| examples. |
[17 Jun 2010|11:37pm] |
It was almost as if Draco could hear her voice. He didn’t even know what a voice would sound like, but he just… He heard it. It was soft like a kitten’s fur and warm like a fire in winter. Draco knew that he wasn’t worthy of being with her. He was just another rebel kid with nothing to offer the world other than the fact that he could make a great sob story. He was pretty much a failure by definition. And she, she was the epitome of perfection, but he loved her far too much to give her up. Draco could look into her eyes and know exactly what she wanted to say, and if that wasn’t true love, he didn’t know what would be. They didn’t need words – they were more than words. They were everything and nothing. But those words… They took him by surprise. “When you close your eyes, what do you see?” Draco kept reading it over and over again. The turquoise of the marker against the stark white eraser board seemed so much brighter than normal. He was afraid of closing his eyes and giving her the wrong answer -- and so he did it, because Draco was the kind of person to force himself to be strong. “I see nothing,” he scribbled down quickly, a frown fixed on his pale lips. Draco was expecting her to just get angry and upset and leave, but when his eyelids fluttered back open, she was smiling. “I see nothing, too,” Draco read. She whispered that to him, and he simply watched her lips move. Her voice… It was soft like a kitten’s fur and warm like a fire and winter. He had no doubt about that.
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Mikey was out of fucking cigarettes, which automatically meant? Bad day. Bad fucking day. He was snappish with everyone, defensive, nonchalant, and pretty much a sarcastic asshole. Mikey was sure that his entire team of collegues wanted nothing more than for him to go off and die in a fire, and he wouldn't be surprised if he'd lost friends at school, too. He was a broke mother fucker and he knew quite well that there wasn't a single damned person that would lend him money for some more faggots. Mikey wasn't one of those 'cigarettes to keep calm' type of people -- it was more like 'smoke until your lungs are tar'. Since his mom had bitched and bitched and bitched about his smoking, Mikey decided that he was going to quit. If Gerard had something bad to tell him, Mikey was pretty sure he'd explode a million times over. He didn't need a cherry on top. Pretty much the entire walk to Gerard's place consisted of Mikey blasting angry music and chewing on four sticks of gum in one giant wad. It was pretty much the only thing that could take his mind off of how shitty his day had been. The moment he opened the door and saw Elena, however, it was like Mikey hadn't even been upset at all, and despite himself, Mikey grinned from ear to ear. "What happened to 'stop trying to be her father, Mikey'?" he teased, reaching out to take care of his niece, hugging her to his chest as he held her bridal style, placing a loud, wet kiss to her cheek. Mikey didn't even know if Elena liked him. Obviously she loved him, but that was different.
--
He stared into the mirror. Kyo looked back at him, a dirty reflection of a face that was anything but pure. Dark features against a dark room -- wisps of hair that blocked out the scrutinizing eyes that shone dankly with a perfected sneer of repulsion. His gaze trailed over his body and the chest that gleamed in the small lights of the darkness. Inch after inch of once perfect skin was covered with scars and scabs -- a reminder of still-healing wounds and self-inflicted torture that plagued and released him, week after week. He sat there for hours, and his reflection steadily grew colder as his hands began to quiver. His silent cries and torment boiled inside of him, making his body shake as the hot lashings stung the base of his throat. He wanted so badly to swallow, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He couldn’t break his own gaze and let himself win. He couldn't allow himself the pleasure of casting his eyes downward in his own shame. He feared his own reaction and what was crawling in his mind. The inevitable. The one thing that they had always, unconsciously, expected from him. Death. The cold, cruel hatred he'd harboured for society -- for those in his past, for the world -- that had manifested itself so physically in an overwhelming passion was constantly at the verge of driving him where they had always thought he’d go. His own madness would reach a peak and mirror the blood and grime and torment that he bruised his lungs for each night. Because he was useless. He looked into the mirror and saw nothing. Nothing but scars of battles and ordinary people. Because he was ordinary. He was crazy, he was hurt, he was what he conjured, but he was essentially the same, so lonely and insignificant. So ugly. So bruised. Heartstrings torn and ripped like blades of grass, gone off to decompose and start life again elsewhere without him.
--
Enthralled was a good word. Truly, Jeffree had enthralled Sonny the very moment he'd laid eyes on the older man. Was it his sass or his confidence or simply the way he looked? Sonny wasn't sure. Either way, it made the pit of his tummy flip inside-out and a lump catch in his surgically perfect throat. He was just... Spellbound. Captivated. Beguiled. Sonny was going to have fun that night -- he was sure of it. Honestly, he'd be a liar if he said he'd worn such tight pants just because he wanted to. Sonny had an amazing, tiny ass, and he was proud of it. He wanted Jeffree to notice. Long black hair draped down his shoulders, a white longsleeved shirt hung down below his hips, and he could barely even walk. Fantastic. Grinning from ear to fuckin' ear, Sonny tilted his head downwards to read the text message that he'd recieved, pounding his small fist against Jeffree's door. "Yo!" he called out, laughing. Excited, indeed.
--
Sara's anxious fingertips shook on their way down Shannyn's neck. She was the smaller of the two, and her soul was probably weaker, but in that moment, she was in control. It felt to her like the world was in the palm of her hand, just waiting for mere instructions on how to go on. Sara felt electric -- on fire, and on edge. A kiss, to her, was something that was cherished. Althought it may not be guessed upon first meeting, Sara rarely engaged in intimacy other than the occasional hug. She barely embraced her own twin, and that said a lot. But then, people would come along, and they would sweep her off her feet and make her want everything right then. That's what Shannyn had done to her. She made Sara want to keep her in a box forever and never let her run away. She anticipated the moment the kiss would break apart, just so that she could bring it back together again. With small pants, Sara nuzzled her nose in return, feeling goosebumps dance elegantly on her flesh. "You," she whispered without a single thought, pulling Shannyn back down into a second kiss. Her hands went to the bottom of the girl's shirt, grabbing onto the cloth, threatening to push it up.
--
A blackened cloud of smoke billowed above Mandee’s head, looming possessively in the air. The young woman’s eyes were downcast, scanning over the ancient words upon fresh paper. It had been quite a while since she had been obsessive over anything spiritual, but something about the bible made Mandee feel so good. Maybe it was the fear that it gave her, or the way so many of the passages could be applied to everyday life. Either way, Mandee’s eyes never left the text, studying them strictly. The room was cold. Too cold, in fact, but she couldn’t afford to pay for any more heat – nor electricity, for that matter. Still, she stayed dressed in her usual attire; short black skirt, and a fishnet top showing off the brightly coloured bra that she wore underneath. This time, however, she wasn’t clad in her fluffy legwarmers or boots taller than an average human’s head. Mandee was relaxed, thus completely silent – no tics or unrecognizable words creating unneeded sounds to break the feeling of serenity. The only thing that snapped her out of what seemed like a trance was the heavy pounding upon her apartment door. With her breath caught in her throat, Mandee placed her hand over her pounding heart, squeezing her eyes shut to force herself to calm down. She hated being brought back to reality, as it made her think so much – about Constantine, and about the happiness that they could have had. Forcing all of that away, Mandee cautiously stood, ticing nervously as she walked to the door, after setting her book carefully down. Biting her lip, Mandee lithely pulled open the door, instantly completely and utterly freezing at what she saw before her. Just as she had started to get over her previous lover, he came barging back into her life once more.
Human instincts should have made her terrified to the core of her every being. She should have screamed when a man covered in blood showed up at her door and just waltzed in like he owned the damn place. Then again, Mandee should have done a lot of shit that she’d never even think about, and freaking out about being in the same room as a serial killer wasn’t one of them. After all, she did have the blood of innocent women on her hands, too. No, what scared her wasn’t the fact that Constantine could kill her, and was maybe even planning to. What scared her was the thought of said serial killer breaking her heart again. Taking slow, careful steps back, Mandee stared with her mouth open, never even allowing her eyes to look away from Constantine’s face – the face that she had kissed so many times. “You… I…” She started, feeling herself start to shake with all the memories that flooded her mind like a rapid tsunami. Mandee wanted to fucking forget. Twitching violently, Mandee snapped, reaching out to shove him with all her strength, pushing him towards the door as she let out a scream of anger. “What the FUCK are you doing here?” She was fucking furious, and she honestly wasn’t thinking correctly. It was only a matter of time before she slipped back into her insane mentality.
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