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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.
Artist!Levi x Reader- Perfection (AU)"N-no...not quite..."
"Ugh. I've been standing like this for hours!"
"But I'm not done yet. Perfection takes time."
"Fuck my life."
"Don't be like that, baby. I have the perfect angle now. You look gorgeous."
Levi's brows furrowed as he pressed the paintbrush on to the canvas lightly.
"What the hell? Since when do you call me 'baby'?"
"When I've had a wonderful view of my beautiful wife for hours on end..." He mumbled quietly, but just loud enough for you to hear. You could see his eyes, just barely over the top of the canvas as he looked back at you for reference, longing showing evidently in his expressive silver eyes.
"I'm lucky, being the first to copy the personification of perfection it's self on to paper..." He squinted his eyes, dabbing the brush in a few more places before leaning back from his hunched position and placing it down on the tray of materials next to him. He cracked his knuckles and wiped the minor amount of sweat from his forehead, leaving a smear of paint
Sherlock/Reader: Five Nights at...An all too-familiar jingle rang out.
Do-do-dodo-do-do-do-dodo-do-do-dodo, bum bum bum, do-dodo-dodo...
There were a few moments of silence before the static buzz came back on again.
Sighing, you hit play once again.
You hated every moment you had to sit here and play that damn game...Yet you couldn't stop.
Yes, it was scary at first, but now it was just annoying.
"Stupid power. How the hell would closing a door use power?" you mumble out of frustration.
You played for another few minutes before a faint 'click' was heard.
"No! You son of a... No!" you yell, throwing your arms up.
"Maybe I can wait it out. Maybe I'll run out of power before -"
You let out a terror filled scream.
"I didn't even hear you! You damn fox! I hate you! I hate THIS! Ugh!" You slam the laptop closed out of frustration.
At that moment, Sherlock walked into the room, still groggy from sleep. He wore only a sheet, which wasn't out of the ordinary for earl
Child!Levi x Child!Reader WarmthA/N recommend listening to Little Wonders by Rob Thomas when reading this
The child like voice stops when yells of shut up were heard. The boy slowly walks, his shoes tattered, hair messy, shirt too big filled with holes, face caked in mud along with hands, arms and legs, practically dragging himself on the ground of empty streets, garbage littered everywhere. The stench of alcohol everywhere.
His big steel grey eyes stared at the ground as he shivered slightly when the wind blew, the night biting into his skin.
He was seven year olds, a bit short for his age , he limped slightly, his stomach growling like a bear on a rage. He hasn't eaten in days he knew that much. How long has he not seen his mother or father? He didn't know anymore, he lost count.
He slowly drags himself to a small space in an alleyway, curling up into a little ball, hugging his body for some warmth as the wind blew again and the cement floor feeling cold.
He always felt co
Phinbella: MorirEs hora de que yo muera. No moriré de amor, no, eso es para idiotas sentimentalistas que dicen morir de amor por alguien. Yo, moriré porque eso es lo que eh decidido. Me eh quedado sola, no tiene sentido seguir aquí. No tiene sentido cuando mi madre me ve desangrar. No tiene caso cuando hace 3 años vi a mi hermano morir de un tiro. No tiene sentido cuando mi padre fue un cobarde y huyo cuando nací.
La sangre corre por mi piel, y lo único que puedo ver es el carro de cabeza. Aun estoy en el piso mirando a mi madre que trata de que siga viva, a pesar de que sangro, a pesar de que no tengo oportunidades.
Puedo escuchar una risa que me provoca escalofríos, y después de un tiempo se que es mía aquella risa.
Tengo que morir. Es mi hora de morir. Y entonces cuando las sirenas de las ambulancias y de las patrullas encuentren mi cuerpo se darán cuenta de que tuve una muerte horrible.
Quiero morir. Es mi hora de morir después de tod
Eren x Reader Only A Mere MileA/N this is a sequel to this http://chocolatelover124.deviantart.com/art/Eren-x-Reader-Far-Away-483858265
"Idiot..jerk.." You mumbled bitter nothings as you walked down the small forest with a lake next to it, almost a park. You broke the stick you were griping tightly and that was when the tears finally flowed.
Wet ribbons stealing down your face as you sobbed loudly, using the back of your hand to remove the tears that were soon replenished. "EREN JAEGER YOU IDIOT!" You yelled aloud, not caring if you scared any birds and knew that pretty much everyone was at the square celebrating away. Even with the sweet victory of beating the titans it didn't help the bitterness in your heart.
You walked, your feet making crunching noises on the dry leaves scattered on the ground, sniffling slightly.
You came to a clearing, where you, Armin, Mikasa and Eren used to hang out sometimes to get away from the bitterness of the world, pretending this forest was the outside world.
[Moriarty/Reader] Two of a CrimeWell, hello there,
Please excuse the ax,
My name is Sherri,
My name is Max,
I've been living on the streets with a murderous streak,
I was a gun for hire, I was an acid freak,
What a shiny ring!
Don't you look so stunned?
Where'd you get that rock?
I pried it off a nun, when I robbed a church,
Bloody and baptized,
Gave your daddy two shots between the eyes.
Would you call yourself good? No.
Evil? Not necessarily.
"I only kill the ones that deserve it," you claim.
"Then how did little Lucy Jean die, then?" the man asks.
"Civilian casualty. I regret it. I do...But why do you care? From what I hear, you're a stone-cold killer. What's one accidental death to you?" you smirk.
"It was a child."
It was silent for a few moments.
"So who sent you? Who's out to get me now? What are they paying you? I'll give you double if you let me go, right now. Act like this never happened."
"What's it to you?"
"I'd like to know before I die, if you don'
This Place in my DreamsWe dance in this place
This place in my dreams
Oh, if you only knew
How smoothly we waltz
How brightly we smile
And how I feel about you
We talk in this place
This place in my dreams
If you could only see
That we are alike
In so many ways
Oh, how much you mean to me!
Trust [England x Reader x France]
єиgℓαи∂ ↩ Ⱦrυѕт ↪ ƒɾαиcє
The sun had dipped down behind the stretch of apartments and houses at the lake front. The wind was slowly picking up enough to blow Arthur’s scarf up as he walked down to the lake’s edge. He stopped several yards behind a young woman sitting with her knees up to her chest as she gently stroked the dark blue surface. He could see her smile in the reflection, rippling almost sadly away. Her smile was tainted by the slightest bit of self-loathing when she turned to look at him.
“Fancy seeing you here, Artie.”
Arthur rolled his eyes and slowly descended to her side, taking a seat on the grass beside her.
She shrugged her shoulder with a careless motion. Her demeanor told Arthur she was about to get flighty.
“Maybe I just wanted to come see the lake.” He adjusted his scarf carefully, tilting his h
Sonadow, Chapter 5 The GameSonic gave a dramatic sigh, it had been over two weeks since he had seen the Ultimate Life Form and he had to be honest he actually missed his presence. Even if he never talked or really cared about anything, just the silence of him alone just felt normal.
Damn if only Sonic hadn't done what he did then his Shadow might just be here glaring at him right now and saying a sarcastic comment or doing his usual motive of crossing his arms and a loud 'hmph' humming in his muzzle. Wait did he just say 'his Shadow'?
"Man… I would kill to hear that again…"
"What was that, Sonic?"
He snapped out of his thoughts to look up at Tails, the little yellow fox had a wrench in his hand as he was creating yet another invention of his that he had been working on for the past three days. Sonic couldn't really what he had been creating honestly, sometimes Tails just got so scientific with his sentences it was hard to understand him anymore. It was almost as if he was speaking a whole other langu
95. Advertisment"Heart for Sale," the ad shouted. "Complete with baggage. In need of serious repair," it screamed.
I'm sure with that type of advertising, his heart would never be wanted. I mean, who would want to love a heart in such dire disrepair?
Evidently me because, for some reason, this is one advertisment I'm going for.
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
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