destinee_carols

drabbling

Tue, 15 Dec 2009 10:44:48 GMT

A little precursor to Hell's Angel that I had started a while ago and never really followed through with. It's kinda Christmas-themed, so appropriate for the weather.

I feel like I need to rewrite Aidyn all over again.

Also, Raelyn annoys me.

Snow fell from the dark night sky in large soft flakes, blanketing everything in soft white. A field stood pure and spotlessly glittering with snow; the nearest building was a small white church, bedecked with wreaths and its windows aglow with the soft flickering of candlelight. It was silent, the only sound audible faint joyful singing from inside the church. The world seemed like an ethereal dream.

He landed in a crumpled heap in a soft snowbank, scattering still-loose snow and a feather. The snow broke his fall a little but not much, and he lay there in the snow for several gasping moments, winded, before the cold forced him up, up away from the cold white, hands wrapping around his upper arms.

It was so cold.

He stared around him dazedly for some seconds, then snapped his head back to the front, quickly, realization flooding him. He could feel none of his brethren near. At first there was stunned almost-joy, a delirium. Then reality took over and he looked about again to get a bearing on his surroundings.

The church…it caught his attention immediately and he stared at it dumbly, like he could not get enough of the sight of it. Its very presence drove him away even as some little part of him longed to just slip in for a moment to feel the warmth…

He could not! It was not allowed. The disappointment was so sharp it stung his eyes with tears; he turned quickly, to go, but could not resist stealing a single reluctant glance over his shoulder.

A slight crescendo of song reached his ears, and resolve snapped. He was safe, safe at least from any danger not of his own making – surely he could just get closer. He turned and headed towards the building, through the snow, shivering and near naked.

The warmth of the church was enough to make his skin sting and prickle with heat, but it did not hurt that much – he knew worse – so he approached the front steps, and then reeled back, falling on his rear in the snow. Two bright figures sat upon the steps, one on either side of the door. One rose at the sight of him, a hand drawing a sword from his hip.

“What is this?” the figure snapped. “You dare show your face on the eve of the Christ’s birth? Have you all gotten so bold, or just so foolish?” He raised his sword, drifting down the steps.

He scrabbled backwards, eyes wide with terror, mouth open wide but producing no sound.

“Any last words, scum?” The sword approached, mesmerizing.

He managed a choked “I – ” but beyond that could not even think enough to form coherent words. This was ironic. Was this how he was to die? Minutes after arriving on Earth?

“Antony, wait.” The one without the sword stood, coming down the steps with a hand held out, as if to stop the descent of the sword this Antony wielded. “I don’t think he means any harm.”

Antony snorted. “You don’t think he means any harm! How can something like him – ” He leveled the sword at his face. “ – not mean any harm? I do not care how scrawny he is, I say get rid of him now. One less is never a number small enough anyways.” His voice was thick with disgust.

The swordless one squatted several feet in front of him, staring at him curiously with brilliant blue eyes. “You know you can’t go in there,” he said. “Why are you here?”

He floundered, speechless, could not find the words to reply, shivering violently with fear and cold.

A few moments later and the other stood again with a sigh. “You’d better go before Antony tries to kill you.”

“Isaac – !”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to hold him for very long.” The Isaac’s mouth tipped up into a wry smile. “Good bye.”

The last words seemed to unlock his limbs and he scrambled up, staring for one more second wide-eyed, before he turned and bolted.

Drifting behind him in the still winter air were faint words that just caught his ear as he ran: “Merry Christmas.”

-fin-

Feels like my writing style wavers so much even between the beginning and the end of such a short piece.

~~OMG. EDIT BEFORE POSTING. >___<~~

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 19:22:40 GMT

My muse DOES love me! *sobs* I always knew it.

That said, my Halloween fic has been stagnant for a little while.

Cross-posted to Fictionpress:

The sun, a rare thing, shines through the curtains and bounces off the thin metal circle between his thumb and forefinger, flashing in his eye. He rolls it between his fingertips, twice, then flicks it onto the tabletop where it clatters dully on the cloth-covered surface. "Have I ever told you," he starts slowly, staring at the coin, "that I really like dimes?"

She is clattering around with something on the stove. He hears the burner click once, twice, before he hears the flames and knows it's on. "No," she says finally, a little drawn out and slow, "No-o."

She moves onto the fridge with that squeaky creak they still need to oil out, and yanks open the crisper. He wonders a little bit what she is getting; carrots? onions? peppers? potatoes? and tries to remember when she started cooking and what it was. He could look up and see, but light flashes off the dime again and he has to speak. "They're my favorite coin." He isn't sure why he needs to talk about this so much, but he does, and while he is at that - "Canadian coin," he corrects, "because the American coins are all duller."

She mm-hms and is pulling the cutting board out from beside the stove now. Steel whispers against the wood of the knife block and it occurs to him that maybe he should offer to help. But he can't stop talking and his eyes are riveted to the shiny coin. Maybe it's the sun.

"Have I ever told you why?" he asks now, turning in his chair finally, eyes torn away. She has her sleeves up and is scrubbing vegetables in the sink. Her mouth crooks up a little and his throat feels odd.

"No," she answers a heartbeat later. "Indulge me."He can tell that she is amused; he hears it in those three words and something even in the way she squares her shoulders as she turns back to the sink with a paring knife and he turns back to the coin. His mouth is dry and there is the feeling of rushing towards something and being unable to stop. An impending flood, of words, words that will make him look foolish but he can't seem to keep them in, because his lips are parting without his consent again. "They - " He croaks because his mouth is so dry, so he wets his lips and keeps on. "They're so small. And so - so delicate." He picks up the coin. "The nickel is so large and ungainly and thick and not worth that much. Ten is such a nice number and it's so thin. Light little silver coins." The knife thud-thud-thuds against the wood through solid vegetable flesh. He swallows hard because his flood is a lot more like a trickle, so why couldn't he have stopped it earlier? He swallows again in the pregnant silence, waiting for the scorn.

Somehow today her responses come a moment, a beat, later than he thinks they rightly should. Or perhaps it's just him. "No wonder," she says, "you keep a dime jar instead of a change jar, and how you spent half an hour picking out the other coins the one time I put change in there."

He looks at her again, noticing that the cutting board is covered in white pieces of something. "You must - that was - I don't know why - I - "

The word is on the tip of his tongue, and for all he could not keep back the praise of dimes from coming he cannot now make himself say it, but he knows she has to know it: "Stupid." He hates the desperate whine that wants to creep into the back of his throat.

"You know, I seem to hoard nail polish."

That is not what he expects her to say.

"I don't use it all." She holds up a hand; the nails are bare. He knows one is chipped because she scratched him accidentally, earlier this morning. "I hardly use any at all. But when I see the shiny bottles lined up on the shelf..." Something slips into her voice and it warms him even before he recognizes it for the affection it is, mixed with the amusement. She stops talking then and pours the chopped vegetables into a pot on the stove and he recognizes that it's potato.

Silence settles again, but this time like a blanket, warm and comfortable. Somehow she has said all that he needed to hear. Nail polish and dimes. He turns around in his chair all the way, to watch her open a can of soup, brown hair swept back and up messily for housework, wearing the apron she bought for him.

A warm fondness sweeps through him all at once and closes his throat. He gets up and drops the shiny silver coin and is behind her before she can react, and his arms snake around her waist. She squeals and laughs, surprised, and tries to turn, but his arms tighten and he won't let her. He buries his face in her hair and swallows. "Dimes don't hold a spark to you, love," he says hoarsely, and this time when she turns around with sparkling eyes to cup his face and kiss him, he lets her.

The dime glints on the table, much forgotten.

-fin-

I hoard both dimes and nail polish.

Writer's Block: Who will you be?

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 06:18:39 GMT

What are you going to be for Halloween this year? Are you going to wear coordinating costumes with a friend or partner? Did you buy something pre-fab or make it yourself?

Submitted By crazyprotein

View 1030 Answers

I will be, cliche as it is, a vampire. Bought fangs which really are too cool... I would have perhaps been a vampire kitty, but. Hm, I could still. To be honest I'm just looking for an excuse to dress sexy/slutty for my boyfriend...not denying it. Wouldn't do so for anyone else. o^__^o

Writer's Block: Nature or nurture

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 01:15:07 GMT

Do you think your moods are controlled by your brain chemistry or that your brain chemistry dictates your moods? Do you believe people are born with particular emotional temperaments or that they are primarily shaped by environmental factors?

Submitted By abelincoln1864

View 728 Answers

Hm, sounds like my psych midterm tomorrow. First off, do not the first two questions mean the same thing? Secondly, I think people can be born with an inclination towards something, but environmental factors also affect a person a lot. Therefore - nature WITH nurture, not nature VERSUS nurture.

Writer's Block: Seeing stars

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 20:51:51 GMT

Which character from any film, television show, or book would you most like to take on a date and why?

Submitted By blue_mariposa88

View 2283 Answers

Kio from Loveless. I still squee when I see Edward Elric, but slash fanfic has kinda ruined him for me. Plus, he's not very likely to angst for me. As for Train Heartnet from Black Cat, well - I dunno. Against, angsting for me? Not likely.

Not that Kio would, much, I think. But Soubi is wholly devoted to Ritsuka, and if not, then Seimei has him. Plus Soubi's moods are too much for me. Ritsuka - he's sweet, but he's a kid. Therefore Kio - who has been there for Soubi, or wanted to, at least... He intrigues me. I want to know how much he knows. Plus, what Seimei and Nisei did to him so far - poor Kio.

And I wanna ask him about his earrings, and see his tattoo. :D

(So what if Soubi is ridiculously pretty? Kio's not bad-looking.)

That is about the extent of my fandoms. :S Kinda sad.

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 20:43:00 GMT

Sneaky little bastard, my muse is. I'd kill it - but I've been waiting for it for so long that to kill it really seems a shame.

He seems to appear now and bombard me with at least one really good idea - when it's midterm time.

*twitch*

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 09:07:58 GMT

First-line meme by grimm_psyke ...

It's 2 in the morning, I'm supposed to be doing an English paper, and I finally finished this. ...Don't judge me. >_>

...Oh hey, 2400 words exact.

I winced at the sound of several, what sounded to be, generously sized rocks hitting the side of my car. Rubbing my eyes, I slowly sat up, ducking instinctively as a rock half the size of my fist thudded into the clear packing tape covering the hole in the back seat window. The tape held, and I grinned. I knew the 2.6-mil tape had been worth the investment.

Yawning, I took a peek out my own window to see who was throwing rocks this morning. The rusty old green Jetta creaked as I moved in my seat, and I patted the wheel fondly. It was a sturdy little thing, covered with dents now by many rocks over many months. Nothing new.

Huh, this was a surprise. The manager of the fine establishment that sold nasty greasy little burgers (I knew because I’d stepped on one in the parking lot and it oozed oil for me onto the pavement) was the one chucking the rocks this morning. Usually managers sent out employees to do the chasing away, but I guess this place was so nasty that he couldn’t afford to hire anybody.

Another rock hit my door and I sighed. Some people were so impatient. “I’m going, I’m going,” I muttered, turning the key in the ignition. “No need to worry that I’ll keep away customers eager for a heart attack.” The engine sputtered to life and I drove out of the parking lot. I hummed as I turned onto the interstate, driving along. I reached absent-mindedly for the dry fruit bars sitting beside me in the front passenger seat, only to find nothing except for fake leather upholstery and two empty wrappers. "Okay," I said, not at all perturbed. "No breakfast yet then. And," I added, glancing at the needle hovering dangerously close to the E, "you need breakfast too. Let's see if I can find some restaurant in need of a dish washer."

I had done this so many times before I no longer really remembered when I had started. I knew that one day my family had finally kicked me out for being the black sheep. I hadn't minded too much, packed some clothes, a few CDs, and left with my money and my car. With no friends' at which to stay, I drove around town sleeping in my car in random parking lots and on the streets until I was notorious for doing this and was chased out of town as well. Well, the police didn't quite put it that way. They told me if I left they wouldn't bother to come after me for all the parking fines I had racked up. Now who would argue with such a deal?

From there on there's little to tell. I'd drive into a town, find a job, and stay until I was kicked out. Or until I figured my trusty little Jetta was tired of being pelted with rocks, which was happening more and more the farther I traveled. Maybe people were just getting meaner or something.

Taking a random exit, I again turned back into another small town. The radio crackled, and I whacked it, then tried to make up for that by turning the knob for the radio more gently. I looked back up at the street just in time to slam on the brakes as an old man stepped out onto the street without looking. I had just enough time to see the old man sniff at me as he sauntered past the front of my car before my whole body flew forward, held back only by my seatbelt.

Aside from a mild case of whiplash, a helpful passerby told me after I’d been pulled from my car and inspected, l was fine and I’d done everything right and it wasn’t my fault old man Jenkins or whoever had walked out like that and that Ms. Grinthe had rear-ended me. Yeah, I was fine, but my car wasn’t.

Things like police and contact information and tow trucks all passed by in a blur. I sat down at some point, then had to get up again to reclaim my clothes and CDs. The Jetta was hauled away slowly, dribbling something in a mournful little trail. I watched it go numbly. It had been with me for so long; I had patched it up so carefully so many times! And now it was too far gone for anyone to save. My car would end up in a landfill somewhere, waiting to be crushed or torn apart ruthlessly for scrap metal.

Presently I found myself sitting in a little restaurant of some sort, staring blankly at the fake wood grain of the table in front of me. Then a glass of something yellow slammed down in front of me and I jumped a foot in the air before catching at the table, wheezing in fright.

“You know, I ain’t never seen a man so in shock after a little accident like that! Honey, you ain’t got a scratch on yeh, so why’re you looking like someone’s died, here?”

She was tall, and looked younger than she sounded, tall and skinny with straight black hair that fell past her shoulders and grey eyes that slanted oddly. Standing legs akimbo, she seemed to tower over me for a moment, hands against her apron strings, and I sputtered wordlessly. She sniffed and pointed a finger at the glass. “Drink that.” At my look, she added, “It’s juice and it ain’t gonna kill you.”

I still gave the liquid an experimental sniff before I took a sip, taking time, stalling to study the girl. She couldn’t have been much older than I was, I thought, and realized I had finished the entire glass in only a few gulps.

“Thirsty, are we? You sit tight there.”

Since I wasn’t entirely sure where I was to begin with, I had no problems with doing as she said. I stared at the empty glass in my hand, turning it so the drop in the bottom slid around in a circle. Then I looked up, around me. This was a restaurant, all right. And most likely lunchtime now, judging by the people here though somehow all the tables in my immediate vicinity were quite empty. I frowned and looked back to the glass, wondering what I was doing.

I smelled the coffee before the girl put down the mugs. Two, I saw. And a sandwich on a chipped white plate. "I'm not hungry," I tried telling the girl as she sat down across from me .

She scoffed immediately. "Nonsense," she said. "Never met a man who wasn't hungry, 'less he had his eyes on a girl. And sometimes even then. Now eat."

"I'm staring at you," I pointed out, grinning. "Besides, I can't pay for it. Unless you have dishes for me to wash." I couldn't quite look away from the sandwich. I could see meat.

"Oh, there's dishes aplenty, so you hardly need to worry about that," the girl said, eyeing me. "Now eat. I didn't bring you that for you to stare at."

I scarcely needed more convincing. With one last look at her, I picked up the sandwich and took a bite.

It was pure bliss. The lettuce was crisp, the tomato juicy - the meat was cold sliced turkey complimented by a sharp cheese and all on a whole wheat bun. Mustard, spicier than I was used to, oozed out between my fingers. I had not had anything like this in months. Bulk fruit bars and granola were cheaper than soups and sandwiches, and not nearly as appetizing.

I was licking my fingers clean when the girl got up and came back a little later with another plate and a coffee pot. On the plate was a thick slice of fresh blueberry pie. My fingers twitched for the fork. “Really, I don’t need…”

A raised eyebrow was all that was needed to tip the already precarious balance. I sighed, “A lot of plates tonight,” and tucked in.

“So tell me why you show up here with nothing but CDs and a car, and suddenly look like your best friend died when it got totalled.”

The second forkful of blueberries glued itself to the back of my throat. I choked and coughed it back up. Impassive, she pushed one of the mugs at me and watched as I took a gulp. When I was sure I wasn’t going to have blueberry juice going up my nose, I sighed and set into a routine of talking between bites and sips of coffee. I told her about being kicked out, wandering across the country in my Jetta, how it had brought me so far. How it was gone now. How, as long as I’d had a car, I had thought that I would be okay. By the time I was done, I had drank three cups of coffee and really needed to pee.

“There’s no windows or back doors,” she warned me when I got up. “So no running out on your dishwashing debt.”

I snorted, offended. “Where would I go anyways?” I retorted.

When I got back to my table again the girl was gone. A guy in an apron pointed me to the front of the restaurant with one of the mugs he held. "Gwyneth is waiting for you in the kitchen. Just go through the door marked 'Staff Only'."

I sighed. The upside to things was that I no longer had to pay for gas now with no car. It wasn't a very big upside. I pushed through the door and was assaulted by a pair of gloves. ''Gwyneth," I called, pulling them on. "I've never actually met anyone named that."

She appeared from behind a counter with a sniff. "My mother was somewhat eccentric," she declared almost haughtily. "If you mean to talk, you can do it while washing."

I was sure she didn't mind my helping her do her job since she stood at my shoulder at the sinks. I didn't actually mean to talk while I worked, so I didn't and it was quiet except for...well. Quiet for a busy restaurant kitchen. Until Gwyneth spoke. "So now that you have no car, what are you going to do?"

There was a hole in my glove. My right hand was getting pruny, and I held it up to let the water run out. "Thank you very much," I said, "I had been trying not to think about that. But no, no, it's much too late now to not speak of it."

She presented me with a flat stare. I stared right back. "A park bench," I said. "You have any of those here? Or a bus station works too. And then I'll have to find a job. Or hitch a ride to someplace where I can."

There was a bit more of that stare and then she looked down with a face that said she was debating something. Since she wasn't talking, I went back to scrubbing plates.

''I've got a house. I don't use the basement suite. It's open for rent – "

"If you'll recall, I have no mon–"

" – and my house needs some painting done, I have the paint but not the time – "

"You know how when you're a little girl your mother tells you not to talk to strangers – "

" – and you know, tonight is fine, no charge, because you obviously need a place to stay – "

" – and you're obviously crazy, Gwyneth, I could be a serial killer for all you know – "

" – and do you want someplace to stay or not?!"

Park bench or a couch. Bed. At least a roof over my head. I presented her with my most rakish grin. “Y’know, that’s not such a bad idea – ”

“Stop being stupid and stop looking at me like that, you look absolutely ridiculous.”

So that was how I spent a night in her house in the bedroom in her basement. And I don’t believe either of us knew how it turned into a second night, and then a third. And that turned into one week, and by the end of two it was normal to bump into her as I walked out the front door that we both shared, me carting pails of paint in old clothing, or nails and a hammer, or heading out to the shed to give her lawn mower a few hefty kicks until it started again.

In between playing handyman for Gwyneth, she had somehow persuaded the restaurant to let me work there, and so I did. I had hardly needed to apply; the owner looked me up and down, squinted at Gwyneth, and grunted something along the lines of, “If he makes a mess you’d better clean it up, girl.” Or something to that effect.

After that it was all a blur. Most of it was a pleasant blur – it wasn’t all that way, but somewhere in the months and then years that followed were flowers, and fights, and tears and laughter and broken plates and awkward dates and all manners of things that tend to happen in a growing relationship.

It was on our fifth anniversary while Gwyneth was telling me to wipe blueberry juice off my chin that she handed me a small, oddly-shaped package wrapped with duct tape. “Here, because I know how you get all weirdly sentimental, whatever you might say,” she said, staring pointedly at the pie on the dinner table, and rescued the remaining half from little Jeremy.

“Hey now, watch those accusations,” I complained, and peeled open the package. Then I blinked.

A jagged, rusty piece of metal…green paint on one side… Some things in life are instinctive. I knew what it was instinctively.

“Now if it wasn’t for that ratty piece of junk who knows where we’d be now?” she inquired, only just mildly disdainful.

“Stuck here,” I said, waving my arm at her, “you, and I would be gone, gone, gone! Travelling across the countryside – ”

She pulled the remnant of my first car from my hand and straddled my legs. “I think I’ve done some poor girl in another town a favour,” Gwyneth said drily. “Now that’s enough sentimentalizing and drama, or I’ll throw it away.”

I laughed. Who’d have figured? I thought with a grin, and I leaned forward to kiss her.

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 05:21:18 GMT

I liked him because he loves me.

I'm not...he can't...

I envy him his faith.

I know he can't love me as God loves me, for to be human is to err, but.

Sat, 22 Aug 2009 08:08:55 GMT

Oh FUCK.

This is why I really shouldn't keep a fairly personal journal open when I'm not sure who's reading it other than the two people who comment oh shitshitshit.

Please to have not let my boyfriend read - oh shit. Right. Crush on Tim, crush on Colin, not really feeling it for him....

I have to be the biggest idiot in the world...in my world, at least. ARGH. Life is a bitch. >_>

Tue, 18 Aug 2009 06:18:41 GMT

Is this the first meme I've actively done? No. Can't be. I'm still working on that drabble-turned-short story. And I know I wrote a drabble for a meme! Anyways.

"If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don't speak often or ever) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me.

It can be anything you want - good or bad - BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.

When you're finished, post this little paragraph in your LJ and see what your friends come up with.

Stolen from grimm_psyke who stole it from charisstoma who stole it from dandygrrrl who stole it from xceciliastarr"

Etcetera, etcetera.

Fri, 14 Aug 2009 05:40:32 GMT

Completely totally random out-of-the-blue. My muses live. Though I hear they're called plot bunnies, or as grimm_psyke calls them, "plunnies", here on LJ. :3

He watched, red-faced, from behind the tree as Mioni and Caleb stared at each other, so intent on the one they loved that they were completely lost to the world around them.

He shouldn't be watching this. He shouldn't be here. It was too sweet, too intimate, too - unlike them.

Something was wrong. The Caleb and Mioni he knew would never sit in a perfect little star-lit clearing whispering sweet nothings to each other. His left hand strayed to the knife in his belt unconsciously as he tensed.

Things went strange after that. The two in the clearing turned as one to stare at where he hid, though he knew, knew! that they shouldn't have been able to see him. Eyes flashed yellow and fangs gleamed, dripping, and then they leapt together, and with a yelp his hand left his knife and he was running, scrambling through the forest as fast as he could in the dark. His blood ran cold at sounds of snarling and slobbering that seemed to echo all around him, and soon those sounds mingled with his labored sobbing.

He remembered catching his foot. He remembered twisting his ankle. He remembered being certain he was going to die. And he remembered the real Mioni and Caleb, emerging from the trees with knives and snarls of their own. He remembered seeing the grotesque twisted Changers writhing on the blades of Caleb's swords.

And he remembered Mioni's grim words as she knelt beside him just before he passed out.

"They know we are here."

Writer's Block: Memo to Myself

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 05:20:43 GMT

If you could travel back in time, what advice would you give to your younger self?

View 561 Answers

Enjoy now. And you think you've got problems? Trust me, honey, you ain't seen NOTHING yet.

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 22:00:23 GMT

Tsaiko posted a meme...yay prompts, I actually wrote a ficlet. :D

Read here...

Sun, 26 Jul 2009 07:04:27 GMT

Because posting things on the internet just makes it that much better. Or - helps that much more, or what the hell ever.

I've been bitchy as hell for the past two days. I don't know why. I chalk it up to my over-reacting about the fact that I don't get to see my boyfriend. That my friend is at the party and whatnot and she gets to be there and I don't. That somehow she gets to see her boyfriend - and mine! - more than I get to see mine. FML.

I tried to sleep last night and got like four or five hours of really fitful sleep.

I took the capsule of dxm hbr but it's a dud or it's something like less than 200 mg because I am barely getting anything and that's even with a few more milligrams of the extraction Luke gave me. I'm now stuck at a state where I'm getting nothing good out of this. I'm not even utterly numb; I'm still pissed off, just not enough to do anything, as if there was anything I could do.

What the hell.

I hate this all so much.

He is away on a camping trip. Somewhat vindictively to make myself feel better I hope it was a miserable trip and I hope he missed me.

And I hope they're okay, what with the thunderstorm.

I want him home so he can text me.

Scrap that, I want to see him and spend time with him and I can't.

I'm such a fucking pussy.

Sat, 25 Jul 2009 08:02:59 GMT

I am just kinda way pissed off as hell. I want to go to that party. I want to be hanging out with my boyfriend, even if I am drop-dead-tired. I want to be able to see him more, I want to be able to hang out with my friends more and I hate that I'm not allowed, I want to be there playing SSBB with him and the guys and kicking ass or getting my ass kicked.

I JUST WANT TO BE THERE. Is it so much to ask to spend time with my friends?

Yes, yes it is, because they're the sketchy kids and I'm a Christian or that's what my parents think and OH MY FUCKING WORD.

Writer's Block: Childish Pleasures

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 22:47:37 GMT

Name something you love but feel like you should have grown out of by now.

View 506 Answers

Uh...being a bitch?

Oh wait, childish pleasures. Never mind.

HAHAHAHA.

Writer's Block: 5//7//5

Thu, 16 Jul 2009 06:34:49 GMT

Sum up your day in the form of a haiku.

Submitted By cpnspuff

View 507 Answers

My friend messaged us.
"Remember Kirsten's birthday."
But what about mine?

drabble

Sun, 12 Jul 2009 05:39:11 GMT

A - proper - drabble. One hundred words straight. It could be anything, but I wrote it for Aidyn from "Hell's Angel". The story has really been giving me nothing but grief, but...

He ages slowly, differently. It sets him apart from the world; unlike it, he has no need to rush and hurry about. It is only one more thing which makes him different. He could be an observer of people, watch life around him, but, no. Some part of him cannot bear it, and so, he participates, hiding in the shadows. He sets himself apart even as he strives not to let what he is set him apart even as he strives to set himself apart from all that is what he is.

Perhaps he is lonelier than he can admit.

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 19:35:33 GMT

It is lovely and blustery and windy outside. I want to go outside for an hour or two with Luke, then when we get cold, or bored, we'll go inside, and curl up together, and read a book and drink green tea.

...*sigh* :)

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 00:37:44 GMT

I'm surprised I haven't cried, and I wonder what the reason is.

I can't do this.

Man. This is almost like - but on a smaller scale - thinking as your wedding day approaches that maybe you're not compatible. Except this is only deciding to date.

I was never like this, never this jealous, never this needy psycho-bitch possessive TEXT ME TEXT ME monster.

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 23:14:52 GMT

Reading enough stories in 'verses with dragons, I decided that silver nail polish, which is quite a hideous color for nails, is very fascinating and reminds me of dragons-in-human-form and dragon scales.

^___________^

Writer's Block: All-Nighter

Fri, 26 Jun 2009 00:17:45 GMT

When was the last time you stayed up all night? What were you doing?

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I would have said homework, but that's not true. My grad lock-in, which was fairly pathetic. Spent it all with my guy friends doing nothing. ...Running on bouncy castles, failing at DDR because my reactions were shot, and sitting around playing with balloons and candy.

I'd rather have spent that all-nighter at a LAN party with them instead.

Writer's Block: When I Was Young

Tue, 23 Jun 2009 21:47:35 GMT

What do you miss most about being a kid?

Submitted By daeinleyof

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HA HA HA. What do I miss most about being a kid? BEING BLISSFULLY IGNORANT.

Wed, 10 Jun 2009 00:36:26 GMT

I hate how I'm such an idiot in math. I knew I would get lectured. I knew it. If I wasn't so stupid with concepts like I was with life I wouldn't have to feel like I'm the world's biggest idiot and the stupidest daughter. I have no right to hate her! She's my mother! Heaven forbid, heaven fucking forbid I hate her when it is all my fault.

Do you hear that? ALL.MY.FAULT. So shut the FUCK up.

infatuations

Tue, 09 Jun 2009 05:40:55 GMT

I figure that if I keep an LJ I should actually use it sometimes.

I have come to the realization that I am fucking infatuated with Luke, all over again. Not the new sort of incredulous liking - like, this is so awesomesauce I can't believe it's happening, but the mellow, this is amazing and has been for so long and damn it, I love him.

I can say that now. I feel a little more content.

I also miss him like crazy. He's my fix. I don't get to see him enough. I am - we are - hoping that we will get a chance to see each other more as I start school and stay in the dorms on campus next school year.

Oh yes. I've graduated.

I want to sleep with him. Not sleep with him as in have sex. Just sleep with him. Him beside me. He says he has the self-control, and...well. This which I wrote explains it way better.