Imagine the human soul as an orb of glass.
If someone says something, that hurts,
because it's true, the orb gets cracks.
Then a blazing hand arises,
it melts the glass,
it makes the orb whole again.
He says:"It's okay."
CrowfeetAt first sight the bulky figure hobbling through the cloudy harvest evening would not appear as unhuman to any observer. Any citizen that saw the figure would just assume that it was some old, misshapen beggar in his dirty ropes. Only on a closer look someone could see the strange feet the person was walking on and maybe if he turned his head, become aware of something that looked like and unaturally long nose.
They called him Crowfeet, although he had an actual name, he still used Crowfeet because he learned that the people in this city weren't able to pronounce his name correctly anyway.
Crowfeet was a stranger to this city, he came from about half a world away, but his people abandoned him or he did abandon his people, depending on the point of view.
Crowfeet was a Tengu, the tengu were a people of humanoid ravens, living in the far east. Crowfeet's kin loved soaring the skies abouve the dragonspine mountains and practice the art of the sword. He himself however never was that much
A Job"I have a job for you."
Joffry opened his eyes. He had been sleeping on the ground in the "establishment" in the Rhinestreet. Now he looked up.
Lucretia was standing over him, she gazed down on him. She was expecting a reaction.
"Am I getting payed.", yawned the young man without much interest.
"I was expecting you to do this as part of our agreement." answered the women that was called "Lady" or "Mother" by the other women or girls of the house.
"Ah yeah our agreement.", he knew that she wanted him to do it as part of the agreement, but he nevertheless wanted to double-check and see if he can get any money out of it.
The "Agreement" was that he could get shelter in the house whenever he needed it and in return "scare" off any men that would threaten the integrity of the establishment.
Actually he did not need to do anything so far - most of the time dropping his name was enough.
"So what is it?", mumbled Joffry, still lying on the ground.
"I want you to punish someone." - now he looke
Written with BloodPlease do not ask me
'Bout Dark Poetry
Have no need for it
It doesn't touch me
These are little Words
Of Pain, Hate and Fear
But they have no Sense
If you haven't felt such
If you have not seen
And you have not felt
They are just three Words
Like You, Me and Thee
These are puny Words
For those who felt it
Burning Pain in you
Roaring Hate for you
And the Fear of you
Of what thing you are
The beast you might be
The Darkness you crave
These are just Words
If you have never
Heard the fearful shouts
And seen the shed Blood
Do not talk to me
About Fear and Loath
If you have not seen
MistHe stepped out into a cloudy october night.
It was allways cloudy, or misty or both in the little town at the edge of the swamp.
The people of the town carefully avoided the swamp, allthough nobody really knew why. It was just a creepy place that no one wanted to visit especially not during the night.
He was on the way home from the towns pup to his house on the other side of the town.
Lost in lought he walked the streets untill he saw infront of him a huge, black dog sitting on the street.
Strange...he had never seen such an animal around here before. As he came closer the dog set up and started growling at him. He wanted to sneak past the dog, but the animal was blocking the way. He wanted to step back and try another way around, but another dog was sitting in the adjecting alley. He turned around just to see that there was another dog coming from the opposing alley.
"What the fuck is going on here...?!"
He started to walk the way back and realized that they were following him, so he
A true StoryThis is a true story.
A story about my grandfather and about the second world war.
When my grandfather was at my age he was a communist and gave speeches in collogne.
Communists were bitter rivals of the Fascists and their favored country was russia, because it was the only country at that time that had a communist system.
Maybe that was the reason why he was send there in the war.
My grandfather was send to siberia. In case you don't know what that means a small anecdote: Soldiers that were honored for fighting in siberia recieved a medal, that was called "Frozen-Meat-Medal" among the people. The russian winter on his own was deadly enough.
As far as I know my grandfathers group was on the march when they met a naitive that tried to defend himself. The officer of the group decided that the man had to die and ordered my grandfather:"Shoot him."
My grandfather refused, I don't know if out of compassion or simple stubbornness, but I do know that the Officer and my grandfather strated to
Raven's FlightHe looked at the coat of arms - with a frowend forehead.
"Interesting, isn't it?", said a voice behind him and he turned around.
He saw a man, with grayish-blond hair, a blond, stubbly beard and a black eyepatch over his right eye. The man beared the same coat of arms.
"Greetings, Milord.", the sentence was pure rutine, he had said it a hundred times before and will say it another hundred times, before the end of his duty.
The man with the eyepatch nodded as a response. He stepped forward and looked at the coat of arms on the wall.
It showed a raven carrying an olive branche in it's beak. A raven as an emblem wasn't unusual, also a bird carrying an olive brach wasn't an unusual symbol, but he had never seen a raven carry an olive branch. Well...he had never actually seen a dove that carried an olive brach either, but the combination of raven and olive brach seemed like a twist in the myth.
"You ask yourself: Why a raven. Don't you?", aksed the lord.
"I would never dare to question a lo
Pride of the Dark Ones 2Look at this man, you might remember him as an old scholar. He had the pleasure to explain to a young boy, whos father had been slain in battle, why "Darkelves" didn't equal "Evilelves".
As most scholars do he left out some details to make his statement sound more believeble. In fact it was a number of detials, in onther words he just told the boy a half of the actual truth. The other half...
It was true that the soldiers, nobles and even the King of the dark elves were bound by a strict code of honor. But these aren't all of the dark elves and no we are not talking about the females here, the women of the dark elves are as much warriors as their male counterparts.
But in a world were a large part of influence is in the hands of people that study things that aren't visible to normal people, we have do ask ourselves how do "they" do it.
What are the mages of the dark elves.
First, they aren't called mages the are Warlocks, which indicates that they work with dark energies. Some of them
Tony x Reader - Jar of Hearts
WORD OF WARNING!! CONTAINS FEELS!
I know I can't
take one more step
towards you. Cause
all that's waiting
You walked down the streets of Manhatten, and you phone buzzed in your pocket. You were just finishing up your nightly jog.
"Hey babe. <3"
It was Tony.
"Hey! What's up?" You texted back.
"Nothing much. Just doing stupid paperwork that Fury assigned, so I won't be done for a while."
You smirked and texted,
"That sucks. See you in a few. Love ya! <3" You turned off your phone, and jogged to the Tower.
And don't you
know I'm not your
ghost anymore. You
lost the love I
loved the most.
You walked into the Tower, seeing Natasha and Clint cuddling on the couch, watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith. You smiled at them, and you walked to the elevator.
"Miss, might I suggest you not going to Tony's room?" JARVIS asked. You frowned and asked confused,
I learned to live,
half alive. And now
you want me one more,
time. And who do you
Bucky x Teen!Runaway!Reader Part 2
PLEASE READ THE LAST CHAPTER TO UNDERSTAND THIS ONE!!!
"That was about 24 years ago. I was 12. Now I'm 15, almost 16. That man was the only person I trusted in a long time. His name was John, John Keller I think. He was about 21 when we met but the first five months I was with him, he died. I've been running since. No stops, never slept in the same place twice...Then HYRDA came, and offered me a job. I declined. It was the worst mistake of my life. They kidnapped me, tutored me, shoved me, and almost made me go mentally insane. Then, that's when they brain-washed me. They strapped me to a hard, leather chair, and took everything away from me...Even the only memories of my mom. They stuck me into a Cyro Freezer almost 24 years ago. I'll admit, I'm old lady. But I escaped from them. 3 years, two months, and 16 days days I've been away. And I've been slowly getting my memories back. But not in the ways I would have hoped. I get Night Terrors every single night. Not ever a
daughter on the stepstool I count the cracks in between the blocks of cement as I walk, eyes downcast. Sets of two, sets of two. I can never quite shake the way my bones don’t sit right under my skin, too big for my body. It’s a constant itch that I can’t scratch, only mollified when I listen, when I listen to what it tells me. My disease tells me to count in sets of two—blink four times, two sets of two. I don’t understand, but those numbers are safety in a storm. They ruin me, though. They ruin me. I hide behind mathematical equations that account for sets of two, and I leave her to drown.
These are my hands, but they’re really just earthquakes. I am not afraid to crumble anything that gets in my way, and it’s always her. She always tries to stop me, tells me she loves me after calling me fucked up. Fucked up. I lose sleep because sometimes I dream in shades that I do not like. Blue, like her eyes. One syllable, half of a set. A ghost
Amber SunrisesI’m not entirely sure yet. You know, why bad things happen all the time. I’m kind of just here trying to figure all of this out myself. Why suns rise and set, why life comes into this world, and why it always has to end. I sat outside. That darkish blue color was in the sky again. It’s always in the sky. It’s like it never really goes away. And I guess it doesn’t because apparently the blue in the sky is just a reflection of the ocean. I woke up at 6:30am today. And I couldn’t go back to sleep. So I went outside. It was cold outside. The refreshing kind though. It was like a bitter sweet kind of wind and it tussled with the knots in my hair for a little while until they both calmed down and went in their respected directions. There was nobody else outside and it was quiet. I almost fell back asleep until I saw the sun starting to rise. So I climbed up onto the roof to get a better look at this amber fire. I almost fell off but I didn’t (I
fragmenti am cheap and easily bought; i come complete with bruises and the built-in urge to run away.
TrappedWe were both trapped in a queue of cars, four lanes on the motorway. It was 8am on a Friday and rush hour was creeping forward at a twelfth of the speed that it usually did. People sighed, some moaned, others dipped their hands lazily out of their windows catching the cool morning breeze. We were both there, you and I. My car crept forward almost as if it wasn't moving at all, my eyes focused on the road ahead, concentrating on the car in front - one eye on the van behind. It was one of those roads where the curves dropped away around a bend and into nothing. People craned their necks trying to see what was up ahead, what was keeping everyone back from their mundane mornings at their desks. I didn't want to look. But we were both there, stuck in the queue.
I flicked the radio stations to see if there was a news update, red lights cleared as the crowd inched forward again. Lane one, then two then three merged into four as flashing lights and signs warned them of an obstruction. Brake li
The Boy I LovedThe boy I loved was not always the boy I loved: there was once a time he was someone else, and there was once a time when he was nothing at all, and there is yet to be a time when he will be nothing again. But he was the boy I loved when I met him and was yet still to love him.
i'm so tired of disappointment
The boy I loved had really sharp collarbones. "I swear," i would think as i lay my head on his chest, "they could cut me right open and i wouldn't mind."
there's no next time, this was the last chance i gave myself
He still may not be the last boy I'll love like this, but the boy I loved wanted forever with me, and i wanted forever with him. I exchanged a lot of promises with the boy I loved. So many that I often thought our pinkie fingers curled into each other instinctively whenever we said we loved each other. The boy I loved was a constant, but it was also the most tumultuous journey my hesitating feet have ever been on.
it isn't good enough
The boy I
Through a lover's eyesWow, I don't even know where to start... How do you describe someone like that, when words or images alone are simply not enough? She is just the most exquisite bundle of mischief I have ever, and probably will ever meet. Hell, she's a cocky wee git on good days, but even on the bad days she still has this amazing, fierce intelligence that I can only liken to the lightening that illuminates a storm, even if only for a brief moment. And though it does get to me a bit at times, I really do admire the wicked, almost sick sense of humour that appears along with that subtle dimple below the edge of her lips. Nothing has ever completely smothered that little spark; not even when she lay in that hospital bed, barely conscious from the cocktail of drugs she'd attempted to take her own life with. It has got her in trouble a few times; giggling at inappropriate moments, but I would far rather that than watching the light leave her eyes.
It does make me sad; the repeated suicide attempts. I mean,