Too Darn LuckyToo Darn Lucky2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Willet Fanfiction Project
Title: Too Darn Lucky
Summary: As he watched her sleep in the light of the moon, Wilbur thought being too darn lucky doesn't even describe it.
Author's note: This fic is independent to my other Willet fic. I'm getting a fever on a pairing that would never officially happen. As much as I wanted to, I can only commit myself to one-shots and not on chaptered ones.
Sometimes he would wonder if things happen for a reason.
Having waked up from his slumber, he had sat up in a daze, wondering why he is more or less alert in the dead of the night. It was probably from the lingering effects of the coffee patches, but whatever it is, he was glad he did when he saw the other side of their bed.
She lay there on her side, facing him. The light of the full moon shone from their bedroom window and into her side of the bed. Her dark-bluish hair gave sheen from the moon light as it lay sprawled around her shoulders and framed her young face that is for now peaceful.
winter always reminds me of you.It never snowed last December, but it was always there on the horizon. Like a bad dream on the periphery of my vision, a relentless reminder that I don't ever have control over things the way I think I do. The way I want to. Recently, I realized that I feel everything a bit too sharply. The cold. The pain. The nothingness.winter always reminds me of you.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's heart wrenching. It's stomach twisting.
The minute you were gone, the air in my lungs left too. It's amazing how long you can live without breathing. It's much longer than anyone tends to claim. Truthfully, it's not even the thing I miss anymore. I only miss you. I miss the feelings. I miss anything that isn't the slow crack and settle of this old building. Or the familiar beating of my heart. The sun rising and falling from the sky each and every day.
I don't remember what it's like to not wake up to a pattern, but I do remember that it was so much better than this.
I used to never know what to expect. Now I have no expectations at all. It didn't take me long t
Dear Poetry,You will find out that I am not a strong person. Dragons do not make a home beneath my skin to hoard their treasured princesses. I am not that lucky. For I have misplaced collarbones just as quickly as I’ve misplaced hearts, a pulse still rhythmic against my fingertips. I am a monster of words, devouring Cummings and Plath with no ounce of self control left in my body. I promised myself this weight would not fall for the sharp edges of stars ground into your knuckles. But, write air into my lungs, poetry. Give this wild thing a reason to learn the definition of tamed.Dear Poetry,2 years ago in Letters More Like This
Write me a poem, and I will promise to fall in love with you, slowly and then…all at once.
love notes on paper lungs[dear boy-with-the-piano-fingers,love notes on paper lungs3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
just between you and me, your smile makes my lungs crinkle up like paper and for an instant i forget how to breathe.]
[dear my lovely you, sometimes my words come out jumbled when all i want to say is i love you.]
[you smell like the ocean or maybe like a jazz club at night when the air is blue and thick with smoke and everyone's together but alone at the same time and the music's so smooth you feel like you could touch it. it's a good smell.]
[i love it when i kiss your collarbones and your fingers brush my hip bones and we stay frozen in that moment so that we're nothing more than heartbeats and rustles and breath.]
[you make me shine.]
[pinky promise you'll always be mine.]
true lieshis eyes looked at me with disdain. i thought that once i had broken through his barriers his eyes would smile and his laughter would ring through every fibre of my body and that his cheeks would glow. instead all i felt was a greater coldness. except now it wasn't just a general feeling- it was directed very pointedly at me.true lies3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"you're not who i thought you were," he growled through clenched teeth. his words left me feeling that he wanted to say something angrier, something more malicious but he held back. even when his defences were down he was still calculated.
do you think that maybe you never knew me? that you built up an ideal image of someone unattainable yet appropriate for you? i pleaded with my eyes. but it was no use. he wouldn't even look at me. he knew, he finally knew, that he had built me up to that ideal because he felt it would be everything he deserved. now he saw, or rather didn't want to see, that he really didn't deserve it at all. ideal or not- he didn
I hope it's worth it when I'm gone.I can't even pretend things are simple anymore.I hope it's worth it when I'm gone.3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It's raining again, and with every crash of thunder, I miss you more than I can bear. I know it's not worth saying, because really nothing much is anymore, but it doesn't make it any less true.
It's eleven ten on a Friday night, and I'm sitting in the middle of the grass, watching the downpour spill off the roof. My t-shirt is clinging to my ribcage, and my hair is sticking to my face. I can feel the water running down the ridges of my spine, the backs of my hands, clumping in my eyelashes, but still, I don't move. Sometimes, when I can't stand what the world is doing anymore, I allow myself a thunderstorm to wash everything away.
It's the meteorological equivalent to a clean break. Faster to heal -- or at least, that's what they say.
The lightning is tearing across the sky, cutting through the darkness like a crack in the atmospheric layers. I'm staring at this like I half expect all the air to disappear around me while the world disinte
FFVII ChildSummary: My name is Zack Sephiroth Cloud Reno Crescent .and I was unfortunately born to FFVII fanatical parents. This is my story.FFVII Child5 years ago in Humor More Like This
My mom no, Mother, as she would only allow me to address her, was always the more strict (and by that I mean insane) of my parents, but my dad wasn't exactly normal either. By any means, no
When I was really little, just a baby, I remember my baths. They were nice and calm, yes, but I wasn't washed in normal water or even a bubble baths. Instead, I distinctly remember the water being greenish blue. I still have the rubber chocobo that I played with. And when it came time for bed, I remember being dressed in dark blue pajamas. They weren't your average fleece or flannel with a cartoon teddy bear's face on it, no. My pajamas was the SOLDIER uniform, complete with soft cloth pauldrons. Every night, I would fall asleep with my moogle plush doll next to me and One Winged Angel playing in the background. A normal baby would have
Just a Fashion?Emo. We've heard this term for years. I don't exactly remember when it actually started, but I didn't personally hear of it until my sophomore year. All we had was punk and gothic, but now gothic and emo are completely confused with each other. And now I'm ashamed whenever people accuse ME of being emo because they don't know the difference. Not even Southpark knows the difference.Just a Fashion?2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
The problem is, emo is associated with "emotion," but a depressed emotion at that. When people think of emo, they think swoopy haircut colored black, black clothing with occasional stripes, plaid, checkers, etc., hate for the sunlight, hating EVERYTHING, and writing depressing poems... oh, and cutting yourself! This is the problem...
There are people who do all these things that are not emo. I knew a very popular girl in 8th grade, Courtnie (yes, with an i), and she confided in me that she cut herself too, showing me her marks. Mind you, this was your stereotypical preppy ditz that was pretty much better tha
Black Rabbit - Part fifteenShiloh sat on the mass of red comforters and pillows in his bedroom, propped up against the headboard, staring across the room at the numerous photos plastered onto the far wall in messy discord as he munched the box of crisps in his lap. He dug his hand deep into the cardboard container, the plastic crinkling; he was nearly to the crumbs and he was still hungry. But it was one of the highest protein things they actually still had at his auntie’s, besides the icky greenery kept away in the veggie drawer downstairs- hidden in the towering fridge. He gave a small little sigh, eyeing the little black cell propped on the whale pillow beside his leg. He really started to miss Casey; they hadn't seen each other in days...well more like three weeks and four extra days to tack on. But he felt needy and afraid that Casey would push him away if he got too close; he loved that angsty raven, but he was scared that he may love him too much and didn’t want to scare him off. All heBlack Rabbit - Part fifteen2 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
mapping the ache.She learned anatomy when he broke her heart. She liked how she could track the stinging, burning pain as it delved deeper into her. Starting in her throat, a heavy lump that wouldn't move anymore than a cm a day. it would travel through her veins, like back lanes, leaving behind big clouds of exhaust fumes that make her skin tarnish, and her blood thicken. the pain, gets a little stronger. moves a little further. with her bones structure mapped and blown up on the wall across from her bed, she woke up each morning, and closed her eyes. she sat quiet and still with breath held, trying to pinpoint the pain. she'd trace the wall and place a small gold star where is had reached that day. it was quite beautiful really. this skeletal system, scattered with little stars. her own constellation.mapping the ache.3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
it was a realisation that everything can be traced back to her heart. it beats and bleeds and aches and yearns and everything it feels is shot through your synapses and
i am an ocean nothing floats on.i am an ocean that nothing floats on.i am an ocean nothing floats on.3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
her mother always told her that each part of her body was capable of becoming something hard and cold, something that a military man could arm himself with and leave a trail of destruction. There was an anchor in the pit of her stomach, resting on the bottom of a black and white ocean, carelessly tossed in by a reckless boy with matching eyes. it leads her to somewhere she has never been. It sinks her to ocean floor and leaves her waiting for the waves to stir her back to the surface.she learned about space, and the gaps that leave people feeling empty and lonely, and throughout the years of her youth, everything related back to the ocean residing inside her chest cavity which on the coldest and emptiest nights she could feel thrash and peak and cause her to choke and spit it up in violent convulsions. she learned that her stomach acids were responsible for the curve of her bones and the shapes of the shadows they made in sunlight. as her years tic
MannequinI think everyone has seen a mannequin before, most likely in clothing stores; those life size models to display outfits and articles of clothing. I’ve never paid much attention to them; they’re just plastic models. Well, I wish that I had been more careful around them.Mannequin2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I guess to tell you what happened I’ll have to start from the beginning. It’s not like I’m going anywhere, even if I wanted to.
I was shopping with my girlfriend, Sandra. She enjoyed fashion and clothing more than I did, to be honest I didn’t care much for fashion choices at all, but I loved her so I went shopping with her at clothes stores.
We entered this particular store, it was rather large. Popular music played all around, and as expected there were clothes everywhere. There were also plastic mannequins, three kinds. There were the mannequins with no heads, mannequins with faces painted on them, and a single mannequin without a face.
I personally find the ones with faces painted o
Skinny Wordslook:Skinny Words3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
he was winterish blue eyes and an autumn scarf dressed in an stupid pink summer sweater that made no sense on a spring day. His shoes were converse, the kind of the skinny intellectual who had just enough money to buy one pair of decent shoes. she never really liked skinny intellectuals, yet did find herself considering them sometimes, in the way she considered coffee that was tongue scalding (horribly and without excuse).
it is odd then, that she still doesn't regret his monsoon flavoured kiss, the kind that made your tongue bleed with its passion, its heat.
he drew in uneasy catches of breath as he snored in the heat of the summer night, nights when she would stay up and listen to cars that passed by, pretending they were a waterfall instead of the cold harsh truth of metal against concrete, just so she could sleep as soundly as him.
she took his breathing for granted.
he spent hours lost in the dry unending silence of his typewriter, of h
The Mad Hatter's SwordWell now, this was quite, as Alice would say, curious. There was no reason that the thing now in his hands should be in the possession of a Hatter, Mad or otherwise. He looked down at the long blade and began laughing. He couldn't help, he didn't fight, he made hats--or drank tea, sometimes it was hard to remember which--the very idea of wielding a sword was crazy, utterly mad. He remembered why he had the sword and stopped laughing.The Mad Hatter's Sword5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He regretted it sometimes, acquiring the weapon. It wasn't the sort of thing he would do under normal circumstances, but circumstances were quickly changing. If things kept going as they were, not even his tea party would remain peaceful. Not that he'd been defenseless before, he had his little tricks to get him out of any tight spots he found himself in. But that's all they were, tricks, of little use in a real battle. The Cheshire cat had reluctantly agreed to give it to him in exchange for his hat, stealing it back from the tricky feline had been
SistersSISTERSSisters10 years ago in Erotic More Like This
CHAPTER ONE : THE DESERT
They didn't know if they could ever make it.
The sun was overwhelmingly hot. Their sight was being obstructed by fatigue and sweat rolling in their eyes. The four young women were walking slowly and painfully through the desert. Helen, the eldest, turned around to watch over her shoulder.
Nothing. Apart from the smoke still coming out of the wreck of their private plane. They wouldn't make the next gig on time, and she didn't care much. Singing was the last thing on her mind. She lifted her hand to brush her sweaty forehead and remove a lock of wavy red hair from her slightly freckled face. ' This is going to be quite a crash diet if we don't find somebody soon' she thought to herself. She grinned at the pun as she caressed her protuding belly. At 220 pounds and 5 foot seven, she wasn't tiny. And the tabloids add a field day when she started gaining weight soon after her group started 5 years ago. The teenies were a hit as a lot of kids bought
i should have never loved you.in that one moment, i wanted to stand up and hit him: i wanted to make him hurt, make him bleed, make him feel what he did to me. make him feel his lies and deceit, push it into his skin like a knife and letting the scarlet lies pour out for everyone to see.i should have never loved you.3 years ago in Emotional More Like This
every little lie, every "mia bella" came back to haunt me. every word that idly dripped out of his mouth that caressed and cared for me turned black and shriveled like a dead flower.
because every time he kissed me, he lied.
i can't believe i just let him string me along like that. he just turned me into some sort of flesh-and-blood puppet, tossed me around and stepped on me like garbage put on the curb for tuesday night pickup. he put me in a plastic bag with old coffee grounds and used condoms from a night when i wasn't there.
i should have never loved him.
TearsTears2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
It's tearing me apart. I'm breaking apart inside. I can't even smile. It hurts.
I can't do it anymore.
Heated. [Tadashi Hamada.]Heated. [Tadashi Hamada.]5 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
His hands were quite large in comparison to your hipbones. Chuckling lightly at that fact, your chest fell and rose quickly, which only made him think that he needed to work a bit faster. He was lucky enough to have two hours alone with you, without his little brother hovering over him and screeching “EW” when Tadashi sneaked a kiss in. You both loved Hiro, but despite how intelligent that young boy was, he was still an adolescent and didn’t quite understand the pleasure of actually having someone to hold, as well as kiss. And Tadashi knew, with his hands on your hips and his nails digging into your soft skin, that he could only go so far with you. Pressure was something that he didn’t want to bring into the relationship, and he knew you didn’t want to feel the obligation to do something with him because of all the love he gave you.
There were moments though, like the one playing out in front of his dark amber eyes right now, where he felt the urge to fina
The Pillow Girl - WG Story The first time I ever did it was with Lily when we were in third grade. We were laying on my bed watching the episode of Tiny Toons where Buster Bunny takes all this food and stuffs Babs until her belly gets really huge and she can't move. I took one of the pillows from my bed and stuffed it in my shirt. Lily did the same thing, and we pretended to be really fat and we bumped our bellies together.The Pillow Girl - WG Story6 years ago in Erotic More Like This
I would stuff myself with pillows once in awhile because it felt so good. One time I was doing it alone in my room and my mom walked in.
Danica, you're so silly. Take that pillow out. You'll ruin the shirt that I just bought you.
I was ashamed, so after that, I was careful not to let anyone see me pillow stuffing. I didn't want
Insecurities. [Tadashi Hamada.]Insecurities. [Tadashi Hamada.]5 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
Contains light spoilers for the movie Big Hero 6. Don't like, Don't read. Thank you.
Tadashi, in your years of getting to know him, rarely had his hat backwards. The bill always faced forward, and it was only when he was truly stressed did he have it on backwards. So when your feet brought your body to his house on a rainy afternoon, you were surprised to walk into the room that he shared with his younger brother, only to see Tadashi, sitting in his brother’s chair, his hat backwards. You blinked, unsure that it was what you actually saw, and as you sat your book bag down, you walked towards him and lightly touched his shoulder. Physical activity was rare with you, and when you did touch him, it was in small amounts. But, today, something seemed to have been bothering him so you let your affection roll out.
He flinched seemingly at your touch, but settled back down when he figured it was you. A calloused hand, which worked well with robotics, touched the hand that you ha
Latvia's weight gainLatvia had always been the smallest of the Baltic's. He had always been the shortest, the over looked, the most nervous, the most ignored.Latvia's weight gain5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Except in Russia's eyes. In Russia's eyes, Latvia was the perfect toy to play with. Latvia would always come when he called, always ask "how high" when Russia said "jump" and he would always eat when Russia told him to eat.
Just like a good little puppy.
And when the Soviet Union fell, and America's influence started to spread its poison around Russia's home, Ivan grew angry. As with any strong emotion the comfort came from food.
Burgers, fries, milkshakes, even food from Latvia's native home, Ivan forced the little nation to eat it all. He loved seeing the tiny blond cry with his cheeks puffed with the flavorless slop, loved the way the buttons grew strained against his ever expanding belly, loved the way he was still in control.
"I-I've eaten too much " Latvia sobbed, spreading his legs apart for some relief. "no-no more please "
2P!AmericaXReader-Starry Night Monster"________, you... don't think I'm a... monster, do you?"2P!AmericaXReader-Starry Night Monster2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
You blinked and lifted your head up to see her friend Alfred, well, the other Alfred.
America, Alfred F. Jones' counterpart, "Anti-America".
You bit your lip slightly as you raced through some thoughts in your busy little head. Yeah, instead of this Alfred being the so-called-Hero, this one was a villain, with his tanned skin and dark reddish-brown hair with a much similar cowlick to the official America, and instead of glasses he had sunglasses placed on top of his head, which occasionally slipped. But... this Alfred... has killed people. The bat he always carried around with nails spiked in and out of it in every direction, and the dried red substance on it... but, the strange thing was, everything thing about this man attracted you to him. Even the adorable little hole in his grin where a tooth once was. Everything...
It was just... perfect.
"________? Babe, are you even going to fucking answer me...?"
HubrisThe world is not a skeleton. It does not ache bone-deep with our atrocities, nor is it fragile and ready for the breaking. It knows nothing so human, except perhaps to forgive our pride. Let me explain:Hubris4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Young, I am a bright star with small, pudgy hands for guiltless flower-crushing. Before even that, I am a wispy squall for food, unused to knowing anything but myself, and warmth, and hunger.
The concept of a hero is a natural progression from understanding speech. I am Me. I am the one all the stories talk about, born special, to whom both innocence and wisdom are possible. I am so great a part of my own self that I do not know it can be detached.
I am eleven, narrow-boned and alone in the red earth, when I first feel it.
A seagull slews out of the bright sky and pegs its beak to the stones, draws it up wriggling. I watch its gullet bob. My hand floats up to mirror the lines of its head against the air. There is a cry, and its eye is a pond of yellow fire staring at me, the air a storm