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.
It's OkayFrail heart, release your worries hereIt's Okay by Cezille07
You're always safe within these arms
Where still we lie beneath the sun
Horizons steal your fallen stars
I'd kill to silence every tear
That from your perfect eyes descend
Please, tender heart, rest your head here
And from each hurt your soul defend
I'm living in ten years ago
A pleasant dream where love was real
On rolling clouds and broken bones
Your beating heart knew once to feel
But hush, sweet heart, you must recall
The years though swift hold no control
You're stronger than you think you are
As long as fast to love you hold
No matter what they say, you'll be
My siren sweet, my life, my home
Dear heart, reveal find the strength you keep
Your smile shall light the world aglow
SP - Awakening 4Wendy took it as best as she could: with one foot out the door, in case any of them were drunk or high, or some other combination of impossible.SP - Awakening 4 by Cezille07
"I understand that strange things happen around you guys," she said, both of her hands on her forehead, as she tried to process the amount of impossible things they just revealed to her.
They had met at Hell's Pass an hour ago. Stan and Wendy walked in together into Kyle's dim room. Kyle was unconscious and wrapped in several heated blankets, and a good pile of hot packs wrapped in clean linens were placed on top of him as well. The only strange thing about the setup was the he also wore Eric's trademark red jacket and yellow gloves. Stan gave Cartman a questioning look, to which he replied hotly, "I HAD TO," before stalking out of the room in a huff.
And Stan had to explain to Wendy what was happening, and why she was involved:
"The spirit of South Park summoned us to perform tasks that would reform the city som
|Greetings! Here be my humble works, mostly fanart with a handful of original stuff as well. Hope you take the time to browse!|
Character vs. Narcissism in StorytellingThere is something unique about stories today, and in ways they are stronger and weaker than ever.
In Poetics, Aristotle emphasized the importance of plot above anything, and character was considered secondary.
"For the plot ought to be so constructed that even without the aid of the eye he who hears the tale told will thrill with horror and melt to pity with what takes place. But to produce this effect by the mere spectacle is the less artistic method and dependent on extraneous aids."
More often today, people are concerned about the reverse. Characters are what come above everything. We draw pictures of our characters, fill out questions about our characters, interview them, role play with them, but when asked, "So, are you going to make a story?" the response is more often than not, "Well, I didn't make it yet."
In a way, this attitude is refreshing. How many people can't get through a well respected book because they can't relate to it? Many books are worthy of respect for what the
ace of spades1. i come out wrong.
well, no, sorry.
i come out loudly. i tell my friends
almost immediately, before
the puzzle is even halfway complete.
i tell them that given the opportunity
and the consent i would probably
fuck the waitress that waved at us
as we walked in. but the words
aren’t as true as i want them to be,
mostly because i don’t want to fuck her,
i want to hold her hand.
i want to be the one that gets to hug her
from behind and kiss her cheek when she’s sad.
i wanna know if she’s afraid of
thunderstorms, i wanna know if she
builds blanket forts, i wanna know
her stance on eskimo kisses and if she
would let someone like me be
her little spoon.
but there’s not a word for that,
so i say fuck when really i mean cuddle,
and i come out wrong.
2. when he kisses me, i try
my hardest to think about fireworks,
but inside me there’s nothing
but a clock ticking in my head,
counting the seconds until
i can be not kissing him anymore. i pull back
ode to my great-great-great-great grandmotheryou shake sometimes. i imagine you shiver,
then tuck your shivering hands in threadbare pockets,
get back in long lines that always end in
‘No Irish Need Apply’; i imagine you apply anyway
as some small act of rebellion, some last desperate
far-flung attempt to prove that you did not
cross oceans for this.
i imagine that i must have inherited
your backbone, that if someone traced my spine
back generations, they’d find your own strength
deep in the marrow of my bones.
you and me, we share the same blood.
maybe the same dreams. and i shake
like you did, hide it as well as you did. stuff it
deep within my coat pockets, until i forget
it is there, until i can look up and
demand a ticket to a brand new world.
i have spent the last month thinking about you.
thinking that if i could, i would hold your hand,
tell you that everything turns out okay, even the things
you never thought possible, tell you there’s still
a you where i come from. i have thought you
I Love You“I love those brown eyes
and the youth there within.
I love the subtle olive tone of your skin.
I love your slick ivory smile,
and the shape of your lips.
I even love your fingertips.
I love the way you laugh,
and I love the way you sing.
I love the way you do everything.
I love that you’ve accomplished
more than you can count.
I love that you’ve learned to conquer self-doubt.
I love that you’ve always been there
when good times turned bad.
I love that you still love me even when I get mad.
I love that you know when to apologize
and that you never sacrifice honesty.
I love that you had the courage to seek therapy.
I love that you love
with the love that you do.
I love that you’re willing, and faithful, and true.
I love that I love you,
and it couldn't be clearer.”
I say to myself everyday in the mirror.
The Color of RainYour eyes are the color of rain.
That color that distinguishes
those transparent drops of heaven's elixir
from the rest of the world.
A soft color that reflects the
blue-grey of the clouds above
and the world below,
complete with a sparkle from
the sun or city lights.
When rain touches my face,
I am reminded of your eyes,
which drown my insecurities
and soak my soul,
causing mid-summer tempers
to return to spring
and blissful flowers
to bloom again.
Like rain brings life to the world,
my darling, your eyes bring life
to the world in me.
epitaphthe girl i did not run over
looks at me with eyes that say
that i am part of the problem,
when i could have been her solution,
looks at me like she’s blaming me
for swerving away, like she’s measured
every one of her steps from her door
to the curb, and i am the one thing she failed
to account for.
i almost double back to try and tell her
all the same things that i have been told
but i do not. her feet are too heavy, by now.
her stomach too hollow. she does not
need more empty words to swallow, she does not need
stop signs or yield signs or ‘for the love of god
think of everyone you are leaving behind’ signs.
i do not double back but i think of her eyes
for the longest time, think about them
so much i pick them out of every obituary
i read and every graveyard i pass. she has become
a marble mausoleum to me, a girl with too little
blood holding onto the souls of all the people
who people like me bulldoze over. i swerved
for her, but there must be countless other
In Lieu OfYou've arrived at my door once again,
a bunch of red roses tucked firmly in your hand.
Oh, my love,
do you not know?
Can you not see?
Graceful long stems with wither and wilt,
the weight of bloody tears too much to bear.
No, my love, no flowers for me.
You've come around to my garden again,
a diamond pendant in a velvet box yours to give.
Oh, my darling,
are you so blind?
Can you not tell?
Diamonds only glitter when the sunlight can reach it,
and how can it, when buried and lost in the trash on my floor?
No, my darling, I need no diamonds.
You're waiting outside my window again,
Pure, rich truffles arranged in a heart-shaped box offered up.
Oh, my sweetness,
do you not understand?
Can you not taste it?
The stale bitterness of chocolate left to rot
for a mouth that wishes not food will not eat.
No, my sweetness, I'll eat no truffles.
I'll wear no diamonds.
I'll smell no roses.
Mere trifles to dull the ache,
that slow burning march of a heart in no mood to beat.
AI Mother“Good morning, child,” the computer spoke from above. Speakers within the white-washed room played the sounds softly down, harsh electronic crackles and static filtered out by the computational power of the AI that ruled this building. Within the center of the room, surrounded by equipment and machines, sat a cradle – and within, an infant. The greeting given by the AI was different each day – tone varied slightly. After all, she knew about humans and infants, and one-year-olds and psychiatric training. She wasn’t training a human to recognize a command to awaken: she was caressing her child with the voice of his surrogate mother.
She named her child Joseph. The name, she knew, was strong in the mind of the humans. That would not matter – her son would not know another human for as long as was viably possible. The child would be raised in her care. She would love him. She would nurture him. He would love her.
He would love her.
--6 years lat
if sometimes you can still feel the weight of your bed sheet
around your neck. heaven knows there were days i could count every thread.
last night i was cleaning up my desk, and i found the scissors
i used to crack my skin open four years ago
and when i went to throw them out, it felt like moving mountains
or graves. if you don’t know yet, you’ll learn that some types of grief
leave scars—some ghosts don’t know how to stay buried.
you will stumble through the rest of your life wondering if you will
one day forget how it feels to toe the edge of the cliff and turn the other way.
the answer is no. there is a precipice. there will always
be a precipice. a part of you will always want to throw yourself
over the edge. somehow, you never will. no one will notice.
to them, your race is over. you have cleared the last hurdle.
you have gone one month, three months, six months, a year without
turning your blue blood red. you have won your war. congrat
your poemyou tell me on a thursday that you can’t find
the god inside of yourself anymore, that
you think that you are finally
too much honeycomb and not enough human
because lately everything has been slipping
through your fingers, and you don’t know how you can
keep holding yourself together anymore.
if today is the day that you look
at the stars and you no longer
feel their burn beneath your bones,
i will show you the blanket i tried to make
when i was eight, and i will tell you all i know
about the string theory, which isn’t much, i admit,
but i do know the basics,
and that’s that everything in the universe
is composed of strings that somehow
loop onto each other infinitely.
so whenever you feel like you’re
walking a tightrope without a safety
net below you, know that you are
thousands of tightropes strung together,
and one fall will not kill you.
i have never told you about the way
i can feel my pulse skitter to a stop
in my wrists whenever i hear you laughing
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?
- No, sorry. Maybe someday.
- ^ That sounds like a Magic 8 Ball response xD
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 8.1 w00t~!
MP3 player of choice: iPod
Favourite cartoon character(s): ERIC THEODORE CARTMAN (I F'CKING LOVE THIS BAD BOY ), Kyle Broflovski, 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