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because love is a lesson in trial and errorI wish I had the words to tell you what I mean. I used to store sentences between my breaths – things that I couldn’t say at the moment, but wanted to remember. Now I can barely string together enough nouns and verbs to make you understand exactly what you mean to me. And I’m afraid.
I’m afraid that if I can’t get it together fast enough I’ll lose you. It’s like your water slipping through my fingers and I’m not quick enough to chase you through the currents. I know enough to know that you’re wild and free in a way that I’ll never be and maybe I’m jealous of that. Or maybe I&r
Futuro-Mamá esa chica se parece mucho a la tía Isabella -cuando escucho decir esto a Amanda, dirigiéndose a la Candace del futuro, una sola idea salta en mi cabeza haciendo eco e inevitablemente tengo que decirla en voz alta.
-Oíste eso Candace, voy a casarme con Phineas!
-O Ferb -me responde ella dejando mi mente en blanco.
Dirijo mi vista al peliverde y este me giña un ojo mientras hace un gesto con su mano señalándome. Bueno lo que dice Candace es verdad, para ser tía de Amanda tendría que casarme con Phineas o... Ferb.
Miro fijamente al chico frente a mí y de pronto todo desa
they were divorced before you criedI found hope walking a corner down 9th and I was afraid to ask, really. I was afraid to ask, "I'm sorry to bother you but did you kill your wife?" And I kept praying that if I did muster the courage to croak out loud, his jaundiced eyes adorned in kohl would widen and his gaze would fall before he sighed and muttered, "I'm not who you think you are and she cheated on me."
I would laugh because I expected it and my stature would stagger. It would lower and crawl into the pavement with my dignity as hope stands there worried, asking if there was a gas leak in the basement. I wouldn't stop laughing until he asked why and when he would, I'd smile. I'd smile and wipe a tear before murmuring to him, "Happiness sleeps around the minute you leave the house. I haven't laughed this hard since she told me she was going to stay."
Music Shuffle (Kyrie)Cage the Elephant – “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked”
The sun finally sank below the horizon. Under the cover of a moonless darkness, the proxies slipped stealthily between the trees. The densely packed forest offered excellent protection from peering eyes, and so familiar were they with the many pitfalls and snaring brambles that they glided along effortlessly.
Masky took the lead, guiding his two charges along toward the night’s goal. Hoodie followed at a short distance, his video camera fully charged and stocked with a fresh tape. Close beside him was Kyrie, bringing up the rear and making sure the
Sweet Nothings'if i could, i would devour you. i would eat you whole, consume you mind, body, and soul. because i am a selfish person. i want you all to myself. no one else may have you.' he said to her, as they lay tangled in each other.
her reply came with a sleepy smile.
'there is a part of my mind which understands the intended romance in your statement. that part is wooed by it. there is also a part which insists upon my realizing the reality, the literal. you, my dear, are a cannibal.'
he placed a kiss on her head.
'well, we'll have to work hard then, to make sure that you are only wooed. we will make you want to be eaten. we will make it so that part of your mind which is literal, is quiet, so when i whisper sweet nothings into your ears, you are completely swept away. lifted off your feet by my obvious romantic intention.'
The Cat and IA biography of myself.
Real Name: I’m not telling, but KP stands for Kev Pickering
Nickname: I refer you to the previous answer
Birthday: July 16, 1963
Current Residence: North West London, United Kingdom
Height: 5’ 8”
Weight: Trying to lose it, thank you
Hair Color: Dark brown but turning grey as it recedes.
Eye Color: Hazel
Likes: Films, musicals, fine literature, my family, and graphic novels.
Dislikes: Shellfish, Lager, “Scripted Reality” shows.
Personality: I’m very shy until someone gets to know me, but those who do tell me I can be a very kind, gentle and yet silly person.
silence.and i call silence to my mouth.
hoping that i can be heard.
in the teeming roar of the crowd.
anarchy awakens lazily from its slumber and rears its treacherous head.
you scatter the dark with stars.
i wish they’d flare a little brighter.
just so i can pick my way through the mist.
but the fog swirls, thickens, until i’m drowning in the air we breathe.
monsters under the bed chase the childhood dreams we once had.
we play under a broken, bleeding sun now.
muted and fading, it sinks beneath the horizon, casting its last rainbows on the clouds above.
it slips from our grasp.
shatters into a thousand burning pieces.
they marked me blue and yellow, mama.between graffitied walls and a lone, chipped sink, they watched me curl in upon myself and combust. it was the only way i knew of to stop the swirling in my hips and heels.
a week later i found emma, the smallest of the vultures, kneeling at my altar. and with her wing-bones hunching and heaving, she mimicked my combustion.
but her eyes were violet when she saw me. violet and brimming with the emptiness of her heels. and i knew. i knew that this could not hold her the way it held me.
and mama, that hurt more than anything. her heels were empty, mama. empty. empty. empty. the way mine should have been, if only you had kept papa away.
if only you had kept away the first vulture i had ever know. if only, mama. if only.
I hate those infernal hounds.
I can hear them approaching. I regret now that I have not walled off this little corner of the forest that I have chosen to call my own. I am tired, I am hungry, and I am weak from the venom of those spiders. I fear I have just enough time to fashion a spear before they come for me.
Wilson's hands shook as he read the words in the dying firelight. The darkness pressed in against him all around, crawling inward as the fire sputtered.
Those were the last words on the page. Dark spots marred the edges of the papyrus, dried deep into the reeds. A thick swipe of brown streaked along the bottom as
Winter-childi found her in november, wrapped in a sweater.
they wheeled her away on a cart too big for her; two days old, half-dead and blue as the ocean.
i waited, her sweater held in hands that shook and shimmied.
they brought her back to me a week later; nine days old, pink-skinned and plump.
i named her in big letters on a yellow form as she slept in the crook of my arm; mavis.
La cenaLa música palpitaba en sus oídos, invadiendo su cerebro de forma que no hubiese espacio para ningún pensamiento. Música era lo único que deseaba escuchar en esos momentos. Cerró los ojos. Tampoco quería ver nada. Aquella realidad convertida en pesadilla. Tomó aire despacio por la nariz, soltándolo después del mismo modo. Su espalda se reclinó en el respaldo de la silla. Sus músculos se relajaron. Como una droga. La música, en aquel instante, era como una droga. Una droga más o menos inofensiva que le aislaba de sus ideas frenéticas, que controlaban sus alteradas emociones. Se concentró. Aumentó su concentración y aguzó los oídos. Captando cad
Lucky No. 13 BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-CLICK.
Fuck. What the hell?
That's not good.
I slide behind a corner and check my chamber.
What the hell?
The round isn't chambered properly.
I grab the bolt and rack it to the rear, ejecting the unspent round and chambering a new one as I step out of cover again.
Fuck me. Again?
I slip into the next doorway and check the chamber once more.
Another unseated round. What the hell?
Problem fixed, back into the hall way.
I drop the rifle, letting it slide down to my hip on its strap as I draw my pistol. The one with the big yellow '13' emblazon
Character Analysis : Ruzai LockeHow to talk about him without revealing too much... hahaha. ; ) Don't expect an in-depth revealing analysis since I still wanna keep him an ambiguous character...
Lol he looks more closer to his age when he's not all sobcrypls... weeps.
He's actually a character type I'm not super comfortable with rping since I tend to play more strong(?) type characters. He's purposely given a "weak" personality and because of that he can be frustrating to play a lot of the time. I can't count the number of times during rp where I think to myself "OMG U R SO DUMB" or don't agree with his course of action. But at the same time it's refreshing to play a character that's very different than what I'm used to. But anyway... please excuse the in-cohesiveness of this analysis. I'm pretty much writing sections separately instead of trying to tie them together... dfchsfs
Thematically, he's pretty much designed around his mage item
FFM XXIIHer sunburn really freaking hurts. The story itself isn't actually exciting, she was at the beach and either forgot sunscreen on her right shoulder or her inept left hand couldn't manage the act of applying it. It's gone from the initial pain stage to itching like hell. She scratches it lightly with the pads of her fingertips and applies aloe lotion every forty-five minutes.
She never really appreciated sun and sand and lake water. Mix it all together and it just makes really warm mud. On a normal day, she would be perfectly satisfied sitting underneath a tree, wearing light clothes that cover every inch of skin and a brimmed hat to cover he
FFM XXHe arrives here at the same time that I do. He waits outside the building for the doors to open, raising his sun-weathered hands towards the sky in some sort of meditation ritual he himself made up. Once the library unlocks its doors, he says hello to the staff and takes a seat by the window. His seat. He opens up his bag of things; a jar of water, his reading glasses, a notebook, and a pen. He goes to the stacks and pulls out a children's dictionary and whatever book he plans on reading that day. Today, it happens to be about Marine Biology. He sets up the scene, notebook in one hand, pen in the other.
His sanity must have gone years ago. I
FFM XIXIt was supposed to be a "fresh start." But there he was, sitting in homeroom on my first day of eighth grade.
I hoped he might not be able to recognize me with my new hat. It's a straw fedora, I'm going for a modern-vintage look here. I hid behind the straw brim.
"Mr. Evans, please remove the hat," said my homeroom teacher like it was her job or something.
I remembered him from a camp we did three years ago. Fifth grade was not a good time in my life and I'd prefer not to talk about it. Let's just say that I had a bowl-cut and wore a lot of black.
Yeah, totally not modern or vintage.
FFM XVIIIShe thinks about her children and smiles.
Today, her boys Jack and Christopher have gone an "adventure" in the tree-grove behind their house.
They were pirates today, using long, wrapping-paper tubes as swords which doubled as telescopes. The two were running around, chasing each other through the trees as the day's air slowly turned to night and the sky grew pink, then orange, then black.
She hasn't yet called them inside for dinner. She's not quite ready.
She puts down her pen and rubs her eyes and she knows only one of them will come inside.
FFM XVIII have three goals for my life as a grown-up. The first is to enjoy my job, the second is to find the perfect place to live, the third is to own a dictionary.
Now, I have a dictionarya "pocket-sized" one. And when that fails (which is often), I have the internet. But what I really want is a brown-leather, thick-spined, gold-edged, dictionary that sits on a pedestal beneath a lamp and has tabs for every letter of the alphabet.
I can imagine reading a novel late at night and coming across a hauntingly beautiful word that I don't yet know. I will walk over to my reliable dictionary and pull the cord to the reading lamp above it and as I
FFM XVIIt's only me left. I wish it could have been something cool, like from a sci-fi novel. In the end I would be saved by some kind-hearted scientist who manages to make fast-growing saplings from my seeds and then repopulate the entire grove. But this is not a sci-fi novel, and there will not be a happy ending.
Half of this grove was gone with the sound of heavy machinery and a deafening crack of dry wood. No one put up a fight or showed any resistance to them. Trees don't cry. Not even when someone says something mean to them. Not even when they are lonely. Not even when a bulldozer runs them over.
I hope that when they do come for me, they w
FFM XXIShe's always written down her dreams, except sometimes she can't remember them. She leaves a blank space in her journal, a blank hole in her memory.
It kills her to forget her dreams. It feels like she is slowly losing her memories, ones tucked away on the highest shelf in her mind, and it scares her that she can no longer reach it.
She's lost herself in the caverns of her mind, spaces created for the lost dreams. Caverns that will always remain empty.
But she isn't losing her memory. She isn't even growing old yet.
She creates caverns and journals for her dreams. But soon, there are more empty spaces than
filled ones, her memory falter
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`ChewedKandi has certainly gone out of her way to keep the vector community on the right path. Always making sure that her talents are infinitely scalable, Sharon has put her bezier curves to excellent use, and firmly anchored herself as an inspirational leader. We're absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for June 2013 to `ChewedKandi. Congratulations, Sharon! Read More