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NightOne can hear the whisper of the night
A subtle sound
A guiding light
The deer’s paws as they hit the ground
Rustling leaves respond from all around
A call of nature
It expresses no danger
One can see the painting of the night
The dotted stars
The moonlight’s bright
A simple canvas, no planes, trains, or cars
Illuminating the reach of nature’s might
In the sky there’s the distant Mars
A wondrous nightscape
Not a wound or scrape
One can hear the desecration of the night
A deafening sound
The animal’s fright
Motors screech and trees are downed
One can see the destruction of the night
No one sees destruction from afar
Now no one knows the beauty of the night
Can and OughtDoes ought imply can? Does can imply ought? Well, let's look at it from an English standpoint. When someone ought to do something, they are morally obliged to. When someone can do something, it means that they are physically capable of doing something. The two words ought and can obviously have different meanings.
Can someone commit murder? Yes. Is someone ought to? Generally, no. But that depends on the system of morals used. If one follows Hammurabi's code, if the victim commits murder, it is justified under the eye for an eye principle. If one follows Christianity, then they ought not to. If according to Mark, Lisa ought to do something that is within her physical bounds, but according to Jared, she ought not do it, does ought imply can? To Mark, can implies ought, but for Jared, can implies ought not. So, does can imply ought? It depends on the circumstances.
Say a deadly and incurable disease is killing off the human population. According to a humanitarian, someone ought to develo
2020The year was 2020 and Ray knew his type of folk almost were nonexistent. Their views were deemed as obsolete and part of the Old Way. Unable to communicate in the now common dialect of English, containing very little variety in vocabulary except for the originality of the obscenities used between every other word, his kind was generally looked down upon, shunned, or worse.
This kind, once looked upon as the upper class of an educated society, has now been cast off as nonconformists. As opposed to the newer generations who seldom read except for the closed captioning on televisions, these people knew and honored the classics. They knew a Beethoven piece from a Mozart, a Da Vinci from a Michelangelo, and a piano from an organ. Sure, they viewed movies and television shows, only not as much as a New Way person. The Archaics, as they were called by the members of the new society, or Currents, lived a life that they viewed as higher quality; in that they still had the p
The Poor Man's BurdenGive away the Poor Man's Burden
For avarice is a sin
If life's a race to heaven,
Then you're letting others win
Give away the Poor Man's Burden
It's a fair trade for what they own
When you end up more than six feet under
You'll take up a different tone
Give away the Poor Man's Burden
Making them pure will do the trick
But you will discover later
Who really got the short end of the stick
Give away the Poor Man's Burden
It's a good use of your time
Their vaults for you to steal
You're not the only one who's one committing that crime
VainMarty was a vain man. He grew up on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. He still lives there now. His parents owned a prospering law firm and made a lot of money. His parents passed their entrepreneurial prowess to him and it shows. He is the Chief Executive Officer of his own health care company. Obviously, he has always lived the material life.
One day, as Marty got out of his limousine right in front of his office, his empty coffee cup in hand, he noticed a young girl, about 18 years old. She had mousy brown hair and hazel eyes with a green tint. She held a bucket in one hand and a sign in the other. The sign read "Millions of people die from cancer each year. You can help."
"Please sir, help find a cure." She begged as he walked by. He just chuckled and dropped his empty coffee cup in hand. The girl's hopeful smile faded and was replaced by a frown. He walked into the building as if nothing had happened.
Marty spent the rest of the day doing dull paperwork and checking up on his empl
The TripTy had an ordinary life. He had normal hopes, normal friends, and normal parents. However, once a year, his dad took a mysterious trip to who knows where. Whenever he asked his dad about the trip, his father would jump into a soliloquy about personal sanity. Ty would always think that his dad, a renowned philosopher and author, was just having an idea about his next book. This pattern would repeat for a few years until Ty was thirteen.
One summer morning, Ty was awoken by an incessant repetition of his name. "Ty, Ty, wake up!" The voice sounded familiar, so he woke up to find his dad by his bedside dressed in an unusual assortment of clothes. A pair of hiking boots, a netted hat, and a tan vest was being sported by the man who considered going to the diner a black tie formal event. "Ty, I need you to get dressed in outdoor clothes and get ready to go on a journey," his father instructed.
"Wait, what? Why? Where are we going?" Ty inquisitively replied.
"You will see when we get there."
Impaled By One's Own SwordIf a dead corpse could show emotion, Todd's would show shock. He knew that Jasmine's father despised him, but he had no idea how much. He forced his spirit to move; to view the grotesque scene that was his house. Tables overturned, glass broken, a bloodstained carpet. Worst of all, his remains looked disgusting. The dried blood all over him lead to his chest. He saw a crescent blade with a ruby hilt the color of his blood.
Todd, furious used all of his ghostly willpower to go on a long trek. Of course, he did not notice the passing time as a ghostly essence. At last, he arrived at his destination during what looked like the dead of night. There, he passed a room where he knew quite well. The handcrafted sign on the door said Jasmine. He lingered there for a moment to remember the times he had with her. He slowly crept up into the room next door. There, he saw a man, obviously asleep.
La Noche TristeI never thought that it would come to this. My soldiers, my friends, are all dead. They were killed by the Aztec savages and their satanic deities. It should have been me. For I, Hernán Cortes, the leader, the oppressor, the conquistador, have been the real mastermind behind this terrible ordeal. We obtained gold, but at what price? This sad night, this noche triste, will live in infamy forever. But how did it happen? I have to think back to the events of the day.
After a week of debate, my advisors and I had decided to leave the city of Tenochtitlan due to civil unrest. We planned to begin our journey when the city was asleep; carrying all of our gold and what we brought with us. From there, we would swim across the canals and reach safety. If only we knew what would be waiting for us.
We spent the rest of the day preparing and briefing the soldiers for the escapade.
Finally, the moment of truth had arrived. We assumed that the Aztecs were asleep because there were no people on t
Brutal HonestyLeon constantly contemplated what his life would be like if he had never lied. Would he be sitting in this small jail cell that has been his "home" for the past month? Would he have never been charged with obstruction of justice and been sentenced for two months in prison? Would he be on good terms with the bureaucrats at the district attorney's office? He tried not to dwell on what could have been; but he just could not help himself. Leon can still remember every detail of why he went to prison.
As a young boy, Leon Smitherson was not a genius or a fool. He was average except in one area of his life. He often had a knack for trouble. He never went to look for it, for his father, a prominent fine arts enthusiast, would often coin expressions. "We would be fools if we thought that we had to search for mischief" was one of his father's favorites. Instead, trouble usually found its way to Leon. When havoc occurred, Leon would cover it up with lies, lies, and more lies.
When he was in Kind
Daddy!LevixChild!Reader - The Hard Stuff
Levi looked down at his daughter. She stood timidly near the doorway, fiddling with the large towel in her hands. Her hair was still soaked from the bath she had taken not minutes ago, and droplets of water fell from the glossy strands and onto her yellow nightgown.
“What, _____?” he said in his usual cold tone, though _____ knew it wasn’t completely intentional.
The six-year-old looked down at the peach-colored towel clutched in her tiny fingers. “U-Um, Mommy always helps me dry my hair. . .”
Levi sighed softly and sat up on the couch, motioning _____ to come closer. When she did, he sat her down on the floor in front of him and took the towel from her hands. He spread the towel over her small head and gently massaged it through the towel. He wrapped the towel around her long strands and proceeded to knead the water out of them.
“Daddy, where’s Mommy?” _____ asked, turning her head to look at her father.
BertholdtxReader - Cynophobia [AU]
cynophobia - (n.) the fear of dogs
“Man, how long has it been since you’ve been to my house?”
“A month, I think,” Bertholdt replied from the front passenger seat as I drove down the empty road.
“Seems like more to me,” I commented, propping an elbow on the armrest between me and my friend. “I think my parents are still at work, so we’ll probably be alone with Maes.”
“Maes?” he said, confused.
“Oh, yeah. I didn’t tell you? I got a dog a couple weeks ago.”
I felt Bertholdt freeze beside me. “A-A dog?”
“Yeah. A two-year-old pit bull.” I turned into my neighborhood and relaxed into the seat when I slowed down the car. “I thought you knew. Even Levi knows—and now he refuses to come over now because he thinks my place is completely covered in dog crap.”
Bertholdt made what sounded like a forced chuckle, rubbing his hands on his pant legs. “S-So, um,
The InfomercialThe Infomercial
(This story is from the upcoming MagnusMagneto Musclethology #1. It's a collection of three short stories that will be given exclusively to those who support me on Patreon. These stories will be even more whimsical than my usual stuff, foregoing character development and scientific explanations for more light-hearted fare.
If you want access to this story in PDF format along with two more tales of similar length and light-hearted tone, consider becoming a Patron of mine before July 31st! http://www.patreon.com/magnusmagneto
There are also a few references/homages to other FMG works/authors and the femmuscle community in general. All done out of total respect and admiration. See how many you get!)
“Welcome folks to the infomercial event of the year!” A tall, attractive woman with bright auburn hair and piercing blue eyes faced the camera with a bright, white smile. She wore skimpy blue workout clothes
Death Battle: Scorpion vs. Hellboy
Roy: Alright the combatants are set, we have taken every angle into account and we have found ourselves a verdict.
Ivan: Let us watch the Hellfire ninja attempt to break his streak.
Roy: So, it's time for a Death Battle!
Ivan: So enthusiastic...
Roy: What? Just because I stole your line-
Ivan: IT'S TIME FOR A DEATH BATTLE!!!!
It was quiet that night. No one was out of their home, probably because of the big red demon walking about. Hellboy stepped out of a nearby pancake house, the owner watching his demonic customer exit the restaurant. His breath reeked of pancakes and beer.
Hellboy pulled out a wrinkled and folded-up piece of paper. It had "DEATH BATTLE" written at the top. Hellboy looked at it as he found the opponents name on the paper.
"Scorpion." Hellboy read aloud as he checked the area. He didn't see anything. Meanwhile in the depths of hell a yell was heard. A yellow clad ninja walked out of a blazing fire, a chain hanging from his arm. It was Scorpion.
Tell me story"Why you read zat book, hmm?"
Victor had come to pay a visit to his Princess, whom he had found up in her library -as always- reading her afternoon away. Though he rather liked it when she read, especially when she read aloud to him. The sound of her voice was always soothing (and exotic, with that accent she had) and he always found it a treat when she offered to read to him.
So after she chose a book, they had left the libary and gone to her room, where she gathered up her pillows and made a sort of nest for them. Oh, this he really liked. Not so much the pillows (too soft for his taste) but more that he got to snuggle up next to her.
His finger curled and uncurled her strand of hair idly, resting his chin upon her shoulder as he looked over the words of her books. So many words, and no pictures? How did she stand to read so much without pictures?
"I's one o' mah favorites in this book." was her answer, holding up the large book, the title of 'Grimms Fairytails' written across it. "I
AmericaXReader: Unexpected Courage “Where is he?” you questioned as you stood in front of the bus stop waiting for your friend. He wanted you to meet him there because he had something “really fun” planned for the day. It was five o’clock when you finally saw him running toward you.
“Hey, dudette! Sorry for the wait,” he bent over softly panting, “it’s just that-”
“It’s fine, Alfred. I just want to know what you have planned,” you looked into his blue eyes with excitement.
“Okay, but you have to close your eyes,” he winked at you.
Penny and The Spider“Three. Two. One. DRINK!” Jana Glushakov squealed excitedly before she and her group of friends eagerly gulped back their multi-coloured shots of tequila. She downed it in one, then briefly stuck out her tongue to get rid of the aftertaste. “Whew, I always forget how strong they make them here,” Jana giggled.
“Want another birthday girl?” her friend and housemate Harmony asked Jana after she finished her own shot. “It’s my turn to buy a round in.”
Jana shook her head, “No let’s wait until the next bar. Besides I’ve got half a Long Island Ice Tea to finish.”
Jana’s friends tried to persuade her otherwise, but the birthday girl, nineteen that very day, had made up her mind. The beautiful blonde haired girl of Russian origin was having too much fun to care what her fellow university students thought. She intended to last the whole night, and the City of London was to
Fallen MothHe'd put it off long enough, but it had been a few days now since he had sent Hushedsnow off, she'd mentioned something about Highclan, although personally he hoped she'd ended up in Leafclan - he didn't know of any Dark Forest Cats there. He wanted her to be safe, but hopefully it would only be for a short time more.
The Clan was preoccupied with the sharks, and Aspenstar had left the Nursery so she could give orders more efficiently from The Leader's Den.
Getting Aspenstar alone had been one of the hardest parts of the plan, with Crystalshimmer and all those kits in the Nursery, as well as Shadowcliff moving in and out all the time, but it seemed these sharks had arrived as a gift - although he was pretty sure even The Dark Forest couldn't have arranged that one.
Mothlight had been watching The Leader's Den all day, getting to know how regularly Warriors would appear and which ones appeared more often, working out the spacing between their trips. It seemed that the times Tigers
The Bowie Knife "What are you going to do, kill me? I'd like to see you try, Thomas!" Spat a bald man, obviously toughened up judging by the scar on his face that went with his bald scalp.
"That is my intent, Joseph!" Thomas sneered back with equal ferocity.
"Okay." Joseph put his hand behind his back and pulled out a pistol. "This should be interesting to watch. You don't even have a gun, only a silly little knife."
"This silly little knife has killed more people than you can imagine. It represents more than you and your pathetic gun can ever comprehend."
"Fine. Enlighten me. Show me the glory of your old decrepit Bowie Knife." Joseph challenged.
"This knife represents courage." Thomas explained as he was transported to twenty years earlier. He remembered meeting the abusive husband of the woman h
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