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Of dwarfish height.
Never turning their back on the enemy.
Taking whatever is to their advantage,
And conquering planets for breeding space.
Races masacured at their hands,
All in the name of their home planet.
Nothing can stand in their way,
So if you see them coming...RUN!!!
Raxacoricofallapatorian MonstersSmelly green beings,
Larger than any human,
Intent on Earth's destruction.
Tricky to spot as they
Hide in humans' skin.
Expelling toxic gases.
Ending our lives.
Not as long as we know thier weakness.
Statues of DeathAlways waiting patiently,
Never making themselves seen.
Greedy beings always searching for a meal.
Extracting your potential time,
Living off what would have been.
Sorrowful beings...and sorrow they bring.
Robots of SkaroDestruction they bring,
Anywhere they go,
Leaving piles of corpses.
Eliminating all life to,
Keep the race pure.
Save us before it is too late.
BD1: Diary Day IThis time round the challenge has posed a few difficulties for me. Firstly I sprained my wrist whilst doing the garden work, and then further damaged it at work. This has made typing and using the mouse sheer agony, and at times, darn right impossible. Nonetheless I promised Hypermagical I would participate so I was determined not to back out just because of a that…I still have one fully operational hand right. Then once I found myself starting I soon noticed I actually had an attentive audience awaiting for my daily submissions and so my promise to Hypermagical quickly found itself extended to my fellow participants who I have drawn on for that extra boost of ambition to see it through to the very end.
The second difficulty came in the final week (flashbacks) as having wrote submissions before of each of the week’s topics I was in rather a pickle as to where to go with the topics without being repetitive…I’m sure others shared this dilemma. Having this problem
Confessions of a Dom 1As a little girl, I was taught not to trust men. One of the first things I was taught was how to use them. It started with old hollywood movies as soon as I was old enough to understand. When I was around 5 or 6 my mom told me to watch closely as John Wayne's co-star seduces him. Oh I paid attention to that fine ass woman alright, but yo, John Wayne knew what was up on how to get them. I didn't want to use men, I wanted to be like them because to me they were a symbol of strength and I understood that at an early age. I still learned all the strategies my mom expected me to learn from women of old hollywood movies because when you're a kid you don't understand right or wrong. I didn't dislike being a woman, but I just wanted to command as much power as a man in society. Gender seemed irrelevant to me because anything that turns you on is acceptable to me as long as there is consent. There is nothing wrong with being grossed out by fetishes either because the opposite side of the spectr
Confessions of a Dom 2No one can handle the truth, but it is not because we do not want to know it, there is just too much pain. It is in the realm of fiction where we compromise with our escape into fantasy with our need to tell the truth that no one can handle in reality. People are priceless. Objects have value. To own something outside of our own bodies is an instinct that every living thing obeys without question. Ownership can be in everyday things we don't even think about. Even the act of consumption is an act of ownership, which is where I suspect that is where the current term for "self entitlement" comes from. I was born self entitled. It wasn't a choice. I didn't feel self entitled, but I had the power to command. A presence if you will. Its something that is hardwired into my physical existence that I have spent my whole life trying to control.
All doms deal with an anxiety of controlling the power they have because a true dom never explicitly wants to force someone against their will. A real d
3700 FeetEvery Tuesday afternoon, Don sends out an email asking who plans on coming to soaring lessons the following day, and every Tuesday evening I email him back and let him know, yes, I will be attending. On Wednesday, he either confirms if flight instruction is still on, or if it’s been cancelled, usually it’s because of weather. We won’t fly in the rain, and ridge soaring--flying on the wind rising from the valley--is still too advanced for me. I always make sure to checkthe windsock before heading on to the glider field. When it’s sticking straight out, will a full six rings showing, the wind’s blowing at least thirty knots an hour and no one goes up.
It’s actually a relief whenever I get a “WEFI Cancelled” email. Today, I'm hoping for it, even though it's sunny and close to 75 degrees, with a high cloud base. This late in the season, it's likely to be the best soaring weather we’ll have until the spring.
Still, I leave the office at
:Do Something Nice Today:There are 7 or 8 clinical offices. Each one is either carpeted, or linoleum with a giant, torn-up and pilling area rug. Each one has at least 7 or 8 bought-in-bulk chairs, a teacher’s desk, and a whiteboard. Clinicians switch offices more often that I used to think – it seems like these days, more and more of them are “moving on,” and more and more noobs are being hired. Some of the office changes don’t make sense. Nearly non of them belong to their “original” owners – that is, to whomever had dominated each room when I got there – and most of the time, the switches seem random. No one appears uncomfortable with this, which is odd because most of the students are very vocal when something tangible bothers them. I like to think it doesn’t bother me much, either, but it hit me surprisingly hard when the clinician in charge of me moved up stairs. It was supposedly a logical change: her dog is coming starting in November an
this is all i'm able to produce "Okay class let's start the year with some introductions. I'm going to go around the room randomly and you're going to describe yourself in a word!"
Oh. Of course. Our eyes met. She smiles. She's going to pick me. She's going to make me go first. I can't describe myself. I don't know how to.
"You there. You can start!"
Her smile grows even larger. She doesn't ask for my name, so I won't give it. One word to describe myself. There's only one going around my mind.
DA bestiary [Read if you own a specie please]Journal.
I'm doing myself something like a DA species bestiary.
Want yours to be in?
All credits will be given and stuff, if I'm allowed to, I could draw some individuals of your own race (of course I won't keep em or sell if you won't allow me) just for fun and to have the bestiary complete.
Each one of them will be in alphabetical selection, so it will be easier for everyone to find them own and probably I'll do it under a Powerpoint thing, using Photoshop and SAI to make pics or to add em in the sheet etc.
What do you think?
If you approve, send me your species but fill this form please:
Specie name: [no need to explain]
Specie info: [all the infos plus the pics of the race]
Allowed to draw: [Yes or no]
Allowed to keep one: [Yes or no]
Allowed to insert to the bestiary: [yes or no]
Original or fandom based: [Like if completely original or a specie of pony, cats, etc who belongs to a specific fandom]
Walking the Wall Through the Middle of Hell"First of all, I don't know how I got there. I was just suddenly there, standing on a thin wall that went right through the middle of an indented hole. It had steep sides like a round canyon, and the only way out was to climb. I looked behind me, but it was too smooth to climb there; I could never have gotten farther up than I could've jumped, and the sides of the Pit were as tall as any skyscraper. I'll always wonder how I made my way down there. I felt a bit of dread as I turned back to the rest of the scene. It seemed the best way out was to walk across the burning hot, ash-covered, stone wall and climb the other side. And that was what I intended to do.
"The Wall was at least 500 meters long, so I decided to take a look at my surroundings. To my right were cubical shaped cells. Inside of each was exactly one person. Ages varied, but each prisoner was skeletal thin with blackened flesh and thin, straggly hair. Some hung from chains, and I thought for sure they were all dead.
Mrs. Marry MartinMrs. Marry Martin was the oldest woman you would have ever met. She would have been one-hundred and fourteen years old on Thursday. She lived on Wilbur Way with no one besides her single pet cat, Tiger. I don’t think Mrs. Marry Martin ever took a liking to me. I am seen years old as of last week. I live with my sister mom and pet dog, Cole, on Wilber Way. Mrs. Marry Martin would never come out and play with me. She would sit in her upper bedroom, staring out the window, watching me and the other children play all day. I would always stand on her door step and wave to her. But she never paid me any attention… Now she doesn’t even sit at the window…
Mrs. Marry Martin was the rudest woman you would have ever met. She didn’t give a damn about anyone else except herself and that stupid cat of hers. I live across from her with my daughter, son and his pet dog, Cole. My son, Timothy, would make his way over to her home every day at four O’Clock sharp to ask
W3: D2: CampingI have only ever been camping once and that was on a long weekend to Hemsby (near Great Yarmouth). Me and a mate went as a treat to celebrate my GCSE results (mostly A grades except for geography and IT which were B grades). Even though it was mid-July it was cold and rained most of the time…typical British weather, as the old joke goes “How do you know when it is summer in Britain? The rain gets warmer.”
I remember one funny incident happening during the first evening as we were pitching up the tent. We had managed to secure the first couple of pegs into the ground and were working on the third when suddenly the first peg launched itself from the ground, shot up in the air then plummeted back to Earth smacking itself on the car bonnet and bouncing off. We both stood there in a state of surprised paralysis momentarily before erupting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter as the bizarre event took place.
All in all in was a good few days and as soon as I got back home
Blood BrothersBrookie always holds my hand when we cross the street. She's never given a reason for it, she just does it. It's become this unspoken rule with us that whenever we cross the street together, she slips her hand in mine and I lace my fingers through hers and we walk hand-in-hand until we reach the other side and she drops her hand and we both wipe our palms on our jeans. Brookie's a little scared of crossing the street. Her poppa died in a car crash when we were six. He was a pedestrian. She's never gotten over it.
Brookie is my best friend going on sixteen years now, which is pretty impressive considering we're both sixteen. We don't have some cute little story about how we were born in the same hospital on the same day or about how our mothers were best friends long before they were pregnant with us and somehow passed on that bond while we were still in utero. No, Brookie and I met the same way ever
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More