every child is an artist

[motherfucker-unlimited]

Germans completely outdid the english language by calling tv a farseer. They got their orcish shamans to name that shit

[da-riya]

[guiltfactory-moved]

non-negotiated sexless bdsm

[michiganrebel92]

“Fuck you.”

“And your stick.” - Geno

[catboygiroux]

[juvenilium]

bruh do i have a story for you. at 13 years old i was like a semi-popular quizilla fanfic writer who had like a long, long list of people wanting requests from me and I thought I was hot shit. So I decided to write a novel. Unfortunately, this novel was founded on very archaic gender roles and fuelled by the fact that I was bullied a lot for “looking like a boy”. So yeah. Fun times. It’s real cringe. I like looking back on it and seeing how far I’ve come both as a person and as a writer. This is the first chapter.

“Hannah, we have not heard from Kelby in over a week, do you think they found out?” Cascie said while she took a huge bite of her bread. We were in my office at the main house. I was a very tall; chalky-white skinned girl with shoulder length, golden blonde curly hair. I was also a neko, a person who is human, but has animal DNA in them. The DNA I had was from my old clan, the wolf clan. They all died out when the plague hit. And whenever I got embarrassed wolf ears would pop out of the top of my head and if I got REALLY embarrassed then both ears and a tail would appear. My attire was mostly black shirts over blue jeans, which was what I was wearing today. Cascie was short with olive-toned skin and short yellowish hair.

“No, you over-estimate them Cascie, they could not tell if I walked in there with no cover and I am the most wanted on their watch list!” I hissed. I hated it when she brought this up, it bothered me enough that we had to spy, but the thought of one of my girls being caught was even worse. Since this war had started ten years ago (in 2190) we had not had one battle casualty, only sickness and natural deaths.

“Well they might have, you never know, maybe we shouldn’t have sent her she has trouble keeping her mouth shut when it comes to our secrets.” Cascie said seriously. I pondered that for a brief moment. Kelby was very talkative when it came to the others. She had once been in alliance with them until we found her beaten to almost disrepair and took her in as one of our own.

“Okay, I have to admit she is very talkative, but she knows enough of what happens to anyone who double-crosses us.” I uttered with grief. Only one person had double-crossed us and that person was now in complete isolation on an island with food and clean water, we are not that cruel. Just then June walked in; I sprinted towards her and gave her a big bear hug. Kelby was short and extremely thin. She had long, glossy black hair with an Asian tone to her skin.

‘Hannah, Hannah, HANNAH! Get off!” Screeched Kelby.

“Sorry, I’m just so glad you got back unharmed! What did they do to you? Did they find out who you were? Are you okay? Did they get you to leak our secrets?” I rattled mindlessly.

“Hannah, slow down. They did nothing to me, I did not leak our secrets, they did not find out who I was, I am okay and I brought back a hostage.” Kelby answered.

“WHAT!!!!!!!!!!! YOU BROUGHT BACK A HOSTAGE?! WHY THE HECK DID YOU DO THAT?!” Cascie and I screamed in unison.

“Well he found out who I was, so I brought him here for interrogation.” She reasoned. Cascie and I exchanged glances; we were both thinking the same thing: that was very smart, for Kelby at least.

“Okay, bring him in.” I said as settled down in my revolving chair, tugging at my black on black T-shirt and under amour on top of stone washed jeans, my favorite outfit.

“Cameron, come in.” Said Kelby then she turned to me: “He is very cooperative and would love to help, really.” A boy about 5’10 with brown hair, olive-toned skin and blue eyes walked in.

“Hi, I am pleased to meet someone of your stature, Absolute Ruler of the Girls Empire, Hannah Marie.” Cameron proclaimed.

“Well, I see I’m well known in the male lands. How much money are they offering for my capture now?” I asked, I was only 16 years of age and I was already on almost every wanted list in the Male Empire.

“Oh, only about Ten Hundred Million Dollars!” He replied bitterly.

“Huh, One Hundred Thousand more than last time! So, time to get down to business, are your guy overlords planning any attacks soon? Do they have any new technology, weapons, or anything else that might be dangerous to your girlfriend over there?”

“How do you know—-“He started to say, but I cut him off.

“There is no way you would cooperate with the enemy without any benefit to you and she has a ring on her finger that she did not have on when she left.” I said lifting up Kelby’s hand to show everyone.

“They are planning an attack on May 24th; they have no new tech stuff or weapons. So basically hand-to-hand combat again.” He muttered looking extremely embarrassed.

“Thank you for your time. You will have a bed set up in Kelby’s quarters immediately.” I declared as I turned to my desk. Both he and Kelby blushed, and then silently stalked out of the room. I started to plan and Cascie interrupted my thoughts as usual, it seems a bother sometimes when all of the main people in my empire and I can telepathically communicate without trying, but very helpful at times. She thought that we should call in Diane, Bella, and Jenna in to plan what to do in the upcoming battle. I usually agree with Cascie, but wouldn’t anyone agree with his or her adviser most of the time. So, I called in Diane who was the General, Bella who helped me with strategic situations, and Jenna who was the peacemaker. Bella was the first to arrive. She was a normal sized girl with long, dark brown hair; she was very thin and extremely pale skinned. Next was Diane, she was of middle height and had dirty blonde hair, she too was also very thin, but always had a tan. Last to arrive was Jenna. She was short with a stocky body and light chestnut hair, with pale skin, not as pale as Bella or me, but pale. We decided to surprise them by attacking first on May 23rd, which was only 2 days away. We had much to get done and such a little amount of time. My First priority: Dinner.

“Time for dinner, we have beef stroganoff and mashed potatoes and chicken gravy today!” Holli, my little sister and head chef yelled, how she got to be head chef when she was still nine years old was still a mystery to me. Holli was about 4’2 and had very long straight, platinum blonde hair, she was stocky, but when you’re a chef, normally you get a lot of food. I scarfed down my meal, burning the top of my mouth and then rushed to bed. I was going to need a lot of sleep; there were battle preparations to take care of tomorrow.

[juvenilium]

I wrote this when I was 14, as a part of a class assignment, I’m 18 now, and to this day, I don’t write as beautifully as I did at 14.

[juvenilium]

These are three poem things I wrote in like 8th grade when I was really going through serious issues with eating (references in the first poem so trigger warning eating disorder) then for the other two I have no idea but tw: death and gore?, i was probably around 13ish

The cupboards are trembling The refrigerator is quaking The Earth is rattling To it’s core

The fruit is molding The bread is crumbling The milk is souring  Untouched for days on end

The skin is dying The lips are drying The body is withering Much to her intent

The girl is fading The parents are worrying The friends are waiting Too little too late

__

Isn’t it funny? Isn’t it fine? I’ve got what I needed but you’re still not mine. Isn’t it grand? Isn’t it great? That old wife of your’s is deep in a grave. Now that she’s dead Now that she’s gone We’ll be together You’re my number one

__

Darling be fair I promise to be kind When I carve up your chest And take what is mine Are you not scared?  Or a little afraid? I’m talking about  eating your brain

[juvenilium]

It’s a mouse! Made probably around 1999, so I was 6. 

[juvenilium]

(I aspire to the kind of reckless self-confidence of my childhood self. Age eight, maybe nine. Who’s to know.)

A blatant self insert story in which child-me bit her best friend. 

Full text:

Once in Irland there lived a Leprechaun named Emily O'Shamrock. She garded her gold. She usually had a good time until someone moved in a house nearby–humans!! Not only humans but children. The childrens names were Kirsten and James. Troble had finally come! Emily was worried. She knew the would seal some gold because the children Kirsten and James were poor. So they were told to catch a Leprechaun to get some gold! One day they found Emily O'Shamrock and caught her. Emily was furious. She tried to wriggle Free but Kirsten held her firm and told her brother James to get the gold “but not all the gold” she warned. So James went to get the gold. Emily cried “NNNOOOOO” but Kirsten would not let go. So Emily thought and thought and being quite a clever Leprechaun, she finally had a idea! She would bite Kirsten and she would be free. So she chomped on Kirsten’s hand. When James heard Kirsten scream he grabbed 20 pieces of gold and left. Emily went home and counted her gold. She only had 80 pieces of gold. She was sad but was happy not to have lost more. And she lived hapily ever after polishing and counting her gold while Kirsten was in the hospital. 

[juvenilium]

The Perfect Day

I wrote this when I was 14 and at the time it was the best story I’d ever written. I still like it…mostly because of the part about the cat, based of my cat who died recently. (sorry it’s a bit long)

I feel myself raising from oblivion, the pitter-patter of rain greets me, drumming it’s cold fingers against the roof.

Cracking open my tired eyes and am momentarily confused when I register the cold wooden floor pressed hard against my left cheek.

Groaning; I roll over and a sudden pain blooms in my shoulder, forcing me back to my previous position. My eyes roll upwards and catch a glance of the underside of my bed.

I crawl out from under the great hulking wood, army style; wipe the dry spittle off my face, sit up and scramble to my feet. This action is immediately regretted as my head starts to pound like hammer against nails.

Brushing past my leg is my great tabby cat, the bane of our cupboard pantry (most likely hunting crumbs that have been over-looked by the previous searches) and ruler of the shadow lands, commonly known as Fluffy.

His purrs, a rumbling avalanche that drives splinters through my brain and I rush to the bathroom, seeking solace in the cool, white-tiled room.

Scrambling to the shower I hear the put-put-put of Mums car pulling out of the driveway outside the small, two-story window. She must have forgotten I was there. Again.

“Damn!” I wail, “I hate walking in the rain!”

I jump from foot to foot as the water is first too cold, and then too hot. It’s not a great shower but I’ll have another on the way to school. I dry off and get dressed in a matter of seconds, glimpsing a wave of coal dark hair as I rush past the large mirror, propped up against the sink.

I can’t find my school uniform anywhere.

“God, I’m going to be in so much trouble.” I mutter to myself, hastily pulling on a pair of grass-stained jeans and a pitch black hoody.

I inch down stairs with a slump in my shoulders and a drag in my feet, my mind wistfully clinging to the faint memory of sweet, sweet sleep.

Down stairs I step onto the wooden floor of the dark kitchen. On the small dining table, I find a couple pieces of toast, already spread with a thick layer of peanut butter and Jam. It had a little note attached to it, written in my mother’s distinct script which I could barely read, it read;

For my dear Jane

I hope you have a good breakfast.

XXX Mum

You know, I’ve always loved peanuts, the way it makes my throat swell oh so nicely. I sigh. She always forgets about my allergies.

I carefully inch around the table to avoid the deadly spread, and decide to skip breakfast; I really can’t be bothered anyway.

Shoving an apple and pack of chips into my bag and reach for the books I’ll need for the day, a sudden crack of thunder ‘Booms’ and the walls shake. Just great, the day is turning out wonderfully.

I shuffle to the front door, looking for any-thing to delay going out into the storm, finding none, I grip the door handle and pull it open, wincing at the sudden onslaught of wind-driven rain pelting my face with what felt like fist sized drops of icy-cold water.

Squinting through the storm, I see a dark blue car parked on the side of the road. For a moment I cannot comprehend who it could be. It looks like Alice’s, my friends, car, but surely it couldn’t be.

Her mother is sitting in the front seat and Alice in the back; her usually curly black hair is matted to the sides of her head, pulled down by the rain it has accumulated.

Her dark skin is only just visible against the thunder clouds. Her shining brown eyes and bright smile look as if they belong to a monster, against the dark sky. If so, then she’s the friendliest monster I’ve ever seen.

I stand there, stunned why she is here; she should be halfway to school by now.

Then I realise, I feel so stupid that I mentally whack myself on the forehead. It’s Saturday, Alice and I had planned to go to the movies, to avoid having to go out into the current thunderstorm that channel three news had described as a ‘light rain’ we had asked Alice’s mum to drive us.

Good thing too, The Creatures like rain.

[juvenilium]

A poem I wrote at around 16 years old

I see you, and I see beauty 

I get a feeling inside myself that reminds me of the way Sun Showers look

You are shades of blue and yellow 

And I am watching you be the greatest you that there is 

You are the night and the day all rolled into one 

You are the storm that rocks the boat, but also the clear sky that keeps it steady 

The Sun and you have a lot in common 

Both have the power to hurt things, but also the power to make things grow 

It is the way you use that power, and also the way other protect themselves that determines if you are safe or not 

You have that power because I let you have that power 

Because I trust you with myself 

So, I see you, and i see beauty, but i also see trust and strength 

This may have been about my girlfriend at the time but honestly i do not remember and finding this a little while ago was crazy because i had no recollection of writing it at first. 

[juvenilium]

@elucubrare ‘s 12th or so grade work - I’ve always been Like This, where Like This = willing to write fantasy Shakespeare. It’s pretty decent overall, though my metrical faults are very much in evidence

[juvenilium]

In freshman english class (age 14ish) we had to write as many six word memoirs as possible in five minutes. I hated six word memoirs with a passion. So, naturally, I wrote a bunch of increasingly dramatic six word “memoirs” about my hatred of six word memoirs. Here they are:

No. I hate six word memoirs.

I really hate writing these things.

Can’t I just work on homework?

Seriously, screw six word memoirs. 

Why must we do this crap?

Welcome to the six word hell.

Oh, why me, God? Why me? 

Has it been five minutes yet?

I can’t do this much longer.

Lord almighty, I’m done with this.

Jesus Christ, fuck you Ernest Hemingway.

Ernest Hemingway can burn in hell.

Thank god, only 30 seconds left. 

I hate six word memoirs to this day. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. 

[juvenilium]

pretty sure this is from kindergarten? definitely not later than first grade. highlights imo:

the princess’ parents ceasing to care about her disappearance once a new child is born to them;

the squirrel’s metatextual concerns about its status in the narrative (see illustration); and

the king’s shorts (ditto).

—@aeide-thea

[juvenilium]

submitted to my main, apologies for the double screen shot, but I love this and relate so hard to all of the comments.

[juvenilium]

Three Old Poems

First, a poem I wrote when I was 7 on the town message board in Animal Crossing (apparently I called it “My Fantastic Poem”):

At night the cherry blosems bloom, the shimerring waters glow, and here we are, in a circle wide, deciding what shall go.

(I’m still bad at double letters)

Then when I was 8 I got really into haiku, which I spelled as “hiqu” and read out one syllable at a time like a doofus, here’s two:

Firespike is dense Hummingbirds like its necter Butterflies do too

Endless freight train, what                                                                  Do you think is watching you                                                         From away up high?

I kinda still like the second one but man, I remember reading it for a poetry event at the library and I did Not make it sound natural

[juvenilium]

my sister made this file when she was about 8 or 9. the only “dragon crime” in it was a statement that reads: “no matter what, this Dragon is still Uropean..”

[juvenilium]

Walls: 2 parts

TW: parental death, developing alcoholism, etc

1. White walls 

White walls. Chemical scents, trembling fists. A man, in a hard bed, alone. A kind man, A beautiful man With snow white hair And hands meant For holding his children. A tall man, A hurt man Who had seen so much, Been given too little. 

Tubes ran from his nose Mouth Veins Trapped in a dream, mind gone Skin deathly pale. 

His heart ticks in green lines.

 A father, a husband, A brother. An uncle, a cousin, A teacher.  No movement, beeps steady.

A child runs in. She is like him, but not- Too dark, eyes too big. But she has his height, His build. 

His daughter.

Another follows, smaller Chubbier, curly thick hair Sweeping his shoulders Fingers stained With engine oil. 

His son.

The daughter stumbles To his side, Horror filled eyes And shaking hands That delicately touch his wrist. 

The son is slower, Jaws clenched Shoulders stiff, Hurting. 

The daughter’s voice Is weak. She asks him to return. Their kitten is waiting, She says. I have homework, You promised to help, She scolds. Please come back, She begs. 

The son is silent, Tears loud. 

Their mother squeezes her eyes Shut, Hand over her mouth. 

Soon, the room fills. Family, Friends, A priest. Conversation is light, As though the weight of The sleeping man Didn’t drag them down. 

The children can’t bear the room. Outside the door, A gentle song wraps The son with comfort, arms Around his sister. 

Heavy hearted, Their mother drives them home. A friend awaits the daughter, Tea in hand. They spend the night Curled up like kittens in a basket, Alone, but together.  The line goes flat at midnight.

 White walls. Chemical scents, trembling fists And man, in a coffin, alone.

2.Golden Walls

Golden walls.

Rotting food, shaking shoulders. A child, on a messy bed, alone. An old child, a dark child, with cracked nails, tearstained cheeks and a parent lost, never to return. 

Surrounded by filthy plates untouched, a cold glass of something bitter, clenched in a pale hand. The room is silent, the lights, dark.

He is gone. He is gone, 

The phone lights up, is ignored. Paper lays forgotten in a torn bag, knows work should be done but it isn’t.

He is gone. He is gone. Deep circles like bruises under manic eyes, lost. Pink hair, once vibrant limp, lips bitten. Something clear passes over tingling teeth, burning through a torn throat And an empty belly.

He is gone. He is gone. 

The child closes stinging eyes and tries, once more to sleep. The morning carries with it promises of aching cheeks and bittersweet relief.

Golden walls.

Rotting food, aching shoulders And a child, on a messy bed, alone.

(written at 14, two weeks after my father passed away.)