How to Survive a BW Fic: II by Taratron, literature
Literature
How to Survive a BW Fic: II
Firstly, yes, we at Survival of the Fittest Anonymous are very well aware of the irony in the fact that we at Survival of the Fittest Anonymous have in fact broken one of our own rules. That rule is, of course, that nearly all fanfics have sequels. However, we are able to defend these horrendous allegations by this evidence:
1. How To Survive a Beasties Fic is in fact, not a fanfiction story.
a. What is, firstly, a fanfiction story? It is a tale written usually by teen or post-teen obsessive-compulsive anal-retentive freaks who pay more attention to the dangers of foot and toe fungus than they do to plot, characters, setting, grammar, and t
They.
They say I am getting better. That I am making improvements, which is very good. That I am better than I was even as little as a day ago. A month ago? My progress, they say, is admirable.
I wish to be admirable. I wish to be better.
I wonder if, when I am better, when I have finally understood what I did, and why it was wrong, if I will be allowed to leave here. If I can get to that point, of being better.
I don't feel better. But they say that I am making improvements. So I must be. The wardens, they do not lie.
I remember when I first came, that I was left alone in a room. How odd now, to remember. But I was different
I am a collector.
The idea was presented to me a short time ago, when I held witness to some of the going-ons at the Realm of Insanity, to see a strange renegade ex-Predacon with a growing army of Jitterbugs. Not like the grasshopper from my timeline, but odd quiet ones who reeked of fear and tears rather than that sick glee the one from my timeline always seems to exude, that with the organic odor of plantlife. This renegade, according to some of the usual bots present, had been collecting abused Jitterbugs for a time (the very idea that anyone could hurt the insect once, let alone repeately, is alien to me still. How could they ever -
Shadows of benthic wild purple;
the ground glows blue in the winter
light. You are told now it is your aura
between the blades of grass, like stripes on flanks of the tiger.
Your fingers nimble on the scrying stone shaped by wings
of locusts long dead and think of the goddess
they all speak of. Dead drunk, this goddess
wails in the white, her fingers tearing her hair in wild purple
madness, grieving. You have seen her with wings
feathered but sometimes naked. In this winter
they offer little protection from the windwhipped tiger
breath of snow to come. The blades of your aura
are brittle when they can be located. The auras
Dear Kaylee
Or maybe Aurora.
Phoebe. It is hard to say
what you would have been named
had you survived to a point to be.
Or existed at all.
I might have named you Chloe for the sound of it.
Or Arwen,
though I have not watched Lord of the Rings,
but I like the ring
of it. Arwen, Chloe.
The names that will never be
for the girl you never were, or the boy,
had anything existed at all.
Marina.
People speak of common
knowledge that no one wants to know
that their parents
ever had sex,
but you do not exist
save in the What If. What If
Jared's condom had broken?
Trinidad, because I like the sound.
r. h. reavis
My professor is not someone
you bring home to meet Mom.
He met mine once.
In ragged shorts
stained with vomit from
the long drive home, in a
sweat-stained shirt, tousled
messy bedhead hair,
hippie-tailored flipflops.
She thought he was a student.
My professor is not someone
you would think is married.
He is very vocal about sex,
and multiple partners,
and gametes supreme. As
a matter of fact, he is
married. Has two small
children still in diapers.
And a Women of Hawaii
Bikini Contest 2005 calendar
in his home study
next to four years' worth
of family photo Christmas cards.
My professor is not someone
yo
Top Ten Things That Tick Kain Off
1. No beauty salons in Nosgoth carrying the right size scrunchies for your hair.
2. Having to deal with Raziel's constant whining to the Mirror on the Wall as to whether or not he's still the prettiest in all the land.
3. Redneck vampire hunters who last washed their neck sometime under Moebius' rule.
4. The fact that listening to Ariel whine for the past thousand years has really taken a toll on your tolerance level.
5. Despite having centuries to do so, Rahab has never discovered a Blood Lite flavor. It's not easy to fit into these tight pants!
6. Having a soul-devouring sword is not quite the lady
I see you watching me.
Do you think I don't? That your stares, as venomous as they are, escape me?
Perhaps you think because I lack eyes, I also lack sight. But many have thought that of me. I would say they see me as such, sightless, but I refuse to stoop to that level of intellect in speech. I am not what one could call a messiah of information and knowledge, but I like to think I am enlightened now.
So you watch me. And there are times you ban me to the darkness, where I cannot even feel the dim light that exists in this material plane. Material. That word itself means so many things. You call the planes you walk the spectral re
the pretty arc you hold
your fingers numb and frozen still
mobile in their frostbite cold
they long to feel its melting ice
against their brows
so calm and nice
your hands do fold
in silent pray
time is never always old
they only see the
and then they just might spot the wings
soft and gentle magic things
feather white of old dove blood
they only see
never stain never mud
they only see the airfoil
never cold never toil
they blind themselves with icy old
they only see
they only see the
yet they ignore the lamentations
and fear the wrath of coming nations
their feet are shackles in the ground
their hearts may soar but be
see, they
all run in the end
they might claim pride
or fasting
but their breath tears
from their lungs, their
feet on the ground, thud
ding, and they all race
they know the chase
and what is the end
and so they might try
to be ingenious
and hide, or mask
their smell or sight
out of sight in water, trees
and some at first may stand
their ground, defend
with sticks and stones
but when the cir
cle closes in, the
breath in it heat
their eyes dilate as
the wind screams
through their heads
and instinct takes
over. they might
wail shriek, throw
weight and threaten
but know the scent,
the smell, and it is of
fear. so
He awoke on a beach, under a metallic sky. The sand was green, dotted with grains of grass which sprouted and died in a matter of moments. The air was rank with the smell of their deaths.
He sat, and saw the beach. There was water, presumably, stretching out from the grass and the sand, frothy and crimson, but the water reeked of acid. Chlorine. The rank stank filled the air.
He couldn't remember having put on clothes, but there they were: a silver uniform, a one-suit with a black V-shape around his neck, stretching to his navel, a smaller, red V within it. There was a golden belt around his waist, with a black orb buckle, with
How To Survive a Beasties Fic by Taratron, literature
Literature
How To Survive a Beasties Fic
How To Survive a Beasties Fic
As the title of this essay proclaims, this is a how-to manual on how to survive a BeastWars fanfic. So there are only two reasons why you should read this: one, if you are a BeastWars character, or two, you are a sadistic evil sonofaBLEEPING author who plans not only do twist and turn every character to your sick plots and want a cutting edge on how to do so.
Either way, this manual is for you!
There are several manuals and hints on how to survive a Beasties fic. The best hint of all is suicide, or finding every BeastWars web site in existence and deleting them. Without proper material to base perverted sto
hand me
There is no wind upon this place
there is no heat, no fire to face
there is no cold, no chill to clasp
there is no will, no free, no task
there is no color in these hills
no glass upon the windowsills
there is no touch upon your brow
there is no when, no here, no now
there is no sun upon your face
there is no breeze, a cool embrace
there is no cloud, sheep in the sky
there is no reason, doubt, or why
there is no beat within these breasts
no headstone down to gently rest
there is no hope within your tears
there is no halo, fire, fears
there is no grace upon your form
there is no kiss among the norm
there is no grasp
Prisoner-Of-War
He had expected there to be darkness. He had expected the inky abyss of lightlessness, the odor of stale blood, and the chains, the manacles, the smells of hopelessness and death, blood and filth of the ages.
After all, this was a dungeon. Dungeons had to be dark.
He had expected at least one candle, so that his torturers would have light by which to see. But goblins had eyes like cats; they could see in the dark without difficulty and seemed to delight in keeping everything in their domain as dark as midnight.
He had, however, not expected this. Life, even in a dungeon.
To be a prisoner of war.
But, as ratio
The Road To Hell
This story is a behind-the-scenes look at what occurred BEFORE Season Three aired, or was even filmed. Money ran low at Mainframe Studios, and with no other choice, the producers had to cancel the third season of Reboot.
Part One: Calling Robin Hood
Scene: The Reboot Coffee Break Room, inside Mainframe Studios. The room is packed with two pea-green sofas, peeling floral wallpaper, and a leaking beanbag chair.
Dot is sitting on one sofa, next to Bob; they are both staring at her Organizer, even though Bob's eyes trail around the room every few seconds in apparent boredom.
Dot: So, you see, Bob, if Mainframe extends the
I am the fate that binds you
And it tears you up inside
To know your future set in stone
And left no place left to hide
I am the fate that binds you
You simply have no choice
No hopes or dreams, plots or schemes
You don't even have a voice.
For every step you've taken, I've preordained your move
Every whisper, every breath, written by my hands
Every desperate slash with your sword
Has been by my command
For every step you've taken, I've preordained your move
Every word, every scream, the curses and the damns
Every heart-felt plea to God
Has been within my plans
So listen to your little dreams
And hope for any chance
To esca
Current Residence: Arizona Operating System: I'm sorry all systems are down. Skin of choice: Ed Gein Leather Inc Favourite cartoon character: Dinobot, Rampage, Stewie, and Brian (BW and Family Guy) Personal Quote: And remember that the dead know but one thing: it is better to be alive.
I am sitting watching catfish cruise around their tank. A thousand unwritten stories they have seen: they are wild caught fish from a country I will never go to. Right now they are in a glass tank of 20 gallons, about, of water.
And I am here.
It's been ten years now since I was ever contacted about the ancient fics I used to write. And almost everyone from back then is gone. I am sure some of them are around still. LD is gone, or the mixup of people she felt she was, is gone. Shendew, the Shendew I knew, is gone. Aitra (Miranda) is gone. Tallories and Archi are gone. Wayward remains in a harbour of her making. And now there is, a
~nightsail (https://www.deviantart.com/nightsail) :iconneoecco: :iconesotero: :icontripathy: :iconroxxy-chan: :iconellifayne: :iconzinou: :iconazraelengel: :iconwaywardinsecticon: :iconursulav: :iconlokclan: :iconancientsgrove: :icondapride:
If you are in the list above, you are either a great artist, a wonderful friend, both, or you have bribed me well enough to be a shameless corporate choir boy. Choose wisely.
UPDATE 9/2007
I currently have about two dozen ants in my keyboard, who come out only at night. I don't understand ants, let alone why they have infested my food-free keyboard.
I am somewhat back. Updates might resume. And I know there are a lot of
Is it obvious I'm still working the kinks out of this site?
Anyway, it's probably good to note who intro'd me to this place. ~nightsail (https://www.deviantart.com/nightsail) Ah, yes, she of the mighty roleplays (that we've kept going since....gods, over four years!) and art and so forth. :D
So go and see her naked Janos Audron! You KNOW you want to....come on, Ass of Steel, people!
And to clarify, she is a Real Friend.
"Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies."
I remember reading your BW fanfiction years ago, and thinking how much talent you had. You had humour and style, and you could really touch the heart. I hope that you've continued to work on your own fiction. I hope to read it in published format someday.
Jeez it's a small world. o_- DA is crawling with people I used to know... Eeep. 'Hola. n.n Stumbled across your account here, surprise, surprise. LoK sounds interesting... I might check it out. So yeah, consider yourself poked. >