|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
FourThe noise in the airport should have been unbearable, but to Prosper it was muted, shoved to the background while he tried in vain to think of something to say. Other passengers were yelling and running past them, but Prosper felt as if the silence stretching between him and Fae was unbearable. She managed a smile for him, but it was strained, and Prosper knew that there was no real happiness behind it.
"This is for the best," she murmured, gently grasping his hands in hers, "but, I'm glad, at least... that we'll get this. Closure. I would never want to end what we've had over the phone, or... well, you know what I mean."
"I..." Prosper couldn't finish the sentence, and perhaps for the first time in his life, he could think of absolutely nothing to say. He didn't usually struggle for a way to put his thoughts into words, so for that usual talent to depart him at a time like this was terrifying. Fear rushed over him, and he wondered, not for the first time, if he was making the b
Prosper never really had a penchant for planning ahead. This quality had only gotten stronger after he had begun dating Blaire, seeing as she rarely did anything without planning for it first. However, once in a while he would make exceptions on special nights when he wanted to surprise her- their anniversary last year, for example. As it turned out, their evenings always went a lot better when he didn't plan ahead, ironic as that sounded.
Tonight was certainly one he wanted to get perfect, so he had determinedly planned for it throughout the previous weeks. Before now, the night had gone perfectly, not a flaw in sight. They had gone to dinner at the fancy restaurant he had emptied his paycheck for, at the reserved table outside on the deck, and he had sneakily managed to convince her to walk down to a nearby park with him before calling a taxi. Unfortunately, his nature was to be a little spontaneous, so when they passed a fair, of all things, on the way to the small pavilion h
Sleds, Snow, and Hot ChocolateProsper would have burst into laughter at the picture before him had he not been absolutely positive that said action would earn him a snowball to the face. Blaire was sitting on bright yellow sled , bundled up in at least fifty layers, wearing the expression of a five year old recently given an ice cream cone. The sled, in turn, was poised at the top of a large, rather daunting looking hill, and Blaire was attempting to convince him to go sledding with her.
"Pleeeeease!" She continued, adopting a pout onto her formerly excited face.
"I'm wearing sweatpants," He pointed out, "Cloth sweatpants."
"Oh, suck it up, you baby," Blaire countered, which impressed Prosper quite a bit, since it usually took a lot more for her to start insulting him.
"What, and walk two miles home in soaking wet britches?" He questioned, "I'll pass on that."
"Fine." She said, sulking, "then at least help me up." She held out a hand to him, which Prosper was a little reluctant to take, since Blaire relenting in so
A Hidden Mischevious StreakThe incessant meowing was going to be the death of that cat, Prosper mused. He wasn't going to be responsible if he snapped and threw it out a window- that meow would bring it out in anyone. He groaned and covered his head with a pillow, wishing Blaire was there to shut Marshmallow up. She had left earlier to go to a class, and, since Prosper had thought she'd been telling the truth when she had said it would be quick, he had foolishly decided to wait for her in her apartment while taking a nap. But here he was, a hour later, and the little demon would not be quiet!
"Oh, what do you want, beast?" Prosper snapped, glaring at the deceptively cute kitten staring up at him from the floor. The cat merely glared (Prosper wondered idly if it was even possible for cats to glare, and then decided very quickly that they, in fact, could) at him, eying him with the distaste only a cat could manage. Prosper knew for a fact that he was laying in the one spot that the insufferable cat usua
OneFour-year-old Prosper looked wide-eyed around the waiting room, nervous in spite of himself. His father had urged him to go play with the various toys scattered around the floor in the children's section, but he had refused to let go of his father's hand long enough to do so. Despite his father's assurances, Prosper's eyes were tearing up, and when his father tried baiting him into a game with the large lego blocks, he scooted down onto the floor and began halfheartedly putting together an shapeless lump of legos. After a few minutes of this, though, he toddled back to his father and tugged on his shirt. Without pausing, his father reached down and scooped Prosper up, knowing from previous experiences what Prosper had wanted.
"Don't be so scared, Pros," his father said, chuckling softly at Prosper's tight clutch on his shirt, "we're just here to pick up Mummy and your new baby sister, there's nothing to cry about."
He reached up and wiped away a couple of tears that had slid down Prosp
Baby It's Cold Outside Blaire's questing fingers hovered an inch below the bag of marshmallows she was trying to reach. She was on her tip-toes, one hand holding onto the shelf below the marshmallows and the other stretched out above her. She blew her bangs out of her face irritably and considered how she was going to reach the sweets without involving Prosper, who, she was sure, would tease her endlessly if she asked for his help.
Cursing him and his infernal height, she braced one foot on the trash can underneath the shelves and began to pull herself up. Grabbing the marshmallows triumphantly in one hand, she gave a yelp of surprise when two arms twined around her waist, steadying her. Turning around and seeing a grin on Prosper's face, she shot a glare at him, hoping it would keep the teasing at bay.
"What, no thank you?" Prosper said, mock surprise in his voice.
"My hero," She said absentmindedly, throwing him a grin to take away some of the bite from the
Poor Deprived People"Keep writing." Prosper told Blaire, in a voice that should have meant he was angry, but was ruined by the grin on his face.
"My hand hurts!" Blaire exclaimed, blowing her hair out of her face with an irritated huff, "And I've already written down a million of these!"
"Not enough," Prosper said. "If you're going to have any music and movie taste at all, we've got a long way to go."
"For the last time, my music and movie taste is fine." She looked down at the list of movies and bands before her on the table. Apparently, according to Prosper, her knowledge of movies was so poor that action needed to be taken at that very second. She didn't think it was such a terrible thing, but Prosper had insisted that they make a list of all the movies she had to watch. Then the list had expanded to include music, as well.
The whole stupid thing had started when he had found ("caught", as he put it) her listening to a Britney Spears song in her room while reading a book. In her defense,
Cats vs. DogsProsper is a dog person. This is obvious to anyone who knows him, and probably quite a few people who don't. There's something blatantly obvious about a dog-person's qualities and Prosper has them. He always insists that he he will get a dog eventually, but at the moment he procrastinates too much to actually do it.
Blaire doesn't procrastinate. She despises doing anything at the last minute with a passion, which is probably why she went out and got her own furry little companion before Prosper had ever really looked into it.
To Prosper's dismay however, the furry little companion in question was not a dog. It was a cat.
Blaire, it turned out, was a cat person.
Prosper generally did not like cats very much, simply because they weren't... friendly enough. Or that was the reason he told others. Although, the small white kitten with black paws that Blaire had brought back to her apartment, with her eyes shining and a wide smile, seemed plenty friendly enough. At least, judging by the fact
Her CatalystAs she walks through the maelstrom, the words trace upon the tips of her fingers and press into the stone. Every brick, every crack in the concrete, every crossed and angular stroke in reds and blacks and oranges. The drips of the gasoline pool around the base of her boots, slosh as she steps over the burst pipes and the rubble.
So much rubble. So little outcry. The silence of the city grates on her eardrums and the mantras she'd been forced to memorize. The Seers demanded they observe thirteen years of recitation before they attempt to weave their first World together.
But who other than the Seers can claim the incantations that knot the skeins they twist and pull on like reins hold fast? When have any of the Sisters recorded the visions they traced upon space-time and recited them, left them open for critique and discussion and debate?
Which is why she walks through the chalky soot of the smashed city around her. This all
Keep in Touch!
Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More