October 2, 2015 by
To my best friend, whose heart and mind have ached for a yearTo my best friend, who I've known since we were so queerTo my best friend, who's held me highTo my best friend, whom to i'd never lieYou aren't aloneI've been by your sideYou aren't alone I've been kept aliveTo my best friend, whose family is torn apartTo my best friend, who knows i truly have a heartTo my best friend, who goes through dark timesTo my best friend, i intend that your sadness diesYou aren't aloneI've felt the hurt beforeYou aren't alonePlease feel my hearts galoreTo my best friend, i am not leavingTo my best friend, for you, my chest is heavingTo my best friend, i care deeply for youTo my best friend, I hope you get each clueYou aren't aloneI'm going nowhereYou aren't aloneYour sadness is not fairYou don't deserve thisLet me show you my friendships bliss.

August 11, 2015 by
oh the angels of the past whichever way I walk you will take the toll oh the angels of the past look out for you may change to demons haunting my head oh the demons of the past will you ever leave my side? oh the angels of the past will you always hold my hand? oh the angels of my past try to stay with me at last

August 9, 2015 by
Never did we thinkThat we'd catch a queen.The queen of hearts Of noble timeFilled with caring for us to thrive.She wasn't a queen at heartBut a queen with a heart.Stubborn at firstShe refused the worstHaving pirates at her sideThe burden of our time.With time she softened,Her heart growingTo the ever loathingpirates towards her kingdoms rules.Safely she grew to usProtecting our livesWithout demise.My two crew membersNow became three,As the queen was now free.No longer would she have to worryAbout her kingdoms fury.She was a pirate now,A queen with heart, The queen of pirates.But ah, too late I must say,For upon our new horizonIs a noble ship of white.It was her kingdoms shipSailing through the waves like a whip.Her heart now was devastatedShe never could chooseWhich she would lose.Freedom or her reign,Pirates or her soldiers, Of course the choice would seem easy,For it was a choice of life and life's death.Not thoroughly dead,But she had her fathers curseHer reign could never seem worse.My Captain heart aches for her,For the night before this devastating day,My lips were almost blessed by the touch of hersBut our hearts were interruptedSimilarly by the sound of a boom,Ending our touch too soon.She was the Queen of hearts, Torn by twoHow would she choose The life to lose?

August 31, 2015 by
Hey there artrift! I have another character challenge for you, I know last time was successful but Now that we have fresh artists I may get more input than last time. I'll cut to the chase; I'm developing a character for a hypothetical series, and he/she/it has abilities based off its own gaseous form. I hereby ask that any artist who thinks they have an epic design for a character completely made from smoke, gas, or otherwise light particles submit their design. There's no catch: I'm not copyrighting anything, nor will credit be taken for unannounced; this is a community building project. I want to see what kinds of styles and input you all have, and hopefully afterwards we can compare and contrast ideas! I'll submit my final conceptual design of my own character at the end. If you wanna take up the challenge, simply Tag "williamgotgas" (yes, I'm aware how ridiculous that sounds) in your sketch/concept and I'll give you a view and like! Thanks a bunch, hope you all have a blast trying this out.

October 10, 2015 by
Put your toys away and lock up the chest. Put on this apron, try on this dress. It's time to put childish things away, it's time to step into the light of day. Take out your ponytails, put your hair up in a bun. Roll up your sleeves, there's work to be done. You aren't ready for love, throw away that bear. Wipe your dew drop tears, life isn't meant to be fair.

November 6, 2014 by
So I love this website's design, it's SO visually appealing it drew me right in. Kudos to the website designer and graphic artist. I'm gonna try this out. This and "Behance" will be my alternatives to deviant art. I can't stand that website any more! Arg! (I had the hardest time uploading photos, whereas here, it's a piece of cake.) So, hope to be seen/recognized with my art and comic skills at some point in the future. Peace!

August 6, 2015 by
Hello, Where should I start off at. I moved from DA (deviantart) to artrift simply cause DA has ignorant shit going on, & I rather not be on a site were art theft is allowed and having to pay $50 to has a PM. Anyways! my name is molly (Nickname), My real name is kylie. You can call me either one, does not bother me. I'm new at art so I won't be posting art 24/7. So, your most welcome to talk to me.

November 30, 2015 by
“Meroveus!” Councilman Cornelius Caecilius greeted informally stepping forward out of the shadow of his expensive Roman villa. “We are honored to host you once more! Welcome back to Castellum Menaporium!” Merovech stared down at the man, holding tightly to the reins of his horse. The Councilman was beginning to show his age. Care lines creased his brow and his hair was sprinkled with silver and white. It would seem that to him Rome was not being kind. The party behind Merovech shifted uncomfortably as a much too long silence ensued. The Councilman’s smile wanted and he looked between the men of Merovec’s party for guidance, but there was none. “I trust...there are no hard feelings?” Merovech finally forced a polite smile. “Of course not, dear Councilman,” he answered, gesturing to the men at his back. “My captains and I thank you for your generous invitation.” Seemingly pacified, Caecilius’s smile returned. “We have a glorious feast laid out for you. And rooms have been prepared for you and your captains.” “That is very kind, but I prefer to spend any night before a battle with my men.” Caecilius’s smile, only just returned, vanished, his eyes clouding with confusion and fear. “Battle, Meroveus? There is no battle tomorrow.” Merovech smiled a little. “In these strange lands, you never know which day will be your last. Each day and night are a battle.” Again, the Councilman was pacified and he let out a relieved laugh. “I had forgotten how much you like to jest, Meroveus! I can never tell when we are playing a game. But please, dismount your horses and come inside for some pleasures before we dine.” Romans were always so extravagant with their words, as if using this extended vocabulary was going to do more than confuse whomever they were talking to. Dealing with Rome’s representatives as always an especially tedious task. And, by the Gods, how he hated them calling him by that foul version of his name! The men dismounted their horses and handed them off to the mass of Greek slaves who had seemed to magically appear from around the villa. Merovech was hesitant as one slave came for his stallion. The massive silver beast was not to be handled by any random hand. He was a war horse, bred to face angry throngs of warriors. He was hot-tempered, temperamental and very specific about how he liked to be handled. Only one other man was brave and skilled enough to lead the horse. Most men just let Merovech interact with the animal, as it did not trust anyone else. But, Merovech slowly handed the reins to the slave, whispering calming words to the horse in his native language, which worked well enough. “That horse of yours seems to be quite a hassle,” Caecilius commented. Merovech looked at him steadily. “He was not bred for companionship.” “Of course not,” came the uneasy response. Merovech and his two captains were led to the villa and a small gathering of men waiting at its entrance. An older man whose stomach was so large it was causing him to sweat under the weight and pressure smiled pompously at him. “So this is the famous Meroveus?” he asked in a loud, greasy voice. “Attila’s bane, Defender of Rome! He looks every bit the Barbarian Warrior!” His voice sounded like he still held a large helping of tough meat in his mouth and the stains on his tunic did little to ease Merovech’s disgust. It was a disgust shared not only by his comrades at his sides, but also by the much younger Roman staring at the visitors. He was not as smartly dressed as the pig beside him, but obviously took care of his garments and even greater care of his appearance. Merovech, however, was not impressed and more thought the boy looked like he would have the scent of a sour scrap of linen. Not that he was going to get any closer to the boy to get a good whif to confirm. “You remember my eldest son Nerva, of course,” Caecilius announced. “And may I present Senator Pescennius Babullius Rogatus? He has travelled here with the sole purpose of meeting you.” Why did the Romans require so many names? And which one of those ridiculous groups of syllables and sounds was he supposed to call him? At least the son was easy to remember. “Who is it you have brought with you?” the Senator asked loudly. Merovech gestured for the two blonde men to step forward. The leaner of the two cocked a smile at Merovech as he came to his side. “Guntram is my first captain. Corbus is my third.” Corbus was much broader than Guntram and the son noticeably shook to behold him. “You had a brother, yes?” Caecilius asked. “Where is he?” “Samson is...north,” Merovech answered. “He had prior obligations which prevented his presence.” “What a shame,” the Senator easily dismissed. “I hear he is good with his axe.” “Corbus is better,” Merovech responded darkly. They were led into the villa where they were instructed to remove their shoes and wash their hands in water that reeked of the typical Roman bathing oils. Merovech had never understood why Romans held such grand ceremonies for every small task. Guntram and Corbus, too, were confused and quite unwilling to relinquish their weapons. They were not needed and, thus, unwelcome at the dinner party--a reasonable argument for a civilian, but to a warrior, it was not good enough. Merovech was able to convince them to give them up with the understanding that they would be returned at the end of the visit. After introducing the men to this particular set of ceremony, Merovech and his captains were led into another room where they were to strip out of all clothing to share in a public massage. Guntram’s look of horror as the fat senator began to disrobe was quite amusing. Merovech had to work very hard to maintain his composure. Corbus did not seem at all concerned by the sight, too distracted by the two young and beautiful men undressing him. Merovech uneasily allowed two other young men to do the same, but could not relax as the massage continued. Being fondled by a couple of young men who could easily pass for girls in heavy and fashionable make-up was not his idea of pleasure. At that point, he would much rather have preferred the girls they were pretending to be. Watching the Senator eye him and his men ravenously did nothing to relax Merovech either. And then there was the dinner party, where the same young men who had just violated their bodies served them wine in goblets decorated with erotic and blatantly sexual images. Merovech had never found it comfortable to eat while reclining on a couch. Guntram seemed to be as uncomfortable as Merovech and much less experienced, but Corbus was, yet again, unphased. There was something different about one of the slaves, though, and Merovech was ashamed to admit how long it took him to realize that this server was an actual female. Guntram appeared to have understood immediately and could not tear his eyes away from the young, blonde beauty. The invitation to the mysterious “Back Room” followed a meal of swollen sow’s udders, jellyfish and dormice drenched in honey. Merovech’s father had received this invitation with nearly every visit and it quickly became obvious why Merovech’s mother had never approved of such an “honor.” The same young men followed them once more into a locked room attached to the back of the villa, which many women called their workplace. The various scenes found on their goblets at the meal were then performed as yet another unnecessary ceremony and for once, Corbus looked interested. The pretty girl from dinner was nowhere to be found. Their weapons were returned to them in their original condition and they could not get their shoes on fast enough. Guntram could barely keep his eyes open and Merovech easily understood his exhaustion. It had been a tiring evening. How on earth were they going to make it back to camp? Yet, as they were attempting to leave, something kept pulling Merovech back until he finally had to turn around. His gaze found the earthy brown eyes of a young woman on the second floor, dressed and ready for bed. He recognized her immediately as the Councilman’s eldest daughter, Caecilia. Merovech would have recognized her anywhere. But, the fire that he had grown so fond of seeing when they came to visit had all but disappeared from her. No hard feelings...How very far from the truth. “Rome is dying.” That was what his father always said. No glorious explanations oro plans to stop the death of the great empire. Simply, “Rome is dying.” All of his life, ever since he could remember, Merovech hear those words and wondered why such a great king as his father, such a great man, would cower down to a dying people who were more f a disease on the land than a civilization. Ruled by greed and lust, Rome was destroying itself from the inside as it struggled to maintain control over its territories. The terrifying and menacing giant of Merovech’s childhood was now just a nightmarish shadow. And then there were the Huns, led by such a fearsome leader in Attila that the Romans could do nothing to stop their invasion. They reached out to the people they would call “barbarians,” people such as his father. It was at this time when Merovech learned his father was not a great man. He was not even what men would consider a king, let alone a great one. To be a king, one had to have land to rule; his father did not even have that. In exchange for land to call home for himself and his tribe, Merovech’s father agreed to fight with Rome to expel the Huns. But, when the time came to fight, instead of leading his soldiers himself, Merovech’s father sent his sons to fight in his stead. Merovech became famous for his defeat of Attila and was honored in Rome by the emperor himself in a grand ceremony that reached all corners of the city. Yet, after Merovech was victorious against the enemy, it was his father who reaped all of the true benefits and rewards. He was gifted and and soon took his place as ruler over that land, all the while still paying tribute to Rome. But now, Merovech wore the crown of his father. “It is almost too simple, Guntram,” Merovech said softly. Guntram chuckled a little as he looked down at the city. Their little encampment on the hill was still alive with music, laughter, dancing and drinking even when they returned from the dinner party. “Do you think they were glad to see us?” Merovech looked darkly out at the gridded streets and buildings of Castellum Menaporium. “I should hope so,” he responded. “They sent for us.” Guntram nodded. “I only hope I never have to eat udders and jellyfish again.” Merovech let out a surprised but delighted laugh, agreeing to his friend’s statement. Guntram laughed with him as he turned back to the party, but stopped walking as soon as his back was to the Roman city. “Your men are behind you, Merovech.” Merovech took in a deep breath and walked to join his friend to return to camp. “Have your men awake two hours before dawn. I will tell Corbus to do the same.”

August 14, 2011 by
A digital artist and acquaintance of mine, Khuan Tru has added me to his growing collection of awesome interviewees. i never realised it was so hard to say a few things about myself lolz. Interview: other interviews:

June 23, 2014 by
tHSI WAS THE FIRST THING I EVER WROTE AND EVEN THOUHG ITS FANFICTION ITS STILL KIND OF GOO D IM SO PROUD OF MYSELF -- For the first time in a few months, Dan sat down. He sat on their old black couch, which had way too much dust on that neither Dan nor Phil ever bothered to clean off. Maybe once or twice, when they had absolutely nothing to do, they partially cleaned the couch. But now the dust was piling up and neither of them just seemed to care. Everything was over. Which meant, everything really, was over. Youtube, Radio 1, liveshows, and, Phil. (that was pretty much everything to Dan, considering he didn’t do much but stay on the internet.) The fights had started a few months ago. They were rare at first, just little arguments about little things which usually ended in cuddles and “im sorrys” and “i love you’s”. But as time progressed, so did the fighting. They became less rare, and not so little. Phil would come home drunk most nights, and Phil wasn’t much of a drinker before all of this had started. He would get mad, and Dan would have to take all of what Phil had for him. It was usually just yelling, in which Dan would only come out of the fight with a tear stained face, and going to bed. In is own bed, like he did every night starting a couple weeks after the fights became less little. But other times, as time progressed, he would come out bruised and sometimes bloody, and again with a tear stained face. Dan would lock his door at night, leaving his light on so he could feel somewhat safe. Sometimes Phil wouldn’t come home. Those nights Dan hoped for, not because he hated Phil, (he still loved him, and always would, no matter how many nights Phil came home drunk and angry), but because he was scared. Dan didn’t like being screamed at, or hit, which no one does. He once tried to lock himself in his room or the bathroom, but Phil only hit and yelled more because of that. He called Dan a coward, for not coming out to get what he deserved. And some nights, Phil wouldn’t come home drunk. Just angry. Those nights he left Dan alone, and last night was one of those nights. Phil came home, from god knows where, and went to his room. He barely acknowledged Dan’s presence, who was sitting on the black, dusty old couch. Maybe a nod, or glance in his direction, but never an official greeting before slamming the door to his room. That night, Dan slept in his own bed, with the lights on. When he woke up, he could hear Phil moving around in his room, and not being very quiet about it. Dan shrugged it off, because it now was a normal thing. A few months earlier, it would have been different. A little fight over a little thing, ending in cuddles and “i love you’s”. Dan longed for that time again, when he and Phil were somewhat okay. Two guys living together in a flat, making youtube videos and watching tv shows. But that was the past, and this is the present. "I’m going." Phil had said before quietly closing the door to the flat, looking at Dan for one last time with something different. His eyes were soft, but face emotionless. Dan got the message. 'I’m sorry.' Those two words were all he needed that day. He knew Phil wasn’t coming home tonight, or tomorrow, or ever. He was going, and never coming back. It wasn’t just some, “I need some time away.” And Dan understood that. Despite all the fights and tearstained faces, he and Phil didn’t forget anything about each other. They held onto it like it was their lifeline, and in a way it kind of was. They still had each other, but not ever in the same way the did. There were no cuddles, no little fights over little things, no “i love you’s”. And now there was no Phil. So Dan sat down, on the dust infested black couch that sat in the half empty flat. And he thought about everything. Everything that was, that is, and that will never be. He sat until the sky darkened, and watched as stars slowly started to appear. And Dan felt something he hadn’t felt in a few months, let alone thought about. He felt at peace. But Dan still closed his door at night. He still locked it. And he still slept with his light on.