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ConstellationsEvery night it was the same; they would lay a towel large enough for the two of them in the backyard, turn off all of the lights and lie down just in time to see the sunset and the stars rise.
Every night he would turn to her, point out a different constellation and tell her the story or legend behind each one. In turn she pointed out unidentified constellations where the stars resembled shapes of events that happened in their past.
Every night they found old, and new, constellations.
CalculationsFor him, everything was carefully calculated. The amount of steps he took to get to class maintained a constant count, and the amount of time allotted for homework was exactly 3 hours, 2 minutes and 29 seconds everyday.
When he attended football games, he predicted exactly where the ball would land before it even peaked. While everyone cheered because of an out for the other team, he sat still as though it were just another moment in life.
For him, all of life was precise to the finest detail.
Even in love, he moved as though every move and detail had a number or letter attached to it.
With You"Every time there's a hypothetical situation, you create a new parallel world. For example, we're at the stop light right now, but in another we could be past it, approaching it, or not even on the road.
"In one world you're driving and I'm a girl, or you're a guy in the passenger seat, or we're both girls or both guys and we're both driving our own trucks." He turned the wheel and accelerated as the light switched to green.
Yeah... and in another world we're together, she thought as conversation fell silent on the highway.
Last OneHe turned to her and asked, "Would you be mine if I were the last guy on Earth?" She thought for a moment before she replied.
"No, you're way before that."
The Corner of First and MainIf you walk down the street one day, and go to the corner of First and Main, you'll find a homeless man sitting against the building with his hands cupped in front of his bent legs as though asking for loose change.
A penny, a nickel, he won't take those. No, not even the quarter or dollar bill that you found three blocks away on your way to work. If you try to hand him those he'll shake his head and say, "I won't take your money, but I'll take your beliefs. What's life to you? What's important, and what's not? I have a question for you, one dressed in a suit. Which is more important, your love or your job? Of two important values, which do you value more: the money that keeps your life steady, or the love that moves it along?"
While pondering that thought he smiles and says, "It's not an answer you'll find right away. This is the kind of question you have to wait for it to come true. Only then will you find what you'll really do."
The twenty that you were saving for that daily morning
Wishful Thinking.There are days her eyes droop and she looks at the ground as he whispers in her ear. "It'll be better in time." And strokes her hair as though all the hurt would simply disappear.
There are days her keyboard stares back at her while a friend talks to her over instant messaging. "This will all be easier in time." In the end, they both know it simply might not.
Then there are days that follow each other, where smiles and laughter are all that she's surrounded by.
And there are days that she wishes he could do the same for days at a time.
Clock IIThere's a clock that sits on the wall, the numbers clear from miles away, the steady ticking sounds audible in even a train crash right next to it.
It's a difficult thing for anyone to ignore, but somehow you're doing an incredibly revolutionary job of avoiding the clock every day.
ClockThe clock on that wall on the other side of the room ticks in my ear, and it's just a constant reminder that the end is just another second closer to arriving. Yet you stand there with oblivion surrounding you, unaware of the impending end.
Maybe you can't hear the clock, and that may as well be my fault for I've never told you that it's mounted on that wall for as long as anyone can remember. On the same argument, maybe it's also your fault for you've never taken the time to consider the existence of the clock that ticks on the other side of the room.
But maybe being aware of the clock just makes all of our problems known.
Sense of SmellWhenever she slid into the bed at one in the morning, he knew she had been on the rooftop; he could smell the night sky on her skin, and the nicotine on her lips. He knew when she snuck out to the library; the smell of slowly molding papers and aged pages stuck on her skin and clothes.
When he caught the smells of packaged microwave popcorn, fresh nail polish, and romantic movies, he knew she had been lazing at a friend's house for the day. Sometimes she came home with floral scents as attachments, and he knew that she had spent an hour too long in the garden section of Wal-Mart again.
She smelled of varying things, from the night to the flowers; her taste, however, remained the same. It would always be her, the nicotine, and the blankets beneath them.
Creepypasta x Depressed!Reader - ZombieI frown looking at the small red droplets covering the bottom of the bathtub. Hearing three louds knocks on the bathroom door makes me look up from my wrist. I didn’t even hear him coming down the hall. Who am I kidding, I never hear him when it most matters.
But I hear the now, going back to the living room. I hesitate for a moment, cleaning up the tub and pulling my sleeves over the soon-to-be scars. I exit out of the bathroom, cigarette smoke instantly filling my lungs, making me want to tear my skin off and cough so bad that it makes throat ache. But I can’t. He is already standing there, eyes narrowed, making his face look much older than it actually should. I walk up slowly, aggravating him more.
He probably wouldn’t have been this angry if Vanilla was here.
She had left a few weeks ago, all while killing our mother. She was just abusive as our father, maybe worse. The police were called before she could get to our d
Eren Yeager x Reader One-Shot: His Hero
Being forced into training after being attacked by the Colossal Titan has caused all Hell to be released into Wall Maria and threatens all inhabitants of Wall Rose. It's only been two years since you, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin were pushed in the Trainee Corps. Just being there the first day was harsh enough to drive people to their limits, sending them back into the fields to work hard labor. The sincere intimidation from Keith Shadis had shown the wretched truth as to why some people had signed up in the Trainee Corps in the first place. It made you sick to see that people joined only to live in the luxury of the Military Police Brigade where none of them had to face the horrific creatures known as Titans. You, on the other hand, were planning to join the Survey Corps where you would be serving a purpose; whether it meant you would lose your life the next day.
"WHAT'S YOUR NAME, MAGGOT?!" Keith continued on with intimidating the Trainees as he w
UnableEmily leapt out of the car as soon as it was stopped and her fidgety hands could undo the seat belt, she excitedly ran straight over the lush green verge and into the pebble-dashed sand. Falling to her knees she clamped her hands around fistfuls of the warm little stones and threw them, delighted, into the air. The beach! Emily loved the beach, she had loved it her whole life. It was her second favourite place to be (after her pillow fort with Jennie, her polar bear teddy).
Emily’s Dad scooped her up off of the sand and held her upside down, making her shriek with laughter. He scolded her for running off but she knew that he was as happy as she was to be back at the seaside, so she laughed until he put her down again for wriggling too much.
Right way up again Emily scampered up and down the golden sweep of beach front looking for the absolute perfect place to watch the tumbledown waves of water. Emily knew her
Illustration by :
When I was younger I had many imaginary friends. Short ones, tall ones, some looked like cats or dogs, but none of them could compared to Mr. Thing. Mr. Thing, when I was younger, was a cute little teddy bear my mother had given me when I was three. Despite my imaginary friends he was all to real, cuddling me at night and keeping me company during the day. I carried him everywhere, and had refused to go anywhere without him up till the age of seven. Though even after I had stopped taking him everywhere I had still carried him around the house as if he were able to save me from dangers.
I had explained to him that I didn't want to take him to school anymore because he'd get dirty, and of course he had understood. Patiently waiting for me to return home to play with him. When I would come home he was the first thing I went to; where he would then sit, and help me with
WonderlandThe woman called Alice walks alone through the hollow streets, a seed planted in her sterile heart and a rifle sleeping in her belt. Last night, she'd witnessed the popping of Pérignon, and a dazzling display of fireworks, complete with alcohol-polished emotions and hundreds of thousands of citizens pulsing rowdy fanfare. She'd netted her highest number of kills that fateful day. Blood still rests in the creases of her palms.
A streetlamp greets her brightly with its mild glow, and alerts her to a dirty and disheveled homeless man groveling for money on the other side of the street. The young couple next to him give a feeble attempt to back away, claiming they have none to spare.
"Lies," Alice whispers. She can easily see the pearls jingling from the lady's neck, and a well-crisped suit guarding the young man from the night chill. Money is more than expendable to them. And this city could do without this attractive mask of a couple. They, too, are expendable. Alice begins t
BoysContains: Gas fetishism. Female.
Liliana awoke to rain pattering against her apartment's window. She felt mild discontent.
She could see the overcast through the glass sliding door that lead to her balcony, moody gray light bleeding in at an angle. Liliana groaned.
Oh, the woman wished she could've gotten a few more moments of sleep, dozing off to the soft dripping of gloomy precipitation, but a hand trailing along her side alerted her-- no, reminded her of last night's events.
Calloused fingertips ran against her silky, tan skin, the palm cupping the fat of her hips before moving towards her inner thigh. She lay in the nude under the sheets, not a single garment or accessory on her besides the piercings in her navel.
A masculine grunt came from behind her as the rough hand attempted to make its way between her thighs, only for Liliana to growl and snatch his wrist. "You've overstayed your welcome," She muttered, narrowing her eyes. It was way too early for her to deal wi
Spring Has Held Life in Her HandsSunlight is pouring past her lips as she cradles newborn fawns. Vines twist and spiral into a calligraphy of green memories; she bats her eyes causing petals to glide on softened breezes. As she hangs leaflets on branches and tucks in tree roots with blankets of moss she smiles. Mountains cry, with snow trickling down their peeks. She places circlets of white flowers at their feet; her hands brush the sliding snow away.
She builds a castle of iris and lilies over the world with purples, pinks, and reds dotting the horizon. The people look up and shudder as a sudden peace engulfs them. Spring digs moats of morning dew beneath drawbridges of grass. Placing a tiara of clovers against the sides of dead trees, grass spurting forth from their wounds she sings. Birds flit between the branches of her hair, chirping a song of return into her ear.
The clouds stretch awake at the sound of Spring, chuckling hello with a wave of white. Forests clamor for her touch and she obliges, unfu
Suicide and RebirthI stumbled upon a beautiful girl who was listening to loud music. I asked her,
"What kind of music do you listen to?"
She took out one earbud from her ear and replied,
"I listen to many things, sir."
"Like what?" I ask with curiosity.
"I listen to the breeze of the wind and the sound of the rain slamming on the roof during the stormiest of nights. I listen to the laughter of children when they play on the playground. I listen to the humming of the birds and the buzzing of the bees." She says.
"What beautiful things to listen to." I smile. "Do you listen to anything else?"
She smiles. "I'm glad you've taken an interest to my taste of music." She continues. "I listen to the pecking of woodpeckers and the howling of the wolf."
"The heart has its own song as well, sir. Do you hear it?" She asks in a tender voice.
"I do not." I say. "What does your heart sing of?"
"My heart sings of the rattling chains coiled around it, constricting it tighter and tighter as life drags on. It
Water Runs in My Veins I break the surface and feel the waves embrace my into their icy, yet soothing arms. Once I am completely immersed, every inch of my skin tingles. My bones seem to melt to match the temperature of the water, and my movements become fluid. I deftly plunge deeper, feeling both the cold and the warmth rush past me with every stroke. The pulse of the ocean beats against my skin; it is alive. I open my eyes to take in the scene. I can't see clearly, the images are blurred. Still, I can make out soft hues of color. I reach out and feel the hard, smooth surface of a rock, resting amongst others. I feel a rigid plant, and my hand even grazes the backs of a couple of slimy fish. With each connection made by my senses, I feel a rush of adrenaline. I am truly unlimited when I'm under the sea; my fears have been washed away by the white waves.
Growing excited, I continue to venture deeper into the dark depths. Soon, I feel wisps of seaweed brush up against me, tickling
44. Two RoadsTwo roads stood in front of me, both signifying either good or bad. On Memory Lane, the road divides, the dark side tempting me with its dark character, leading me into the terrible memories of my past; the brighter side, the one with the fonder memories pulls me away before I can walk into the deep abyss of my past.
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More