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Whispers of the WindHeh heh, you pretty much blew it.
Well, actually, you guess you did a pretty good job! Everyone made it out fine, and they made a new world, and it's awesome! You're so proud of them. You just wish you could join them.
Being dead sorta sucks for that.
You remember watching him pick you up and carry your body away. You remember his tears, and how he held you. You drifted behind him silently, making eye contact with your friends hurt, so instead you focused on his horns. He took your body somewhere private, and you listened as he cried and screamed your name. So desperately you wanted to scream back. You wanted to wipe the tears from his face, and the blood from yours. You cried too, but he couldn't hear you, no one could hear you. Instead you hugged him from behind and buried your face in his back, sobbing with him. He went stiff briefly, and your breath caught in a chest that wasn't real, for just a moment hope rose in your heart, maybe he could feel you. But that thought died as soon
Worth the Kill? Chapter Two"Um Karkat?" the troll grunted a response, "I think we should probably head down for dinner now, you do want to eat, right?" The human could see Karkat's ears perk a bit at the mention of food. He chuckled and pulled away from the troll. "Is there anything trolls can't eat, you know stuff that makes you sick?"
"I think no." He replied.
"That's good!" He tugged him along, "It'd hate to hurt you or something on accident." Karkat sat down at the table next to John and across from his father. John set a plate of food down in front of him. "Here, I sorta grabbed a bit of everything, Dad and I aren't sure what you like yet, so he made a bunch of stuff."
Karkat's eyes grew wide at the amount of food, he could feel his mouth water, 'God this is pathetic, I'm reacting like a starved beast.' He grabbed a piece of meat and froze; he noticed the older human grab the utensil by his side. "Fuck," he muttered putting the meat down and grabbing the pronged instrument, 'Goddamn it Karkat get a fuc
A World Without HeirThere was no mistaking it. You won the game. The same door rose up before you. Only, this time you weren't watching it. In fact, you didn't even care it was there. You were only focusing on him.
Everyone gave you a wide birth when you stepped out of the portal. You were clutching him tight to your chest, his head resting on your shoulder. Blood seeped into your shirt and dripped to the ground. Your red tears mixed with the blood pooling in your arms.
No one called you selfish for taking him somewhere private. Somewhere you could spend hours quietly sobbing, and then screaming into the surrounding woods. Nobody blamed you for not speaking when you eventually cradled his body again and brought him back to the main group. No other hands touched him from the moment you picked him up; to the moment you put him in the ground. And not a soul dared approach you in the days after when you stood vigil by his gravestone. Eventually you had to leave, you had to eat, and sleep, and live on. There w
Sweet Dreams -JohnKat-Your name is Karkat Vantas and wow you didn't know your body contained this much blood. It's pretty much a river- streaming down the checkered hills and creating close to a pond of red. That's the best comparison you can think of, what with the pain wracking your body. You look down to take stock of your injuries- a gash in your thigh is producing the most blood, and a nasty cut on your hip looks terrible yet scabbed. You cough, licking blood off your lips before looking down.
You think you're the only one here until you tentatively roll over, yelling out in pain when all of your weight slams onto your injuries. A couple swears escape your cracked lips before, through the haze of pain and a headache, you see a blotch a few yards away.
It's blue and curled up in a tight ball and it takes you a while to realize oh my gog that is John.
You roll onto your stomach, your only thought now to check on John. You reach out shakily with an arm, fingernails digging into the ground and then you pul
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
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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