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Darian bolted from the door, gripping his bruised eye and ignoring the flood of blood coming from his nose. His father yelled a couple more slurs and more threats if the fifteen year old ever showed his face again. His mother was pleading with the man to stop, no, they could work past this, talk to the pastor, pray to God, they could fix what was wrong with him.

The teenager didn't stop. Not until he was a few blocks away and was out of breath. Leaning against a building, he pressed a hand to his nose to stop the bleeding.

Well. That could've gone better.

He should've listened to his gut and not tell his parents why exactly he didn't like any of the girls at school.

Sighing, the boy wiped his nose off and waited until he was sure his parents were asleep. Then he snuck back into his bedroom and picked up a few things. Wallet. Change of clothes.

He'd be fine. He had his gut on his side. And his gut was never wrong.

+ = + = + = + = +

“God you're beautiful... I could fuck you all night, baby...”

'You don't even know my name, dumb ass,' Darian thought as he was pinned against the wall and several sloppy kisses were placed to his neck. The teen's blonde locks hung in his blue eyes as he stared listlessly at the ground.

He had nowhere to stay. For two years he'd managed to keep his head above water by staying at friends' places, dipping into his savings... but he had run dry. So he did the next best thing.

Find a random guy at a bar, and offer himself like the innocent twink he was. His gut feeling told him this guy, despite appearance, wouldn't mind him at all. Over six feet tall, musclebound, shaved head... kinda intimidating really. But Darian's gut was never wrong...

And apparently the fact that he wasn't into it was apparently obvious enough. Muscle head backed away, eyes glazed over but a little concerned. “What's the matter, blondie? You scared?” He asked, sounding sympathetic. “Haven't done this before?”

Darian ignored the red hot blush that spread through his cheeks. “Wha- course I-” He trailed off. “.... No...”

Even while drunk, the man backed off a little. “Aw, it's okay, sexy. You can just go home-”


Darian spoke a little abruptly. He couldn't go home. There was no home to go to... god he fucked up. He fucked up bad.

“... You can't go home, huh?”

The teen was surprised by the drunk pulling away. “Okay, you can sleep on the couch, I guess... unless you wanna keep going?”

Huh. So apparently Darian's gut was right. Well, don't waste that opportunity.

“Couch works.”

“If you change your mind, I'm up for giving you a good time.”

The couch was a bit lumpy. But Darian slept like a rock.

His gut really did pay off.

+ = + = + = + = +

His name was Rick.

Darian was now happily stationed on his couch for over a year now. Obviously Rick kept his thing for fags quiet, the way he acted around his friends. And according to his friends, Darian was Rick's 'cousin'.

His friends were cool though. Normally brought a lot of pizza and beer with them, and Darian always was allowed to help himself. They normally just talked about fucking girls and sports, neither subject Darian was into, but either way, he managed to stay on their good side.

Oh, they also had one more thing they all loved-


Pot, ecstasy, coke, LSD, whatever. Over half of them were dealers and all of them took, including Rick. Darian's eyes went huge when he saw them taking heroin for the first time.

Heroin was definitely the favorite though. For a year Darian managed to resist the pull of asking, he did weed a couple times but it really wasn't his thing. Things also turned hella gay whenever the heroin was in everyone's system, another thing that made him curious if not slightly amused.

He didn't have to ask though- one of the guys offered.

“Hey, Darian? Tanner ain't gonna make it, wanna shoot up with us instead?” Joey, one of Rick's friends. Darian's eyes slightly widened.

“For free?” He asked, mildly suspicious.

Joey nodded rapidly. “Yeah yeah yeah, first time's always free.”

First time was free. Darian chewed on his bottom lip a little before shrugging. “Eh, why the fuck not. Might as well try it. If I end up throwing up...”

Yes, he did throw up.

But after that... it was peace. Darian was laying on the couch, taking in everything and feeling perfectly safe. Even when Joey climbed on top of him, clearly stoned out of his brain as he undid the teenager's belt, everything felt safe. Warm. Comfortable.

Yes, the first time was free.

But Darian would do anything for a second time... and a third time...

+ = + = + = + = +

“How do you do it?”

Darian was twenty three years old now. Had his own place (it was a shithole but it was his own, at least), and well, in order to get high, he had to get other people high.

He was a heroin dealer.

He laughed as he glanced over at Rick, who was stunned at how much he had taken in today. “I have a magic gut feeling, remember?” He teased.

Rick rolled his eyes but was clearly a bit envious, but in a good way. Impressed that the blond kid he had helped out a few years back was making something of himself. “So, we're gonna come around here tonight, have a good time. Your cable working?”

Darian shrugged. He didn't watch TV that much.

“Gotcha. See you tonight, buddy.” He smacked the younger man's shoulder before walking out the door.

Suddenly Darian got a bad feeling... a really, really bad feeling. He almost got up to tell Rick that he was calling tonight off, that he wasn't feeling that great.

But he shoved it off. Rick would probably be suspicious about something stupid and that would mean an argument. He'd just ignore it.... this time.

+ = + = + = + = +

Bad choice.

Tonight was going pretty well, Darian wasn't feeling particularly horny so he didn't try to pull Joey or Rick into his bedroom, he just sat against the cold wall...

And he realized he couldn't breathe.

Each breath was forced, hard to take. His mouth had turned dry, dryer than normal. He tried to get up to get a glass of water but it was too hard to move.

Darian realized he had danced with death far too many times, every time he stuck a needle in his arm he was taking his life into his hands. And this time he had finished himself.

He barely noticed someone approaching him and kneeling beside him. “Darian? Darian, it's Ezekiel.”

Ezekiel... oh shit, Ezekiel. Darian forced his eyes open and he stared into the yellow eyes of Ezekiel Trioson. He kept his head low but everyone knew he was a dirty lawyer, pulling fat mob boss' asses out of the fire with almost little problem. There was a reason he could afford those nice suits.

He'd met the lawyer, once. Yesterday, actually. They had lunch, they had a nice chat, and in the end Ezekiel gave him a few extra dollars.

“Whadya want with me....” Darian was trying to focus on breathing, focus, perhaps he could pull through this...

“I'm here to make a deal, and from what I can tell, you don't have a lot of time so I'll get to the point. Do you want to live?”

Darian tried to nod but every movement was sluggish and painful. His head was beginning to ache from the lack of air.

“Give me your name. Full name, if you please.”

How could that mean anything? Steal his identity maybe. Ah hell, what choice did he have?! He was dying for Christ's sake!

“Darian... Tristan... Tristan Steele.” That was the last thing he said before he entirely lost consciousness. Probably a good thing he didn't see the real face of 'Ezekiel'.

+ = + = + = + = +

“You'll be okay, just a few more minutes and we'll be at the hospital.”

Rick's eyes fluttered open and he stared up blankly at the woman above him.

Ambulance. They were in an ambulance.

Where was Darian!?

“Dar... where my cousin...” He slurred.

“Sir, you are going to have to relax, you've overdosed on heroin.”

The other person in the ambulance was still unconscious, Joey... and pretty soon Rick went back into darkness as well.

+ = + = + = + = +

“They'll live.”

Darian was standing at the street corner with Ezekiel, slowly letting the sirens die away. Ezekiel chuckled.

“And you know this for certain?”

The young man glanced up, hood slipping to his shoulders. A skull design was on his face, all his yellow hair had fallen out. Blue eyes had dulled to an olive green, dark and unchanging. “I do... I can always tell.”

Course, this time, it wasn't a 'gut feeling'.

He could see it. Joey would be in a coma for a week or so, touch and go sort of thing. But he'd pull through. Rick would recover a bit faster, finally his father would come see him and not be a huge bag of dicks, and help Rick get into rehab.

In the Bible people that could see into the future were called prophets.

Guess that was one good thing that book told him.

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Oh spider, oh spider,

what a beautiful web you have made!

Oh spider, foolish spider,

don't you realize it will soon fade?

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

It was an accident, a beautifully perfect accident. Iris had been straightening up the pews to help out the church, and without realizing it she had begun to sing.

“Amazing grace! How sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see...”

“My, what a beautiful voice you have!”

In shock, the sixteen year old dropped the misplaced Bible she had picked up and spun around, face instantly going crimson. She hadn't known she was no longer alone.

The man behind her was not easy to forget. Expensive clothes, large brown twisty mustache, and eyes always glancing around. He grinned and looked so friendly, Iris couldn't be too embarrassed. He didn't seem like he was the teasing sort.

“Oh, it's nothing. I sing in choir, but I'm no one special.” Iris said, picking up the Bible again and setting in on the pew. Someone would find it.

“Nonsense, my dear! No need to be modest! What's your name?” The man twirled his mustache a little, looking like he struck gold.

Iris smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Iris Duvall.”

“Iris, here, take my number. If you ever want to make something out of that angel voice, call me.” A card was pressed into her hands, and with that, the man left.

The girl's eyes went huge and she stared at the card. Abram Woode, he was apparently involved with show business.

Could he really make Iris famous?

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Oh pretty spider, you've been called astray,

a siren's call, beckoning you away,

oh spider, why did you go that way?

You've signed away your life to play!

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Iris was an instant hit. The pretty young woman, with such black hair and bright blue eyes, coupled with that pale smooth skin, everyone fell in love with her.

At first, Iris was a tad overwhelmed. But then she started getting the paychecks. And the attention. And oh, people actually saying they wanted to be like her, that she was the best thing to happen for music today!

The girl was to be the youngest of four siblings, all the rest successful and well, Iris was rather outshined. But now she was thrust into the limelight, and she was going to enjoy every minute of it.

Although singing was fun, she decided to head into something more 'her'... opera. Abram got her the needed gigs and she made her impression there, Iris Duvall. Small town girl turned famous opera singer. It probably went to her head a little too fast.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Spider, gorgeous spider,

you think your web is safe?

Spider, oh please spider,

you're only a new toy for today...

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

The first time Iris met Holly, she was just a scrambling eleven year old trying to get an autograph. Her hair was thick with dark brown bouncy curls, and her eyes were as warm and as dark as hot chocolate. She grinned a toothy smile and shyly asked for an autograph.

Iris just considered her another fan at first... until the rain started pouring down. It came down like buckets, but Iris didn't get too wet. A bright green umbrella was offered, and at the expense of herself getting wet, Holly let Iris use her umbrella. Iris was actually touched by this, the little girl so selflessly offering her umbrella.

So Iris took her inside, and Iris discovered that even at such a young age the girl was a beautiful singer. Iris asked Abram about her, and Abram actually pushed for her to take on a sort of apprentice.

Holly was thrilled, a girl from a rather modest family, going on the road with Iris! In between singing lessons, she did her school, and Iris cared for her like a daughter. Iris never had spent time starting a family, her career was far too important to her. She had no regrets when it came to that... but oh, how she loved her dear Holly.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Spider, singing spider,

you've set yourself in a trap,

Spider, poor spider,

time is going to give you a slap!

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

It had never occurred to Iris that she was aging. Gracefully of course... but a little weight gain here, a little wrinkle by her eyes there... she was getting older.

Forty five years old, it had finally hit her that her career was beginning to wind to a close... while Holly, twenty years old now, was just beginning to get attention. Those beautiful eyes and beaming smile now were on the face of a beautiful woman.

And Iris suddenly didn't like that.

Abram would dodge questions about Holly getting an extra song on occasion, or that more interviews were getting booked for her, or the fittings for new outfits that weren't coordinated with Iris so they could match... Iris refused to face it though. No way was Abram pushing her out! Iris was his shining woman for literal decades.

And ever so slowly, Iris started acting a little cooler towards Holly. Stopped giving little tips, gave excuses for not offering lessons, and whenever they spoke, it was small talk and Iris would excuse herself after a few minutes.

It finally hit Iris like a freight train when she heard a few stylists gossiping.

They didn't see Iris, she was in the bathroom stall while the other women were at the mirror. But Iris heard every word.

“How is that old bag still in business? Oh my god, honey that's not big boned, that's fat!”

“Well from what I hear, she's at the end of her rope.”

“No, get out! She's been Abram's favorite before I was born!”

“Hah, well, I heard from Deborah that he's gonna cut her loose next year, after the Canadian tour. She's not bringing in much money anymore, time to let the cow go to the pasture.”

“Well who's going to replace her?”

“Who else! Holly! For being from some ghetto in New York, that girl sure does shine!”

“Her hair's a bitch to deal with though...”

As the voices faded, Iris stepped out and washed her hands, staring into the mirror.

Old bag.

At the end of her rope.

Cut her loose.

Let the cow go to the pasture.


Holly will replace her.




Iris gave a wordless cry and sprayed water onto the mirror, hurriedly escaping. No, it couldn't be! She couldn't lose this! Music was her life! She never went to college, ohgod, what would she do with her life?!

And oh, if life hated her much more, Holly was waiting in her dressing room, all smiles and innocence. How dare she act like she didn't know! That manipulative little bitch! How dare she!

“Hey, Iris? I was wondering, could we warm up together? You've been so busy lately...”

Whatever Holly said after that Iris didn't remember. All she could remember was rushing forward, wrapping her hands around that skinny little cunt's neck, shaking sense into that stupid bitch... shaking her...

When Iris woke up, her head was spinning around and around. Slowly, she stood up and saw the wreckage around her. The dressing room was in shambles. Clothes tossed about, mirror broken- oh no, Holly!

On the ground, glass shards embedded into her neck and face, staring glassily into the ceiling... was Holly. She'd had the royal hell beaten out of her, clothes ripped, skin scraped.... ohgod. She wasn't breathing.

Iris yelped and fell backwards, crawling away before staring at her arms. Oh, Holly had put up a struggle all right. Her arms were also scratched up, her hair had definitely been pulled. Oh no Holly, no!

The singer started to cry. No, this wasn't her fault, she'd lost her temper, that was all! She hadn't meant to kill Holly! It was everyone else's fault, they pushed her to this, she'd had a glass or two of booze before she'd gone to the bathroom and heard those scheming witches! It was all their faults! Abram's, the hairdresser's, even Holly to an extent, but oh god Iris didn't want to kill her!

“My. This doesn't look good.”

Iris gasped as she stared at the man by the door. How he'd gotten in without her noticing, she didn't know. He was definitely rich, sounded European too. He eyed the corpse on the floor before looking at Iris.

This was it. She was going to prison. Abram wouldn't bail her out of this one. This wasn't a fashionable crime, where you were caught with a drunk driver or getting indecent in public. No. This was the kind of mistake where you had to pay.

“I can help you.”

Iris blinked. “W.... what?” She said softly.

The European man laughed. His skin was so pale, definitely not the kind of man to go tanning. Probably another agent. “I can help you. What's your name dear? Tell me that, and I can get you out of all this trouble. That fair?”

Hah. The last time she had to give her name out to get her someplace was when she was a teenage girl, still cleaning pews... “Iris Abigail Duvall.” The name slipped from her lips like water.

That was the worst mistake she had ever made.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Oh spider, killer spider,

you've crossed the line, time to pay,

Oh spider, foolish spider,

your luck has run out today!

○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Once upon a time, there was a story about a woman. About a woman that boasted her weaving was greater than the goddess Athena's. Naturally, Athena was offended, and in disguise challenged her to a weaving contest. The woman accepted. They both weaved different things, the woman's making a mockery of the gods. However, the woman lost, and unable to cope, she hung herself. Athena turned her into a spider, either as a punishment or a way to apologize.

That woman's name was Arachne.

Iris couldn't recognize herself in the mirror. Her beauty? Gone. Long gone. Three pairs of sapphire eyes stared from her face, her lips curled back into a gruesome grin with sharp, poisonous teeth. Her skin was the color of bone, each one of her fingers ending in a disturbing gray claw, claws that were meant to suck the life from humans. And from the waist down, she was a spider, eight legs clattering about. A black widow spider, disturbing and vile.

Sitting on the roof of her new home, a mansion in the woods, Iris glared at the moon. Oh, how she hated this existence... but alas, what other choice did she have? Cursed into this frame, never to age again...

Softly, without even realizing it, Arachne sung again.

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now I am found,
was blind, but now, I see...”

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Seems like everyone I know is a dick, a bible thumper, or just really fucking dumb.

Hey. I’m Elliot.

You probably don’t remember me, although you probably saw me a couple times. It’s cool, I don’t hold anything against the person reading this. Okay, remember the pale skinny freshman with far too much eyeliner and greased hair?

Ah, now the knobs begin to turn. If it hasn’t hit you yet who I am, I usually got called ‘goth faggot’ by Trent and his gang. Now you remember me! I can just about picture your face light up as you remember me getting smashed into the lockers or stuffed in trashcans…

I’m off track.

This is the last thing I’ll be leaving before I go off the grid, for good. Yeah, I’m out of here. But I want people to know why I did it.

I am bisexual. Not gay. There’s a difference, small difference, but difference being that I still think pussies and boobs are hot while liking dick too. But see, around here? They don’t seem to realize that. Especially not my parents. They totally freaked, you know? Thought I’d be ‘going to hell’ and ‘ruining their reputation’.

… I think they were more worried about their rep.

Starting going to ‘therapy’ for this at thirteen years old, yippee. Thankfully none of it really sunk in, as far as I can tell? But here’s a tip. If you ever have a kid, and they come to you saying they’re gay or bi or trans or whatever?

Don’t fucking treat them like they’re sick. I swear to god. If you do that, you’re actually sick and deserve to die.

Back to the story.

So here I was, going to gay torture- I mean ‘therapy’ and then I was in highschool. I don’t know how it got out, but before I knew it I was getting the gay beat out of me. A lot.


Yeah, it was always Trent. I don’t blame you for not getting in the way, he was a junior and built like a wall. And popular. And his dad helped fund field trips.

Honestly, if I was in your shoes, I’d do the same thing.

Mr. Wayne though.

I know what all you guys say. He’s a senile old loon who probably should’ve stopped teaching when the asteroid hit. But you’re all wrong! Guy was fucking brilliant. Maybe a little forgetful. But brilliant.

He was the only person that understood me.

He let me stay in his classroom when I had a free period and he didn’t have class, and he’d give me cookies and listen to my… poetry.

Oh wipe that smug ass grin off your face. Poetry’s actually really fun to write! And short stories.

Anyway, I’d read him my poetry and stories. Most adults would probably had me thrown in the crazy house for what I wrote about- suicide, murder, rape, self mutilation, whatever I needed to say. I remember one in particular, about this guy jerking off to his twenty one year old model half sister and everything he wanted to do with her, whether she liked it or not.

Mr. Wayne just nodded slowly when I was done and told me that the flow was off near the end but other than that it was a good piece of work. He… he believed I could go places with my work. Dark places, but places. He said he believed I was a good kid, not troubled, just angry.

… I wish I could say he was wrong.

God I wish I could say he was wrong.

But Mr. Wayne wasn’t perfect either.

Fucking. Liar. He said if I ever came forward about the bullies, he’d stand right behind me. All of the way.

It was after Ice Cream day. You remember that? Trent boasted about showing that goth faggot who was boss the day after. You probably didn’t notice I wasn’t anywhere to be found.

That was because I really got the shit beat out of me. Cracked ribs, broken nose, the works.

Trent and his friends cornered me, because apparently someone told him I was making moves on his girlfriend. I wasn’t, by the way, she just wanted a shoulder to cry on and I happened to be there. Guys can do that and not want a blowjob in return.

While I was getting the shit beat out of me, I saw him.

Mr. Wayne. Coming out of the building. I tried to yell, but Trent punched me in the teeth. He did look over though… and then just kept on going.

I didn’t go home after that beating. I just walked around town the whole night. Didn’t go to school either. I was in pain, my sides hurt, my mouth hurt, my fucking dick hurt, everything hurt. I did talk to Mr. Wayne after school let out though. Looks like he misplaced his glasses that day, again.

… He didn’t see a thing. At least, he claimed that.

What a fucking liar! He looked right at me! He betrayed me!

I started planning something you only hear about in the news.

I stole my father’s gun. I’d shoot up Mr. Wayne’s class, then I’d stick the gun in my mouth and blow my brains out. I’d let Mr. Wayne live, sure, but other than that, everyone was going to die. I didn’t fucking care. Trent was in that class after all, dumbass kept getting held back in his English classes. I’d shoot his dick off, oh I was going to have fun pumping him full of lead. I would say it would just be like my stories, but that would be too cliché. From my perspective, the stories weren’t the ‘cause’ of my interest, just a symptom.

…. You believe in monsters?

Because I do.

I was bored, chilling behind the school. Checking out the gun, it was perfect. I could taste my revenge.

Then I met my very first monster.

He was a bit shorter than six foot, dressed like he was on the way to some business meeting. Looked like an albino who got frostbite, seriously, if his skin was a couple shades darker he’d look like a goddamned smurf.

He… caught me holding the gun.


I thought I was dead meat. But the guy was more annoyed. He basically called my every move and pointed out everything wrong with it. Like the fact I had no idea how to really shoot a gun, or reload. What if it jammed? What if I ran out of bullets before I put one through my head? That would mean prison.

Yeah, I think I was blushing by the time he finished chewing my ears off. And part of me wondered if I had a concussion and was hallucinating this whole damn thing.

Then Mr. Suit made me an bargain. A… better way. I mean, not everyone in my class was a dickbag. I guess you weren’t. You were just a bystander. Only people I wanted to hurt really were Trent and his gang of douchebags… I didn’t even want to kill Mr. Wayne, despite him being a lying son of a bitch.

I took it. I had nothing here. My parents were trying to brainwash me, my classmates were trying to kill me, and my only friend betrayed me.

I’m pretty sure by the time you find this, you would’ve heard.

First it was Greg, he was thrown down a set of stairs.

Then it was Cadence, yeah, ‘drowned’. In his bathtub.

You remember Larry, his obituary is next to me right now. Poor guy, overbalanced and fell off a building.

And while you’re reading this, Trent’s getting the shit beat out of him. Oh, it’ll be slow. Maybe you were one of those people. Books knocked out of your hands, pushed into the lockers, the swirlies? You really hated Trent, hell, anyone not part of his clique hated him to an extent. Pretentious little fuck face.

If you were one of his victims, I promise, you’d love what is happening to him right now. I’ll end it by letting him run (can you run with a broken leg? I’ll have to see) and then snapping his neck. If you can break a spineless person’s neck.

You never noticed me, right?

Just a shadow on the wall.

Hah, bet you wished you saw me now.
I'm Just Your Shadow
Guess who's back, back again, Nature is back, tell a friend.

Guess what, I am not dead! Just got a dead muse for a while when it came to these stories. But don't worry, the muse is baaack! And it'll be fun. 


Elliot misinterpreted what happened. Mr. Wayne had lost his glasses the day before, therefore when he 'saw' the fight, he didn't actually see much other than blur.


Katie The Odd One
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United States
Helllooooo? What is this thing?

A bio? What use do I have for a bio?

..... to tell people about myself? Okay!

This might only be funny to me since I'm sleepy. Anywho, hi, I'm Katie. Or the Odd One. Or Nature. I've had this account for like freaking ever but only recently have I started publishing crap on it. No I can't draw but I love writing! I mostly write creepy things tho. Just a heads up.
I'm a fan of the Sexual Offenderman. If you're not, carry on.

I entered a story into a contest for the group, called Stockholm Syndrome, with the sequel Hell Is Cold. 

Guess whaaaat? BOTH are finalists. Lookie! : the-smexy-slender.deviantart.c…

It would mean the world to me if it won. So, only if you think I deserve it, go vote for the stories in the journal I just linked you to. Again. It would mean EVERYTHING to me if I won. Thanks for reading!
  • Mood: Excited
  • Watching: Toy Story 1
  • Eating: Crackers

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arcanineryu Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2014  Student General Artist
finished your pic! let me know if you want any changes
NatureReigns Featured By Owner Jan 31, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Sapheneia Featured By Owner Jan 2, 2014
Thanks for the fave :*
AmeliaEerie Featured By Owner Dec 19, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks for the fave :meow:
RollingTomorrow Featured By Owner Nov 2, 2013   General Artist

Hello! :iconexcitedhiplz:


:la: Welcome to :iconwriters--club:! :la:


We're glad to have you as a member and look forward to seeing your contributions! :typerhappy:


We also hold a lot of contests with great prizes, so keep your eye out for them! We are currently preparing for our fourth annual writing tournament, the details will be announced in the group journal soon.


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We’re also helping to promote a program called Synergy, which is hosted by our affiliate, #Live-Love-Write. The Synergy program is designed to provide participants with somebody they can count on for help and readership. Participants are assigned in pairs and each member will tutor, inspire, critique, and help each other. Pairs will also be given a monthly challenge to collaborate together on; we keep the assignments manageable so they can be fun all the time. Signups will reopen in the beginning of November! :la:

xEmmyx545x Featured By Owner Oct 28, 2013  Hobbyist
Thanks for the favorite, I really appreciate it! ~
GoddessSpiritwolf Featured By Owner Oct 27, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Hi, thanks for adding The Perfect Surprise to your favorites ^_^
FunnyScared Featured By Owner Oct 25, 2013
AWWWWWWWWWWWW !!!! :squee::squee::squee: Thank you verry much for the fav !!! *O* I really appreciate it !!! :iconadorableplz:
YohansDark Featured By Owner Oct 3, 2013  Student General Artist
thank you very much for the fav!!
furbearingbrick Featured By Owner Sep 28, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thank-a you so much for faving my crap!
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