Connor is that friend that sees your sad twitter retweets and vague Instagram posts and calls and checks up on you and invites you over that Thursday for brunch. And when you get there he’s meticulously setting up his sunflower print dishes and glasses and gently shooing a Maine Coon kitten out of the way, and over pancakes and coffee, asks you with genuine concern what’s going on and what he can do to help
what lies at the bottom of the lake? all my mother’s lies. she told me about a girl who died here. only, no one ever died there. last week i saw the sun bleed itself into the lake, it tasted like rebirth & felt like shedding skin. what lies at the bottom of the lake? all my mother’s lies. the lake, is a body of pain. mother, what girl died at the lake? was it you? convulsing & wringing. rupturing & bloody. i’ve always seen you as bulletproof. mother, how do you stomach all that wreckage without throwing up?
when i was eight, the edges of my favourite dress got caught on the escalator. i didn’t scream. not until my father ripped me away & the metal tore my skin into slivers. something like a rag doll being dragged into a rabbit hole, & i tried to go back for the bits of my dress. my shredded sunflower print. when i went home that day, the sunflowers in the garden had wilted. & i wondered how different things would have been i hadn’t been pulled away. & it hurt more than my skin being in strips. even as a child i never liked to be saved.
it’s funny. how we’ve had to unlearn the smell of singed hair the way other kids unlearned flowerbeds. how we’ve had to outgrow tar on our cheeks the way other kids outgrew overalls. & i remember choking on smoke & burning & burning & burning &—it never stops. every time i close my eyes, my sister is setting fire to our bedroom & i am slamming burnt knuckles to the walls. maybe i’ll never know who she wanted to kill that night.
my first nosebleed looked something like a crime scene. stuck somewhere between too afraid of bleeding out & too badly wanting to. i smudged dried blood on the doorknob of my parents’ room. here lies your daughter, the stain you could never get rid of. sometimes i think about the hatchet under your pillow & how some days you would let me sleep there. i was always hoping it would bury itself in my head. you were too. i think we’ve always wanted me dead.
fine art collection dresses: van gogh by purplefishbowl
purplefishbowl specializes in fine art-inspired patterned clothing pieces, like these swingy, flirty, and colorful dresses adorned with some of van gogh’s famous paintings. would you rock the blue or the orange? alone or layered with a september-perfect sweater? :)
In general, you can’t go wrong with a solid dress or romper. Denim shorts and jeans are always great options for country concerts as well! If you do not own cowboy boots, you could always go for sandals, booties, or converse!
So crucify the ego, before it’s far too late To leave behind this place so negative and blind and cynical, And you will come to find that we are all one mind Capable of all that’s imagined and all conceivable. Just let the light touch you And let the words spill through And let them pass right through Bringing out our hope and reason…
Now that the Parallels Fanworks Exchange 2015 has revealed names, I can finally post the fic I wrote for it for the very talented viridianova! Yaay! It’s the first piece in a series of connected one shots revolving around Kacchan and Deku as they grow up. I hope it is enjoyed. :)
Title: Out of Sunflowers Word Count: 1,684 Rating: G Summary: Katsuki discovers a shy, green-eyed boy at the park and acts accordingly.
Prom au. Just think about it. Lily and James on their senior year going to prom with the rest of the marauders
She waltzes into Mountain View High on the first day of Senior Year. She’s all 5’5, deep red hair, bright green eyes, a thick Californian accent and a sunny personality.
James meets her in detention.
He heard the talk, of a lovely, vibrant girl with constellations of freckles on her shoulders. Beautiful, exposed shoulders that were privy to the attention of Boyce Lewis, who flicked the strap of her sunflower-print sundress.