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Game NightIris showed up at exactly the wrong time, as usual.Game Night by BookofNorth
There was a rather large amount of screaming as a forrest worth of nymphs stampeded out of the room in surprise, leaving Zeus scrabbling to obscure himself from the giggling eyes of the rainbow goddess.
"What?" he snapped, humiliation lending his tone a tempestuous edge.
Iris, in an uncharacteristic display of self-control managed to scale back the giggling and say "It's Wednesday. You know what that means."
Zeus groaned with that peculiar whine native to all those facing down the business end of an evening in with the Spanish Inquisition's most eager new employee, and said "Must I?"
"She insists" said Iris, turning on her heel and exploding out of the hotel room in a burst of colors that would've made a bird of paradise cry.
Snapping his fingers and materializing a fresh suit of clothes from essentially nowhere in impertinent disregard of physics or logic, he groaned and resigned himself to his fate. Why? Why did it have to be tonigh
greeting the sun with a smileMorning dawns and I am awoken by a stirring beside me, soft and unassuming and foreign. My bed is a mess of overstuffed pillows and thinning blankets, and it is unusual for me to wake up not half-consumed by it all. Today is no different, though the face pressed to my neck is certainly new.greeting the sun with a smile by one-strange-duet
I lie still and wait for the body behind me to move, for the arm draped across my chest to pull back and allow me to breathe a little easier. But after a moment - one, two, three long minutes - it is still there and my companion is still breathing in, out; they do not shift again and I am left with an uncomfortably anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach.
But finally there is a long exhale: the breath tickles my skin, too warm in the midst of all the blankets. And then there is movement, the snaking-back of the arm around my waist, the creaking of the springs in my mattress as the body behind me sits up and yawns. My eyes are shut but I hear the multiple pops as their back arches and stretch
Hawking RadiationAs he walks into the church, Thomas leaves the main lights off. He should start setting up for the Wednesday service—he's preaching about perseverance, mostly to inspire himself—but he just can't care. The only light comes through the small stained glass windows on the west side of the building. Everything is shadow and mystery, age and polished wood. Even in this cherished place, it's so easy to lose himself in the darkness, so easy to focus on his problems instead of his faith.Hawking Radiation by SkysongMA
Cloth rustles. He isn't alone. Thomas looks toward the front of the church. She... she can't be here. This isn't real. Quietly, he walks down the center aisle, stopping a few feet away to study her. She fought him so bitterly the last time he saw her—why would she come back?
Nicole sits in the front pew with her hands folded in her lap. A neat bun restrains her hair; none escapes and softens her sharp, sharp eyes. On the back of her neck, she has a tattoo of Einstein's equation of energy-mass
Body Awareness - FFM 2010Bethel didn't recognize her husband any longer when he came home. The mine he worked at gave him a week off every three weeks, which was the only time she could get anything done around the house. Clear out the garage, change the oil, fix the doghouse, paint a room. Usually, Jordan was good for that kind of thing, but ever since they installed the Body-M, he had turned into a zombie.Body Awareness - FFM 2010 by Wolfrug
"It's dinnertime!" But he wasn't hungry.
"Come to bed." But he'd say he just wasn't tired.
"It's hot in here." He'd just shrug, not a drop of sweat on him.
And it only got worse with time. Finally, she exploded in his face.
"Not hungry, not tired, not hot, not cold, not anything!? What have they done to you, Jordan? What kind of sick company requires their employees to turn into fucking zombies whenever they're more than a hundred miles from central command?"
Jordan shrugged, his eyes haggard from sleeplessness.
"Everyone's doing it. It's to do with job efficiency, honey. With the Body-M, we kno
favorites au carré"Tu sais ce que disait Platon de la beauté ?favorites au carré by laflaneuse
[...] elle n'appartient pas à la nature mais à l'oeil qui regarde,
au cerveau qui traduit, à l'âme qui qualifie."
the last Deyan by NuclearSeasons:thumb39909923:
my cat by 821.. by SnjezanaJosipovic., by SnjezanaJosipovic
Ribbon Rails Of Promise by KarezoidHow Does Your Garden Grow by mnooin grandmothe's house by wasted-photos
Colour by FL1GHTa window inside... by Christophe-Niel:thumb42323074:
00 by Lhilitt jart by Lhil:thumb3971365:
11 117 by Djoefaded days by strychninaWithout You I'm Nothing_2 by Rilrae
leafy by strychninathe good hand. by angelcurlslost by raun
puddle again by far-away-near:thumb37987038:gu rem. by xciteticx
:thumb39400582:little giant by Christophe-Nielswinging up there... by Christophe-Niel
:thumb33425681:water by SnjezanaJosipovicp.1117 by xciteticx
smoking room by Elzee-pol:thumb24953095:Bahcede by siyahtapot
98 765 by Djoe:thumb43913818::thumb41853601:
Time: 13th hour by RilraeBrin d'ete . by pourquoipas:th
Freud and Broken Christmas TreesShe spilled the news on me before I even had the chance to react. And what would you even say to that, anyways? I'm sorry? Geez, that sucks? How's it feel to be an only child now? No. Never. You don't say that kind of stuff. You will never be able to find the words to say until it happens to you, too. God forbid.
And she just kind of stared at me. That look was piercing, haunting. It froze my tendons and turned my thoughts to dust. I was a nothing, I was worse than the dirt under her shoes. Because I couldn't solve anything. Because I couldn't make it better. Because I was just as helpless as she was, and she hated me for it.
The feeling wasn't a red, or a black. It wasn't any colour I could really name, but it wasn't a gray either. It was a block of things, a puzzle, the outline of a crumpled soda can. Edges poking inside to spill the remains out through the tiny pinpricks, the fractures in the metal. I could go on and on into metaphors but she – I don't have words to describe her eye
Odyssea AbstititWhen the blue jacaranda mocked the sky
Sleep bound was she, the drowsy brilliance
below the whispering branch.
Her Caño Cristales hair,
strewn amongst wild blue and green;
Partially over her wanderer, like a warm
crash of wave.
"Your laurel tells of death
but I still need you."
And he,understanding, wept.
"Your garland speaks of the flowers, streams
and the meadows which is our home."
"Here, is where I still love you
this place, where arms renounce arms
with care, warmth and adoration."
"My arms tangle in shadows, and
my mind only imagines; night falls
on my face within the whirlpool."
(She in a dream)
"Kalypso; she cannot keep you.
Our fire was kindled
in the glorious Springtime,
and stays in all the places in
which we played. Wherein,
you loved me and I you.
The flames stay, waiting,
in the marital bed that you made."
-Once more, awake from the immensity-
The depths they spake in choirs
Any morning of the week you can walk into your local knock off brand grocery store and find stacks of newsprint papers on your left as you walk in, wiping snow dust off your shoe onto the mat before the crystal flakes melt past the leather into your now soggy black cotton socks.
Not one minute in the dairy milk perfumed air after you walk in through automatic sliding doors, then past windows barring gusts of snow dunes, and there are newspapers. Newsweek, Times, Global something are all there but you pass them for the local paper.
The winter moisture that had soaked into your skin now has already evaporated and the paper grates against your skin as you pick up the local paper. You look up and feel for silver change in your pocket and walk over to the counter where no one else stands before the cashier. At 7am everyone is either in school, on their way to work, at work, or sick in bed. Except for you, because you're different. Your skin is as dry as everyone else's but since last night
The Final PunishmentNo thoughts could enter his mind, but if he could wish for something, it would be for nothing at all. There was no longer any desire in his heart, for at last it's flame had dissolved in streams of blood it had ignored. The monster inside him was gone, as too himself.
Their grip tighten around his wrist, and they pulled him forward deeper against the stone pavement. He could feel the glares of the imperial guard intense with hatred run across his browned bare back and almost singe his white speckled wings to pieces. Their powder white uniform were purelessly clean, the buttons reflecting the high noon sun also evilly.
Thrown onto the silver platform, guards surrounded his busily clicking chains around his feet, hands, and finally his neck. Ropes rubbed angrily against his feathers, and a few fell to the ground sparingly. He looked up into the face of his undiscovered equal.
People of White called him their steel hero; People of Red called him the brutal monster. His eyes were black as
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My name is Kate, and I'm a writer.
I'm a native New Yorker, but I moved to Washington, DC and got a BA in English and Creative Writing from The George Washington University in 2013. I now live and work full-time in Arlington, VA.
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