|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
True Blood - The real truth behind Dahvie Vanity
************READ THE DESCRIPTION!!!!!!!!*****************
So today I googled myself. I typed in DAHVIE VANITY and just curiously browsed through what people would normally discover on the internet. What I had come to suspect was indeed true. My name was dragged through the mud covered in lies and slander all to paint me out to be the villian. But like every story in life there are two sides. I never claimed to be a saint but I am sure as fuck ain't no devil. As I explored further through my "GOOGLIN" I uncovered malicious fictional tales about me that were spiraled into webs of deception filled with injustice and defamation. I can only imagine how many people everyday get pumped with so much bullshit in their heads. How I deal with it is simply ignoring it. They are invisible to me unless I give them the power to be.
People have said some pretty awful things about me, none of which are true. When people feel like you're not paying them enough, or ask for royalties on
I fell in love with botdf.
I'll Tell you about myself.
About two years ago I was in 11th grade I met Brandi, in choir, She saw my cuts on My wrist I forgot about them they was almost gone, She pulled me next her as we sat down and told me explain.
I told her about how I had been stressed and missing my grandpa and my family fighting and it just seemed to help, She told me she understood and she knew what I meant. We became friends.
Then a year later around Thanksgiving Brandi got into botdf she was walking up the stairs of school, I was next to her, She was singing/saying "Fuck me rape me take me blow me"
I looked at her and was like "What the fuck Brandi?"
She giggled and said "I have to show you this band!" then drug me to the library. We got on line and she showed me them playing the older songs with Garret Sex and Violence was the first song she played. I thought they are cool I like them.
Two weeks later my mom took my mp3 player. I ended up begging Brandi to let me borrow her Ipo
CakeI looked at Dahvie and sighed. Today was his birthday and I felt so guilty I thought I coiuld shove these emotions away and keep them locked tight but today of all days is the day that they decided to explode out. I couldnt focus on anything but him and his lips they are so kissable and I kept Fighting myself from kissing him.
He looked at me holding his camera to his face "Say Hi Jayy!" He nearly yelled
I smirked and waved then screamed "Hi" Dahvie laughed and looked at Drew and said something. Haley walked over and poked me. I turned and looked at her.
"Tell him." She said then walked off. I laughed i hated when I was drunk sometimes I rember telling her back on the Fight to Unite Tour.
I shook my head and went to the fridge and pulled Dahvie's cake off the top shelf of it. We put it up there so he wouldnt try to poke in it and eat it.
Dahvie ran over as soon as I set his cake on the counter. He looked at it It had Reeses Sticking of it and was chocolate.
A Turning Point in the Clockwork WarA war of attrition
depends on supply and drawdown,
how much you have and how much you use up.
With personnel, the balance concerns
the influx of recruitment versus
the outflow of casualties, deserters, invalids.
There is only so much loss
that a fighting force can sustain
and still fight.
Pilot Claude Archer was the first
to challenge his invalid discharge.
"I don't need legs to fly," he said,
patting the healed stumps of his thighs.
"My Osprey runs on elbow grease."
The members of the discharge board
paused and looked at each other.
What he said was true.
The Osprey-class fighter jets
relied on hand controls,
and a sharp eye and iron nerve.
Fingers flicked through the stack
of discharge papers -- so many, many pages.
So many soldiers lost, never to fight again.
They could not afford to let slip even one
who might be retained, somehow,
to face the front line once more.
Far less could the war effort spare
one of its best pilots.
So they put Pilot Archer back on the roster,
The Panic Room (A Supernatural One-Shot)“Dean…? Dean?”
The name felt like lead on Sam’s tongue, so thick and heavy that he wasn’t sure if the syllable had actually made it past his lips.
The only reason he was aware of something cutting into his neck was the trail of red that was marking a small pathway against the stark fabric of his shirt. The dark suit and tie that usually accompanied the white-collared look were missing, but he couldn’t remember why.
His brother’s name seemed to drop soundlessly into the dark space before him. Everything felt heavy. Dull. Maybe he was dreaming.
But dreams shouldn’t smell of dust and abandonment. They shouldn’t be framed by cobwebs and wallpaper so aged that their floral design has faded into funeral bouquets. They shouldn’t have flickering candlelight and robed figures looking down on you.
No, dreams shouldn’t be like that.
But Winchesters don’t have dreams. They have nightmares. Sam smile
Keep in Touch!