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This is something I wrote today. I have no idea what the inspiration for this is. I've been so tired lately. Too much work. Enjoy anyway... or whatever.
Silence fell as a cloaked figure entered the corridor. They hated him but they were cowards. They chose to murmur under their breaths as he walked the halls of the shadow they had called their master. They had seen enough to understand that he was dangerous.
He smirked. Glancing out from under his hood, he saw the disgust these people had for his kind. Some merely turned away, avoiding his eyes as to not offend him. They need not have bothered tonight; he was not there to pick another sacrifice. He was here because his master had called.
“Open the door,” he drawled to the sentry, upon reaching his destination. The shaking sentry raised a sword in response.
“No one enters,” he said, as the cloaked figure admired his audacity. “Her orders,” he quickly added, as the cloaked figure raised an eyebrow.
“Insolent worm, you have the nerve to keep me?” the cloaked figure growled, “Were I not sent to see to her personally I would rip you to shreds. Now move aside,” he growled, watching as the sentry’s resolve failed; he dropped his sword and ran.
He opened the door to her laughter. She looked at him from her position on the windowsill, before returning to looking over the manor she now controlled.
“It’s you,” she stated simply.
“Of course it’s me,” he had said, lowering his hood to show the smirking face of a handsome young man with blond hair, “Who were you expecting?” he smiled teasingly, causing her to turn a glare on him before her expression softened. Letting out a hysterical laugh she ran a hand through her hair.
“I killed him today,” she said simply, as he gaped at her, “Well actually, I killed both of them”.
“Mistress-” he gasped as she interjected.
“It’s still Ammie,” she hushed, “I haven’t taken control of the underworld just yet. I want to see this war play out”.
“But you must take control,” was the almost desperate reply, “Without a leader we will fall. The humans will be able to fight back and we shall lose the battlement we had won during the war. You need to take your rightful place as our leader, otherwise we cannot win”.
“That is precisely why I want to see this war take its course,” she laughed, “I want the underworld in ruin. I want them to suffer, to try and rebuild from the ashes, which I have scattered through the world. Then and only then shall I come to power”.
“Ammie”.
“Devellion,” she mocked, laughing almost hysterically, “I want to be acknowledged for my conquests, not resented. If I took power now they would only see my treason against their master”.
“They would see that you were his greatest accomplishment,” Devellion pleaded, walking to his mistress’s side and kneeling before her, “I beg of you; reconsider. They would see your power. They would see what he saw in you”.
“What he saw in me was jaded little tramp,” came the abrupt growl as Devellion was struck across the face, the mark of Ammie’s claws etching into his face, “When he had met me I had wanted nothing more than to seen the Prince grovel before me as you are now, but as times changed I realized why should I care for the respect of one person when I could have the fear and respect of many”.
“I don’t understand,” Devellion said to another mocking laugh, “Are you speaking of your human lover, who you beguiled into lust with you”.
“You really don’t know do you?” Ammie asked, “Then again every time you’ve asked me I’ve refused to tell you. What do you know of the prince?”
“He was very dear to you,” Devellion said simply, “however the last conversation you had with him did not make it evident. I apologize for this now, but I listened at the door as you offered him to join you. Ammie, despite what he said you are not a monster”.
“We are all monsters,” she replied softly, “We are demons of the underworld, fighting a losing battle with the humans who had enslaved us. I don’t know if you could ever understand what it meant to be a demon of the past, where you were burnt alive once any powers surfaced or kept hidden”.
“But we are stronger now,” he argued, “We are more in number. The human serve us. They bring us sacrifices, or rather we take them, to show them our powers so they will fear us. If you do not take control we would go back to the old ways or worse we would become their slaves”.
“I shall step in before it happens,” Ammie declared, “I refuse to return to the old ways. Then again you may not know me well enough to understand how strongly I feel about such matters”.
“Your word is good enough for me,” Devellion blushed, looking away from his mistress.
“I was brought up by the humans,” she admitted, “I was the b*****d child of the Duchess of Darea. I didn’t know I was a demon and it was easier that way. That is how I know the Prince”.
“So you fell in love when you were growing up?” Devellion grimaced, “How pathetically human. I knew he was a coward for leaving you upon learning of your status in our world”.
“If only things were that simple,” was the light-hearted reply, “I was in love with him, but he was in love with a commoner. Then he married her and in my anger I summoned the darkness to help me with my predicament”.
“You concocted a love potion”.
“Even better,” she laughed, “I called for the darkest spirits to kill her. What I received was the Lord of Darkness himself. He didn’t reveal his true identity to me but he guided me through the steps I had to take to create obsession. The prince was in love with me, or so we both though, but there was a much more pressing problem”.
“You were bound to the Dark Lord,” he gasped as Ammie laughed.
“For this magic he had me kill,” she stated simply, “I was ruthless and he rewarded me for it with more magic. I learnt quickly but the more blood that I had on my hands the more I wanted to end it. I refused to work for the Dark Lord”.
“Were you punished?” Devellion asked, as they lapsed into silence. Ammie lowered her head and sighed.
“The Dark Lord did nothing, it was all he needed to do,” she said quietly, “My torment remained as long as the spells did, and so I removed them. The Prince was still continuing his affair with me, but I hated him for it. I no longer wanted a person who would look after me I wanted the world at my feet.
“One night he told me he would leave his wife for me and I refused to marry him. He questioned me why, until I left to see the Dark Lord once more. I offered my services; I could kill and I was powerful, but he refused me. That was the night of Perfect Darkness”.
“I still remember it,” Devellion smiled maliciously, “It was as if the stars had vanished forever. It was so beautiful, I heard the screams and then once it was quiet I saw you. It was the night we met and I told you that you were more beautiful covered in blood than anything else”.
“I remember it too,” Ammie reminisced, “I asked the Prince if I was beautiful in blood only an hour later. He almost cried. I told him what I was and he just stared at me in shock. I told him this castle would be mine in a week and asked him to visit me”.
“And he came to see you?” Devellion asked as Ammie merely cocked her head to the side, “I apologize, that question was pointless”.
“He knew I wouldn’t leave this castle, so he visited me when he was ready,” she stated, “but he had waited too long. I was no longer in love with the weak human he had always been, I was in love with power”.
“But why do you seek to force such trails upon the demon world?” Devellion growled.
“Because it has forced such trials upon me,” Ammie answered simple. “I guess if you loved me you’d have understood it. The Prince didn’t love me and the Dark Lord didn’t want me. I don’t ask for much; just the world at it’s knees”.
“You want them all to destroy each other”.
“Kiss me!”
 Dont eat yellow snow · Fri Nov 21, 2008 @ 09:36am · 0 Comments |
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I've been avoiding gaia like the plague, unsure if it's intentional or not. Things seem to happen that way for me, when you don't anticipate something it creeps up on you. Bizare, however not spontaneous, I had my practise exams today. I'm aiming for a mark somewhere above zero but we'll see. I didn't study all that much, I took a day off work to do nothing, if I don't get a good mark in psych I'll be pissed. It's my only good subject, I keep wondering if I should have done some more subjects that interest me, rather than history which I do enjoy despite it's tedious nature and media which I only did to ******** around with cameras. Then again I look at Anita who is doing a bunch of art subjects which she loves, staying awake for days on end due to homework. It's just a little cruel. Oh well, I guess it all happens for a reason.
-No one you need to know stare
Dont eat yellow snow · Fri Oct 10, 2008 @ 09:11am · 1 Comments |
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I'm not sure, I just started writing |
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School holidays for the last time, or I assume. I’ll have uni next year and the cycle shall continue at a larger school. Whatever, I know nothing will change. I’ll still be the insane one who keeps people around simply for her own amusement and sometimes assume she’s in love due to the fact that she’ll spend too much time with someone to develop an interest in them. It’s who Tasha is, the one with no friends, merely groups that she likes be surrounded by and pretends to be social. She’ll hug people and they’ll assume she’s friendly, but she just does it because it’s who people assume her to be. She’ll dress gothically to appease her gothic friends and wear jeans and a tee to class, to stop the staring. She doesn’t like attention anymore, because then people will realize what a fake she. She doesn’t want that, she doesn’t want to be hated, by people judged by others and yet because of their arrogant nature judging those who haven’t judged them and possible have had the same cycle applied.
She’ll still be the paranoid one, the one who doesn’t trust her friends because she knows she’s been backstabbed. She’ll be easily replaced by people who don’t pretend to be as interesting, pondering why they get attention and if she should reopen the cuts in her arms. She’ll be a slut, nothing more to be said, however she’ll attempt to fall in love, fail dismally and end up hurting the ex. Her actions will hurt everyone, but most of all herself. She’ll ditch classes, she’ll fail classes, and she’ll attempt suicide. Of course she won’t succeed, she can’t allow herself anything good. She works for the people, to amuse herself by amusing them. She’s already snapping. She’d be crying if she didn’t want the ghosts to see.
No one you need to know stare
Dont eat yellow snow · Fri Sep 19, 2008 @ 06:18am · 0 Comments |
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I wrote more SS and have decided to post it. It was so much fun to write, I'm really proud. It probably has bad grammar it hasn't been edited.
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“And you obviously believe Julie is to use this power on behalf of the Queen of Hearts to annihilate my dear brother?” Pride asked, turning slightly to motion for the bartender.
“You’re slurring your words a little,” Anita remarked, her eyes widening at the slight hilarity, “But that’s neither here nor there. I understand that Julie is waiting until the right moment to use her powers”.
“Such as the anniversary concert,” Pride laughed humorlessly, watching the bartender once more pour green liquid into the glasses, “She truly believed she had missed the event due to her attempt however she was mistaken of the nature of the anniversary. It was not her anniversary with Greed, it the thousand year anniversary of the sins themselves. A thousand years of suffering and infinite boredom, an obvious cause for celebration”.
“And thus a reason to toast absinthe in a dirty bar filled with pretentious human entities and revolting insect ones,” the red haired vixen laughed taking another shot of alcohol with her companion and immediately signaling for more, “Personally, with my next shot, I will toast to Greed’s demise”.
“Indeed,” Pride laughed, holding his trembling glass up for the bartender to pour, “To his imminent demise at the hand of his Obsession; nothing less than the b*****d deserves,” he bitterly threw the contents of his glass to the back of his throat and looked at Anita. “I toast to inebriation and it’s ability to fuel joy with revenge”.
“I toast to your ability to speak like you’ve had a college education, despite the slight slurring,” Anita laughed hysterically, drinking her absinthe and waiting to be poured another one.
“I toast to this last shot,” Pride exclaimed, raising the glass in mock toast to the motionless bartender, “And to the powers which I utilize to possess the weak minds of mortals,” he laughed, choking on the hard liquor as he listened to his companions eccentric giggling. “I shall miss it most of all once Julie’s revenge is enacted”.
“I thought you’d understand,” Anita smiled, almost soberly.
-No one you need to know stare
Dont eat yellow snow · Wed Jul 02, 2008 @ 03:03pm · 0 Comments |
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I wrote shounen-ai. I was originally writing yaoi however I haven't seen enough of it to write about it. A friend of mine joked that I was writing it so that's how it came about. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. However it could have turned into more.
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He sighed, lazily raising a cigarette to his lips. The words that had come so effortlessly before now taunted him. Something was missing. There was nothing left to say and yet the urge still remained; he would not rest until it was finished. Through the smoking haze he reached, hand resting against the screen as if attempting to enter the beautiful word created by his talented mind.
Gold eyes stared out through the haze. He wondered how had he written this masterpiece and why he was so empty now? Reading over the lines he sighed once more. There had to be something else. Taking another drag of the cigarette, he let his hand fall from the screen. The world was still. The silence was mocking. Taking another drag on his cigarette he sunk back into the chair in defeat.
“You should have come out with me tonight”. That annoying voice. He ignored it, unenthusiastically blowing smoke into the air as he closed his eyes. However the voice persisted, ostentatiously reminding him that “he” was back.
“Devin,” the writer began, turning to the source of his annoyance, “I need you to leave now,” he almost growled at the effeminate figure before him. Devin laughed lightheartedly, raising a hand to brush his bangs out of the way of a pair of mischievous scarlet eyes.
“You need inspiration,” was the teasing response, before the writer felt his cigarette pulled from his hand. A hand slid across his shoulders and down to his torso, as he felt Devin mumble against his neck, “Why don’t you take a break?” he asked, his elongated canine teeth hovering over the writers pulse, “I’m sure we can find something to inspire us both”.
“Devin, I need to be alone now,” the writer said solemnly, shrugging away from the feminine creature that reappeared before him, smiling impishly, “I’m being serious,” he warned, causing the spark in Devin’s eyes to glow bright red. He leaned forward, steadying himself with a hand on the writer’s knee.
“You’re being stupid,” he teased, raising what had been the writer’s cigarette to his lips. Immediately smoke filtered the air.
“You can’t smoke properly,” the writer commented, turning his head slightly, attempting to focus on the computer. He needed to finish it and nothing Devin did was going to impede his progress. Raising a hand, he found it caught. Turning slightly, he moved back, startled. He hadn’t expected Devin to be so close; leaning onto his chair, his hand balancing on a more awkward place then the writer’s knee.
“What if I smoke like this?” he asked, taking inhaling cigarette smoke as he grabbed the writer and pulled him forward. Pushing their lips together, he opened his mouth and felt the writer copy, if only from surprise. The taste of smoke and metal gagged them both, but only the writer pushed away coughing.
“What were you drinking?” he yelled angrily at the red-eyed gremlin before him, laughing hysterically on the ground. “I’m still human, the taste of blood doesn’t appeal to me!”
“I needed the blood though,” Devin responded, with a sharp smile, “Things need blood to function,” he said, the flare in his eyes following the contour of the writer’s body. “And I’m not sure you’d be willing to donate”.
“Devin,” the writer warned, as the effeminate demon smiled in mock innocence, “I want you gone. I have yet to finish this piece and it due tomorrow, which in this circumstance is in 3 hours and a half hours,” he said seriously, gold eyes carefully watching Devin as the demon pushed his fringe over his eyes before standing, “Devin?” the writer questioned quietly, gold eyes slightly widening.
“And what will you do if I don’t leave?” Devin asked quietly, a sinister smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “Suppose I don’t rape you,” the gremlin paused, thoughtfully smiling before adding, “however I’m not above such a thing tonight. What will you do?”
“I will write,” the reply was met with sinister laughter.
“No,” the demon dismissed his comment, “You will look blankly at the document, scroll up and down the few pages you have written and wonder why you cannot finish. I’ve read your mind, you do yourself a disservice with this childishness, however,” he mused, “You cannot be blamed for your discontent, you’re merely human after all”.
“Perhaps you are right,” the writer admitted, raising a hand to his forehead, “However you aren’t bound by deadlines and Editors. You have your freedom, enjoy it for me for I cannot,” he said slowly lowering his head as he slumped onto the floor in defeat.
“Zac , I am bound by the sunlight,” Devin answered, quietly, gracefully moving to sit before the writer, “I am bound by my hunger,” he stated, raising a hand to caress the writers face, “I am bound by what I am,” he finished quietly, moving close enough to whisper into the writers ear, “This isn’t freedom, it’s rebellion of the simplest kind”.
“If you wanted company you’d have stayed with them,” Zac muttered, leaning his head against the vampire’s shoulder. He trembled, once more feeling breath on his neck, as two canines trembled against his neck. A shallow bite grazed the skin of his neck as he moved to look at the vampire.
“If I wanted their company, I wouldn’t have drunk their blood,” the vampire muttered, slowly closing the gap between them.
-No one you need to know stare
Dont eat yellow snow · Tue Jun 17, 2008 @ 10:17am · 0 Comments |
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I should be serious about my studies. However I cannot full devote myself to them, due to my inability to care. It's nothing more than a game and we're all deluding ourselves. I want- no need- an enter score of 70, however this means I need to get a 40+ score for three subjects. This I can do for psychology, however History, Media and Math are a different story. History is a hard subject, however I am consistantly getting B's in the subject. This would be good save for the fact that B's will only get you to a 30 - 35 and I need more, I learnt this last year. Math is easier and I know I am receving good marks for it, however it is scaled down a lot and thus I know I won't recieve over 40 in math, even if I try hard. Media is left. There is not much to say for media, save for my media teacher's inability to teach. Why judge us if there is no criteria to judge on. Discus how serious year twelve is, then give us no further instructions. I'm certain that'll boost my enter score. Stupid people, failures all of them!
-Nataria stare
Dont eat yellow snow · Sun Jun 08, 2008 @ 03:59am · 0 Comments |
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I didn't actually go anywhere. I just haven't posted in a while. For someone so easily stressed I'm doing pretty well lately. I've been handling school, work and driving. This week I missed the start of my psych SAC, because I was in Sydeny for my brothers graduation. I'm not going to his next one, too much of a hassle. Besides I hate Sydney, a bus ticket ******** costs $16! Just not right. I'm doing 10 hours of work this week. I need the money, although yesterday I won $20 at the casino, by which I made a profit of +$20, on top of my $20. I love the casino, it's actually pretty easy to win, but people just don't realize it. Yesterday I got my P's, it was so stressful. The tester actually told me to breath and then start the test. I passed, although barely, I got the minimum pass mark. I don't think I'm ever going to bother driving again.
-Tails stare
Dont eat yellow snow · Sat May 10, 2008 @ 05:19am · 0 Comments |
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I haven't written in a while and I'm pretty proud of this story. So I just wanted to post it. I thought the idea behind it was good.. I need a break from SS, because I'm pretty stressed with everything. As soon as I start writing something occurs to make me have to chose and the choises I make are write but they aggrivate my creativity and my want to actually write.
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When the vendor asked if I wanted to know what make my shotgun was I said no. When he asked if I wanted extra bullets, I fired. Not so confident selling these things to orphans now are we? I do have the jacket though. There wasn’t time to gloat though. I laughed and left. He knows he won’t see me or my silver bullet again.
It’s in the lining of my boot, kicked up onto the table carelessly. The waitress eyes me with distaste. Relax b***h I only have one silver bullet and it aint for you. She turns away to serve the human pack at the table. They’re a rowdy bunch, drunk enough not to notice a shotgun on the table behind theirs. It doesn’t matter; they’re not my targets.
I’ve been waiting for my target for two hours now. This jackets pretty itchy and I’m sick of just sitting here in this stupid little cottage drinking piss weak beer. I’m getting pretty ******** impatient. Maybe I should have brought those extra bullets. I almost laugh aloud, but stop. I don’t need attention, especially not from humans.
One of the pack approaches me, one of the more sober customers. I think he may be just heading to the bathroom, but I’m wrong. He takes a seat opposite me, his eyes focused on the shotgun.
“It’s not loaded,” he slurs. Perhaps I was wrong about the whole sober things.
“It will be soon,” I say, picking up my bottle. Half of the beer is gone, but it’s so bloody weak I’ll need fifty of these to get properly drunk. It’s not my intention tonight though, I skull the bottle and slam it down on the table. I’m not getting another one, I’ve had enough.
“You can handle your booze,” the drunk tries to engage me in conversation again. I just look away, “I mean how many of those have you had?” he asks, not bothering to notice that there are only three bottles on the table at present. I glare. Why had I turned down more bullets?
“Leave the girl alone, Jack,” another drunk calls. I sigh loudly, as Jack merely turns and waves to his friend. “Can’t you see her jacket, she’s a werewolf hunter,” the drunk calls. I growl. b*****d shouldn’t say such things so loudly. Jack excuses himself and goes back to the table. People in these parts don’t want anything to do with hunters but I can’t blame them.
It’s dangerous. I feel it when they enter. The rowdy table becomes quiet and the waitresses can’t help but stare. It doesn’t matter though; the wolves are quite drunk themselves. The take the table to my right, not bothering to notice the attention they’re getting, or rather enjoying it.
They remind me of my family. They had been wild, dangerous even, but they were the past now. They had been massacred and I was taking revenge at every turn. I always though of revenge as a petty thrill, but I guess you can’t compare murder with something like shoplifting.
One of the werewolves catches my eye and winks. I smirk at Romeo. He calls the waitress over and I am certain I’ll be getting another bottle sometime soon. I glance over to the other table to see the humans are confused. They should be, if I were a real hunter they’d have been a fight by now.
“What’s a big city vixen doing in the country?” Romeo calls out. I smile. He knows I’m not from here. I’m not from the city either.
“I’m not a vixen, I’m a lone wolf,” I answer, teasingly, taking the bottle from the waitress. “Thanks for the drink, I need my eyes open for this one,” I say gesturing towards the shotgun. He smiles. I smile. We get each other. The humans still look confused though. Stupid creatures.
“He’s a mile of our trail, two minutes max,” Romeo calls. I nod, slipping one boot off and revealing the silver bullet. “Nice,” Romeo comments, watching me load the gun.
The door opens and the hunter storms in. Romeo waves the werewolves to be silent as the hunter walks straight to the bar, his eyes scanning the room. His eyes catch mine, or my jacket. Whatever way it happens he approaches me, sitting down in the chair previously occupied by Jack.
“Mind if I join you for a drink?” the hunter asks, gesturing toward the empty bottles. I shrug and lay my shotgun in my lap. “I haven’t seen you around,” the hunter comments slyly, laying his own shotgun on the table “Where is your designated hunting area?”
“I’m a rouge,” I answer, “I hunt here, there, wherever there’s scum to be killed,” I see the humans look even more confused. They think this makes no sense because they’re drunk. I look over to the werewolves. They’re watching me closely. Romeo winks. I’m a little disappointed that I’ll never see him again.
“I’ve never heard of rouges,” the hunter says pensively, “If you don’t do the course it’s not a good idea to hunt”.
“It depends who I’m hunting,” I smirk. I fire the shot and stand. The waitress has dived under the table. The drunks are pilling out of the bar. The werewolves are cheering. I take of the jacket; it’s too hot and ******** itchy. “Anyone want his?” I ask my fellow werewolves, gesturing to the corpse of the hunter.
Sometimes I think it’s not right to group hunters. I am a hunter but only because they forced me to it. They took everything from me, so I steal their bullets and then their lives. I guess you can say I can hold a grudge, I mean I am immortal. I’ve been at it a longer than them. Hell, I was here before shotguns.
-Tails
Dont eat yellow snow · Mon Mar 24, 2008 @ 04:01am · 1 Comments |
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This is something I wrote a long time ago, it's on some site or another, I can't remember where so I'm posting it here. It's pretty good, I was wondering why it didn't turn into something more.
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My view of reality is different to anyone else's. It's always been that way. When I was younger I used to lie awake imagining the monsters under my bed. They're be large scaly creatures, that snatched children from their beds and ate them. They'd have large claws that would scrape against the floor boards, a sound eerily echoing throughout the room and when a child would put their feet on the floor, to get out of bed, the monsters would pull them under the bed. Their sharp teeth would chew through the meat and spit out the bones. In the morning they'd be nothing left but a few bones.
These monsters didn't scare me, though. Oddly enough, they were a source ease. The monsters in my head, were nothing compared the monsters that lived in our society. These monsters looked nothing like my creations. They changed their shape, to fit in with our kind, but were still monsters. They kill humans mercilessly and use their bodies for their own darker purposes.
These creatures were named demons, but I cannot say that they are. Though they are demonic in nature, they have weaknesses and in my eyes this stopped them from being true demons. Then again I was brought up hearing stories of the underworld. I was taught of the demon Kieran, a knight of Satan's order, who was so powerful that he had to be drained of all his power before he could be destroyed, and of the devious Devlin twins, two illusionists who's mind games were only broken by the Angel Gabriel.
The demons of old long gone. There was no one so powerful anymore. This just made my job easier. You see, I'm a demon hunter. I've been brought up being one. My family were all demon hunters, but they're all dead though. I was brought up by witches and illusionists. They taught me everything I need to know about demons. They taught me, not to hate them, but to respect them. They gave me the nick-name Angel of Death, a name that I have found many demons to fear. They have a reason to fear it though.
I'm called the Angel of Death for a reason.
-Nataria stare
Dont eat yellow snow · Sun Feb 17, 2008 @ 10:24am · 1 Comments |
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