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Cecilia FliesFive stories high doesn’t sound like very much until you’re standing on a plank extended out over a swimming pool so small and so flimsy even toddlers give it a wary eyeball.
“I don’t like this, I don’t like this, I don’t like this,” Cecilia repeated to herself as she took that last step to the end of the board. “No, no, no, crap, crap, this is bad. What am I doing?”
Down below, a couple hundred people sat in the stands around the center platform. Their heads leaned back, gazing at the tiny ballerina balancing precariously above. Cecilia only looked for one person in the crowd.
There! A glimmer of glitter, silver and white, the unmistakable sequins of her friend and guardian angel, Lina. Cecilia couldn’t see her face, but she imagined her as she always was, book of spells on her lap, reading the familiar words.
It was Lina who made Cecilia fly. Lina who made the tiny ballerina a star, so much so that she had become the face on
Deal With It“There,” Philip said, and stuck the tip of the pick axe in the dirt.
“Are you done? Took long enough.”
“Oh, pipe down, Mack, I did what I needed to do.”
“All you had to do was kill him, dude, I think this is a little excessive.”
The younger man turned his head as Philip kicked body parts into three separate holes, then picked up the hoe and helped fill them without looking.
“Well, I can’t sleep at night if I know somebody I killed could come back.”
Mack stopped the hoe and looked up at Philip in shock. “You mean, you do this because you’re afraid of…of zombies?”
“It’s not likely, but the fact is, it could happen. Not gonna take my chances. When you’ve killed as many people as I have, kid, you have to find some way to deal with the ghosts in your head.”
“All right, whatever, but I really hate your coping skills.”
Happy AccidentsSometimes I wake up in the morning, blink against the blue light coming in the window, and forget for just a second that the rest of the world is dead.
When I was a kid, I read stories about how some of the best inventions and discoveries resulted from accidents. “Happy accidents,” my mom called them. I grew up hoping that one day I would be a scientist, and “accident” into something incredible. I achieved my goal—I’m not unhappy and it was something incredible.
Three months ago, I walked into my lab like I do every day, coffee in one hand, cell phone in the other, ready to work. An hour later, the entire lab went up in a puff of green smoke. I managed to make it to my safety bunker before the explosion went off, but by the time it was safe to emerge, the damage had been done.
I stayed in the bunker a month, waiting for my detector to tell me that it was safe to exit. When it still hadn’t gone off after a month and my food supplies were running
StrangersLauren laid on her bed, scrolling through stories on some paranormal website her sister raved about. Standard fare, really—ghosts, demons, nearly-there-but-not-quite photos, clearly faked photos, curses, unexplained deaths—nothing to make Lauren so much as lift an eyebrow.
She clicked on one story labeled “The Stranger” and skimmed through it. “Yada, yada, cursed because she was unbearably nasty, morality tale, etcetera, etcetera,” she said as she glanced through it, then closed her laptop with a sharp click.
Sighing, Lauren slid off the bed and grabbed her coat, heading down stairs and out the door. Seriously, rotting her brain believing that crap, she thought, and pulled her coat closer to fend off the chilly drizzle.
Five blocks to their favorite ice cream place; she met her sister there every week, and she hated it. She would have to pass at least three homeless people only to listen to her sister talk for an hour. At least she could get t
ChupaSheila crawled out of bed, eyes barely open, and slammed her hand against the alarm clock. After a trip to the bathroom and a half-hearted glance in the mirror, she shuffled her way to the kitchen.
Then, just as she had every morning for the past fifteen years, she poured herself a cup of coffee and thought, for the millionth time, what would I do without coffee on a timer? Then leaned against the sink, letting the aroma work its way into her system, and watched out the kitchen window.
This habit resulted from the hummingbird feeders her mom had put up before she died, and out of respect for her mom and, she had to admit, some personal interest, she kept them filled during the warmer months. Most mornings, a few hummingbirds would zip around the feeders, and she would start her day with them, marveling at their speed.
As she watched, two hummingbirds came up to the feeders, a blue and a green, and a territorial fight broke out, one chasing the other in huge arcs around the feede
Becoming a ManThe day my mother brought home a brand new book for my brother, I knew something had happened. He was too young to know, though. “Aces!” he yelled, grinning, when she put it in his hands.
I didn’t look at him; I looked at her. The joy of the gift didn’t mask the sorrow in her eyes. The deep wrinkles branched out from the corner of her eyes like leafless winter branches, and the exhaustion etched in the lines on her forehead read loud and clear.
Somehow I knew, without a word. I waited until she walked into the kitchen and followed her. “He died, didn’t he?”
She let out a shaky breath and started putting the other things she’d brought home away. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”
“Late last night.” She set down a magazine, and I glanced at the back cover. Ham in a can. I wondered what it tasted like for a second before I remembered what we were discussing.
“So what now?”
Permanent Relocation“Well, here we are, floating in a tin can in the middle of space.” The stocky blonde with short hair shoved her bag under the sparse bed in the room.
“Funny, I thought it would feel different,” said the brunette behind her.
“Welcome home, ladies,” said the tall, severe woman who showed them to their room. “Dinner’s in an hour, and we don’t wait.”
When the door was closed, the blonde laid down on the bed. “What’s your name again?”
“Stephanie, but I like Stevie better.”
“All right. Nice to meet you, Stevie.” Pearl pulled out her things, putting them in the small dresser beside her bed. There wasn’t much—some clothes, toiletries, a few books, and some pictures. Stevie noticed that she shoved these under the clothes. The curvy brunette sat on the bed when she finished and looked at the blonde across. “So why are you here?”
“Had to get
BoomI ran for my shotgun as soon as I heard the blast. No way I was going to get caught off guard, no sir. Another one followed the first, insistent, and with the sound of crackling that could only mean shrapnel.
Great, and I’m in my pajamas. I loaded the shotgun and walked with a purpose through the living room. The patriotic music from the July 4th concert still played from my radio—fitting, I realized, and I stood taller.
The last notes of America, The Beautiful rung out loud and true as I opened the door. As soon as I stepped outside, light and sound assaulted every sense. I refused to waver, and I shook my gun and yelled, “Come and get it, you pansies!”
The booming intensified, and I raised my gun. I might not be able to see my attackers, but if I shot in their general direction, I could provide covering fire for our boys. Good thing I brought extra rounds.
I leveled my gun at the tree line, knowing that whoever lead the charge of those exp
Helper“Forget the car, Gene, it’s gone.”
“Cars don’t just get gone, Marsha.”
“Yeah, well, people don’t just get gone either, do they?” the blonde looked out into the woods. “But twenty years in this business and I’ve gotten plenty of people just gone.”
“You’ve been doing this for that long?”
Marsha looked up at him in perplexed amusement. “You mean the gray roots and the wrinkles on my hands don’t give it away? I’m touched.” She turned and started walking back down the highway, muttering to herself. The short, stocky guy behind her hesitated, then followed.
“Why do you do it?” he asked as he fell into stride with her.
“Sometimes people need to go. Someone’s gotta help ‘em.” Gene nodded silently, and the two walked on for a while until Marsha turned down a small path into the woods at the edge of the highway.
“Well, I appreci
cocky. | oikawa tooru
"Eh?! I lost?! No way, [Name]-chan totally cheated!"
"Hah?! No, I didn't! You just suck at this!" You argued, grabbing a pillow from the bed and throwing it directly in his face. "Just because I'm better at playing video games, doesn't mean I'm cheating. Geez, Tooru, just stop being a piss-baby and just accept the fact that I'm better than you. The sooner you admit it, the better."
Iwaizumi sighed as he tried to ignore the pointless bickering between the two of you. He wasn't even sure why you guys were here—he didn't remember asking one of you to come to his house and play his video games. Seriously, all he wanted to do today was to sleep and do nothing else. Unfortunately, he had to kiss his relaxing day goodbye because there was no way in hell that he would be able to relax in this situation.
"Iwa-chan! [Name]-chan is being mean to me again!" Oikawa exclaimed.
"Oi! Hajime! This dumbass won't admit that I'm better than him!"
"Maybe because you aren't!" He d
TG 34: Me to Faera
All of my body hair fell of as my legs lengthened and became feminine. However, the changed legs then started to darken, first appearing as a tan before slowly becoming too dark to be confused with a tan. My legs, along with my feet, were black. The changes continued upward as well as my progressively darkening skin as my thighs started to bloat out immensely whilst also succumbing to the darkened skin below it and crushing my privates in the process. I then began to feel a painful sensation at my hips as they suddenly snapped out, breaking the bone that formed them. That was short-lived, however, as the bone remolded itself to fit its new shape and, of course, becoming black. The darkening skin then went behind my legs to my butt, which then fattened extensively, becoming more and more round. While this was happening, the wave of dark skin was traveling down my giant bottom, changing it to a sweet chocolate color. However, this change was slower than the expansion, so, for a bit, it w
A World UnseenDarkness surrounds me, crushes me as it impedes closer, ever closer. Fingers reach out, clawing at my face, my entire being, with icy pinpricks that stab through my skin and shatter my soul. How did I get here, to this place of thick ebony nothingness? I am huddled here, tiny as a speck of dust floating in the air. Alone. Completely and helplessly alone in this world of emptiness.
"Nothing. This is what you are; absolutely nothing." A voice whispers in the eardrum shattering silence. His voice is so quiet, so faint, but when I crack open my eyes there is nothing but the pitch blackness to greet me. Alone. Alone here with not a single soul to save me.
"Why do you even try? All you do is fail. You are nothing. You mean nothing to us!" A woman's shrill voice blasts through the empty, the black now. The fingers begin to reach for my ears, clawing and stinging mercilessly. Hopeless relief leaks through me, tiny drops on a leaky faucet. They at the very least covered my ears from the
Hetalia x reader part 2
Your closed eyes stung by a light. As you opened your eyes slowly, you saw that the light came thought the window. You sat up and you guessed that it was morning already. You noticed that you still had headache, but the pain was less than before. But you suddenly heard your stomach grumbling. You wondered if the others were here and awake and if you could stand up. So you decided to give it a try.
You sat up on your bed and your legs were a little wobbly you tried to stand. You eventually stood up, but you sat immediatly sat as dizziness blurred your vision. You rubbed your head and shut your eyes tightly.
"Damn I thought the headache and amnesia was the only thing that I have." You thought. But you didn't notice that someone came in your room. You shocked as you felt someone grab your shoulders gently, but your shock fade as you saw that Italy knelt down at you. He frowned and his closed eyes showed concern.
"Bella, are you okay?
Close-up DistanceHands on the table. Fingers tapping a quiet oakwood rhythm. White, feathery page opened on the screen. The print of a photograph right beside it - small girl, dark skin, donor clothes with an American flag sewn up front. Only bruised skin and shattered bones, crying with joy over a sip of water, scared by the lens directed at her.
Hazel eyes regaining Focus on the words that wait to be written. The tapping changes, Wood turns to plastic. Stray hair blocking the view, Hand flipping up to remove it. Pause in the flow.
This is too much time to think. Stopping and staring at the Screen, retracing the letters that turned out so wrong. Hazel eyes staring down the pitiful, mournful words that almost make them water. One thundrous hammer of the index finger and all is gone. Back to the feather, to the incomprehensible that needs to be caged in 500 words.
A twist of the office chair. Facing the wall now, everything to get the photograph out of the mind. Recounting what she learned by heart: Dat
Dawn's Vorish Morning(Soft)Okay. Let's get some things out of the way here.. First, this is actually my first story I've written so it might not be all that good..But hey, if you're willing to read this anyway, go for it! Second, this is one of /those/ stories. You know.. Soft Vore, Belching, that kind of stuff.. I've already seen a few of those stories so I decided to make one of my own. If you don't really like this kind of stuff(Soft Vore, Vomiting, Belching), just avoid reading the story. This is your warning. ...Anyway, for the people that stayed/wanted to read this..
In the distance, a few snoring creatures could be heard, deep in the forest. One of them was starting to awaken, opening up her sharp, silverish eyes. she yawned loudly opening up her maw and revealing its sharp-looking incisors. The large beast got out of its protective position, curled up against the blue catboy sleeping beside her. Purring in his sleep, he kept wiggling his ears up and down as the dragoness looked down at him, waving her ta
Tango Of Arms Under The SeaMy love, how could this happen? Why did this have to happen?
In my mind, I'm heartbroken at the sight of you
Your eyes no longer good, but filled with brainwash
I cry at the sight of you confused
The real master behind your emotions
Has you playing at the limits of his puppet strings
I don't want to fight you
I don't want to lose you to this battle of arms
Although I may have been trained to fight
I can't fight you
Your eyes are filled with hatred and evil
I'm prepared to bring you back to my side
On the inside, though, I'm so scared
I'm terrified because of the unknown turnout
Please come back to me...
Don't listen to this dragon
He knows nothing about a free life
Only through Jesus may we earn a life in heaven
As our battle stances remain steady and balanced
The evil one tries to graze his hands over my ears
As if he knows who is on my side
I cannot be conquered by the evil of this world!!!
Tears pouring and pouring on the inside and stern face with anger in
Didn't WeEden on the Lake was a terrible tap revue. There were a hundred blonde-blue-eyed dolls changing outfits thrice as a nod to the shows of a time before hydrogen bombs. We’d lost the art of it somewhere in between that and napalm. You could tell by looking at their footwork that at least half had been cavorting with the director in one way or another, though the ladies who could tap their way to heaven (if they wanted to) were sequestered in the back line.
The whole room smelled like dust and feathers. I sighed onto the arm rest with a lapse of judgement to find that the last patron in my seat had left behind their gum, but my suit was only a twenty-dollar-find from the consignment shop. You couldn’t pay for things with war bonds anymore like our daddies used to. The crusty man in the ticket booth didn’t even offer a veteran’s discount.
There was a seat between me and a man still in his uniform who was trying his best not
Bling“Carry me across the threshold,” she told me. “It’s tradition.”
“Well, dear, it’s a simple question of weight ratios. A five ounce bird cannot carry a one pound coconut, after all,” I quipped.
“Are you calling me fat?”
“It’s impossible for you to be any other size, love.”
“Just what are you saying?”
I realized at this point that perhaps I hadn’t thought this through enough. “Nevermind, dear. Up you go!”
My knees shook as I lifted her, shuffled forward, then sat her down.
“Now that wasn’t so bad!”
What could be done? I was in love with a robot.
Poetic PsychosisIn thirty seconds, the next shell would fall. Every night was the same, but every night Lorenzo experienced it as if it were the first time. His throat felt swollen; breathing was hard. He glanced around at the others; young men like him who had been shipped out in the name of honour and freedom. There was no honour in this, no freedom. Only death behind your eyelids, and a fear so gutting, that it carved out your innards and left you a hollow husk. Lorenzo tried to breathe, tried to assure himself that he was still whole, still made of flesh. They had lied when they told him he was ready.
Matteo ran towards him, arms out, rifle swinging uselessly at his side. He shouted for him to run, but Lorenzo remained motionless, unable to move as his friend’s warning was lost in the constant blare of gunfire. None of them were ready.
“The cycle is repeating. It is not safe.” The voice was soft and weak, yet it carried over the gunfire and battle cries without impediment.
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More