|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
IMPORTANT PLEASE READIMPORTANT PLEASE READ
My laptop is cheating on me and using tablet on the other computer is a pain in the ass.
I know you paid for digital but some commissions will be made traditionally, sorry.ù
You don't have to add any points, it's a pleasure for me and you won't wait a lot anymore.
I trust to finish this list on the next two weeks, after that, will draw for me and then open some requests maybe.
Oh, and I'll be finishing that pony requests batch of time ago.
Basculin (has 2 forms)
[Mega Charizard X]
[Mega Charizard Y]
Please do notCause journal is occupied.
I'm very sensitive toward hunging by the neck and animals being killed.
Please don't show these stuff to me again...
Artistic or not, please don't show me how you draw your animal character hunged to death.
Pulling out my heartstringsHow does losing who you love feels?
How does losing the idea of what or who you are or what you have meant to them feels?
How do you pretend to know how does it feels to cry alone o your bed, like the world wasn't ending by itself enough.
Like broken chords of a rotten piano, these feelings strike back on my heartstrings, pulling them out and making me simply choke on them like someone may choke on food.
That's all I got from those people I pretended to see as angels, which the real angels were far far away from the sunken ship of my dirty soul.
In my own country doesn't exists grudge or revenge.
In my own country, deceased are walking on earth again, giving love to who have lost em,
praising a false god that gave only aches to livings and made believers become fanatics over a burning world.
But no one may tell, my heart is the most broken land once again,
and once again I can hear those creepy bells that call for me to get em in hell.
Stealing stuff for phunStolen stuff from eulpie
Will mark with a X what's true lel
I am a cuddler. X
I am a morning person.
I am an only child.
I am currently in my pajamas. X
I am currently pregnant.
I am left handed.
I am a little shy around the opposite gender at first. X
I bite my nails.
I can be paranoid at times. X
I enjoy country music. X
I enjoy smoothies. X
I enjoy talking on the phone.
I have a car.
I have/had a hard time paying attention at school. X
I have a hidden talent.
I have a pet/pets. X
I have a tendency to fall for the “wrong” guy/girl. X
I have all my grandparents. X
I have been to another country.
I have been told that I have an unusual sense of humor. X
I have or had broken a bone.
I have caller I.D. on my phone.
I have bathed someone.
I have changed a diaper.
I have changed a lot over the past year. X
I have friends who have never seen my natural hair colour.
I have had major/minor surgery. -will have-
I have killed another person.
I have had my hair cut within the last we
EmptyI've always wished to be the perfect person for you, but this perfection seems to fade away when you're gone.
I can't express my feelings but I guess it's ok?
Not everyone can do that.
I'm normal, you say, I'm normal, I repeat.
As a parrot, I keep repeating.
Like a dumb.
Do I really choose this path?
Do I really want to end like that?
Do I really want to keep hurting myself with thoughts that go far away my knowledge?
It seems there aren't replies to that.
And what remains me?
An empty heart.
Empty emotions, useless garbage.
Like a wretched egg.
My heart will keep bleeding.
Descriptive PortraitureYour eagerness to begin our first day together, in person, was as bright and warm as the golden California sunshine that crept playfully into your window. You waited to wake me only for as long as you could stand to, then tousled my hair and spoke to my jetlag-stricken self in singsong until I stirred.
Your own dark brown tresses, unbrushed, fell flawlessly around your face and onto your pajamas-clad shoulders as you responded to a few e-mails on your laptop. The contrast between your skin and hair in the light of dawn was absolutely striking. In mid-dress, I whipped out my camera and sneaked a picture. You mock-fumed when you heard the shutter click.
"Don't worry," I reassured you. "I won't post it anywhere."
But I did, and thank goodness you were forgiving. It was too perfect not to share. Even my smarting eyes could tell that your face had expressed the utmost sense of joy and serenity.
* * *
That blue-and-white-striped Hollister shirt had been a staple in your wardrobe for ne
Adventures of a CarAs I surveyed my car while my father in-law's phone rang, I considered the events which had led to this. Remarkably, I wasn't angry or upset. In spite of losing my car, I wasn't panicking. Rather, I was quite level-headed, and would soon share a laugh.
Purchasing the car had been a necessity. Just after replacing the radiator in my 1993 Buick LeSabre, I bumped into a Jeep Grand Cherokee which was traveling at about 35 miles per hour. The slight bump unhitched and bent the hood, knocked out a headlight, tore off the grille, and, to add insult to injury, bent the brand new radiator backward over the engine.
The replacement was a 2000 Ford Focus wagon. The dealer had obtained it at auction with only 58,000 miles. It was previously a corporate car. I had high expectations on that basis; since it was previously owned by a corporation, I was of the impression that the car would have been in good shape. After all, a company would care for its assets.
I had not expected what would follo
Us. The biggest reason I wanted to go to the People’s Climate March was because I was pretty sure it would make history. I knew that hundreds of thousands of people would be there and I wanted to be part of it, I wanted to be part of history, I wanted to have a story to tell later on in my life. It would be a peaceful procession of individuals raising awareness for global warming – a gathering of people who cared about what happened to the environment, taking place along Central Park West in New York City. The streets would be closed for us and it would take hours. That was what I knew. But I had no way of measuring how extraordinary it would be.
That morning, the 21st of September, I rode my bike south along 12th avenue. My plan was to park it downtown and then walk uptown to where my friends were going to begin the march. It was a gray, overcast, humid d
UntitledIn the midst
The hardest part of a fight is often around round six and seven depending on the length of the rounds. In an even match you have scored and been punched in equal measure. She seems so much stronger than you now and your first wind has all been used up. You do not listen to your second as she cleans you and uses an ice pack to stop any swelling or nasal adrenalin swabs stuffed up your nose to quell the blood dripping onto your chest and bra. You feel slightly sick and wonder if you will throw up. She thrusts the mouthguard in and jolts your shoulders back to bring you back to the fight. “Seconds out, round seven.” Suddenly you are up on your feet and your opponent is snarling and on top of you so quickly. The first few stinging blows to your head and body somehow flick a switch to bring you out of your lethargy. You smell and feel her near you, her concentration is on hurting you. Such desire, you are the sole focus of her attention. This is not romantic love, i
S.M.I.L.E. - His CurlsThe first thing I ever noticed about him were those dark curls of his. They were so wild and thick, making the giant defensive tackler seem like a small child. It was my first time seeing someone with real, natural curls. A part of me wanted to stand on the tips of my toes and reach my fingers up into that untamed mess, but I held back. After all, I didn't even know his name.
We only shared science and study hall together, sadly. Our lunch periods were the same as well, but he always sat far away, surrounded by his friends. Whenever I was able to, I would sneak a glance over at him before quickly looking away whenever one of them were to notice me staring. I could never seem to bring myself to talk to him, but for some reason he always seemed to notice me anyways. He would redirect me when I got lost in the hallways, made an effort to bring me into the conversation, even convinced me to participate in the dreaded School Spirit week.
It was such a strange concept to me. We had neve
RIPPeople say it as a casual thing, as a thing pressed with emotion but only with enough so that they can feel a slight lightening on their heart. “R.I.P., Rest In Peace.” But do they know what it’s like to say in passing of something that you never truly understood until after the fact? I make excuses. As true as they may be, my intentions are questioned. My intentions were true and real and gripping, left me feeling empty and tired and scared, like a shell of a being. As I watched him struggling not to be taken behind that door, looking at me to save him from being ripped from me, all I could do was cry and feel this pathetic sort of helplessness. I could have stopped it all right there, said “No, nevermind, we don’t want to do this.” But no matter the wants I had, I knew it would be better than waking up to a dead, blood-bloated creature laying limp and lifeless in my arms.
For days all I could do was cry and vomit. Even now, remembering him in his s
Momenti da ricordare: primo incontroL'attesa sul treno, l'ansia, l'eccitazione.
Provare a dormire sul sedile, non riuscirci, pensare...
Come sarà, come non sarà? Ci sarà intesa? Sarà bello?
Stazione dopo stazione il treno va, la voglia aumenta, l'ansia cresce.
Ti vedo per la prima volta e l'ansia sparisce.
Ci sorridiamo, un po' imbarazzati.
Un bacio di sfuggita, una battuta, una risposta, un solletichino fatto quasi per scherzare...la tensione si scioglie.
In macchina guidi tu e ne approfitti.
La tua mano mi sfiora la pancia, mi stuzzica i fianchi, provoca, risale, riscende.
Io che tento di fare il duro, rigido, trattengo a stento una risata.
Le tue unghie passano leggere attorno all'ombelico ed esplodo, mentre tu sogghigni...
Sull'ascensore siamo soli e adesso sono cazzi tuoi.
Mi sfuggi, ma sei chiusa in un angolo.
Le mie mani trovano i tuoi fianchi, li stringono
La bocca è vicino all'orecchio "Sai che dovrai pagare, vero?"
Le dita stringono, solleticano, ti contorci ma non ti lascio
Special: My History of TG (1 Year Celebration)Hello, ladies and gentlemen, my name’s Xellows1, and today is a special today for me. One year ago, I started up this profile, ready to explore all that the TG community in deviantART had to offer. Never would I have expected to be an active member of that community, writing TGs for hundreds of people to read and enjoy. And, while it may seem unnecessary for some (I mean, it really does mean absolutely nothing to you guys), I want to celebrate the occasion. Plus, I want something new out there to make up for the epic crash that recently hit me that destroyed all work I was planning on to release this week. So, I’ve decided to talk about my history with transformations, TGs, deviantART, and Xellows. This is something I’ve been wanting to do for a few weeks or so, and now seems like a better time than ever to do so. Let’s not waste any time and get into it.
Now, I’m not sure when you guys first got into TGs or TFs, but for me it was at a very young age. 5 or
The Ring Out of the many things in the clutter of my house, there is only one thing that truly holds meaning, mostly for me, but for my grandmother, too. This object happens to be a ring, passed down for four (technically three) generations. It belonged to my great-grandmother, Mary Zimmerman. Mary had passed it to my Great-Aunt, Nancy Zimmerman. Nancy had passed it to her sister, or my grandmother, Mary Olt, and since she had no daughters (only four sons), she had given it to me. I felt important to be given a ring that ties so well into the history of my family, instead of one of my female cousins receiving it.
When I had first received the ring, I thought nothing of it. To me, it was just a dumb ring. Now I see the importance of wearing something passed down through the generations. When I first got it, I just threw it into my pink jewelry/music box, filled with jewelry that I never wear, and forgot about it. That was about eight years ago when I deteste
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More