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Tameable Wild: Hunger Games"And the female tribute is Umocka Kita!"
That is my name.
My name was pulled. My name, entered only four times in god knows how many other tickets, was pulled.
The girls in front of me parted like a wave when I swept up to the podium. They weren't looking at me. Their eyes were downcast, though a few dared to look me in the eye as I walked by, obvious, disgruntled delight on their faces at another year of being free. I wanted to pull back my lips and snarl, show them the fangs that repelled them, but I wouldn't. Not when the cameras were trained on me, for all to see back at the Capitol. So I walked like a good little girl up to the stand, stood, and bowed, with the most cheerful smile you could ever hope for, a perfect product. The perfect tribute.
My stomach churned. Every other year I would have been still standing down in the dirt with the others, sending silent prayers up to the poor saps that had gotten chosen. Now I was one of the poor saps. Was
Character ChangeYou do a lot of things that make your head spin
when you think about it later, when your mind is so much clearer
You say a lot of things that you thought sounded right
but then you realize what you really meant
You try to justify what you say and what you do
but years later you realize you hadn't thought it all through
There's a sudden clarity where you have two choices
go forward with who you were, and remain ever the same
or try to do something about it, and try to change
A lot of people pick the former, it's so much easier, don't you know?
to be static is so much easier than it is to be dynamic
like the characters on a page of a well-read book that you've worn down
You want to be a dynamic character and not just a part of the background
But that takes initive, self-analysis and a heavy dose of reality
and a lot of people just can't take all three
But even if it takes baby steps, one at a time, or not
it's better to at least try to change, than it is to let your character rot
Anika Word Prompts 1Fandom: Durarara!!!
Pairing: Anri/Erika (Anika)
Trigger Warnings: None
Summary: Anri and Erika enjoying the day to themselves, and Erika and Anri discussing their relationship. Based on word prompts.
Anri bit her lip. This wasn't going how she wanted it to! She shifted in her seat, her legs tingling, having gone numb long ago. Her fingers continued to work, pulling and weaving and pausing every now and then.
"You're so slow, Anri." Erika whistled. She wiggled her bottom - for the fourth time in a minute - and tried to turn her head. Anri gently coaxed her head back to the front, and Erika obeyed, but not without sighing. "I want a kisssssss, Anri."
"When I'm done."
Erika folded her arms in front of her chest and Anri could just see her bottom lip jut out. She withheld a giggle. Sometimes it was hard to believe that Erika was older than her. She pouted, she whined, she clung to her, she sang and wiggled and sometimes Anri had to clasp her
You're Just a GirlWarnings for: rape, incest, extreme misogyny
Slut. Whore. Hooker. Easy.
You boost the volume up on your busted-up old Sansa and try to sink into the brown patchworked bus seats that you're stuck in for the next year. Your backpack is still slung across your shoulders, weighing you down to the seat, and even though metal is pounding in your ears, you can still hear the echo of her voice as she shouted out to you from all the way down the hall. You can practically hear the tear drops as they fell to the checkered floor that separated her from you, separated her anguish from you.
Your bus seat jiggles. You chalk it up to the bus moving and stopping, moving and stopping. You flick through the rest of the metal albums you have, adjusting the strap of your headphones, pulling on the end of your sweater dress that is hitching up your thigh. You straighten out the wrinkles in your teal tights - the ones she gave you for your birthday.
You throw your head back against the seat.
Hello, Goodbye, HelloYou chug back another gulp of Cherry Coke and wipe the back of your mouth with your sleeve. Burp. They laugh, the edges of their perfectly straight, toothpaste commercial white teeth glaring brightly at you. You stick your tongue out, do it again. You even pat your own back, to make the burp louder. They laugh again, and at the fork in the road, they wave, and split off from you.
You pour the soda out in the road.
You pull out your cell phone from the pocket of your uniform. You still have plenty of time to get home, before your dad gets on your case about your bad behavior and your mom starts in on dinner. You always get the smallest portions, and you can never seem to work the words "Why?" out of your throat.
You know why.
You pull a bag of veggie chips out of your messenger bag, pop it open and throw a handful into your mouth. First lunch was hours ago. Your stomach rumbles, the soda only making it worse. You pop some more chips into your mouth, hoping the neighbors don't see. They'
Scroll down, up, pause. Scroll back down again. Sigh. Scroll some more. Pause. Right-click, open a new tab. You turn your speakers on as loud as you dare, slip the headphones on as you eye the door and listen.
The girl pants, the guy grunts - you watch it all. The girl slowly moves from the bottom to the top, her face fixed into a permanent expression of ecstasy you'd seen ten times today, and her moans sound just the same as the other girls'. You click out of the tab and go back to scrolling.
What the hell is it? What is the secret that everyone else seems to know, to find without any trouble? You click harder than necessary and you open a video you hadn't meant to. The music crackles in your ears and you just decide to skip ahead. The music isn't going to do you much good.
Not even five minutes later, you throw your mouse down, flop onto your bed, grab a hold of your pillow and scream.
"Yo, what's your problem?"
"Shut up and leave me alo
IdentityYou rest your head on his shoulder. Close your eyes. Try to think about something else, just for a while, you tell yourself. You'll think about that stuff later. His shoulder is warm, so much warmer than your shivering frame, and you relax into him. He pulls you into a one-armed hug, his gloved hands awkwardly working to pet your hair, the hair you had stubbornly dyed and and then dreaded seeing in the mirror all those months ago. The memory isn't anything special, but before you can help it, you smile. It hurts, almost like exercising after so long lounging on the couch, muscles locked in place, but you continue to smile anyways.
His chest rumbles, and you can feel it, through all the padding you had thrown on before heading out onto the stoop. He still strokes your hair, even when the static makes it stand on end and cling to his mitten. Or maybe that's why he does it, because before you know it, he's zapping you, and your head isn't on his shoulder anymore, and your muscles are gett
DissociationBehind my eyelids, images flicker
mostly grey and black and white
like static on a TV after a storm
or when it hasn't been turned on right
Sharp emotions dull constantly
with or without notice
and all of a sudden all I want to do
is sink into my mattress
Close my eyes, ignore the monochrome
and just shift into sleep-mode
with dreams in color and emotions
more real than reality
If I stretch out my hand and wiggle my fingers
my eyes see everything through a lens
almost like that hand isn't mine
suspended in space above someone else
Shut my eyes, cut off the world
breath in, breath out, breath in
fall asleep and pretend that when I wake
I'll be normal once again
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More