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Literature
The Gunslinger
"You mean you ain't never heard of the Gunslinger?"
The bar was almost dead at this time of night, and the question seemed to echo around the room - emphasising the sudden silence, rather than masking it.
"No, boy, I ain't."
Only a handful of stragglers remained, the dregs of the evening clearing the dregs of their whiskeys. The lights shone dimly, and everything moved lethargically in the warm Texas night.
"Well I'll be. I thought everyone 'round here knew the story of the 'slinger'," said one of the stragglers – a tall, skinny man wearing a pale cowboy hat. A battered guitar rested on his knee.
"I'm new in town."
They sat at the bar - the musician and the newcomer. The guitarist resumed a lazy melody across the treble strings.
"Oh really?" he drawled, fingers sliding slowly over the fretboard. "And how are y'all finding our little patch of dirt?"
"Whiskey's expensive. Women all look like men," the newcomer replied. "Music's terrible," he added, eying up the musician suspiciously
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RLF- Something Wicked :iconnamingway:Namingway 40 7 Gamzee :icondoubleleaf:doubleleaf 5,351 497 Free Icon :icontatchit:Tatchit 1,451 141 Hi, I'm a lesbian. :iconbatlesbo:batlesbo 8,977 899
Literature
I'm coming out: I'm straight
“Mom? Mum? Can I talk to you?”
My voice quivered. Both of them looked up at me. Mom’s head was in Mum’s lap. Mum was slowly stroking her forehead, leaning down to kiss her forehead while still staring at me intently. A satanic bible was placed in Mum’s lap, the thin, withered pages torn in a few places from continued reading. “You know you can talk to us about anything,” Mom said, smiling, sitting up a bit straighter. She leaned over to kiss Mum, who kissed her back. I took a seat on the couch and pulled my knees up to my chin, staring down at my cuticles. Even for a guy, they were pretty nasty.
I took a deep breath. “Guys? I don’t really know how to say this…but, I think I’m heterosexual.”
The room went silent. Mum looked up from our satanic bible and pursed her lips. For a second, I thought she was going to reach out and slap me. In a tight voice, she said, “You know how we feel about heterosexuals. We raised you to be
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34. Simon Shack :iconsfegraphics:sfegraphics 169 14 The Legend :iconbowlersandtophats:bowlersandtophats 6,327 832 Reflection :iconmd-star:MD-STAR 839 184 Tag :iconkris-wilson:kris-wilson 5,028 427 The Hurt Deep Inside :iconsemokan:semokan 2,976 192

Newest Deviations

Literature
The Thief of Storm Clouds (All Endings)
The thief wandered the catacombs, peeking into the different tombs with vague interest. He was only there because necessity was slipping into desperation and stealing from the living—knowing they were equally wanting—didn’t sit well with him. It made sense then, to take from the dead kings. They didn’t need it, and the current king didn’t seem to want it. A few coins here and there couldn’t be missed. But each tomb he found, he could not take from. The hopes of the living still clung to them even after so many centuries. The dream their loves were at peace stayed his hand, allowing them to only offer prayer. His need was not so close to desperation it seemed. His nerve lost, he watched his feet as he walked deciding on turning back. When he looked up, however, gold glittered back at him.
“Who are you?” the voice filled with the sorrow of a never ending downpour asked. Startled, he searched for signs of life and found her sitting among the
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Literature
The Thief of Storm Clouds (Third Ending)
The thief wandered the catacombs, peeking into the different tombs with vague interest. He was only there because necessity was slipping into desperation and stealing from the living—knowing they were equally wanting—didn’t sit well with him. It made sense then, to take from the dead kings. They didn’t need it, and the current king didn’t seem to want it. A few coins here and there couldn’t be missed. But each tomb he found, he could not take from. The hopes of the living still clung to them even after so many centuries. The dream their loves were at peace stayed his hand, allowing them to only offer prayer. His need was not so close to desperation it seemed. His nerve lost, he watched his feet as he walked deciding on turning back. When he looked up, however, gold glittered back at him.
“Who are you?” the voice filled with the sorrow of a never ending downpour asked. Startled, he searched for signs of life and found her sitting among the
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Literature
The Thief of Storm Clouds (Second Ending)
The thief wandered the catacombs, peeking into the different tombs with vague interest. He was only there because necessity was slipping into desperation and stealing from the living—knowing they were equally wanting—didn’t sit well with him. It made sense then, to take from the dead kings. They didn’t need it, and the current king didn’t seem to want it. A few coins here and there couldn’t be missed. But each tomb he found, he could not take from. The hopes of the living still clung to them even after so many centuries. The dream their loves were at peace stayed his hand, allowing them to only offer prayer. His need was not so close to desperation it seemed. His nerve lost, he watched his feet as he walked deciding on turning back. When he looked up, however, gold glittered back at him.
“Who are you?” the voice filled with the sorrow of a never ending downpour asked. Startled, he searched for signs of life and found her sitting among the
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Literature
The Thief of Storm Clouds (First Ending)
The thief wandered the catacombs, peeking into the different tombs with vague interest. He was only there because necessity was slipping into desperation and stealing from the living—knowing they were equally wanting—didn’t sit well with him. It made sense then, to take from the dead kings. They didn’t need it, and the current king didn’t seem to want it. A few coins here and there couldn’t be missed. But each tomb he found, he could not take from. The hopes of the living still clung to them even after so many centuries. The dream their loves were at peace stayed his hand, allowing them to only offer prayer. His need was not so close to desperation it seemed. His nerve lost, he watched his feet as he walked deciding on turning back. When he looked up, however, gold glittered back at him.
“Who are you?” the voice filled with the sorrow of a never ending downpour asked. Startled, he searched for signs of life and found her sitting among the
:iconDoorTraveler:DoorTraveler
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Literature
The Lost Twenty 3
III. Grief
Breakers were known for practicality. We didn’t accumulate possessions or mementos. If it served no purpose it was disposed of. It made the exchanging of rooms quick and efficient, but by the time Gregor had his two boxes packed and brought to Davis’s dorm I hadn’t accomplished much of anything. He found me sitting on the bed looking at a book, with a place in the middle marked with string.
We didn’t own books, not really. Although every dorm room had about ten to fifteen books in it, but by the time the occupant had been promoted the books would have changed five or six times if not more. Books exchanged between roommates, dorms, dormitories. If a Breaker purchased a book it was added to the very fluid library.
Gregor shut the door and sat down next to me, taking the book from my hands. “It’s not your fault,” he stated, and I looked passed him at the door. “Davis—”
“Is Helion settling in?”
A short growl
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Literature
The Lost Twenty 2
II. Risen
The rain had passed Nesound by the time we landed. I let the others leave first, counting them off. I stared at Davis’s empty seat when I got to twenty. What impression would this put into their minds? I should have been able to protect all the Threads and the Pins, and I lost one. Not only a Pin, either, my First Pin. If it had been Valo or Naois, they might chalk it up to failed leadership on their shoulders, not mine. But it was Davis, Davis who was nearly twice my age with nearly fifteen years more experience. In that context, I gave the wrong orders, I had failed.
Would this cause a struggle? Not with the Pins, certainly. I looked at Naois. Maybe not the Pins.
“Striker?” Unrolt’s voice jogged me from my thoughts. He put a hand on my shoulder, with that fathering look about him. In his other he held a brown box with the Breaker’s insignia on it. I looked up at him and he gave an understanding smile. His eyes shifted through the rest of the pl
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Literature
The Lost Twenty 1
I. Prayer
I glanced out the back of the plane, triple checking the parachute in my hands. Gregor laughed at me as he watched. The man would follow me to the Fire Cavern even if I fell to the Madness, but with him and the rest of the men respect on the battle field and respect in private were about as different as night and day. On the battle field I was queen, a harsh ruler that saw fairness as what she decreed it, but in private I was their best friend’s sister—his younger sister who wasn’t allowed to flirt with anyone they didn’t approve of (which was pretty much anyone who wasn’t a Breaker).
I didn’t mind the over protectiveness; I was young. Barely twenty and still trying to convince my father calling the Breaker Complex about my “misfiled” report was unacceptable behavior. The thing that mattered was that I was part of the Intelligent and trained to take and keep command. On the battle field these same men that argued with me over wh
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Literature
He Left Her
There are things I want to say to you
But all I’m left with is a virtual page.
You stood there and said it so quietly, calmly—
The cab was already on the way.
There were things I wanted to say to you
But all that came out was “okay … okay.”
I hugged you and cried and told you I loved you—
We never said it enough.
There were words I wanted to scold you with
But I didn’t want my last words to be mean.
I watched the cab pull up and tried not to cry—
An impossible task it would seem.
There were better ways to do this
And leaving before we woke wasn’t one of them.
You wanted to disappear without goodbyes—
A planned email your explanation.
You coward.
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Literature
In the Name 4
4: Dropped City Research Center
Seeing two men walk out of a supposedly deserted city can cause anyone to stop and stare, but when one of them is carrying an axe the reaction leans more toward dropping what you are doing and calling for the armed security. The pair were greeted by two men carrying rifles, and a woman in a biohazard suit.
“Who are you?” the woman demanded.
“We were passengers on the bus to Fifth City. Unfortunately we were attacked by something and pulled down into the city while at the rest stop,” Allen explained. “We saw your elevator, and were hoping that you could give us a lift out of here before sunset.”
“You’d have to be quarantined for a few hours until we can run tests.”
Ingel looked at Allen, and then raised his free hand. “Will there be things to do in quarantine?” The woman stared at him and nodded, slightly confused. “Then I don’t mind.” He grinned at Allen, who simply groan
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Literature
In the Name 3
3: Dropped City
Gravity was the only indication the bus was on its side while groans indicated survivors; amused laughter said one of them was Ingel. Allen was sideways in the driver’s seat, and groped blindly for a way to pull himself upright. Finally: a sigh. “I invoke the name: Wesley, give us light.” Specks of light appeared around the compartment, and Allen managed to get to his feet. “Shut up, Ingel.”
The demon quieted his laughter to chuckling. He was sitting with his back against the seat, as if he hadn’t just fallen down a hole in a bus. He smiled giddily at Allen, ending his laughter as he stood and looked around. His eyes landed on half of Jared—the other half taken by the Sand Drill. “Guess you won’t be needed as a Scribe today.”
“There’s a time and place, Ingel,” Allen reprimanded, taking his own look around. Everyone else was cut up with glass; thanks to a last minute invocation no one was serio
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Literature
In the Name 2
2: Dropped City Rest Stop
The road to the city was paved, but looked like it hadn’t been serviced since before the Calamity. It inconvenienced the bus ride with shuttering bumps that rattled the windows and made walking an adventure, concentrating difficult, and sleeping impossible. For all that, at least there were only seven passengers on board.
Wesley and Amanda were the young couple in back. They were going to the city to license a marriage agreement arranged by their parents. A not uncommon phenomenon for the post-Reconstruction generation, and cities were the only governments with the power to license marriages these days. They sat together, holding hands, the girl staring out the window in silence, the boy staring straight ahead with a gaze full of scary possibilities.
A businessman, Thomas by name, sat two rows behind the driver and was returning from meeting a partner company in Second City. He had drawn the short end of the stick at a lottery some six months prior and h
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Literature
In the Name 1
1: Grackle’s Diner
It was a small little diner on the outskirts of town by a road very few people used. Over the years it had been given a homier feel with a few vases here and there, mirrors and pastel paintings on the walls and an old grandfather clock on the far wall by the bathroom hall. Still, it couldn’t escape the diner-charm with its cheap faux-leather cushioned booths and wooden chairs around old linoleum-topped tables, or its arcade nook. Most of the staff described it as a diner masquerading as a bed and breakfast, and poorly at that.
On a rainy day like today it wasn’t uncommon for it to be completely empty, but two travelers had sought shelter from the storm. The first was dressed like any traveler these days: a heavy coat, boots, a travel bag, and a weathered hat. He was an unassuming type, a forgettable but friendly face with brown hair and quiet grey eyes. He could be from anywhere; he could be your next door neighbor. The coat and hat were hung up by
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Literature
Dragonlords of Karaton 1
The White King’s army collided with that of the Dark Prince during the in the last year of the Age of the Two Kingdoms. The Plague, as the Prince’s army was then known, swept down the north side of the Fire Nest Mountains three hundred men against five thousand. The Northern Army, the last stand for free men, was destroyed, and in honor of their struggle against the darkness, the land grew white blossoms over the dead. It was a war to be known as Whitefall, but time and memory forgot this battlefield—legend placing it nearer to coast. The land however, did not. Earth always remembers.
The Age of the Dark Prince came and passed, his destruction giving rise to the Age of the Dragonlord. It was during this time, the Fourth Age of Hec Cyr, that people built a settlement there. They named it White Haven, but the land knew better and over time they began calling it Whitefall once more, although no one knew why. They believed it to be because of the blossoms that blanketed t
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Literature
Connect
Our souls are stretched beneath our skin. The best of us held in our palms, the worst of us held in our fingers. The rest is electricity. It’s supposed to glow through the eyes, but they are as opaque as skin. There is no true window there, just a reflected image of the world, twisted upside down only to be twisted right side up again. What then does the soul see?
Does it see truth? Does it recognize the souls of others, or does it perceive only a spiraled image of compiled information? If so, then we should tear out the false window, shatter the fogged glass for the soul to see clear! Let our fingers reach in and pluck the organ away, let it be squashed against the palm into red and white jelly to free our souls of the middle man. Maybe then we could make connections, long and trusted—we could find proof to staple to our beliefs.
But we are afraid, unable to share ourselves without needing proof up front. We are afraid of true sight.
Disconnect.
What connections are possib
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Literature
Dragonlords of Karaton - Prologue
The night was dark the stars and moon taking refuge behind the clouds to shield themselves from the atrocities below. Torchlight moved through the trees, the crunch and swish of the brush awaking the parents in their small cabin. The father threw off the covers, the mother running for the small child sleeping in the next room. She shushed the child, the father draping a heavy coat around them, looking anxiously toward the noise.
The mother and child were hurried through the door into the night, the father staying behind to answer the rude knock on their front door. The mother hurried through the trees, pausing only to stare in horror at the terrible scream erupting from the home she’d fled from. Shortly thereafter the night was lit up as flames swallowed the cabin, the burning wood creaking and snapping as it was consumed.
Crying, desperately trying to move forward without waking the child she was carrying, she ran through the trees. Her bare feet slapped against the damp leaves
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Literature
CAUTION: STAIN
The 7 o’clock news told me a Stain had appeared on my street. They had yet to catch the vandal, but I wasn’t so concerned about that. It was the Stain that had me interested. It being Saturday and I being otherwise unoccupied, I strolled out my front door and took a walk to see what I could see.
Police had quartered off the area with the usual yellow and black “CAUTION STAIN” plastic tape, but I don’t see why. It didn’t help with the Chicago Incident, let alone Florida! Looking down at the oily black goo splattered across the pavement, I could only give a sigh of submission. “Well, it’s as good a time as any to move, I suppose,” I reported, receiving weary glances from my neighbors. “I’m not getting caught in the quarantine!” I assured them, putting my hands in my pockets to keep from getting infected. Their tired eyes followed me as I returned home.
During dinner the 6 o’clock news informed me the vandal has
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Adore T. Raviller
Artist | Student | Literature
United States
Interests
I LIVE!!!

(Just thought I'd clarify for anyon---for the one person ... okay someone might have been wondering, maybe.) 

So for the year of 2016, I've challenged myself to writing everyday. Which I have done so far ... on paper. I appear to be going through this weird stint in my career where I find typing boring, or well maybe not boring, just overly complicated? Whatever, the point is when I type a story I start obsessing over ever little thing, and with a first draft that shit isn't necessary and actually impedes progress. So I'm been handing shit. Not much, probably only 250-500 words a day. Hopefully, I'll get around to typing some of it to show you ... if I'm happy with it. But I'm a little tired of expectations right now so it might be awhile. Also, I've failed to reach the interesting bits of the story I'm writing, so you'd probably find the disjointed hopscotch I've written a bit confraggling. Confraggling is a word right? 
Is now, I guess. 

Anyway, thought I'd update anyone who cares. Though my audience is limited, and probably very few people actually look at these journals anyway. So I guess I'm just typing for my own amusement. 


So no real change there? 
  • Listening to: Starbomb
  • Watching: Youtube: Jacksepticeye, Game Grumps
  • Playing: Dark Souls

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:icon9-1-9:
9-1-9 Featured By Owner Jul 2, 2016  Professional Digital Artist
Thank you so much for the favorite!
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:iconstatic-foil:
Static-Foil Featured By Owner May 30, 2016  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
*glomps*
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:iconstatic-foil:
Static-Foil Featured By Owner Jun 4, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Ah! I found ya ovo

This is Knight z from lunaescence and I'm so happy to found you today ovo
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:icondoortraveler:
DoorTraveler Featured By Owner Jun 4, 2014  Student Writer
It's always good to be found!
especially since I'm more active on here than I am on Lunaescence. 
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:iconstatic-foil:
Static-Foil Featured By Owner Jun 12, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
*spinspin*
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