misstree "you know we're fringe, right?"
my brows rumpled--this seemed somehow pretentious, which always triggers wariness. "how so?"
"the way that we play isn't generally accepted, even in s&m communities."
i shrugged. i'd known for a long time that i didn't play the way the closest peer group in such things does, but it never occured to me that i was really a freak among freaks.
"we disturb people. deeply."
i chewed for a moment on the distressed queries the night you nearly snapped my neck, when i laid there waiting, unafraid, glad for the Push. that's the scent that i caught when i head butted and you pinched. that's why even my swordfighters gasped when they heard the headbutt between you and the goblyn, and drew themselves in a little when you started laughing at your blood. it doesn't make it any easier to let you go; you're the first evidence that i'm not insane, that i'm not a sociopath teetering on final phase.
"that's okay. i take what i can."
"and give nothing back."
you will always be in my panting breath when i hunt, sating myself on scraps torn before those who think themselves untouchable turn and flee. we share this too-primal vitality. once we part, i will remember that there was one who had no fear, and i will fear my own strangeness a little less.

and i will grin at the thought of making the latex primadonnas gasp at the sight of gnashing teeth and flashing claws.
BitterSweetDream Hwo fucking annoying is it?! 050501
. Futile? No, but distant, yes.
To get there I will have to guess.

No studies shall avail my queries;
to my homeland, no one tarries.

Each step I take is with my mind,
this Earth, I wait to leave behind.

For now, I wince and wait and cringe,
here I be in the lunatic fringe...
falling_alone i swore i would never do this to myself again...
i lived with it for 11 years.
then 2 years ago i tried was my mother who said it, it was cute...
but here it is again, badly done...
i wanted some consolation though,
never go to boys, they never say the right thing.
the last thing i wanted was to hear that i looked like his mother.
gja Is the name of a bar at which I fell down and broke my arm.
Quite Badly.
Several operations later the arem is better.
The scars, surprisingly, are talking points for some people.
They ask what they are from.
Personally I would never ask someone the story behind a scar unless I was familiar with them.
Familiar enough to trace that trace of an injury or incision.
what's it to you?
who go