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Following your heart is all well and good, more power to you, but please remember: you are not the main character of an epic designed to suit your needs. You are surrounded by people who have better things to do than get caught up in your shenanigans. I swear,(more)
The rancid words drip from the tip of her tongue, leaving a lingering bitterness she can't escape. She feels like a ventriloquist's puppet, completely helpless against the involuntary sludge spilling out of her mouth.  "This isn't me," she tries to say. "These aren't my words."

But then whose word(more)
It's just something about being around that guy, y'know? He's really... refreshing? Is that the word for it? Hell if I know. Maybe it's the freckles. You always feel ridiculous when a guy with freckles goes all 'responsible adult' on you. Or maybe it's because he just exudes 'disappointed(more)
You're gradually guided to consciousness by the distant sensation of something lightly tracing your cheek, right at the edge of the bandages. Your eye blinks open with a bleary languor, and you don't quite manage to stifle a snort when you hears a quiet, startled curse. You do manage(more)
She prods his cheek with the nub of where her index finger wasn't. "At least we match, right?"

"Hardly," he scoffs, swatting the hand away. "Haven't you learned the differences between right and left?"
“I think I might love you,” she confides one night. It’s a non-sequitur that festers into a heavy silence as you sit on this foreign shore. You’d think it was said with a certain carelessness, a splatter of syllables dropped without regard, but there's the hitch in her breath(more)
There is an illuminated canvas on the wall. There is nothing above it. There is nothing beside it. There is nothing below it. There is just the canvas of greenish-blue, slick and gleaming from paint not-yet dried. You walk towards it, the soft padding of your feet echoing cavernously(more)
Here's something they don't teach you in the movies! It's actually REALLY CREEPY when a guy stalks a girl. It doesn't matter if he fell in love with her laugh, or if he's entranced by her smile, or if she lights up his world like the sun does the(more)
He followed you. He always follows you, even though you're caustic, even though you're a coward, he follows you like you're someone worth following.

That was probably his first mistake.
"Dude, that's not soup. That's paste."

"Shut up."

"You gotta add more water."
"Ding dong!" comes an obnoxiously cheerful voice from right outside her bedroom. She slides out from between her covers with the consistency of a cat, dragging her duvet along as she rolls her way to the door without actually getting up. Only on her fifth try does she manage(more)
"Does it hurt?" he asks, his fingertips trailing down your back.

"No, not really." You give a small half-shrug, which probably looks pretty silly considering the fact that you're laying on your stomach. "To be honest I can't really feel anything in that area."

He responds with(more)
"Young master," she calls after his retreating back as he stalks off to mope somewhere more private. "You mustn't-"

"Stop with that shit already! I don't want you around if you're going to keep spouting that 'young master' crap."

There's a flash of /something/ in her eyes,(more)
don't do that
There's the thrum of cicadas heavy in the midnight air, an incessant cacophony that echos in her skull in the most grating way possible. It's quite possibly the exact opposite of hypnotic; the keening cry grounds her to an almost unbearable degree, and as they repeat their round once(more)