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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
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
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
TwoProsper grumpily banged his feet against the solid wood of the examination table he was sitting atop. He knew his mother was ignoring him, and, even worse, not even bothering to hide it, sitting across the room reading one of the many magazines that where piled on the small tables. He hated going to the doctor. Dr. Knowles always ruffled his hair too hard and talked too loud. If he told Prosper that he had to get a shot he was going to run for it. Stubbornly continuing to glare at his oblivious mother, he clenched his fingers around the edges of the table and waited for the stupid doctor to come in.
However, when the door finally did open, instead of seeing the large, obnoxious, slightly balding old man that he had come to expect, he was faced with- unexpectedly- the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with long brown hair and a pretty face.
"Hey there, Prosper," she said with a smile that lit up her face, "I'm Jane. Dr. Knowles is on vacation right now, so I'm going to be helping y
Another Quirk"C'mon, Blaire," said Prosper. "Just one more time, I promise."
Blaire crossed her arms and shook her head stubbornly at him. She'd been humiliated enough by this stupid "lesson" that he'd insisted on having.
"Fine. How about a deal? You try again, and I'll tell you where I got this scar." Prosper said, pointing to his eyebrow and holding out the soccer ball with his other hand. Blaire bit her lip. She was sick of looking like an idiot...but she really wanted to know where that scar came from. She had asked him a million times already, but he would just grin at her and change the subject. She huffed irritably and blew her bangs out of her face.
"You'll really tell me?" She asked finally.
"No... but I'll give you a clue." He said, smirking at her in that infuriating way of his.
"Should've known." She muttered to herself. She sighed when she saw him still smirking at her, but they both knew she would give in, just as they both knew that Prosper's "clue" would proba
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
Love Me DoProsper was feeling mildly awkward. He knew that it was expected, routine even, to meet his girlfriend's parents and family, but it didn't make the situation any less nerve-wracking. He had endured the interrogation from Blaire's father about his life/plans/job/future, her brothers attempting to intimidate him, and her little sister giggling over his accent, and was now convinced that he never wanted to go through anything of the sort again.
Blaire and Prosper were now sitting cross-legged on her old bed with the door wide open, because, as Blaire had put it, both of them behind closed doors would make her father, Tim, "uncomfortable". Prosper was quite sure that he didn't want to make her dad, a large, well-muscled fire-fighter, any form of nervous at all. Especially since her father and brothers seemed to think he needed to be glared at routinely- despite the inevitable warning he had received from them about being with Blaire.
"I know what we can do tonight," Blaire said
PaybackBlaire woke with a start, very alert and, for some reason, very cold. Blaire rubbed her eyes wearily and looked around the dark room, realizing after a moment that she must have forgotten to leave Prosper's apartment after he had made her come over to '"admire" his new futon. Honestly, in her opinion, it was more a ragged piece of junk than a futon, but she had to admit that it had been surprisingly comfy. Hence, the reason she had fallen asleep at Prosper's apartment.
Although, she reasoned, it would be difficult not to fall asleep while enduring a every-movie-in-my-apartment marathon that Prosper had suggested- so that they could fully appreciate the futon, apparently. Glancing around her once more, she noticed why she was so cold, and, eyes narrowing dangerously, focused on the sleepily sprawled out man by her side.
Normally she didn't mind falling asleep with Prosper- despite being leaner than most, he was surprisingly easy to use as a pillow- but there was one thing about him that
Three"I have to kiss her?!" An eleven-year-old Prosper exclaimed, staring at his best friend Owen. They were crouched behind the large slide in the playground, the bright red plastic affording them enough cover to constitute their very own hide out. Or so they figured, after chasing away a couple of girls who had been playing there previously.
"Yep." Owen replied, his blue eyes serious as he spoke.
"Bu- c'mon, I mean, why would I-," Prosper couldn't seem to get the words out, but it was bad enough that they were even discussing kissing a girl in the first place.
"Chicken!" Owen accused, a grin lighting up his face, "You took the dare, so you gotta do it! You can't back out without being a right wuss!"
"I'll do somethin' else." Prosper said, desperately trying to dig himself out of the rather large hole he had fallen in.
"Nope, that's your dare," Owen said, "If you wanna be leader of this group with me you gotta go through with it, and show you're not a wimp."
Life is but a DreamWe are just unnourished frail bodies,
overfed with white lies and short-lived-euphorias.
Books filled with black letters,
etching lurid images into our utmost dreams.
Veering us from the big picture...
the one we fail to paint ourselves.
Our fists much too busy with fights,
that we are bound to lose.
Too occupied in line waiting,
for creativity to be let loose like a stray dog.
As if we will find home in this pursuit of happiness...
but we only enclose each other in small rooms
with nothing but old laptops.
How many times I've guessed which letter could it be...
Which letter could it be?
To free us from havoc-stricken-thoughts?
They come and go, unending like 24 hour subway stations.
There's no break for this lonely man,
heaving every breathe of stale air
into my overused lungs...
Living in confined walls of flesh
held up with brittle paper-mache bones.
Which day is it that I will burst out from this cage of a life?
And hover with the Gods found in carefully binded bo
Blood BrothersBrookie always holds my hand when we cross the street. She's never given a reason for it, she just does it. It's become this unspoken rule with us that whenever we cross the street together, she slips her hand in mine and I lace my fingers through hers and we walk hand-in-hand until we reach the other side and she drops her hand and we both wipe our palms on our jeans. Brookie's a little scared of crossing the street. Her poppa died in a car crash when we were six. He was a pedestrian. She's never gotten over it.
Brookie is my best friend going on sixteen years now, which is pretty impressive considering we're both sixteen. We don't have some cute little story about how we were born in the same hospital on the same day or about how our mothers were best friends long before they were pregnant with us and somehow passed on that bond while we were still in utero. No, Brookie and I met the same way ever
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A two-time Community Volunteer for the deviantART Related category, Anne is well-known as a positive, helpful force. She is the community's resident expert when it comes to CSS (Cascading Style Sheets), and her personal gallery offers a wide variety of tutorials for new and experienced coders alike. In addition, each winter she hosts a calendar project encouraging members to create Journal designs for all to use, bringing more creativity to the community.
It is with immense gratitude that we acknowledge Anne as the recipient of the Deviousness Award for October 2014. Read More