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Sunday, December 18th, 2005
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6:17 am - Based off of a picture that I love.
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| Saturday, August 20th, 2005
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2:16 am - heh. heh. heh.
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| Friday, August 5th, 2005
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2:37 pm - For Andrea
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| Monday, August 1st, 2005
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9:58 am - Pretty paper?
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| Monday, July 11th, 2005
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5:04 pm - Werd.
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| Saturday, July 2nd, 2005
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12:14 pm - For Sean
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| Sunday, June 12th, 2005
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12:30 pm - I'm in such a good mood, and THIS comes out?!
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She's so stunning when she's on her knees and crying. Her eyes get red, the warmth of the brown really standing out. Her eyelashes clump together in the daintiest way, and it makes me want to hit her, makes me want to keep her crying forever. So of course, I grab at her blouse, and pull her to her feet. She winces as she hears her shirt ripping a little. I really must get her higher quality clothing. But the wincing makes her eyes close, and I can't abide such a horrible thing. I slap her once. I tell the little slut to keep her eyes wide open for me, because they're so beautiful. She blinks her tears away, and smiles. I love it when she does that. Her teeth are so perfect, and she has a dimple on the right side. The tear cuts through the makeup I have her wear every day. A glance at her natural skin. So clear and pristine. She keeps crying as I reach a hand up to her thin, pale throat. But the smile stays, albeit more subdued. She loves me. I know she does, because she's such a strong woman that she'd never stay if she hated me. She likes it when I hit her. Tears of joy, tears of pure joy. So long as I don't bruise her she doesn't get mad at me. I throw her down and she hits her head on the corner of my desk. Oh my god. Oh my god she's bleeding. Blood matting her prefect brown hair. Blood on the floor. She screams. I scream. I pick her up, I hold her head... it's a small cut. It's not matting her hair. But my god my god my love is hurt! I kiss her, I kiss her softly, I hold her in my arms. I bandage her, and she's glaring at me. My pretty love is angry? I only wanted to make her smile again, but instead I made her angry. She shouldn't be angry with me! She should be calm and tell me how to fix it and kiss me and tell her everything is ok! That BITCH! That stupid slut! I hate her! So I pick up my little knife, and I stab her. I stab her 10 times, in the chest. She hated me. I don't know why she hated me!
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, May 26th, 2005
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3:55 pm
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| Monday, April 25th, 2005
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12:45 pm - It's been a WHILE!
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| Sunday, February 6th, 2005
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2:13 pm - Longer version to post on FA.
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Dark. Silk, satin, vinyl... They look washed out on her thin frame, but she doesn't care. Fishnet armbands. Boots just below the knee, platforms chunky. Her body pulses to the sounds of a techno remix of the Weird Sisters. She holds her glow-sticks tight in her hands, fascinated by the swirling lights of her own and her partner’s sticks. They just met. Their bodies are right at home, despite their minds and hearts knowing nothing about each other.
Dark. Her eyes are heavy, filled with lust for the dancing man in front of her. Black hair. Pale. Red robes. Her smile is wicked, her fingers beckoning for him to come closer, to touch her body more with his. He is mindless. He obeys. She is pleased. She whirls her arms around him, haloing his body in the trails of chemical light. Surreal.
Dark. Her mind wants nothing more then to control him. And she does control him. She whispers soft words into his ear as she leans forward. The bass of the music changes to something else, but she notices by instinct. She doesn't hear the music change. The music is nothing to her. But the bodies have changed the way they move. So she changes the way she moves.
Dark. Like a man she once knew, long ago. The man she once thought she loved. She smiles sweetly, the smile fake, the lust still in her eyes. She wants this one. She wants him to be her pet, to be her slave, to be everything she could desire. She pushes her hips into his. She can feel his body. A moment of joy that quickly ends as he nods.
Dark. She doesn't use the drugs. She doesn't need the potions. Her vices are best left to those of sound mind. Relatively. She doesn't notice as a pair of fascinated stoners pour golden, non-bursting bubbles into the air. The ravers all look up. She files the detail in the back of her head. Flitwick had used that charm once.
Dark. She can control him. He lets himself be controlled. She is almost disappointed by his weakness, but not quite. He could be strong and worth something. But he is weak and worth nothing. She feels no remorse for the weak. She pulls him to a corner of the club, shields them from view, and kisses him fiercely.
Dark. He takes his hand a puts it up her shirt. She just rolls her eyes. He thinks she is pleased. Diffindo. Her shirt is cleaved. Her chest is exposed. He kisses the nape of her neck as she patiently moans. She is not pleased. She puts a hand on his head to push him closer. She makes him trust in his body. Makes him have faith in hers.
Dark. A muttered phrase. Avada Kedavra. He is dead, and she is pleased. He is not the man who she loved. But he is just like him. He deserved what he got. Weak. Evil. Foolish. She steps away from his body, not caring that she just killed a man in cold blood in public. She's never been caught before. Besides, Tom would have known better.
Dark. She glances down and intones Reparo. The blouse is better now. She casts a shrinking charm on the body. She pockets it. It grows cold beside her body. She tosses it in a garbage bin. The glowsticks are fading. She is left in the dark.
current mood:  creative
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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1:29 pm - Written for an FA challenge. Bejeebus I'm creepy.
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Dark. Silk, satin, vinyl... They look washed out on her thin frame, but she doesn't care. Fishnet armbands. Boots just below the knee, platforms chunky. Her body pulses to the sounds of a techno remix of the Weird Sisters. She holds her glow-sticks tight in her hands, fascinated by the swirling lights of her own and her partner’s sticks. They just met. Their bodies are right at home, despite their minds and hearts knowing nothing about each other.
Dark. Her eyes are heavy, filled with lust for the dancing man in front of her. Black hair. Pale. Red robes. Her smile is wicked, her fingers beckoning for him to come closer, to touch her body more with his. He is mindless. He obeys. She is pleased. She whirls her arms around him, haloing his body in the trails of chemical light. Surreal.
Dark. Her mind wants nothing more then to control him. And she does control him. She whispers soft words into his ear as she leans forward. The bass of the music changes to something else, but she notices by instinct. She doesn't hear the music change. The music is nothing to her. But the bodies have changed the way they move. So she changes the way she moves.
Dark. Like a man she once knew, long ago. The man she once thought she loved. She smiles sweetly, the smile fake, the lust still in her eyes. She wants this one. She wants him to be her pet, to be her slave, to be everything she could desire. She pushes her hips into his. She can feel his body. A moment of joy that quickly ends as he nods.
Dark. She can control him. He lets himself be controlled. She is almost disappointed by his weakness, but not quite. He could be strong and worth something. But he is weak and worth nothing. She feels no remorse for the weak. She pulls him to a corner of the club, shields them from view, and kisses him fiercely.
Dark. A muttered phrase. Avada Kedavra. He is dead, and she is pleased. He is not the man who she loved. But he is just like him. He deserved what he got. Weak. Evil. Foolish. She steps away from his body, not caring that she just killed a man in cold blood in public. She's never been caught before. Besides, Tom would have known better.
current mood: creative
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, February 4th, 2005
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10:08 am - ^.^ Phototastic!
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| Friday, January 14th, 2005
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3:10 pm - Chloe! ...from Chugworth
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| Tuesday, January 11th, 2005
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8:25 am - Me!
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| Wednesday, January 5th, 2005
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2:14 pm
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http://img125.exs.cx/my.php?loc=img125&image=eotwparty2mr.gif
The text says, "The couple is no more pure or good then anyone else on this Earth awaiting the end... In fact, they may be a good deal worse. But this is the last chance they have to dance together. They know that no one is going to save them. They know they are going to die. So they dance on, waiting to disintegrate into one anothers arms, the pile of dust left behind a full connection of two souls."
current mood:  accomplished
current music: Dryer goin' off
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Monday, December 20th, 2004
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9:36 am - Leviathan
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| Saturday, December 18th, 2004
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12:59 pm
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| Wednesday, December 15th, 2004
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10:49 am - Screentones!
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7:10 am - Clap your hands if you believe in fairies!
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| Tuesday, December 14th, 2004
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10:45 pm - I got bored and made presents for an Lj community with a cool name.
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burntoutangel's journal
bouncy
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