I will be so pissed if someone takes my last Elftown name :|. Just in case I wanna change it back.
But no. This name makes me giggle.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, blinking at her from bleary eyes.
Taryn’s eyes widened slightly, a look of stone passing over her features. “No where. The bathroom.”
Me: It... makes no sense.
Him: That's why it works.
Me: What?
Him: Have you ever answered the wrong question, because you were thinking about something else and didn't really know what they asked?
Me: Yes.
It didn't even make sense to me, but he got it. Heh, go David.
It's like God wrote a letter to the world, stating the following:
Your suffering will cease when I feel you have repented enough, or when I’ve enjoyed seeing your suffering. I am God, after all.
Love and benevolence,
God.
Only instead of it being in a plain letter, stamped, sealed, with the correct addresses, it's been lost to a story that everyone told until it was shredded to almost nothing more than a myth.
Hello. I'm taking back sunday.
[*~Appearance~*]
Hair color: auburn
Eye color: blue
Height: 5'0
Contacts or glasses: None
Piercings: Ears and belly.
Do you wear any rings? Three.
Favorite flip flops? None.
[*~More About You*~]
1.What are the last four digits of your phone? 2512
2.If you were a crayon what color would you be? Cerulean
3.Have you ever almost died? Yes
4.Do you like the person you got this survey from? Don't know them.
5.What makes you happy? Funny stories.
6.Ever done drugs? No
7.What sport do you hate the most? Basketball
8.What sport do you love the most? Softball
9.How many TVs do you have in your house? 3
10.Do you sleep with stuffed animals? No
11.Have you ever broken a bone? No
12.Who do you tell your dreams to? My journal.
[*~You and Love!~*]
/Do you believe in love? Yes
\Do you believe in love at first sight? No
/What song do you want to be played at your wedding? Of All the Gin Joints in All the World by Fall Out Boy. Instrumental.
[~*Dream guy--GIRLS FILL OUT ONLY!*~]
Long or short hair? Short, but not military cut.
Curly or straight? Either works.
Tall or short? Tall
Good boy or bad boy? Good boy. Bad boys are appealing, but only for so long. Good boys are secure, which is always appealing.
Hat or no hat? Depends on the hat and the weather.
Ears pierced or not? No.
Dimples? No.
Studly or cutie? Studly.
Smart or dumb? Smart
Boxers or briefs? Boxers
Funny or romantic? Both
[This/That]
Lights on or off: Off
McDonalds or Burger King: BK
Do you wish on stars? Yes
Which finger is your favorite? my ring finger.
Do you like your handwriting? no, but it's mine.
What's your favorite lunch meat? ham
Any bad habits? I laugh loud.
Do you have any embarrassing CDs on your shelf? Ohhh yeah.
If you were another person would you be friends with yourself? Probably not.
Are you a daredevil? When my life isn't on the line.
Do looks matter? Depends on if you're looking for a quick screw or someone to be friends with.
Do you think there's a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? No. The rainbow disappears.
Do fish have feelings? No
How do you release anger? Screaming.
Where is your second home? My mom's fiance's.
Do you trust others easily? Yes
What was your favorite toy as a child? My blanket, Blanky.
Are you in love with someone? Yes.
What's your favorite color(s)? yellow, light blue.
What is your least favorite thing in the world? bad salads.
Ever been on TV or in the newspaper? Not that I know of.
What do you do when you're sad or depressed? Cry it out and let it blow over on its own.
Do you use sarcasm a lot? Yes.
What are your nicknames? Li, Insane Li, Sex-kitten, Emiri
Would you bungee jump? Yes
[~Relationships!~]
Do You Have A Boyfriend: Yes
Have You Ever Been In Love: yes
Who Have You Been In Love with: Anthony
How Many Boyfriends Have You Had: 6 or 9. I don't know.
Did You Get Your First Kiss Yet: Yes
How Old Were You: 14
[~Have You Ever...~ ]
Held Your Breath Until You Passed Out: No
Wanted To Die: yes
Smoked Weed: no
Committed A Crime: Yes
Saved Someone's Life: maybe
Stayed Up All Night: yes
Been To Another Country: no
Loved Someone So Much It Made You Cry: yes
Been Cheated On: yes
Let Someone Else Take The Blame For Something You Did: yes
Faked Being Sick: yes
Driven Illegally: no
Been To The Astrodome: yes
Dyed Your Hair: no
[~Favorites!~]
Color: blue
Number: 7
Animal: tiger and wolf
Website: journalspace
Food: broccoli, cheese
Thing To Do: sex.
Holiday: n/a
Friends: Pearly! Rachel!
Place In The World: In his arms.
TV Show: Sex and the City, adult swim
Place To Eat: Subway, Jack in the Box
[~Randoms!~]
How Many Pillows On Your Bed: 3
What Color Is Your Toothbrush: Purple and white
What Brand Of Toothpaste Do You Use: Colgate
How Old Will You Be When You Graduate High School: 17
What Is On Your Desktop: Zelda, Twilight Princess.
Have You Ever Got Kicked Out Of A Store: No
Do You Have An Online Journal: Yes
Do You Love Someone: yes
Who: Anthony.
What Channel Is Your TV Usually on: Cartoon Network
[Girls Only!]
[?]Whats your cup size: 34B
[?]Are you affraid of lesbians: No
[?]Have you ever made out with another girl: Yes
[?]Are you single: No
[?]What do guys think of you: Either too intelligent to bother with, or too immature to get involved.
[?]Do you wear make-up: Mascara, occasionally.
When someone has a poll that asks if I think they are hot, I always click on the option that says something like, "Other (message me!)" and don't message them because I want them to wonder.
A Spanish Teacher
was explaining to her class
that in Spanish, unlike English,
nouns are designated as either
masculine or feminine.
"House"
for instance,
is feminine:
"la casa."
"Pencil,"
however,
is masculine:
"el lapiz."
A student asked,
"What gender is 'computer'?"
Instead of giving the answer,
the teacher split the class into two groups,
male and female,
and asked them to decide
for themselves whether
"computer"
should be
a masculine or a feminine noun.
Each group was asked
to give four reasons
for its recommendation
The men's group decided that
"computer"
should definitely be
of the feminine gender
("la computadora"),
because:
1. No one but their creator
understands their internal logic;
2. The native language
they use to communicate
with other computers is
incomprehensib
3. Even the smallest mistakes
are stored in long term memory
for possible later retrieval; and
4. As soon as you make
a commitment to one,
you find yourself spending
half your paycheck
on accessories for it.
(THIS GETS BETTER!)
The women's group,
however, concluded
that computers should be Masculine
("el computador"),
because:
1. In order to do anything
with them,
you have to turn them on;
2. They have a lot of data
but still can't think for themselves;
3. They are supposed
to help you solve problems,
but half the time
they ARE the problem; and
4. As soon as you commit to one,
you realize that if you
had waited a little longer,
you could have gotten
a better model.
The women won.
We take sour sips from life's lush lips
And we shake, shake, shake the hips in relationships
Stop by this disaster town
You'll put your eyes to the sun and say,
"I know you're only blinding to keep back what the clouds are hiding."
And we might have started singing just a little soon
We're throwing stones in a glass room.
Whoa we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa love songs so genuinely cunning.
We keep the beat with your blistered feet
We bullet the words at the mockingbirds singing
Slept through the weekend and dreamed
We're just sinking with the melody of the kiss of eternity
Got postcards from my former self, saying "How you been?"
We might have said goodbye just a little soon
(Somehow this disaster town)
Our beliefs of kissing beats over this room
Whoa we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa love songs so genuinely cunning
Whoa we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa love songs so genuinely cunning
It was ice cream headaches and sweet avalanche
When the pearls in our shells came out to dance
You call me a bad tipper of the cradle
But I’m tired yawns for fawns on hunter’s lawns
We’re the has-beens of husbands
Sharpening the knives of young wives
Take two years and call me when you're better
Take teardrops of mine, find yourself wetter
Whoa we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa love songs so genuinely cunning
Whoa we're so miserable and stunning
Whoa love songs so genuinely cunning
Titled: Mary - Christmas
Written by: David Johnson
she dressed
like a present
all ribbons
bows
and glitter
she climbed a chair
and hung
by the mistletoe
death
is ugly
it's
dried blood
grey skin
no glam-goth
pale-skinned
prettiness
no romance
when the bowels
release
'It's hell on my little faggot heart.'
I don't know why, but it just sounds so funny...
Okay, so I'm a FOB fan:
http://website
New single from their album coming out.
I listened to it and liked the hip hop edge they added to it. I especially love how they put in a 'bad' word (goddamn), in their chorus so they end up saying it like 30 times in the song.
Now, I am expecting this CD to be nothing like their first or FUCT. I'm expecting it to not be about heart break from girls, but heart break from fans and fake posing people, and especially from the metaphor of arms race, more than just your average punk/pop emo shit. Fall Out Boy understands change. And hell yes, they understand competition and they are SINGING ABOUT IT.
I was listening to the song, and thought he was saying "I'm so evil, I'm so entertained" but now I know he's saying, "I'm so emo, I'm so entertained."
This CD is going to throw off those fake posers like none other.
Someone asked me how many sex scenes I'd written. Well. This was my reply:
I didn't think I'd have as many sex scenes as I do, but I'm still boggled about it.
My female MC (FMC), and male MC (MMC), discovered they were a perfect match for BDSM play, so she whipped him, embarrassed him, made him cum, and forced him to lick it up. A little later she whipped him until he was ready to collapse and then put on a strap-on and had her vicious way with him. And of course, he liked it.
Then my FMC's 'mentor' (Master more like, really), came into the scene to come 'teach' his favorite student a new thing or two. MMC gets jealous and upset because he's the only slave she should have (argh!). He goes home and reminisces about why he's the way he is -- his background is that his first time having sex was because the Ice Queen of his school liked the way he sported a hard-on every time he got embarrassed or humiliated (poor kid didn't know how to control himself!), so she ordered some of her male Jock minions to pin him down to the ground while she cut his jeans (yes, that's right, cut his jeans, close to his goods. He was afraid she was going to make a eunuch out of him but was also terribly excited at the thought), he came, then she sucked him off, mounted him, rode him, got him off again, got herself off, then walked away sneering and with the jock minions gaping.
He also almost bit his lip off. His mother wanted to scream at his appearance.
Shortly after that scene we get a little tiddy bit of FMC with her 'Master', playing some hardcore whipping game. After that, MMC gets jealous and decides he needs to stop being like a slave and take control, so he goes to find this girl with a tongue ring who had shown interest in him earlier -- he has her replace her tongue ring with a claw earring and then give him a blow job (painful... but he loved it!).
And it's in the middle of a cafe. And Taryn and her master walk in. Drama ensues.
...
As of now I am writing about their love making make up scene.
:| Holy...
No, I don't know why that last diary entry was funny. It just was.
3k words to go until I meet quota!
"Do you always have to be such a hospitable hostess?"
"It makes up for the bedroom activities."
Ahahahaha. I crack myself up.
Fuck, yes!
I had writers block for 2 days and finally, a break through. It was just... horrible.
I have never written something so long or so awesome before.
I just... I must share this unedited piece with you people:
----
Anthony walked up to his apartment, sitting himself in a char beside the window. His head knocked gently against it as he rocked, the fire crackling behind him and stifling his breathing. His thinking.
He sighed and gazed out. He thought he had pleased her, but apparently he did not. With a gentle mental slapping he corrected himself; he did please her, but Master Torsten pleased her more. Or, did he just excite her more? He didn’t know or quite understand.
His fingers played with the nail sticking from the windowsill, thinking whether or not it would be appropriate for him to use it to cut himself as punishment for his lack of obedience. Or whatever it was that she needed.
The memory of his own adolescence began to swim before his eyes. Where he had failed in being dominant and controlling, he succeeded in bending over backwards. While he doted on girlfriends for no other reason than to please them, caring more for their feelings than his own, other boys were out groping them for pleasuring themselves and wondering who was going to give them their next lay.
For however much he doted on those women, he could never please them enough. He lacked that ability for control. One even went as far as to tell him that while he appeared confidence and as if he had the ability to take a girl he wanted, he couldn’t do it. Anthony did not understand that this was criticism, not praise.
His mother had often ordered him about, as well as his sisters. Growing up in an upper middle-class neighborhood with a mother, two sisters, and a father had made him somewhat weak to the force of estrogen. The advice his father often gave him was, “Listen to the women; they have the brains to think of orders and the ability to carry them out just as well as any man.”
Anthony sighed, pressing his cheek against the class and his palm into the nail. The nail punctured his skin and he shivered as he reminisced. He wasn’t so sure where this need for pain came from. He had never cut his wrists but he always noticed that he preferred being uncomfortable to comfortable; embarrassment often excited him…
That girl he knew, his first, often wore skirts and knee-high stockings, and leather jackets. It was a look she could pull off with ease. Among the more popular girls, she had the ability to order people to do her bidding. Anthony was not among the popular kids; he was often teased for his indifference to pain. He sported a good hard-on more than once for being embarrassed publicly.
There was one day when he was being teased, cornered behind the school building after school. The boys were teasing him for crying out in ecstasy after accidentally nicking himself with a staple-remover
She took note until one day, she decided she wanted him; it was the day he lost his virginity. Conniving and sinister, her hair flowed in blue-black waves behind her and her brown eyes were so dark they were black. Olive skin fit perfectly on her lush, well-developed form. She was so popular because of that form; but also because of her incredibly cruel nature.
Threats ensued as she made the boys touch him, forcing him to the ground behind the school. They spread him out at the limbs, pinning him down. He only struggled for the show, but his hard-on was clear now, constricted in his jeans. He panted heavily, eyeing Cassandra crazily, not saying a word. She stood over him, casting shadows on some of the boys, before she removed her jacket and unbuttoned her short, showing them an eyeful of cleavage. Black lace panties were what she wore; she eased them off and let them fall from her knees. She was exposing herself to five boys, one being a strange masochist, and she had nothing to fear. The cruel ice in her eyes was almost enough to freeze hell over.
She removed a pair of scissors from her pack as she bent over Anthony, sticking them in his pants. Even as he broke out into a sweat, he half worried if she would make a eunuch out of him, but he was also partially excited. While he wasn’t homosexual or even bisexual, he was curious about all kinds of pain.
His hips moved in response, closer to the scissors. She was slightly surprised, but snipped his jeans away and open.
“Do you like that, you faggot boy?” she screamed at him, the excitement making her own face flushed.
He nodded and fell back, his spine bowing at hearing her voice. He moaned as he came, making a mess of his pants; he remained hard.
A pleasured gasp escaped from her full lips, while dead silence fell on the other boys. She ordered them to keep holding onto ‘the little faggot boy.’
“You like being hurt and touched, don’t you? What a man you’ll make!” She tore open his jeans and let free his glistening cock, and licked her lips in anticipation. Twitching slightly, her lips lowered to his shaft, and she gulped him whole, making him moan and gasp more, shoving his hips up into her face. She pulled away and bit down lightly, but still hard, on his cock and as he screamed, she reached up and covered his mouth.
“He didn’t even soften, not in the least.” Surprise passed over her features before being replaced with cruel intent. She moved her way up his body like a jaguar, leaning down to kiss him and bite his lip as she mounted on him. The boys around them let go but formed a circle, gazing on at wonder. Anthony’s mouth twitched but he opened and let his tongue probe hers eagerly; she bit down on his tongue and his hands moved to grasp her thighs and bottom, nails digging in and dragging her along his shaft, his hips moving in heated response.
A delicate movement of her lips is what made her a good kisser; it kept him on his toes. When she moved her lips and tongue to envelope his bottom lip and bite it almost clean off, he cried out as he came, having sped his thrusts up against her. He felt the gentle vibrations around her own walls and the shudder of her body as she gasped, pulling away with a flip of her luxurious hair, her face wrought with pleasure, her chin dribbled with his blood. As she finished she looked down at him, her cheeks red and flushed, then over her shoulder at the boy; a small chuckle escaped her as she dismounted from Anthony, grabbing her panties and putting them back on, smoothly buttoning her shirt up.
She nodded at one boy, “Pick up my bag and jacket, faggot.” She looked back at Anthony. “That’s the first time a guy made me cum. Well done, slave.”
Anthony moaned at the name, shuddering and staying down, stars in his eyes. He didn’t care much for the sex; it was the cruel kissing and the beating he took that made it so exciting.
His mother nearly screamed when she saw his appearance; his lip was bleeding and there were bruises on his limbs and neck. The worst of it was that his jeans were cut, close enough to his crotch that he was almost exposed; but there was blood spilled, from where he had scratched Cassandra so hard. It looked as if someone had really made him a eunuch.
The nail was almost pushed through Anthony’s hand, but as he pulled from his reverie, he removed it. His hard-on stuck against the side of his thigh and he stroked himself through his jeans, before he remember Taryn. He wondered if she would even think of him tonight.
I just barely missed the 10k word quota for today.
10013 words so far. Wootwoot!
Writing a sex scene between two beautiful characters is proving to be more difficult than expected. Damn.
My story has no plot, but I finally put some humor into it.
An excerpt:
Shivering, she stepped out of her apartment, locking the door with shaking hands and some difficulty. The iPod she wore around her waist, her earphones secure and her feet aching for movement. With a deep, shuddering breath, she ran down her stairs and turned left; not normal for her, as she usually went right, into the city.
She ran from the city for whatever reason; because of regrets or because she didn’t want to smile. The darkness enveloped her and she felt the sting in her ankles as the heat of her body overtook the cold. Her blood pumped wildly in her veins and she felt suddenly excited and exalted, ready to take on any battles. The music in her ears drummed a heavy, inspiring beat, and she ran all the faster for it, her fingernails biting her palms and her teeth grinding to fight the exhaustion. Taryn was not ready to lose the battle.
She rounded the corner of a bakery sharply, and was met full force with another person. Her nose met full force with the person’s chest, or what she thought was a person’s chest. She fell back onto the ground, her nose freely bleeding. She touched the warm liquid gushing from her, blinking the white, dazzling lights from her eyes, up at the so-called ‘victim’.
He was carrying a box and he threw it down and ran to her, asking if she was okay. She removed her naked hand and saw it covered in blood, and then felt her nose. Bruised, bleeding, but not broken, she decided. The person she had run into was a dock handler; he was piling boxes into a truck and she had run full-force into a crate full of calculators.
Her eyes hurt and it was difficult to blink properly. She heard someone moaned and realized a moment later that it was her. She sat up as the man patted her to wakefulness. She frowned and then winced in pain, tears swelling slightly in her eyes.
“Why the hell were you running like that?” the man asked her.
With a dazed expression she looked back at him. “What kind of question is that?”
He frowned and lifted her to her feet. “What do you mean, ‘What kind of question is that?’ I was just minding my own business!”
Taryn felt for her nose to make sure it had not fallen off, then wobbled on her feet before leaning against the building. She looked up and read, “Bittersweet Bakery.”
“I mean…” she swallowed blood, gulping. “Why are you loading calculators into a bakery?”
“Well, uh… I read the directions wrong, see. Sometimes I get a little confused. Dyslexia, I can’t really help it.”
“Maybe you should get your addresses written in numbers and not letters.”
“I didn’t ask for any sass and can’t help my disease. There’s no need to be cruel.” He bristled before turning away to pick up his crate. He looked at it and commented, “You left a swell mark in the wood, though.”
----
The irony of a dyslexic man loading crates of calculators into a bakery because he read directions wrong just tickles me pink.
The biggest story I have ever written has been just a bit shy of 6,000 words. 2,000 words in and I'm stuck. I need to go buy some books and work on my plot development.
In any case, I care more for quality than quantity at the moment. But so help me may God strike me down Himself if I don't get to at least 5,000 words by tonight! IT WILL HAPPEN!
I follow very closely to what the lead singer of Fall Out Boy, Patrick Stump, does. It's not an obsession. It's not a serial killer kind of thing. It's not even really a fan-girl thing. Screw the other band members; I just want to know what Mr. Stump is doing.
I think Patrick Stump is the best looking of the group. I have a thing for the slightly-chubb
His voice.
Some may think the lead singer of Panic! at the Disco has a good voice (whatever the hell his name is), but they are wrong. His voice is nice and smooth with just a bit of a treble to it, but where's the real emotion? It's just a bunch of notes off a page. That is obvious.
So, I follow closely to see what Mr. Stump has been up to; specifically, I don't care much of his personal life. I care more for his career and what songs he has sung in recently. He's probably got a girlfriend and is completely happy. Well break my damn heart. He's 21-22ish and I'm 17. Not. Gonna. Happen.
Doesn't mean I can't enjoy his voice and his development. From his first 'big' CD, that being Take This To Your Grave, his voice was still being formed. It was hesitant. It was weak. It was gorgeous.
Then, in FUCT, he was better. He sounded more like the guy from P!ATD, but with a more manly voice and less "I'm just doing this to impress you". His voice was strong, it was ready. It was beautiful.
Since FUCT, I have been in love with the band. I was for their first CD, but it wasn't the gut-wrenching emptiness in the pit of my stomach as it holed up into an electric ball of excitement that FUCT gave me.
Fall Out Boy is not my 'type' of band. I do enjoy punk rock and alternative, but the emo stuff and pop punk does not appeal. Okay, your mother died and your father left you. At least you didn't have to go through what Shasta did. Get over it.
The reason why I like Fall Out Boy so much is because OF Patrick Stump. I have a serious reaction to his action (that being, his voice). His progression over time has been amazing. His new songs he sings in... put simply, gives my ears an orgasm to listen to. Especially in "Don't Wake Me Up" with The Hush Sound.
I get goosebumps. I get shaky. I get breathless. This is a good voice. This is what makes the song. This is what I love so much. This is a voice that can belong to any kind of music, it being rap, emo, hardcore, new age... whatever. It fits.
Should I ever be able to ask Mr. Stump face to face about how he feels about being a singer... I would feel so lucky. I don't need to marry him. I don't need to fuck him. I don't even need to touch him. A conversation would more than appease me. That, or a song called, 'Emily'. That isn't about heartbreak.
So there, you have my explanation. The first musical voice that could make me feel sick, make my knees water, and put that empty feeling in my stomach... and make me love it. Patrick Stump.
People who posts pictures of their dead pets "in loving memory" are lacking in social relations with other people.