiling before he made his way downstairs with a bounce in his step.
When he arrived in the kitchen a vitamin and a glass of water were waiting for him on the counter. This had become normal. He skipped over the vitamin because quite frankly he hated taking it even though Stacey insisted that it was good for him. Instead he sat down in his normal place and waited for his sister to serve breakfast. She set a plate down at her place, but
Romano in the Windy CityHonestly Lovino didn't really like flying. Since he lived in Europe he didn't really have to fly to get to most of the world. He could drive or take a train or for places only a short distance across the water he could take a boat. But of course there were still places he couldn't get to without hopping on a plane.
It had all started at the last world meeting. During one of the in between times Feliciano had dragged him off to hang out with a bunch of his friends. Since Feliciano got along with pretty much everyone that meant he was stuck with a bunch of people he didn't like, such as Francis. Lovino didn't have anything to talk about or any interest in the conversation at all so he sulked next to his brother while Antonio tried to get his attention by poking his cheek.
Summer was on its way and the southern Italian still hadn't figured out where he wanted to go on vacation. His brother had forced him to go to
Books: A poem ofI slip it into my hand
And let my fingers caress the binding.
It comforts me as I open it up,
Smelling the fragrance of the paper
Upon which a whole world clings.
I tenderly turn each page
Savoring every word that tells of
Perhaps an adventure or a fairy tale.
Maybe it is a romance or a tragedy
Or even a light hearted comedy.
I know and yet I don't because
Each time I read it, it is new.
The story changes with new eyes
And with a mind that to has changed.
Though it may have been
A long time ago or only yesterday
That I first picked up the book
I remember the smell of it
When it was new.
Greeted by a sharpness that pulled me
Into the story and on a journey.
That smell is gone now replaced instead
With the dull, musty smell of a book
Read over and over again.
In all the smelling and remembering and adventuring
Before long the end of the book is here.
A smile graces my face
As I finish the book
And I slip it back onto the shelf,
With the others, waiting for
My hand to pick it up again,
Words will never hurt me.Hating yourself is a commitment.
You aren't born with it; it's something that is learned. When it begins varies from person to person- perhaps it only starts in high school, maybe it's something that grows from when you're too young to understand what is happening. It likely starts off innocuously - "What was stopping you from getting that A?" "Why can't you be different?" "Maybe you should lose some weight." "I don't want to be friends anymore."
But, sure enough, it builds. It grows, like a weed that feeds from each negative experience thrown your way. As it grows, you lose your ability to let words bounce off you- they start to stick, digging into your skin with their sharp edges. They sink into you, growing stronger and larger with each repetition. Soon the word becomes an attachment, an extension of you. And soon it becomes the first thing you notice in the mirror, the first thing you think of when somebody asks you to describe yourself?
Irregular VerbsI am disputing
You're having a tantrum
He/she/it is a whinging nancy
I am offended
You are too sensitive
He/she/it is passive aggressive
I am hopeful
You are delusional
He/she/it is a selfish prig
I am rugged
You are ugly
He/she/it is evidence against human evolution
I am enlightened
You are snobbish
He/she/it is a cocky pig
I am needing
You are wanting
He/she/it is trying to deprive me of my rights
I am right
You are wrong
He/she/it is unable to compromise
I am capable
You are arrogant
He/she/it is a narcissistic fool
I am knowledgeable
You are misinformed
He/she/it is sane if he/she/it agrees with me
I am culturally sensitive
You are obsequious
He/she/it is a politically correct bolshie stooge
AppointmentI thought I heard someone sneaking around out there.
Hello. Please, take a seat. Would you like some...no? Suit yourself then.
If you don't mind, I'm just going to switch this on. No, no, nothing special. That noise? No, it's just me. Try to block it out, it's not important.
So, you sought me out, did you? Most people do, after all. And would I be correct in thinking that...what? Oh, yes, of course, here you go...no, not a problem at all. Anyways, like I was saying, would I be correcting in assuming that you have sought me out in order to beg for more of me? Mm, I thought so. That's generally the answer I get. I know, weird, right?
Hmm? No, no, don't mind that, it's just me. Don't worry about it.
So, what has brought you to the point of begging? I...hmm? Well, that is what you're here for, right? You thought, you thought... what? The sign outside was rather clear, wasn't it? Yes, that's what it says. And it means that you only get to be here for a bit. So, let's start again, sha
the mechanisms of ocean waves When I was little, I loved sea foam.
Running forward to the shore, I would watch waves lap up at my feet and then recede, dragging the sand under my feet back with it. Sea foam would fringe the edges of these silky waves like lace, and I would grab at it, cup it in my hands. I would remember the origins of Aphrodite (born of sea foam, risen out of the ocean as the most beautiful goddess of all), and I would cradle it, hold it close to me, as if I could absorb it into my being.
By the time I brought the sea foam up to my face, it had leaked through my fingers, dissolved. Leaning down, I would cup it again and again and again, gathering fragile lace like a fine seamstress, hoping to maybe sew it onto the edges of myself, make myself some semblance of Aphrodite. Yet it crumbled, leaked through my fingers, leaving only the trace of salt behind.
Eventually I gave up on the sea foam. One cannot keep chasing after things that just barely exist.
My father told me never to plunge int
Our Ritual Dismemberments...And when she spoke the world shrunk down and became simpler, softer, a better imitation of itself that held no possible pain. Like a dollhouse with its utopian storyline that was, by nature, created by those with young and innocent lives. Somehow she touched that world with her voice, despite how often it fled her grasp.
"I ignored it for years, which is a good thing I suppose. But now I'm unsure where it started, where it truly began, because I spent so long pretending that it wasn't there. That I was normal, like the others. Not normal, but...equal to them? Not broken in any way."
She paused as her words caught in her throat, some squeezing through strangled and malformed-- a discarded thought in process. This was one of the many symptoms I had seen in her, a gross reality composed of many images, many small horrors that no professionally removed medical manual could possibly prepare me for.
"I didn't know what it was called. I wish I had at least known its name back then. A name
RememberDo you remember all the sunsets we have seen?
Do you remember the days when we cried over life?
Do you remember the sleepless nights and the nightmares hunting us?
Do you remember the fears we shared?
Do you remember how we wanted to just close our eyes and let the world around disappear?
He knew it was somewhere in the back of his mind, in the middle of all the brimming chaos and confusion of thoughts and privacies. It wasn’t as if he’d lost his sanity, that he’d become a madman. He’d never had it in the first place. It was the veil of obstruction that clearly defined who he was and was not. Like reaching into the back of the darkly-lit cave, he sprawled through the recessess of things in his psyche that he cared not for. Things that the world chose to dump in his indifferent basket of a mind. It was in the back of all the debris where he found his object. His delusion of immortality.
What is strange is akin to seeing a new colour. It rests just beyond the grasp of the perceivable precisely because it cannot be perceived. Thus the strange retains the quality of being strange. Or so she thought it to be in life. It wasn’t a dogma or a motto for her. Not really. It was a ruleset that s
The MoonI sleep on the moon some nights. It’s pretty cold but I’ve left a blanket up there now so it’s not so bad. You might not think so, but the moon is a lot more comfortable than a bed - or at least, my bed. It’s never really dark up there because the star are always playing and laughing. They tell some pretty extraordinary jokes, believe it or not. But the moon, the moon tells the grandest tales. The moon has seen a lot and there’s been many others like me who slept on the moon and told their tales and lives to the moon. Someday, others like me will probably hear about my tales and life from the moon. I hope they do not become too sad hearing about it. I get sad about some the tales and lives of others like me told by the moon. I wonder if the moon gets sad. The moon hears a lot of these tales and lives from others like me.
Mountain Sound (Vignette 5)He was shivering, violently. The only sound that he could hear was the river rushing. His breathes were quick and strained. On the edge of the river bank he stood, wild eyed and dripping. His thoughts were disorientated and racing. The wind blew and his teeth clattered together. He looked around madly, trying to find any indication of where he was, how he got there, why he was there.
The sun started rising. The sky lightened and the world became brighter. He started following the river. He noticed the dead willow tree and headed towards his home. What is happening to me? What is happening to me? What is happening to me?
The backdoor to his house was wide opened. He ran inside and shut it, locked it. The contents of the house looked untouched except the clock laying on the floor in broken pieces. He looked at his watch. It was broken too, drowned. What is happening?
It was warmer in the house. His breathing slowed and he changed into dry clothes. The birds were singing morning songs and
Eros and Apollo“Love is fleeting.”
“I don’t know about that. I think love is eternal.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. It’s just what I think. Isn’t love your thing?”
“That’s why I know love is fleeting.”
“But you bring so many couples together. How can you say that?”
“That’s the point though. I bring them together. It doesn’t matter if they have the potential to love each other. One shot to the heart and they swoon.”
“I don’t know.”
“Of course I do.”
“You wouldn’t have given her a second glance if it weren’t for me. Maybe a first, but definitely not a second.”
“I’m still sore about that.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have called my darts girly.”
“It was a joke. Do you have a reason for bringing t
Keep in Touch!
Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More