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@a-p-sissel
Hey~ this blog is for a book I'm writing and also just to talk about being an author. I would absoulutly love interaction, even if just a hello, so feel free to send asks to me. Some of you may be here from my fanfiction blog and you being here is very much appreciated. I will be putting small parts of a fantasy book I'm writing on here, parts of the plot, characters, and other concepts of it as I write my first book. I hope we can all have fun here and get our ideas out.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
People's way of art
Is only a medium
For their poetry
— A.P Sissel
Why think your poetry has to be written long?
Life isn't.
— A.P Sissel
His words don’t feel like a warning. No. They’re just truth, riddled over his tongue.
Forever Intertwined
I crave a love that would disturb most others
To meet with him at midnight
And lay down under the moon's gentle covers
I wish for a life we can give each other in adoration
In a home we'll let time ruin
Watching together as vines grow throughout the foundation
And in the end of us as lovers
I want to be opened up to him in completion
In a coffin of his favorite colors
For my last wish, should the mortician lock our ribs together
So I can hold him in our last moment
And it'll be forever
- A.P Sissel
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The villain, turning his chair to face the hero- "I've been expecting yo- what are you doing? "
The hero, turning his chair back around ever so gently- "shhh. No, you haven't."
All I'm saying is that poets describe the moon as the portrayal of haunting beauty, but its craters are countless. A perfect pot in a museum does not get asked about as much as the neighboring one with a crack in the rim. Haven't you ever looked at a broken plate and tried to picture how it fell? Have you never had the urge to sit down and figure out how to piece it back together? Are not the cracks and mistakes in our work more showing of our humanity than flawless canvases? Show me your paint streaks, show me the spots the kiln cracked, show me where the hits have left marks...and then let me figure it out. Let me piece together how this happened, the story behind everything you do and how you were molded into this. You are not unworthy of understanding because you are broken. It's perfection that is shallow, for it doesn't have anything to be understood.
a little talk with an almost fatherly captain. no warnings this time.
You shouldn't focus too much on it.” the tanned captain said as he sat beside him, a cup of something in his hand, almost surely a hard liquor of some kind. “You never knew that would happen. You were only eight.”
“Eight. I know. But I knew back then. I knew I shouldn't have said that. I was told for eight years that I'd have another sibling, told what not to say, warned for so many years that I could tell you the warnings word for word. I had the time to learn and I should've never-” he's cut off by the captain, his voice a little harsh from impatience, but almost fatherly. “If you think an eight year old will follow every repeated warning you tell them no matter what then you're still as naive as you were back then. You were eight, by no means were you mature enough to handle those warnings or words at all. You were young and you can’t blame yourself for that. You didn't have time to be anything else.”