|This seems to be the fanfic people liked/read the most. So, uh, keep it up lol xD|
By himself, Ferb calls Phineas "Mr. Oblivious". Only now does he realize that this odd title was a blessing in disguise. ONESHOT, implied Phinabella.
Knuckle-Kiss'dShe'll never live to see another sunrise,Knuckle-Kiss'd by Cezille07
And tonight's all she has but —
Is there hope to cling to you?
Somebody bring a suction;
She's drowning in her own blood,
Lungs filling to the brim,
Heavy with nicotine and bruises;
Heart sagging, she was a goner since your left arm
hid the truth from your right.
Ice cap girl melting, she chatters her way
Through blazing city streets,
Open palms shining like the ocean surface,
Plugged from within, a well overflown but never known...
Unless you come back,
Around her neck
Shear off her pain with another knuckle kiss.
AnymoreI doubt you'd try, but don't go and miss me,Anymore by Cezille07
It's just not as fun as it used to be.
Before was a time memorialized; yet somehow
Only baggage remains, only lies kiss you now.
Before then it felt real, with you then, the world smiled,
Before then, it was you who made me feel alive.
We're invincible, quite the romantic escape.
No one knew this, but you and I always were great:
You and I were the story that people once told,
You and I were the glory of love, until your
Fragile trust in humanity broke your respect
for all else, and I fell dark into neglect;
Suddenly I don't know who you are anymore,
Suddenly I was useless, suddenly you implored
me to leave you alone, and the naught I could do
broke my heart; and at last I stopped loving you too.
Gotcha, Ch3Chapter 3.Gotcha, Ch3 by Cezille07
Perry gasped. He hadn’t realized it, but it was too late. Doofenshmirtz saw him. He hastily wiped the salty liquid with his hands and stood up. “How did you get here? What do you want now?!”
Doofenshmirtz was pleased with the alarm in his voice, which made it sound...defensive. He successfully displayed an inquisitive glare. Explain those shameful tears! he yelled mentally, willing the platypus to read his eyes.
“You’re...not a baby, are you?” Perry eyed the doctor. He looked no different from five minutes, from five hours, ago. Innocent, not the scheming failure he put up with everyday. “You understand what I say?”
Heinz nodded victoriously.
“Then luckily I told you nothing real!”
Perry pushed the doctor aside, wincing only slightly as the baby hit the floor and cried in pain, and found the keys to his hover jet near the living room’s center table.
No! Wait! Heinz struggled to crawl back to the
DreamscoutHer brother always looks at her with one squinted eyeDreamscout by Cezille07
when she unbolts her mouth to sing.
In a world where music had not yet been conceived,
her swooning voice, her empty helium heart,
spiraling as galaxies unto each other,
would snag the edge of the measure
and gasp for a moment before
deflating after the black hole.
She strikes lightning at the heels of the profane
until only her noise would echo between the forest breaths.
At night she scales dewless pines
to write notes with burned fingers,
runes only she could form:
the first psalms for a disparate world
|Greetings! Here be my humble works, mostly fanart with a handful of original stuff as well. Hope you take the time to browse!|
to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub.i.littleblueraccoon
to the woman who drowned herself in the bathtub:
in the magazine I own that published your story,
they blurred out the crime scene photographs,
erasing your face and
the full curves of your breasts.
some part of me wonders
if you would have wanted this,
or if you would have liked for
the public to see you in your final moments,
half-soaked in grey-looking water,
your hair in strings, glued to the porcelain,
eyes closed and mouth gaping,
no breath stirring, no bubbles rising.
sometimes when I look
into the depths of my bathroom sink,
I hear your voice
(or what I imagine it to be--
after all, we never met).
you sit on the edge of the toilet seat,
and chat to me about the weather.
I would give anything to hear your real, living voice,
to ask you what you were thinking
as you lowered yourself
into the tub, queen of the tendrils of steam,
and let your lungs deflate like old birthday balloons.
on the news they say that your autopsy
revealed three quarters
of a bottle o
i would do anything to get you to love yourselfi know your type, i’ve seen them around hereMisfitableGrae
before, browsing through my poems like
you’re flipping through vinyl records, trying to find
that one disc you were listening to the first time
he leaned over and kissed you.
the only way you’ll ever be able to love yourself
is if he leans over and kisses you again, is if someone
tells you about the seven wonders of your soul, if
someone sits down and writes a list of all your beautiful
fault lines that you’ve never been able to forgive.
you want to love yourself and you want to be loved,
but i know it’s hard to believe that you’re holy,
when your hands still shake when they touch food and
your breath always quickens when you drive
over bridges and no one can look you in the eye
when you ask them if you’re beautiful.
look, you’re stardust, you’re snowflakes, you’re
the sky’s gift to us, you’re comets on a cloudy night
when no one looks up to appreciate how beautifully
novelthere’s tea you still need to drink.MisfitableGrae
you left it on the counter again, because you’re
always forgetting where you put it.
it’s probably cold by now, but
it’s there for whenever you’re ready.
here’s a blanket to lose yourself in.
you don’t have to give it back.
here’s another book i think
will make you cry if i ever find the courage
to give it to you. i’ve underlined every
line that made me want to scream, that made me
want to rip out my hair and destroy everything
beautiful about myself, that made me want to
drive across a desert in the middle of the night,
that made me fall in love with everything wonderful
the universe has left to give me.
i can’t find the words to tell you what it’s about.
i guess it’s about growing up and finding love
but it’s also about figuring out how to exist comfortably
and it’s about people who are good and people who
are not always good and the things they do and the worlds t
the last poem i write about my depressioni want you to know that it took me yearsMisfitableGrae
to figure out the worst part. cause, sure, there’s
so many bad parts, there’s so many moments
when dragging air through your mouth feels
like letting in all the water. your body becomes
your own battlefield, your mind—the most
ruthless enemy. it does not cut corners.
it will not spare you. it will leave
no summer-tinted memory untouched.
every exit sign looks like a suggestion.
if you ask someone if they are happy they will say yes
but they will not look you in the eyes.
you will never learn how to feel permanent.
you will drink grape juice and try to remember how it felt
to be holy. you will not think of yourself as wholly,
you are not complete. something vital is missing.
some dark monster has been feasting on you
when you lay down for sleep.
these are bad moments. these are scars that mar your skin
like tattoos that have too much meaning, like a map
of all the dirt roads you’ve walked down.
some days i can
sempiternali saw you today, for the first time in months.MisfitableGrae
i admit, it took me a few seconds to remember
all the words to the song you played on repeat in
your car, the one you couldn’t sing with open eyes.
the music used to come so easily to me,
but when i saw you today, i could only remember
the chorus, and it stuttered its way through my head
over and over again. for the life of me, i don’t know
what comes next.
i have spent years picking up the pieces of you
that you left behind, years spent memorizing
the echo of your heartbeat and the rhythm of
your breaths. your favorite color is purple.
you like sunflowers, autumn, and the creek
that flows behind your house. you like movies
and popcorn, you like ferris wheels and candy apples.
you love your mother and miss your father. you’re
afraid of alcohol and terrified of yourself. there
was a point in my life when i thought maybe i’d
be able to grow old next to you.
i know it’s stupid, but i’m afraid of not knowing
8 Things I Learned Before I Turned Sixteen1. you are stronger than you thinkMisfitableGrae
and when you tell other people this,
do not be offended when they start talking about muscle mass.
they will not understand until they wake up
one day and are disappointed to find themselves
2. reading books about thin people
doesn’t make you thin
just like writing poems about happiness
doesn’t make you happy.
3. make new year’s resolutions. even if you know
they won’t last longer than the shower
you make them in, do it anyways because
you’ll love the idea of the person you were
washing off of you with the dirt.
4. you’re going to fall head over heels
over ankles over fingers in love with a boy.
this does not mean that you have any right
to keep him.
5. someone won’t always be there to tell you,
“hey, good job on getting out of bed today.
good job on going to school and doing your homework.
good job on surviving today.”
but good job anyways.
6. change your hair color. change your s
I EMBRACE MY WEIRDNESS. |
- Really lazy. Ugh, too lazy to explain. ;D
- A slow-thinker, one-track-minded, obsessive....
- Corny. Joke. No seriously.
- Easy to get along with. Trust me. ;D
- Transparent. What you see is what you get.
- Not literal. I'm a writer, and language is a huge part of me (yes, include "grammar freak" in my biography). I like idioms and puns and pretty words in varying sentence types.
- A bit technical when it comes to music and literary arts. (Or so I try. xD)
- Too shy for my own good....
- you, Julian!
- Computers. xD
- Awesome stories with kickass grammar, phrasings, and plots.
- Meeting new people from all over the world. Thank you deviantArt and fanfiction.net! I found a couple of great friends from other countries because of fanart.
- Do anything I set my mind to! If I weren't so lazy. -_-
- Draw, write poetry/short stories/songs, and sing decently.
- A lot of writing. Fits my background personality. But from behind the stage I intend to rock the world. ;D
- A bit of campaigning for fanfictions as "literature". Literate-ture, okay? Writing may be a good hobby, but great works don't fall from the sky. They're worked on with love and care. Our software engineering teacher always stresses out that quality should be the utmost focus of any undertaking.
- We should save the Earth and go GREEN!
- Racism is STUPID.
- ...I should've planned out what I wanted to say before I started doing this profile update. See, it's cluttered. Sorry.
Do I do requests?
- Yup! Note me, and we'll negotiate there. I can do Phineas and Ferb style, or anything cartoony. No mature things!
- I'm considering starting point commissions for everyone. Must...decide...prices...
Do I appreciate "fan art" or am I just in it for MY fame?
- I do fanart to express insane love for a series. Also to show the world I can draw and stuff. But I appreciate canon and fanmade works equally, especially if it was a work made with effort and love.
Effort or idealism?
- What does this question mean? Like I said in my fanfiction.net profile, I analyze things from a formalistic viewpoint. I like works clean, structured, vivid. But then,
not everything has to come in meticulously measured packages. Brilliance can hide in the simplest of stories, the subtlest lines in a painting, and even lack of color could express so much.
Current Residence: Philippines, the Pearl of the Orient
Favourite genre of music: Any good music, really. Some metal, some rock...and most stuff in between. ^^
Operating System: Windows 7 w00t~!
MP3 player of choice: iPod
Favourite cartoon character: ZIM, GIR, Dib, Perry the Platypus, Heinz Doofenshmirtz, Ezekiel Zick, Usopp, Sanji
Personal Quote: A life without friends is EMPTY. A life without Love is IMPOSSIBLE. <3