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Bring out the feather dusters!

Nov. 8th, 2012 | 12:27 am
How're you doing?: hopeful hopeful

*clean clean clean*
I think I might make this a review blog!
Makeup time....

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You are not alone

Mar. 1st, 2011 | 01:48 am
How're you doing?: indescribable indescribable

Just over nine years ago I was crying.
Just over nine years ago there was a key in a lock, in a desk, in the room where I was crying.
Just over nine years ago I wanted to stop crying.
I took that key and scratched away my tears in my arm.

Just over eight years ago I was crying.
Just over eight years ago there were some pills, on the floor, in my room where I was crying.
Just over eight years ago I nearly wanted to stop everything.
I realised I could never do that to my family, and found a mathematical compass.

Just over five years ago I was crying.
Just over five years ago there was my boyfriend, asleep in my bed, in the room where I was crying.
Just over five years ago I wanted to stop the pain.
I had given my compass away to take away the urge.
I couldn't stop crying, and I hated the girl who sat on her floor crying, not just because she was hurting, but because she needed physical pain to take away the emotional. I told myself I would never allow myself to crawl that low again, and made the decision to stop hurting myself.

I never told my friends. I tried to tell my father, and he didn't understand how to handle it at the time. I told my mother...and she told me I was lying and that if I had really wanted to die I would have and should have finished the job. I never spoke of it again, until I watched my sister suffer the same way. I tried to help her, offered her support, helped her keep it a secret from our parents...I failed, on all counts and I was wrong. Our parents found out, and she got help. I did not. As the eldest sister I had to stay strong, and pretend that I was fine. Nothing could ever be wrong with me, not whilst my mother and younger sister needed me. A few moments of pain to help me cope with the day. Unknown scratches on my upper arm were work accidents, and clumsiness on my part, as I told anyone who inquired.

I then came to university. I thought leaving behind my home life would mean I left the urges there too. I was wrong. Finally I told someone, who didn't judge and didn't just leave me to it. I found solace in my boyfriend of that time. However, I didn't stop. New emotions ran alongside old issues, and putting a lid on my need to stop my emotional pain only intensified the urges. I cracked.
I had given my implement to my boyfriend in an effort to help me to stop, but in reality at that point I had no real desire to stop. I had moved onto scissors by now, but they were in a drawer and I couldn't risk waking up my sleeping boyfriend by searching for them. So I sat on the floor and I cried. I hated myself for crying, because that was weak and it hurt. I then cried because I couldn't get rid of my emotional pain, and it was then that I cried because I needed it. I cried harder because I couldn't cut into my own flesh, and then I hated myself for that. I was sickened by what I had become that night. I made the choice, the real choice, to stop injuring myself.

It has not been easy. I have slipped, several times, in the past few years. I will no doubt slip again. There have been events in my life that have given me more than enough reason to start up again, but then I remember that awful sickening night and the person I was. I will never be that low again. Whilst my instances have become far far less frequent, the tools used have become, to an outsider's view, more worrying. Gone is the unhygienic ripping compass, and the scissors are a rarity. Instead there are surgically cleaned razor blades. My mindset has adjusted too, a frightening thing to admit. I have...accommodated my habit. No more. I am due to finally get help for my habit, as it has cost me my job. I do believe that employers need to be educated about self-injury in light of what happened to me, but that is something to be talked about at another time. Two and a bit months cut free now, although there have been very hard days. Exceptionally hard days. My parents now know, and having gone through everything with my sister, they are handling it better. I have even managed to tell some of my friends.

And today, March 1st, on Self Injury Awareness Day I am telling you. I hope that maybe you might look at this and realise that those who injure ourselves we do not want attention and we do not want to die. We can function in normal society, and often do so better than anyone expects us to. And if you are one of us, then you are not alone. You will never be alone, and there are those who don't just understand, we know what it is like. I hope you all find strength enough one day to not just acknowledge who you are but to take the first steps by saying 'no more'.
Thank you

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Reality bites...

Oct. 19th, 2010 | 01:45 am
Where are you?: Back room
How're you doing?: discontent discontent
Current Noise: Josh Groban - You are Loved

*clears off the dust*
It lives! Well just about...

Yeah, I've been away. For a long time. Working on cruise ships leaves no time for anything, at all. Not even sleep I have discovered; and yet there is always time to drink...huh.

Anyways today's topic is 'being important to somebody...or not as the case turns out'. I have recently witnessed a person I thought I knew fairly well, have a 'miniature relationship' with a girl (on board a ship to be fair), tell the girl that she was "special" and "meant a lot to him". Very sweet, very heart rending. Sadly, as with is frequently the case with ships, she leaves. He informs me that they are going to keep in touch, and yeah they might do but it's unlikely with ships.

Especially since he moved on in the space of a day... Seriously, the next night he was in the crew bar and had gone back to his cabin with another girl. So this leads me to the lies we tell. Are we protecting the other person when we tell them what we think they want to hear? Or are we protecting ourselves? Nobody likes to be faced with the prospect of another person's pain, and more specifically to be the cause for that pain. So rather than wound someone with the truth, we lie. We all do it. There's no denying that; as a human being you have to lie to get through this life. What you have to do though is maintain the lie.

You tell someone you care for them, you have to show them that you do. Just because they have left doesn't mean you let the pictures of you and your new 'care object' leak onto facebook for the world to view. Right?

Apparently I am wrong. When I was younger I found myself in the arms of a man, whom I had cheated on my boyfriend with, and he was honest with me to a point. He told me that all he wanted from me was sex, and that relationships were not his thing. Now that hurt at the time, but as I grew up I found myself thanking him for his honesty. There was a brief "longing" on my part, but the simple truth soon dowsed that fire and all the painful burns that came with it. I healed faster, and became stronger from his simple honesty. He now finds himself lonely and has once asked me to consider a relationship with him, which I have turned down. He's still a dick, but one day he'll grow up and yes women will hate him for that short while, but they'll thank him later for being blunt and honest.

So what of the shipboard gentleman, saving the feelings of his former on-board "partner"...? He's now between women shoreside, and frustrated because one isn't telling him how she feels. I sense the stirrings of irony, but it's best I keep quiet. I will say, the girl is waiting and holding out her hopes that he may come to his senses (which naturally he can't as there are no to come to in this sense...) and fall in love with her. She'll realise eventually, and wonder why she's allowed herself to waste so much time and energy on the 'perfect man' that never really wanted anything but "something to fill the gap" in the first place.

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I think I ought to update...

Jan. 2nd, 2010 | 09:56 pm
Where are you?: Parent's study...place...
How're you doing?: cynical cynical
Current Noise: Oh the tunes inside my head, to be different.

Huh. So I may have not been too bothered about this place for a while. My excuse...I went round to the other side of the world and had to pay stupid money for my internet and didn't want to waste it writing journal entries.

What was I doing on the other side of the world? I was working on a cruise ship and learning a hell of a lot about myself and the real world. I don't gel with the real world apparently and it's made me sad.

I am unfortunately returning to this life, because there is nothing else going anywhere in the world. Seriously. They all require experience for simple management positions, which I'm not going to get if no-one gives me a chance... Catch 22 me-thinks. That said, I have seen some of the world and it's getting the traveling bug in me exorcised. This is a very good thing to be happening, as it was that very bug which contributed to my previous break-up. I made acquaintances too, which was nice and helped me to make it through until the end. This time round if I can't handle it, I will leave after I have been paid. Simple. I'm not going through hell again, just to come out the other side feeling like less of a person. I proved to myself that I could do it the first time round, this is just for the experience and the money. I am dreading this ship though, and praying that they'll transfer me to another. I'll take anything other than the Coral, the Island or the Caribbean, *appeals to the powers that be*.

What did I learn about myself whilst I was away? A fair amount, and a huge amount about the world around me. People have no respect for you is my main one, and it's the one that both shocked and hurt me the most. To be treated as poorly as I was there by people whom I put my working trust in just does not make sense to me. I understand that the ships are a different environment, but surely working standard and general people skills still apply? Apparently not, and more importantly if this is the case across the fleet, I don't want to be a part of that business and lifestyle. Money be damned. I'm a human being, I deserve to be treated like one.
Other points of enlightenment feature around myself. I'm both a stronger and a weaker person than I ever thought I was. I've never stood up for myself when a figure of authority attacks me verbally. It has been ingrained into from my home and working life that you respect those in charge, and that to stand up for yourself will result in nothing good. I also found that parts of me that I thought locked away are simply waiting for the right moments to reappear, and I hate myself a little more for that.
Also I am addicted to sweet coffee now, because of ships. Similarly I drink alcohol now. It's these simple things that actually help you to make it through ship life, otherwise you find there's nothing to brighten up your days.

I make this sound like the experience from hell, and in many ways it was that for me. I haven't even mentioned the sheer pain I went through being away from the man I love and adore for five and a half months; I'm dreading how I'm going to feel going through this next six and a half month contract. Nor have I mentioned the disgusting attitudes towards women, race and the individual in general. That said there were good times. I saw things I could never hope to, without paying through the nose, and I did things that I can tell my kid (should I have it) about. I walked on the bottom of the ocean, fed a wild sea lion and was then molested by said sea lion, I saw glaciers, went dog-sledding, experienced places I hadn't even thought about and I did it all for free. This next time round I may not have the time to experience as much, but I have a greater understanding of how it all works now and I'm looking to try to get the most I get from this next contract. We dock in New York at one point, and good god I want to just see that city, let alone get off and experience it! I overnight in San Juan, which I'm told is unbelievable. So there are highlights, and it'll be those I'll cling to in the future.

So that's what I've been up to. I'll update later about other things and who knows I may even venture into fiction again! Dun dun dun duuuuuuuuuun!

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Normal?! Normal?! I'll give you normal sexual behaviour you stuffed up....

May. 28th, 2009 | 03:11 pm
Where are you?: The Study
How're you doing?: aggravated aggravated
Current Noise: Goodbye - SR71

In case you hadn't guessed I'm ranting today. At least it's a reprieve from fiction...

In my days of having nothing to do I found myself watching "The Wright Stuff", a show I sometimes find interesting and informing. Yesterday however I was exceptionally offended by a comment from one of the audience members, regarding ideas of normal sexual behaviour. This was sparked by the recent news of a married pair of teachers who were recently struck off after a sex video of theirs ended up on the internet. His response was that they deserved to be struck off as this was depraved behaviour, (the recording of their sexual activities), and that they shouldn't be allowed to teach ever again, whilst promoting 'normal sexual behaviour'.

For a start I don't believe that the teachers deserve to be struck off. So what if they recorded themselves having sex? It's a fairly popular practice amongst couples in reality, though they don't tend to post their efforts on the internet, and it was done on their own time outside of any school grounds and beyond the knowledge of any of their pupils. It has no real impact on their teaching careers, so why should they be removed?! What is this teaching the youth of today about sex? That it is something to be ashamed of and that is why we see so many issues arising, in my opinion. If sex was an open subject, then people wouldn't feel so awkward when they needed advice about various subjects. These can range from STIs to simply how it felt to lose virginity, or even down to what lube you would recommend. (Yes lube is a necessity in my opinion, and I wouldn't have known about this if it hadn't have been for discussions). Good sex exists because people have the ability to talk and compare what they enjoy and what they might enjoy.

This leads me into my next grumping point: Why is there this issue with sex these days? We supposedly live in the age of enlightenment and all that, but still I find heavy prejudice against alternative sexual ideas. The christian church has always annoyed me about this, (sorry for those who are both christian and my friends), particularly the Catholic church with its huge outcries against same-sex relationships and sex before marriage. I myself am a failed Catholic and yes I'm going to Hell in their eyes, but at least it'll be warm and I'll have been a happy soul for most of my life. But anyways less church rantings... My own relatives were shocked at the revelation that I'm bi-sexual, (not close ones to be fair, and they are a touch old fashioned), and I daren't mention any of my other preferences with my sister. Oddly my parents are thankfully rather open-minded and were infact the people who introduced me to Westward Bound and the idea of latex fetish wear. Curious I know. Yet ideas of sexuality are still being quashed. I cite the Daily Mail rallying against the editor of Scarlet Magazine because she supported the Condoms as Essential Wear Campaign and believes in the idea that women should carry condoms. I too support this belief, and I think that supporting such a campaign could help several women take charge of their sexual behaviour, as well as lower STIs and unwanted pregnancy cases. So I say that sex should be talked about, not to promote the idea of sex, but to allow people to have a much wider view of sex and then a better understanding. First times needn't be so frightening and/or painful, sexual aids should be encouraged as they promote better orgasms, and this doesn't just go for women, men should be allowed to discuss what they fear and enjoy about sex. This is how you can dispell outdated, and plainly offensive ideas about 'normal sex' put about by such gentlemen as the one I now move to discuss.

Now one day I may choose to be filmed by a sexual partner, because to be honest I'm a little curious. I wouldn't want this out in the public domain, but as a private showing between us, who knows, I may even find myself a little turned on by it all. According to the audience member of "The Wright Stuff" I am not normal and should be 'condemned' for my thoughts and opinions. It seemed to come across that anyone who chose to deviate from standard missionary position in a long term relationship wasn't normal, as Matthew Wright cited several examples at him including photographing the act, bondage and spanking he continued in his firm point that they were not 'normal acceptable sexual behaviour'. This, in my opinion, is an exceptionally offensive statement, to me anyways. Am I not a 'normal' human being because I choose to express myself differently in sex? Am I no longer an acceptable member of society because I enjoy alternative practices? The short answer is no. I still function perfectly well, despite what I do in private, and further more I function more than acceptably in private thankyou very much Mr. Stuffed Up Out-dated Ex-headmaster.

Right I think I'm done for now, so should you wish to express your own opinions, please go ahead. Just don't be too offensive.

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Poetry warning.

Mar. 26th, 2009 | 01:42 pm


A girl.
Her face hidden by the veil of half shadows of a broken lie.
The truth sickens in her throat,
And dies before it touches her lips.
Beware not her future,
For those are days that don't matter.
Don't exist, and never will.
She will hold you to her hearts,
Each twisting a new colour,
In this rainbow of real life.

How can you stand to touch her?
She who allows so many to go near her,
In shadows that hide the reality of the affairs.
No one touches her.
She will not allow it.
But They will never see such dark and furtive truths,
Hidden by the blinding light of performance

Silver that falls from their eyes
Mirrored in quiet corners
Of silent souls.
If only you knew.
But you never will.
And I will not stand to tell her tales.
Paint your own portraits,
My brush is dead.

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Ten songs, Ten stories

Feb. 18th, 2009 | 02:51 pm
How're you doing?: silly silly
Current Noise: Sex On Fire - Kings of Leon

Spotted this elsewhere and found it interesting, and since I love these quizzy thingies anyways...
You may get a mixture of my fiction, from the various universes, sprinkled with a touch of fan-fiction.
Right then...

1. Put your music player (iPod, MP3, Windows Media Player, etc.) on "shuffle"
2. While the first song plays, write what comes to mind. When the song ends, STOP (You can finish the sentence you're on)
3. Repeat with the next song, until you've written ten stories or story fragments for ten songs

1: El Tango de Roxanne - Moulin Rouge Soundtrack. (My own fiction, Macabre continuity)
The two figures crashed against each other in the darkness, clawing and biting at any exposed flesh. Clothes were torn and fur was soon tinged with red. Her fangs dove into his neck and his in return tore at her ear. Purple and white melded with dirty grey as the two twisted and flurried in their angry passions. Biting hard on the hybrid's lip brought forth a choked gasp as his hand circled her throat. He pulled her toward him, ignoring the threatening growl and the flash of claws, and forced his tongue against her mouth. Macabre yielded to the harsh probing and screamed as Stark's blade sunk into her leg.

2: Don't Stop Me Now - Queen (Fanfiction, but my OC. Transformers)
Icefire ran. Icefire always ran. Everywhere. Nobody on the face of the earth ran as much as her. Well unless you counted Blurr, and nobody really did. Hot Rod would often be found trying to keep up with her, but he always gave in and transformed partway through a race prompting her own hurried transformation and lightening quick acceleration to catch up with her "cheating" friend.

Even now she was running, chasing a sunset. Reaching the edge of the outcrop she leapt forward, arm outstretched, fingers reaching towards the sun.

3: Kissing You - Des'ree (My own fiction, again Macabre continuity)
The orb glowed dimly as the blonde furred demon stared into it. Demure searched desperately for her. The connection between them was forbidden, but watching her wasn't. He'd lost her once, and whilst he had agreed never to touch her life again, he wasn't prepared to give her up entirely. The sphere focused and a gentle sigh poured forth from the lips of the Higher Power Captain. There she was; even just sleeping she seemed beautiful to him. She remained tense, and ready for anything, muscles twitching should she be disturbed. He could almost touch her. Letting his fingers trail over the image he imagined stroking that velveteen fur, the mixture of purple and white of her cheek.

4:Heart of Glass - Blondie (Fanfiction of a sort, my universe and my OC making an appearance. Transformers)
The chains provided a hanging hold she could rest upon. Her legs had buckled as Rodimus melted through her leg pistons. Now a medic was tending to them, rebuilding and replacing parts, while the tyrant watched. He was stroking her cheek soothingly, dragging forth memories she'd kept buried. At least she'd tried to keep buried. He couldn't have them, and he couldn't have her. The new pistons stun as he forced her to test them. "Dance for me" he purred. He could never have her. Never. She stumbled in the spotlight, awkwardly shaking on the restraints, glaring at him.

5: Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off - Panic at the Disco. (My fiction and once more Macabre continuity).
"Demure?", the cat's voice resounded in the halls.
"Hello Toledo", the Captain's voice was cut in two by the sound of a blow. He'd been expecting a slap, not that full blown punch he'd just received. Dazed he looked up at his lover, shaking the noise from his ears. The cat was shouting, waving his arms maniacally. Until one statement came through hard and strong,
"I found the orb, you bastard!".

6: Breaking the Law - Judas Priest (My own fiction, this time a little something I've never written down before. WIP title for it is "Game")
Fate stared at the reflection facing off against her. True she was the clone, but she still saw Jessica as the reflection. Jessica was ranting at her, something to do with killing players for the second time this month. Fate was not listening, she was instead watching the body movements of "herself" waiting to strike out with the concealed dagger in her left hand.

7: Still Alive - Portal. (Transformers fanfiction. Purely and utterly)
"What ya doing?" came the voice from Sideswipe's side.
"Playing human video games through Teletran", the red twin looked down at the smaller form of Bumblebee who was poking at the screen. "Aww, get down would you? I need to set up this portal to save the companion cube".
"So what's it called?" The yellow did not move.
"Portal, now git would ya. I'm nearly finished and I want cake."

8: What you feel(reprise) - Once More With the Feeling Soundtrack (Damn this song was annoyingly short...Oh, my own fiction and we're back to Macabre continuity)
Damien blitzed through the various planes to find himself in the realm of that little meddler, The Keeper of Secrets. "Ah Chaos, nothing prettier", he thought as he burned a hole in the portal he'd just wandered through.

9: You Can't Stop the Beat - Hairspray soundtrack (Transformers fanfiction, again with one of my OCs thrown into the mix)
Dancing was nothing new to Icefire, but what Jazz was doing just seemed plain wrong. The random hip movements and flailing limbs should not have worked; where was the fluidity, where were the sensual hints of energon and where on earth was the light show? And yet it worked! Break dancing was what the mech had told her it was called. She though the name appropriate for the jerky randomosity of it all. It wasn't just Jazz that had taken to it either. Blaster had started up and the two seemed to be dancing against each other while the blue femme watched. It seemed both were equally matched in this "dance fight" of theirs, until Jazz piped up "Well I tink we need de help of a beauty of a lady to help us damn well decide here Blaster my master". His loudly painted compatriot agreed, "Hell yes, com'on over here girl!". A smile crept under the blue's mask, as she sashayed her way between the pair of them, lending each of them her arm.
#Time to show them how it's really done# Icefire's grin nearly broke her mask as the music started up and she whirled neatly into Blaster's arms before weaving her way to Jazz's side.

10: I'm so Sick - Flyleaf (Own fiction, Macabre continuity)
Fae stared over the landscape, narrowing her eyes. The wind had picked and she caught the scent of her commander. Macabre. Even the name made her sick. She hated the hybrid with all her passion. It was her fault that Demure had abandoned Fae, and it was her fault that she was here caught in all this destruction, and it was her fault that Stark tortured her night after night, and it was her fault that everything was the way it was. Still she turned stiffly to salute, "Ma'am".

Well that was less easy than I'd thought. And damn it's hard to keep to that time limit! Right until next time, adieu!
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Oh hell she's writing again...

Feb. 3rd, 2009 | 12:07 am
Where are you?: The Ice room...
How're you doing?: cold cold
Current Noise: Hard Rock Hallelujah - Lordi

Yes it's more fiction and this week you get my own fiction. Yep, the same strand as the Keeper of Secrets one, but focused on the internal story. Having said that this is pretty much a drbble ficlet. I'm sorry, I'll stop subjecting you to this if you so wish....



A more imaginative person might have thought this was like flying, this roof top assault course. Tens of falls and unseen ledges giving reason to huge leaps and fancy aerobatics. A pole here to grab hold of in the dying seconds of a 30 foot drop, lest she ended up as a pavement crater decoration, a swan dive twisting into a roll atop a flat bed roof there to save time; it would have been a very jerky flight, but no less exhilarating. To anyone else that is.

Macabre’s aerials were simply a quick method of moving through the urban maze-ways. Far more efficient than trying to push through the few spats of crowds on the lower levels, a whole lot less screaming up here. The twin butterfly blades in her hands would definitely have brought undignified attention, let alone the set of throwing knifes in her belt, but then her mere appearance would render a similar result. The name Macabre was well known through the mortal realms, and the immortal ones at that.

Damien’s general, and prized assassin, she brought calm proficient killing to every plane she touched. A throwback to her “Experiment” days, but the training was an undeniable asset and it was that past life that had brought her so much attention from the realms beyond mortal conception. Those had been the days when she’d first met the Lord of the Underworld, not that she knew who he was at the time, or who he was to become.

Another memory glimmered in her subconscious but was quickly quelled as the blade in her left hand had to be swiftly tied to her loose weapon’s belt before her fingers connected with brittle cold metal of an aging ladder just beyond the gaping pitch slit in front of her. The leap was a half step spring; the left hand outstretched and took a firm grip of the third rung, whilst her body impacted against the grit of the wall. Hands and feet took the blow lightly, only to scrape and scrabble their way upwards, the velveteen fur ruffling and ripping on the rough brick and mortar. Pristine ash fur was blotched with a collage of muted blacks, greys and browns. The filth was tinged with a red that spotted sporadically over both the purple and white fur, and her clothes. The occasional glance at her own appearance would cause a disdainful frown to creep over the hybrid’s face. It was clear that she’d be scrubbing her attire clean for the fourth time in two days and her fur for the sixth. Damien had asked Stark to make such a mess of her the other night.

Stark had been Macabre’s predecessor, and was truly vexed at this development. It was true that he still held all the power he once had, but now it was shared between himself and the assassin. They were Damien’s right and left hands, except with Macabre playing his favoured right, and this led to tensions between the two. Years of emotional conditioning had quashed any sense of jealousy or retaliation from the hybrid, but Stark had been so set to undo this training, made worse by Damien’s fascination and subsequent permission to do so. What had developed between the two generals was an explosive lust-hate relationship, with each twisting the sickening desires of the other to their own needs. Macabre would allow herself to be pinned, and torn at with serrated spikes, so long as he would relieve himself within her which he was more than happy to do so. And the adoring “love” of her life? He would watch in his lordly fashion, and heal the wounds, and soothe away the suffering, and allow Stark to do it all again within a few hours. The process was repeated until Macabre would beg for him to take her instead, and he would softly oblige the short hybrid.

Her height was an advantage in flight. Being so short meant she could curl herself into a tighter ball, or fall at a sharper angle simply because she wouldn’t connect with the overhanging ledge. Quick steps made up for any length of stride, and her speed was kept at a steady pace until she slid to halt on the flat roof of one of the many records archives of the city. Surveying the roof-scape, her chest rose and fell with automatic breaths dragged from her impassive lungs, as she searched for the appropriate shadowy aperture. Releasing the second blade from her belt she waited and rolled on the balls of her now tingling feet. The blades glimmered with light that was not a reflection from this plane, two twinned short swords, though swords would be a stretch at best. They were stumpy and broad with an asymmetric cutting edge, clearly mean for slicing rather than stabbing, and a decoration that marked them for what they were. Twin Spirit Blades. Developed by the underworld to mark those who chose a darker path, they were the weapon of choice for assassins not wanting to leave an unpleasant mess for discovery. It was with these blades that a spirit could be cut from its living body and left to wander in a state of bewilderment for all eternity. The body would simply carry on regardless for about a week and then commit suicide of its own accord. It was efficient killing at its best, and yet they jarred against the hybrid’s natural preferences. It wasn’t unusual to find the body murdered the night after, simply to clean up the potential “loose ends”.

Two, three and finally four beats passed before she started a sprint towards the leading edge of the building. With a lengthening stride she hit full speed just as the ridge met her leading foot. Springing from the roof, Macabre fell with a remarkable speed, her eyes narrowing against the wind trying in its minimal effort to stop her from hitting the ground that touch faster than she should be. It was only as she free fell that the portal opened, and she was greeted by a tender warmth and gentle glow that wrapped around her in ribbons and beckoned her into their folds. She hit the velvet rug and immediately threw her blades into the wall, finally smiling at the hollow thunk as they imbedded into wood. Time for a shower she thought to herself, as she shook off the night that crept after her in that haunting fashion that suited Stark far more than her.

Exposition bores me, so you get none this time.
No seriously I'm fed up with it so you'll just have to cope with what you have here.

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Jan. 20th, 2009 | 08:28 pm
Where are you?: Well I'm back...
How're you doing?: cheerful cheerful
Current Noise: Sunshine and Chocolate - Semisonic

So I've had a good weekend. For those who want the short version: I paid Lancaster a visit, fenced, discovered a friend of mine has an amazing voice, picked up a new band to appreciate and mocked a silly emo vampire film. Then came home.

Right then for those who desire a little more insight into my twisted mind and my supposedly interesting life continue on. And look, no fiction today. Traveling up to Lancaster always gives me a thrill. I desperately look forward to my visits, as I can just feel all the angst and annoyances disappearing with every stop I go past. Cheesy I know, but *shrug* it's true. I am completely happy whenever I visit my friends. Mainly because I lack them in Stafford perhaps, but let's ignore that for now because dammit I'm in a rare good mood.

Fencing was fun, despite the fact that I now feel old and creaky compared to the rest of the club. All these spritely newbies. Amusing moments from this fencing session: Dan telling me not to stab in his balls...second point on my part...his balls...oops, I'm sorry Dan! and having met someone for under ten seconds they define me almost to a tee "So you basically fly in here, corrupt people, then fly off again". Huh I've become predictable in my old age. I'll have to work harder at maintaining some of my mystery, maybe I'll appear in the most conservative outfit I own and quietly talk about the virtues of not having sex before marriage...or not. I think I can cope with being predictable in that aspect, I still have many more facets to my dice for the newbies to discover.

James and Ellie, you're adorable. There I've said it, now swiftly moving on, it was great to actually get to spend time with all my close friends. *hugs James* Btw you have a dark horse of a young lady there, good sir, she's a keeper. Talking bras in the middle of a bar is something I've missed a whole bunch, and I managed to finally relax during that part of the conversation ^-^. I'm sorry the end of the evening didn't quite work out as well as the rest of the time, but *shrug* I understand why it didn't. Somethings can't be helped.

I'm going to leave the musical bits for later, just before we reach another exciting installment of "Anya recommends potentially obscure music from her vaults", so I get a nice tie in. And so we move to film mocking. Ah hahahaha. The film was Twilight. Yes we were late...my bad. The people were Kayleigh, Dan, Shortsman and I. I spent the majority of the film giggling with Kayleigh about the angry/constipated/painful looks the two leads were giving each other all the time. Seriously, even dull surprise would have been better than what they were doing. Emo vampire is emo. He made Angel look good. I'm not joking. No, really. Also shiny?! Shiny skin!? I was expecting a misshapen hideousness, what did I get? Skin that is badly CGed to look like "diamonds"(supposedly).............Fire. Speaking of kill it with fire, someone in the film did get killed with fire! That was an outstanding point, amongst all this angst and terrible acting and awful dialog, the incredibly violent torture and fight scene. Very unexpected, and terribly jarring with the rest of the film's content, to an almost uncomfortable level. This, the inclusion of the father character and omg hotness on the part of Alice were the highlights of the film. The father character was a brilliant inclusion, not only were his scenes ranging from humorous to actually genuinely moving but he actually brought out the best in his daughter co-star. The scene where she was "leaving" struck a chord that the rest of the film seemed lacking. Oh and there was that one car stunt that made my insides purr. Given the rippling giggles throughout the film I believe most of the audience had gone to do as we had done, to simply rip the hell out of this terrible terrible film. It didn't even manage to hit "so bad it's actually good".

And so we returned to Dan's, where we decided since Dan had not only gel but long enough hair Kayleigh and I would sculpt his hair to look like that of the main character. We actually managed it pretty well too *giggles*. Oh the amusement. There are photos somewhere, but Kayleigh hasn't put them up on facebook yet so *shrug*. Brooding emo vampire Dan is broody. That was an entertaining evening, though the list of people I want to hurt has been added to. Less on that and more to music since it came as part of that evening.

I spent this visit staying with Dan, and during the course of my stay I overheard him singing. My god the boy has a voice on him. Right I'm done with that. Why did no one ever tell me how good Semisonic were? I mean I'd heard their stuff before but it never really registered, but actually listening attentively to their songs, I really like them. All about Chemistry will be joining my CD collection soon. A favourite is Sunshine and Chocolate, it has a beat which speaks to my hips. Oh yes that was another good feature of Twilight, the soundtrack. Anything that has Muse's "Super Massive Black Hole" in it goes up in my estimation. Again another song which speaks to my hips, in a very sultry voice that demands I sway them. As Kayleigh, Shortsman and Dan found out...I really can't resist dancing to that damn song.

And now with a wondrous not so broad leap we move to my random recomendations. Today I give you Vienna Teng. I love her peaceful quiet songs as they kinda force you to listen to the lyrics rather than just the music, "Passage" is a particularly good one for that but very depressing hence why that's not the song I choose to introduce you to her with. No, instead you get "The Tower". This song means a great deal to me, mainly because I find myself identifying with it heavily, particularly the second verse. After I left my last partner I listened to this song time and time again simply because it was how I felt utterly and completely. I can't resist the pure need to sing along with it when I hear it, even if my singing resembles that of a cat caught in a door.
And look the video I've found also matches another enjoyment of mine: Firefly!

Until next time keep well and may you never have the misfortune to stand in front of a fan in slow motion, hair billowing in the wind...

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Ah ha! Fan fiction, well sorta....

Jan. 15th, 2009 | 07:29 pm
How're you doing?: satisfied satisfied
Current Noise: Linkin Park - Points of Authority.

Does it still count as fanfiction if it features mainly your own character and in a different universe of your own setting?
Discuss and return answers on a postcard.
In the meantime have some angst! Explanations may follow afterwards.
PS. It's Transformers.

Twitching in the dank, a slight fembot hung from her restraints. Energon chains bolted to the somewhere ceiling, a cylindrical dungeon with the single shaking figure at its centre, lit up beautifully from above. Shadows crept around the edges of the cell, and it was from there that the voices, weapons and blistering pain came. The small fembot herself was a mess, trails of electric blue vital fluids and oil lining her entire frames. The fresher wounds sparked, whilst older tears and holes simply glowed a pathetic light. There were patches where a would-be medic had patched her up enough, so that he could continue. Her headlamp had been smashed months ago, and the cracked glass was filthy, a black intricate spider web over the once pristine white mirror. The blue paint had lost its sheen, and in many areas non-existent or simply dyed blackish from her leaking fluids. In her current semi-offline state her head was bowed, hiding a visage of old wounds made fresh with each passing week. She never recharged properly anymore, for fear he would sneak up on her, as he had done the first time and shock her into reality.

The solid gate of the room clicked and flung open, leaking orange familiarity onto the floor. She missed the lights of the facility, the memory being the first she grabbed as she pulled her consciousness out of its dark quiet reclusion. A pleasant walk through the corridors of the Ark, and then Autobot City flooded her memory banks and she almost sighed, forgetting where she was. Blue optics flickered and adjusted, as her jailer stepped into the room. Not a word, just the sound of his heavy step as he strode behind her, a creak of joints as arms were raised and then the whistle as the pole swung through the air into the tiny frame with a sickening thunk. Blunt, she thought, it must be Monday.

Part of her still found it funny that she kept holding onto to that Earthen version of a week, made more amusing by how she kept track of these days. Blunt, sharp, hot, cold and loud. The five torture groups made up a perfect working week, and what were weekends? Mental torture, of course, with the occasional rebuilding and respite for her. She joked with herself that those were national holidays, or something like that. Oh how the amusement trickled through her. She wondered it that was the sign she was going insane, or that she kept her sanity? Not that it mattered either way. Insanity wasn’t going to save her from him; Arcee was the shining example of that.

The pink fembot’s mind had shattered within a few months of her torture, and then he had rebuilt her, both physically and mentally. Only to break her again. And again. And again. Until now she was a terrifying shadow of his own making. The new paint job didn’t help, who’d thought she’d look so good in red and black? Her constantly flickering blue optics jarred horribly, but it added to the overall effect. He released her into the not-so secret police and she revelled in the devastation, not to mention the chance to reuse all those wondrous torture methods. He’d driven Arcee harder than all the others, and look at what he had achieved: a perfect beautiful machine of chaos. The new Arcee had even darkened her cell door once. Hanging on his arm, she’d sashayed up to the blue’s fragile form and even gently stroked the wounds with a purr. This peaceful moment had lasted approximately 3.2 astroseconds, before boiling oil had been tipped into a gaping wound at her neck. Arcee had calmly told her how she was no longer the favourite toy, and that this would all be over soon, and that one day she would rip out the blue’s pulsing spark and crush it between her energon soaked claws. That lasted 6 cycles. She never saw Arcee again, but then there’s still time. She wasn’t fully offline yet.
The screech of metal hitting metal was only marginally louder than her whimpers and cries. Upon each contact the femme would finally lift her head into the light, revealing the hole in the side of her faceplate. You could clearly see her dental band and glossa, as well as the wires and servos holding her jaw together. The cracks that ran over the entire right side of her faceplate were dulled and embedded, a few newer scores shining out, but the tear in her cheekplate seemed to bleed out a mixture of black and luminous blue fluid every time she screamed. He’d removed the mask she’d once guarded so carefully as part of her mental torture the first week, forcing her to look into a mirror reinforcing how disgusting her appearance was. The words filtered through even now, and the dull ache was a constant reminder. Her faceplate was the only area he forbade to have repaired, so even as the tear grew larger with each desperate scream it was left. Hot black fluid leaked from her optics and seeped down into the cracks and holes, highlighting the lacelike appearance against the pale grey of her faceplate.

It was only after he’d broken through her casing that he finally stopped and spoke to her, “There now, I think we’re done for today”. The words echoed through a haze, as the energon roared in her audio sensors, refusing to clear even as he lifted her head gently. Tilting her up, by her chin, to look into his own blue optics he almost smiled at her, and a wash of memories flew at her. That daft giggle of his, him smiling over at her as they raced through corridors together, that peaceful grin he got when he was fishing and that one time he’d held her head in his hands and looked into her optics and not the mask that hid them. The days when he’d still been Hot Rod, not Rodimus and not this dark incarnation of a lord and master. More fluid streamed from her own optics, and his grin twisted into a smirk before he slapped her hard. Reeling from the blow she barely heard his departure, “Goodnight Icefire. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow, so do stay alive until then won’t you?” Half shutting down her systems, her optics stay online long enough to watch him waltz through the gate into the warm familiarity she wished she could just forget.


Least it's not too long...
So yes, it's Transformers and yes it's another off the cuff draft, and yes I'll probably hate it tomorrow, but I won't be around to mess with it until Monday so pffft.
The timeline is post Rodimus Prime's ascension, where the matrix has been infected with Unicron's evil after he went boom. Yes I know a rehash of a marvel story, but listen would you *plonks self down*.
This is at the beginnings of Rodimus's takeover from Optimus, and he doesn't cope with the corruption so well. In fact he rather embraces it, as it gives him a certain freedom from the pre-ordained burden Optimus had set down, and thus we end up with a nasty nasty tyrant. Who still think he is an Autobot. So he still hunts down and defeats Decepticons, but chooses to do so with a callous disregard for life. He also like torture, in case you hadn't guessed, particularly torturing those he was close to. That would be the evil shining through gloriously there. The only reason Springer's not making a feature here is that he got out when things were turning hairy. Supposedly dead, he helps out in the resistance. More exposition on that at a later date, when I've thought about it and written it down. Magnus also escapes the torture by remaining as Rodimus's second, though with one hell of a chip on his shoulder. He doesn't particularly want the job, but in the position he maintains he can actually save people and try to influence the young tyrant.
Icefire is a particular favourite torture toy of his, not just because they were close, but because she seems to be desperately clinging to the idea that he and Hot Rod are two entirely different entities. My blue girl just wants her boytoy back. Hence why he teases her with half smiles and memories. Truth is, that maybe without the Matrix he might go back to the sweet non-homicidal guy he once was, but those who've dared to try to take it from him tended to end up in a smelting accident. That wasn't so much of an accident.

Right exposition bores me! I'll write it all up one day, then you can read all my mind's twisted monstrosities.

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