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A continuation of Regency

A friend told me today that she thought that none of the boys in my life deserved me.
That I needed a man; because none of these boys were going to be men anytime soon and I should have one.
She said I needed someone like Auron.
Ha- we refer to him as someone we know and love in what most would call reality.
Auron- as some of you gamers, geeks, and nerds like I know- is impossibly strong, able, honorable, intelligent, wise and generally a walking wet dream. If only he wasn’t pixilated.
Just in case you didn’t get it from my description- Auron= badassery on a stick- no matter how many pixels he’s made of.
The point besides the magnificence Auron -and the fact that even if I’m not looking, people agree that I should have someone like him-is that it brings me back to my original argument for and of ‘Regency men.’ Only this time I am confronted with a question that I cannot quite pin down, nor answer.
You might call that a non sequitor but everyone secretly knows what I am talking about. Don’t argue with me on my weird anomalies or illogical metaphors- it saves so much time.
For the better part of 2,000 years (or more- or less… I don’t do research or science) individuals of each gender has made general assumptions of the entirety of the opposite gender, sometimes assumptions of their own.
Some of the psychological types or the analytical or the doctor or the anthropologist may say “General observations are for the writers who think they know everything. _____ , however proved/knew/theorized/ blah whatever answer I don’t care _____.
The fact of the matter: ‘general assumptions’ =clinical observations proven by copious amounts of personal study and inference.
Study that for a second or two and identify the major problem of two great big gaping holes in any argument on either side.
Still it doesn’t stop us from theorizing. Since when have humans been rational and simplistic?
All we can do is collect opinion or preference and place it into our memories and modify the experience until we can figure out where we wish to have it kept in the sea of data within our minds.
Yes, I do watch Ghost in the Shell, but we’re getting off topic.
So- back to my abstract question, inspired by the Auron comment dealing with my ‘regency’ explanation, incorporating the idea that none of this is general or worldwide though I may refer to it as such.
I know exactly why I would want a man like Auron. We don’t really have to go over this. I have my reasoning why certain men are popular, desired and fantasized, others you marry and others you forget about looking for because they don’t exist. (Others you just forget about.) I have my reasoning for the increase of women fantasizing over vampires.
What the hell do I have on ‘why any man like that would want someone like me?’ It’s not as self deprecating as it sounds I assure you. The problem is I don’t know what I am like.
I don’t even know what the hell I am.
I’m in the ether. *whoOoOOoOOo*
I am weird, and not out there at all, because I am so goddamn normal.
I may be sensitive but I am not emotional.
I am rational but I am also incredibly illogical.
I am so simple in my ‘complexity’ that my only constant is change.
I’m not gorgeous but I’m not bad to look at- and I can feel like I can walk the world with aplomb and trust in my faith, but I can also feel like the-- the lowest most spineless person who doesn’t have a clue what they are doing.
Secure and insecure.
What the hell am I?! A walking contradiction?
Where the hell do I fit in? Is there a category for ‘crazy but not really?’
So- the general questions that attribute to the one general question that still doesn’t have exact wording: “Is it the same for both?” “Is it the same for all?” “Is it different for each and every individual or can there be accepted generalizations without the influence of philosophy?”(Thereby creating a small paradox because it would then become a philosophy.)

Really there is no way to tell. And it’s not like listing all the traits of what I admire and find attractive in an idea is going to change anyone or anything- because it shouldn’t.
And it’s not like we can sit each and every person on this planet down to find copies, or settle on a good number of categories, or decide on which generalization we like best.
This is why I am having a problem keeping my theory of Regency men running if I am sure I am the one looking for an un-pixilated Auron, but unsure of everyone else looking for theirs. Sure of certain things, unsure of uncertain things but which are which? Why I am having such a problem figuring me out? Because, ultimately, that’s the issue when opinions are oscillating on major points of your life philosophy.

I guess what I am trying to say, to myself, and to others or to anyone:

We have no idea what the fuck we are doing or who we are or who the other person is so just stop thinking and trying to figure it all out and use your intuition when it needs to be called upon.
Make shit up when you have nothing better to do and if you are feeling a little lost and need some solid ground.
By no means stop. Always start again.
Just don’t set your ways. Begin the change- who cares if it’s the exact same thing as before? Don’t be an arrogant asshole because you think you know things. That’s great- I’m glad you know things-we are all still going to die sucker. So teach other people and let them teach you. It doesn’t matter if they can’t tell archaic from an electrical socket.

Okay so yeah- That didn’t go as I planned. I feel though that I wouldn’t have followed or found what I was trying to say with out all those other steps… because if I just came out and said “We are all going to die but it’s ok, learn to just say fuck it and go for it?”

*All I am saying is quit being so…side-sy. :P Because everything is a general assumption about everything. (concerning this matter.) (( I c wut I did thar))
This is in fact an excerpt from the orig. story that my friend and I are 'co-not writing.' This is Tobias' point of veiw. I am thinking that it needs to be deleted but I am looking for opnions mostly. I need to hear critisism. Please try to make it ' it would be more effective if' not 'I liked it' or 'too much description for me.'

Carnage; precious, but wasted life splattered upon all the monsters left standing. Simply standing there, with their butcher weapons stained, their hands stained permenentaly, with life that was brutally taken. If any person had cared to look any one of them in the face- if they had gained enough courage to see - they would catch the visage of the naked vulnerability of a child that had accidentally done some action that would displease it's mother. It created a scene that was so reminiscent of that it made you sick. The visage of children in blood. The same blood that is drenched on the recently dead. It's as if it's a pitiful sacrificial plea to revive the massacre. The expended life spilt everywhere, the brilliant crimson mirroring the golden inferno rising in the East, the dawn providing false hope that everything would be gloriously fine, and safe. A black billowing smoke turret counters the glow of the east with a dark burning ominous passion: the burning of the corpses; marring the sacred baby-blue of a new born sky. This was a sight, a tragedy, which lay before me like a gift from hell. It's a portrait of epic vivid proportion that burns into me, imprinted on my mind for eternity after.
Thousands, hundreds of thousands of bodies. If you could tell that was what they once were. The lumps that are a grotesque mash of metal and meat were alive once. Once....once upon a dream time... before their skulls were crushed in such a way that the grey matter that was their brain erupted in the hands of their early demise. Necks ripped so that the life flowed past, making it's own river, the pearly white of their spines glistening. The blood flowed past the mountains of bodies, and pooled, steaming at the feet of the standing. The alive.
My warriors, my monsters, that were left standing in the chaos begin to howl. Howl at nothing. Perhaps the stains on their hands? The stains that will never wash away, like my own. My imperfect, tainted, corruptible...human hands. How sinful the race must be; to have hands capable of this. I realize… that I am no longer human. My eyes glaze over as they slide to old warriors, "seasoned" they say, with battle, vomiting, their murder tools giving them support as they empty the measly anything that they had in their stomach. The young ones, the ones who had no such experience as this collapsed. Pulled in by ravenous shock that would eat them from the inside out. It would leave nothing but a hard, empty shell. For a few days after this, if they survived the mental shock, if they survived, their eyes will reflect the horror, and after a few years, if they were exposed long enough, their eyes will become hard, cold and never quite there. God, if there was a God, any god, please, please let them survive. Let their eyes live.
I crawl, crawl through shattered javelins, the splinters biting against my armor gloved hand, slipping through the joints and nestling into my skin. I don't really feel the pain, I am already numb. The lifeless swords, that were a few hours ago whirling with a devout passion for blood, clank dully against my dented tarnished armor. My muscles in my tired arms pull at the ground, heaving my broken body towards...something. I don't know. Just to keep moving, move away from this, hide from this, a place where I don't have to look at it. A hole, a dark deep hole where I can curl up and rot. The smell was over powering, the meat still warm, the innards that were ripped apart smelling like sewage, and the vomit making me gasp for breath, even if the air was polluted. Blood was spackled and smeared across my bosom and abdomen. Blood and thicker things start to clump my hair together. How could I do this, how would Iive with myself? Self-loathing contaminates me, chokes me, my throat getting tight from whimpers and strangled sobs. Just make it stop. Stop the death. Stop the pain. Just be nothing. Who will live on? I find myself still caring. My people? Who will lead them, my followers, my friends? Were they even alive? I taste the tears before I feel them, the tears that were scraping and dripping down my dirty like threads of silk being dragged upon a dirt road. It felt wrong to be crying. My hand rested on something for a moment, but it was enough to feel the broken rise and fall. As if the ground was moving. I looked down, feeling my eyes widen, the unbidden tears still free falling. My hand felt, though it was faint. A throb of a heart. A heart, I realized, of an enemy. My bleached eyes locked with his. His black eye filled with hate. My heart was wrenching, and my throat becoming vice like. But the most painful thing was my heart stopping the painful wrenching. I feel as if a chill was settling thickly over a lake. Something snapped, I felt it.... Slowly, as slow as I had crawled like the accursed damned thing that I am, my lips curved up in perfect scythe. A scythe so welcoming, that Death himself would have been ashamed of it, so twisted in its perfection. Inner fangs had ripped through a facade that I never knew existed. My sword shrieked as it was drawn against my scabbard; both seemed to be in pure malicious ecstasy. They were being drawn, to come into a close of the hunt. It was as if my sword was alive. Like it was excited at the pending execution, it knew that this was the last I was to feed it this day. I was experiencing an insane kind of happiness, a kind that I will never forget nor forgive, when I saw the sheer terror of the helpless...hopeless but most importantly alive opponent. I raise the blade over my head. My face is contorted, it's twisted into something that I wish, wish with all the remaining power in my heart that I was not able to do. The power of taking some ones life, holding their precious thread of life that can be ended on a whim, it was...a great and terrible power. The blade was singing a high requiem as it sliced and whipped the wind currents. The short symphony came to an abrupt close with a wet thick sound that ended up on my front.
All I hear is a faint white noise. Emotions didn't seem to matter anymore, my tears were slowly coming to an end, sadness, regret, dissipated.
I stand...and... surprisingly my legs hold. The tears have stopped, though they left their mark. And the armor that I wear will be forever stained though the blood shall be polished away. My gaze shifts dully across the gore and bloodshed, being sometimes blinded by the flashes of dawn light against the armor of soldiers. Vaguely a thought forms. My warriors, my people, bring them back. Bring them to me. Bring them back from their wanderings of in their darkness. Moving my arm forward I pull my sword heavily from the corpse below, and with my other I reach for the ornamented bone and silver horn at my hip. I raise it to my lips preparing to call my warriors to me, their Queen. As I blew through it, it was as if thunder was being released upon the land, sending a shudder of power rippling in all directions. they knew my call. They come slowly, but surely. Pondering, I stare into the morning light. A dawn, I believe of a new era.

Honor and Death

Honor, a softly gleaming word, a word that bolsters a golden sort of pride within. Death, shrouding shadows, a word that some people have no obvious picture of. Honorable death, something in which many have a conception that involves blood and tears and nothing of what an honorable death actually is. I think that it is odd that people do not make an obvious connection with death. Although it is unexpected in cases, it is obvious in its presence. Honor is a word that encompasses many things, and is yet an idea that is very specific. An honorable death, I think is not defined clearly, in any of the things we turn to for exact and specific definition.
Honor in death: death in War is honorable, and yet people call War murder. It would then make sense that murder is honorable. Murder is merely a tool of death, is it honorable? If so much shame consumes you that you inflict death upon yourself, is it honorable? Sacrifice life for something the rest of society does not comprehend? As much differences that these modes of death have the opinion of whether or not it is honorable is based majorly upon culture. Culture is essential in perceiving the definition of any word. To give a word a definition, you must look at all planes of the world. The Japanese, the Native ancient cultures and the European peoples, have vastly different views. Partly because of religion, and partly because of region, this includes history and what the peoples then were effected by. Rituals that included death become sacred and honorable.
The silence of many breathed out into the forest, where vigilant eyes watched as two men firmly held their katanas. One of the men had kneeled, as if he deemed himself not fit to stand, and was honor-bound to make certain that he never stood again. He moved suddenly, thrusting his sword up into his chest cavity through his stomach. The man standing waits a moment before bringing his katana down upon the exposed neck. Seppuku, a ritual painfully common in Japan, and a shock for the foreigners who came upon it. Seppuku is an ancient Japanese tradition, coming from their code of honor Bushido. Their code of chivalry. In their culture, suicide is not only government approved and sometimes enforced, but is considered nation wide as an honorable way to admit defeat or back out.
Fresh blood seeped into the stone, adding to the old blood that had soaked in for many, many years, dripping down the divine steps of the temple. A priest, wearing the robes of human skin, clutches at the still faintly beating heart of a pure human sacrifice. The people below bow in reverence, confident that they will prosper in the coming year. Annual sacrifices were required in some cultures. In some parts not so very long ago, this was common. The Europeans who came upon this 200 or 400 years ago did not think the ‘victims’ sacrifice was honorable, yet their most ancient ancestors were guilty of it. The people of the community believed their sacrifice to be of the utmost sacrificial honor.
War is primal; it has always been a part of Homo sapiens nature to create war. Yet animals have no conception of War, nor honor and they have no joy for killing something that is not food. There is no relation to whether or not your murder was honorable, if your murder was a planned murder, planned to desecrate your bearings as human, then it is dishonorable to you. Stiputavily, honorable death is something only culture can properly define, while people merely ponder both meanings of the word.


Various Subjects of a Misanthrope

Would you like to know why I didn’t participate in community service over the years? Because I knew what people were actually like. I hate people. Especially those in suburbia, with nice neat hosues that have no personality and freaking cameras that watch you while you ring their door bell.
12 cans.
Out of a neighborhood of 24 houses. And of 24 only 6 answered their doors. ( I was wearing a school T shirt with the Logo of Student Canned Food Drive on it) Of that six only three people gave me cans.
Do you know how angry I felt? How sad- I felt for all those people who were actually in trouble- their lives were in trouble and all those people who said “No thanks” as if I were giving them something?
Call me a misanthrope if you wish- but do not deny what I saw.


A letter to a friend:

Huzzah and salutations my similarly unique and enlightened pally!
Speaking out against the hamsterwheel of lemmings dying of cookie cutter death is just the first part of becoming like Buddha.
(( *whisper* Which is really what we ought to be aspiring to )loljk)
You may have realized the pointlessness of life a long time ago- but it is good that you have written your frustration here.
I too am frustrated with societies insignificant petty rules for containing the way people ought to be. And I'm not just talking legalities here either. The way I see it- my head is practically being shoved against it, like some one is stuffing my face against a window or some lemon meringue pie although not quite as delish- this college and good grades thing is simply judgment. Unfair, unnecessary, lazy-ass, materialistic judgment; and it's not even something most people really want to pass. Which is really ironic. I've already forsaken the American dream for a elusive delusion that people cling to when they’ve lost who they are, and/ or never knew who they were. If I were to listen to every one, my aspiration would be to have a big beautiful house with a big beautiful rich( don't forget rich) successfully rich husband- but I married him for happiness really ((( oh wait jk divorce))- and my children ( with whom I will 'live vicariously through') and have a large closet full of Recchy Chokeonna and Vogue vomit clothes.
Doesn’t sound too great to me.
Which is why I aspire to be a lowly English teacher in Italy.
There that's my dream.
That's my long term goal. If I just trudge through enough muck and punch enough assholes in the face maybe I can do it. So…yeah. I'll take on society- give it its blood money and get the hell out if it means that I can be free.
So I'll jump the ropes and lose a hellava lot of dignity doin' it. But I'll spit and fight to the death for the right to be my own person; to keep my “stand alone complex”.
Just remember your self my friend. Through the monotony of it all or it'll be the death of 'you'. I believe in you. You can do it. Just take what you need to breathe.
<3 luv. See ya on the morrow!


An essay gone terribly wrong in the hands of bordom.

The list can trail on forever with the idiots we see on an everyday basis, and through our history; the archetype of the fool that lives on today. One may classify idiocy into several different components, the first being the most obvious: intelligence, or rather the lack of. The second is more complicated, and however much of an oxymoron it may seem to be, actually is the most commonly portrayed: the slow or quick witted. The third broadest category is one not related to the number of revelations or even the level of intellectuality but to wisdom, or commonsense.
The drooling buffoon, most likely resulting from an unfortunate decision concerning a brain cell reducing incident. (Fydor Agathe) The accidental idiot, or more commonly generalized as ignoramus. The selected in question is not beneficial to society in anyway, oft acting as a brute or thug for hire, for the closet intellectual (mistaken blatantly for the façade of body structure) is out of reach. Take, for instance, Crabbe and Goyle, from the popular book series ‘arry Potter. Their grasp for knowledge consisted of poorly planned mean pranks, untimely beginnings for plans that they themselves did not create, and generally caused more harm to themselves and others while going about their existence. Or if one would like to consider, on the other end of the personality spectrum, Lenny from of Mice and M en, traveled with a quick witted companion to keep him out of trouble, and was more or less capable of higher thinking yet lacked the means to achieve such an ideal. Besides the obvious there is the oddity: a small person with a smaller brain. They cannot think beyond what another tells them, living only for the next call to duty or the next shallow reason. An obvious abstract example that comes to mind is a fad catcher, wearing the latest, next to the ring leader of a clique. Sadly, these unfortunates exist, due to a bad gene pool, an accident, or the lack want for more.
(Lux foole) The light fool, the comic relief, the jester or the friend only kept around for their amusement that they provide to the others. The most often exploited and the most often turned to for their simple hope, or light hearted views. They may be slow to grasp concepts, slow to understand, slow to see, slow to carry out something but eventually they will accomplish their goals. This is what defines them from the ignoramus, their want of something more, and the means to achieve it. The sharp tongued is more or less the one you would think intelligent, quick to say witticisms, and quick to lighten the mood, or poke fun at the current situation, but in the end they are always confused with the deeper plot. Sokka, a cartoon character from a children’s show with surprising maturity, is the first to say the funny, the last to get i t and the first to come up with some crackpot idea that, with some tweaking, actually works. An argument being that if the lux foole is quick to grasp shallow concepts and understands the greater concept of things, how could he be a fool then? The answer is the presumed fool is not a fool; merely being annoying, but that is an entirely different subject.
Sadly most of our world seems to be bankrupt of wisdom, although, admittedly, some cannot help themselves. Common sense it seems, is not so common. Sticking ones finger into a socket, is admittedly a learned principle, being firmly put into the category of catastrophic consequenses, but once one reaches a certain age, living in this time period it is a general knowledge.
Poll #1301039 "I miss the old days when we used to talk about our future."

How much do you talk about the pressure of upcoming classes, deadlines and tests because you are almost always faced with the pressure of what these mean to your immediate or upcoming future?

Mean: 9.00 Median: 9 Std. Dev 0.00

Has your educational advisor- or someone who supposedly has a greater knowledge of how to get you into universities- ever said that waiting a year before you restart your education is either impossible or shouldn't be done?

Something like that.
I've taken a hiatus and have gone back to finish. (Highschool to college or inbetween degree)
I didn't go to college after highschool for a year or more and I still have not gone back.

Do you find that because you are focusing on the future you are not enjoying the present and thusly regret your past? Or do you have hope for the future and enjoy the speculation?

Is it because you actually want to go to college or is it because society is forcing you to do this so that you can survive in suburbia?

Writer's Block: Customizable Party

Invent a political party for the nation in which you reside. What does your ideal platform consist of?
Who needs to invent a political party when there are already so many nutter factions out there anyway? Honestly. For government class we are to select and research a politcal party. There is the "Light" party; which is not the Light Yagami party... however much we wish it to be. The Light party is only just the antithesis to our God- I mean Light. They are of the belief that "music and love is the way to true political happy:Dness and A.I.D.s is a false hypothesis and a way to greater consciencness". Then there is the Libertarian Party. "WE ARE AWESOME. We don't offend anyone by being AMAZING. And everyone can do pretty much what ever the fuck they want anyway- so long as we coo'."

I hate politics.

I really really do. A politican who adresses "His people!" or People of America- which is really only adressing those who might come to their party or thsoe of his party.

Adress the people of America as if they were not cattle- and perhaps they might become this way. Adress the people of America as if they were expected to be intelligent and of logic and common sense, and perhaps one day they might be. Adress the people of America as if they were one whole instead of a split group and perhaps you can forget your own predispositions and belife in separation.

We have the eagle for a representation of our country right? Well It's a retarded one winged eagle, with it's tail feathers soaked in shit, that's high on egos and bullshit. An eagle needs all three parts to work. The Left wing the Right wing and the minority partys.
So. The formula for this Journal entry (which is #14 if you didn't already know) in English... excuse me- Language Composition, is Five sentences.
It is a challenge ( I viewed it as such) to create a scene that makes sense and provides 'insight' into a character.
The fist sentence describes hands. The second describes what the hands are doing. (school appropriate class! >:D- Mrs. M.)Third sentence is a description of an exotic environment using a metaphor. Fourth pose a question. Fifth have the owner of the hands answer as if they didn't fully understand the question.

It wasn't specified if I had to do a real persons hands. So, I didn't. ;3

Oh, and because it's the same scene I just had it mirror each other on the last two sentences for Aurons point of view.

She was always fascinated by his hands; large rough and calloused, but they were the most beautiful things she had ever seen. His left hand was still, resting upon his ceramic sake jug, but the graceful digits of his right hand were absentmindedly rubbing the petals of a flower. The flower was a rare one, but in the Macalania forest it was a heaven for Shiva, and was found abundantly under the soft blue light that dappled from above the lush canopy. Questions surfaced- as they always did when he was involved- and she found herself blurting
His russet eye flicked towards her flushed face and intoned with a ghost of a smile “Because.”

Her hands were a focus point his gaze was always being drawn back to; the short neon green painted nails, the dexterous delicate fingers, the smooth open palms. They were irritatingly encased in fingerless gloves, and currently were wringing themselves out betraying her anxiety- and the subject of her attention. The petals of the flower in his hand were smooth, how her skin would feel kissed by the Macalanian rain, he imagined. He had seen the flower, thought of her, and with out thought, plucked the flower from it’s life and found himself faced with the question: Why? Why did he think of her? Why did he love her?
His eye flicked towards her, drinking her in and knew the answer as he said it “Because.”

OMGWTFBBQ- Hellohhh lj

In three days. Had the internet down for two weeks.

I was forced to sign up for the SAT.

I am working on a food drive.
Which I must write a blog upon. Of which the site is not up and running, which leaves me in a boat with no creek and too many paddles.

I have yet to figure out what the crap Auron is thinking so I can finish the stupid chapter of Try to Gamble. Which I have been working on so much. I open it and every time my eyes get lost in the white light of writers block. So, I reread it. And edit. And beta. And IT STILL DOESN'T WORK. DAMNITDAMNITDAMNIT.

I am apparently being 'taught' by a retarded government teacher, a neurotic English teacher, a lazy teacher, a math teacher that doesn't know how to teach, and I think my ceramics teacher has breathed in a bit too much pottery smoke. (If you catch my drift.)

I think I might be crushing.
Hard. Ridiculously so.
I NEVER crush. I am crush-less. Except for once and that was an extraordinary exception. He's really quite lovely.

I read the Sweet Trade, (Amazing pirate book for all of the people who day dream of dashing pirates and reality under the fictional sun)I read Janet Evanovitches Stephanie Plum series 11-13. ( Very funny. Although he just needs to pick Ranger and ignore her biological time clock, but that's just because I am 17 and definitely not ready to settle.)Agnes and the Hitman (Cute, but it's an 'eh' funny book.) GENGHIS; RISE OF AN EMPIRE. BUY IT. JUST DO IT. War, gore, gritty battle details, greek drama with out incest and ridiculous "ordained by the gods" b.s. Love, Revenge, Betrayal, Empowerment, KICK-ASS main character. Oh and it's all historically accurate. YEAH TOP THAT TWILIGHT, YA GODAMNED PANSY BITCH. Conn Ig. can so barrel roll and Falcon Punch! you to hell Sephanie Meyer! D:<

Bored? Harry Potter Fun!

Hello chumettes. Before doing anything and reading further, make a list of twelve or six -depending on how lazy you are- of your favorite Harry Potter characters in no particular order. If this is too hard for all you OCDers out there, then simply choose at random characters you wouldn't mind reading fan fics about.

My list looks like this:

1) Draco

2) Hermione

3) Sirius

4) Remus

5) Severus

6) Blaise

7) Dumbledore

8) Lucuis

9) Fred

10) George

11) Luna

12) Firenze

Why is there only Hermione on there? Hmmm. I don't  know why. Honestly! Don't look at me like that. *is affronted.* I have no problems. What are these problems you speak of?

Made you list? Wonderful.


Here's the 1-6 list. Scroll down if you did twelve but you'll have to delete my answers.

1) Have you ever read a Six/one fanfic before?

2) Do you think Four is hot? How hot?

3) What would happen if three got six pregnant?
4) Do you recall any fics about two?

5) Would Two and Six make a good couple?

6) Five/one or Five/two?

7) What would happen if Six walked in on Two and four having sex? 3

8) Make up a summary of a Three/four  Fanfic.
9) Is there any such thing as a One/six fluff?

10) Suggest a title for a One/five Hurt/Comfort fic.

11) What kind of plot would you use if you wanted Four to de-flower One?

12) Does anyone on your friends list read Three het?

13) Does anyone on your friends list write or draw five?

14) Would anyone on your friends list write Two/Four/Five ?

15) What might six scream at a moment of great passion? 3
16) If you wrote a song-fic about two, what song would you choose?

17) If you wrote a One/Six/Three smut fic, what would the warning be?

18) What might be a good pick-up line for Three to use on Two?

Wouldst thou amore mi respuestas? 

1) Have you ever read a Six/Eleven fanfic before?
Erm…no actually,

2) Do you think Four is hot? How hot?
Aw, c’mon. Crush teacher hot. Lean and stuff is nice, but it’s a pat on the face and a kiss on the cheek for me,

3) What would happen if Twelve got Eight pregnant?
*horrified* The universe would explode.

4) Do you recall any fics about Nine?
Yes. He was a cool chap. But nothing specific. Just characterizations.

5) Would Two and Six make a good couple?
No…no not really. I mean, if he was a tad bit less modelish maybe.

6) Five/Nine or Five/ten?
Erm… ew. But I don’t think he would choose between them as gross as it sounds.

7) What would happen if Seven walked in on Two and Twelve having sex?
Either pop out his eyes with a spork or do a magic spell and then mention licorice wands.

8) Make up a summary of a Three/Ten Fanfic.
Have some crack! Or you might already be on some! Either way this came outta no where!

9) Is there any such thing as a One/Eight fluff?
It usually involves rape.  Or his son.

10) Suggest a title for a Seven/Twelve Hurt/Comfort fic.
… They are just standing there. Not…not doing anything. Gaurdians… maybe… maaaybe. I fi was stretching it.

11) What kind of plot would you use if you wanted Four to de-flower One?
One on hallucinigenics.

12) Does anyone on your friends list read Three het?

13) Does anyone on your friends list write or draw Eleven?

14) Would anyone on your friends list write Two/Four/Five ?

They aren’t that kinky. Me on the other hand… still no... however if it was… oh I dunno three in there…instead of five.
15) What might ten scream at a moment of great passion? 3

16) If you wrote a song-fic about Eight, what song would you choose?
Greensleeves all the way.

17) If you wrote a One/Six/Twelve smut fic, what would the warning be?

18) What might be a good pick-up line for Ten to use on Two?
Ever read a ménage a trios with twin readheads and a fiery brunette? Heh heh. Wink wink. Nudge nudge.

I expect this on my desk by Monday morning students!

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July 2009


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