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A-M-Stryx

Published: May 16, 2016

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Battle Force 5: Pottermore Wands

EDIT explained at the bottom(NOT in the description). I've been obsessing over BF5 recently and decided to attempt to come up with suitable wand matches based on the Pottermore Wand quiz. Quiz questions: http://pottermore.wikia.com/wiki/Ollivanders_Bespoke_Wand_Selector Results: https://www.reddit.com/r/Pottermore/comments/87qdw3/this_is_how_the_pottermore_wand_quiz_works/ All the questions were tricky and required extensive re-watching of the series, especially for the heights of each character in comparison to the others and their respective eye colors(particularly the Cortez's and Grace). I did my best to guess what answers each charact

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Coming Home, Pt. 5

This was his worst idea yet. Rico leapt from the LAAT/I's drop bay, firing off a quick burst before his head was facing down. The SPIE rig yanked on him, and the cable he wrapped around him spun his body around, slowing his momentum and keeping the rope from snapping and breaking his neck. He grabbed the cable with his off hand and aimed his rifle one-handed. Between the gunship's fire power and Joey's sniping, few Dosiacs were making it through the doors leading to the landing area. Rico fired a few potshots, and then his feet hit the deck. He quickly unclipped himself and took a proper firing position behind a crate left behind on the l

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The Past

To leave the past behind is to gain wisdom for the future never looking back only forward. #showyourheart :heart:

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Hate

I hate I hate well I hate feverishly I am the churning acid in your stomach I am the blood pounding in your head I am the white-knuckled fist clenching to strike I am the red haze dimming your eyes and clouding your mind I am the rage that lashes out at the weak the small and defenseless justified by tears and fueled by alcohol I hate passionately I am the shaking in your hands and grinding teeth nails digging into your palms I am everything you hate boiling to the surface in a froth of bile blood and excrement I am the indiscriminate spray of bullets at the school church nightclub I am the madman raving on the news heaping blame

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Above Earthliness

I am sleeping in the Starholder's hands I am part of amen and amen I am not dust of galaxies past or future all is now Nowhere can be everything my fingerprints are nebulas

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Girl on the dance floor

Swing swing silly swan On the dance floor. Make their heads turn Catch their eyes Capture their souls. You can do this, You can play dirty At their games too; And they'll let you win. Drink your sanity away And swing swing swing On the dirty floor. Short skirts, stained glass See-through shirt and Smeared make up. Let your heels follow your hips While you go down down down; Into pitch black pools where you down.

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Floating Vision

Entranced I dance on my tiptoes, On my dreams I fly up in the sky. Lights flare up in 6 brightful circles; My souls burns in resonance. It's a fire, deep down its core Citadel is burning. The seventh circle's flames consume it, eating at its borders. Hear me Child: the AIs will stand tall at the Peak, Holding the lights and power over the people gathered at the Spire.

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Dollars be United.

We are united. - - - - - We live amongst regular civilians, in our regular attire, regular jobs, and almost regular daily life. What united us is that single message. That single call. That single e-mail. That single letter. That single password. That single website. That gathering of fates. Gathering of souls. - - - - - We are invisible. - - - - - Some of us came from the countryside, working hard, living a hand-to-mouth existence every day. Some of us are a bit better off, with enough money for some worldly entertainment and leisures, and supporting our own families. Some of us came here to study, and to be a bette

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Invincible

I am a laborer of dreams and I'm building up a pyramid. The ghosts might try to kill me but I learned to always live with it. The fragile thoughts that draw you to the edge of your ill mind; Believe when I say that giving up would be a true crime. The only thing that you should do is plow ahead forward, No stepping back because I got your back and that's a foreword An introductory paragraph to what it means to me, when I have always told you that we are going to be:

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I have recently learned that every man has his limit. There is only so much suffering you can endure, before you finally decide to snap. Some go crazy and make a fool of themselves, others sink deep into a dark place that no soul should venture. But a small percentage, experience a change. They realize that the world for all its ugliness, is still a garden; A garden of filth blossoms and fly traps, but a garden nonetheless. And what matters is that we harvest from this garden, until it can give us no more. For if we must be slaves to our torment, then I would prefer to endure--in style Now then, it seems the Mad King must get a new ident

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interior design for broken homes

i. here in isolation, we begin the fallout. everything around us makes us pull the knives out. once i turned to you when all the world was making chaos sounds; now we run away and run our ships aground, entire days lost. what cost can be discerned of loss and lives set fire? churn my stomach into wreckage, lover. what will we have learned? ii. as the night evades, we are tyrants in our ruling places. color me so purple that the worries fall up into space. ardor isn't earned, it is the currency of loneliness. i'm spent. iii. i've spent the last three days in solitude, a quiet i can't place now that it's over; what a melody is overbearing noise! no choice stings quite like you, and no regret is louder than the truth. up on the roof, the rain gives all of us illusions: we are not what we believe to be revealed. iv. if i had to explain it— and someday i worry i will— i would first look for paper, pen, mercy. v. the blueprint of a heart is volatile; everyone knows but no one

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Prayer

the last time I was in a chapel I got a nosebleed at the start of when peace like a river I don’t get nosebleeds I took it as a sign I retreat inside my skin not because it’s safer but because I know this temple was built to withstand the burning spirit that inhabits it these windows shatterproof these walls flame resistant at home I make my own stained-glass busted mirror —pools of silver crimson-dipped fractals of my busted fist repeated my mother always said I had too much fire in me I am a fire sign after all what did she expect I contain it within myself no, I try when I open my mouth embers erupt I catch the

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Rats

I’m sat here in this heat, little one, trying to find the poison. It is the thread between me and you? The thick blood in our veins, slowly killing us even as it keeps us alive? When the time comes, if I can will I? You will not thank me, little one, you do not have to. To give one’s life is one thing, reputation and honour another. Can I do the right thing in the dark, when no one will see? Or am I no better than the rest? I keep asking why this is us, little one, or if this is us at all. In the 70s the rats escaped the cage only to lock us in it.

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pain damaged existential existentialcrisis existentialism sonnet

This is something that has been buried very deep down in my soul gradually eating away at me. Now it's finally out of me for the most part.

Mature

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