Let Him Know Here His Balls Are Friends
Moderator: Quantum P.
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asiekierka
- YAHOO: ALL YOUR GEOCITIES ARE BELONG TO US
- Posts: 223
- Joined: Sat Sep 10, 2005 10:06 am
Asian fetishism has a long history of being brushed off as a compliment, rather than offensive or bigoted. I've been told I ought to be flattered that so many non-Asian men "prefer" Asians and Asian American women. But the coalescing of an ethnicity into a whole, whether exotic, erotic, oversexed or virginal, is a real issue, collectively and individually.
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gingermuffins
- Posts: 371
- Joined: Fri Sep 01, 2006 1:30 am
This is my epic Rpg Bloodlines..
It is a huge game filled with dungeons, monsters, weapons, and a stroyline that will leave you breathless..
You assume the role of Vorador... Knight, and priest to the order of the Sarafan... Their purpose: the elimination of the undead scourge that plauges the land of Nosgoth....:"The Vampires".... Your friend and commaning officer Malek, accompanies you to southern cross, ... Thats were you are stationed to keep watch for the vampiric hordes....... Little do you know of the fate which stands before you......
...Your worst fear......... You will become a vampire....
-The Game spans two halfs.... the first of the 2 explores the depths of madness as Vorador trys to except his new life as that which he feared... The Second half tells of his quest to find hope.... in a doomed existance...
Both games are connected, you may play which ever one you wish first, (i strongly suggest playing the first half first....) I've even included the sountrack (mid) for bloodlines... Since my computer wont allow me the chance to hear zzt sounds, this is all I have to use... But it sounds great... try playing it while you are
adventuring....!
-So shut out the lights..... get comfortable... and prepare ... Welcome to
Bloodlines.....
It is a huge game filled with dungeons, monsters, weapons, and a stroyline that will leave you breathless..
You assume the role of Vorador... Knight, and priest to the order of the Sarafan... Their purpose: the elimination of the undead scourge that plauges the land of Nosgoth....:"The Vampires".... Your friend and commaning officer Malek, accompanies you to southern cross, ... Thats were you are stationed to keep watch for the vampiric hordes....... Little do you know of the fate which stands before you......
...Your worst fear......... You will become a vampire....
-The Game spans two halfs.... the first of the 2 explores the depths of madness as Vorador trys to except his new life as that which he feared... The Second half tells of his quest to find hope.... in a doomed existance...
Both games are connected, you may play which ever one you wish first, (i strongly suggest playing the first half first....) I've even included the sountrack (mid) for bloodlines... Since my computer wont allow me the chance to hear zzt sounds, this is all I have to use... But it sounds great... try playing it while you are
adventuring....!
-So shut out the lights..... get comfortable... and prepare ... Welcome to
Bloodlines.....
This is where to stand. This is where they come. Dusk now and the first breezes of the evening begin to cool the air as the asphalt releases its heat to the night. Fingers retie the cloth belt. Balance sways from one leg to the other. Stare at the shops across the street. Study the bars instead of letting the eyes hopefully follow passing vehicles. Arms crossed and head bent, time passes slowly. Where the back leans on the wall becomes a spot of warmth. The sword is just over the shoulder, under the robes, grabbed at compulsively at times by a hand under the armpit. This is time to reflect on dreams. When reality is at its worst the mind keeps its own self distracted. Recurrently there is a dream of water, water all around, comforting and embracing. There were dreams of fighting. There were dreams of love so seemingly real. Then there are the terrible memories, as frequent as dreams but as stark as reality, that every waking moment struggles to suppress. The futility of escaping experience is frequently exemplified.
Some notion shifts attention outwards instead of in. Notice a long black car slowly rolling to a stop in front. Do not move. Face down, keep the eyes looking up from under hair at the scene. For many seconds the car simply idles. The occupant is obscured by glare from the street. The driver door opens and a tall man stands up. Do not look up. His stare is here, palpable. The situation demands patience.
The man clears his throat then in carefully memorised Japanese: "Your mother sent me." He tries to raise his voice while keeping it down.
Rush to the door and enter the car. The man climbs in and extends a hand. "Helluva code you got there Toots." Quickly seeing his gesture ignored the hand reaches for the brake and the car is put into motion.
The man, a muscular American, runs his hand over his blonde shaved hair. His skin is darker than his hair by a fair amount. He babbles in English, and is barely understood. The car ride is long and the distance covered great. It may take an entire day to walk home. The trip has gone over the bridge and into the mainland.
"I guess you don't speak too much English," the man finally decides as he pulls into his building's parking lot.
Follow him in. He opens the door and enters behind. Lights come on.
"All right!" He claps his hands and his shirt is coming off.
Close the eyes. Body now relaxed the blood pumps and swells. A shudder is suppressed. A hand drops to the groin and clutches. It is a moment to prepare, savour the opportunity. Inwardly, concentration is at its fullest. What vile providence must make this so? Courage builds, until finally... Turn to face him, eyes open. He is taken aback by the sudden force in the eyes. Slowly open the mouth in a smile. He is shirtless, his muscular pectorals lightly tufted with blonde hair. On his belly is tattooed an eagle and below -- tucked under the waistband of his jeans -- a pistol peeks out.
Step to him. Hands grab the chest. Move him to the bed before he can respond with groping of his own. Push him down and leap up. The knees fall on either side of his hips. Reach for the gun. A hand comes down.
"Ah! What do you think you're doing?" He smiles and places the pistol on the bedside table. Act like nothing has happened. Go for the belt. Open the robes... Skin meets. Reach in and press, then push down with the hips. His hands go up searching. Lean and let them find the breasts. His face contorts and his eyes roll around, his mouth open in a huffing grimace. The robe still draped over the folds form a tent of heat in that triangle of torsos and arms. Perhaps enjoyment can be found here.
But it begins like it always does. The skin suddenly feels cold and damp. Light fills the eyes and again the bathroom stall is reality. This reflection is necessary if only to transform as before, with the faces above, when the gathering lightning-like pain was building to burst. After a scream as if in time of dying, the fist rose and struck. Spinning, a boy crashed face first into the partition. The other two, in shock could not move. Having stood, two fists swung down and crushed the ribcage of the second. The third, his wits finally gathered, tried to open the door but could not on account of his collapsed friends. A final swing cracked his skull. Then, over a toilet of bloodied tissues, came that vision blurring anger, the sort of heart-wrenching ire that can only be sated through malicious vengeance.
Now, like then, the urge comes. Slowly reach back... more slowly. Tighten fingers around the grip. Pay attention to his eyes, they will mark the time. His head lolls but his eyes still look this way. He's grunting now. Take care not to go too quickly. Wait. Wait.
The body tenses to act. He looks! Too late, the blade is in motion. A correction mid-swing only throws the balance off more and unexpectedly the body is falling through the air; his, having heaved the attack away, rolls aside. The weapon slices into plaster and leaves the hands. Rear hits the floor. Get up. Quickly feet are flat on carpet. The gun!
Pressure and light fill the senses. No! An explosion. Grope at pain and blood. Ignore the heat. The weight is there in the shoulder. Remember defense... what? Down. Grab the weapon. Facing the wall sweaty hands struggle to pull at the stuck sword. Again! A second explosion. The back reels under scintillating tendrils of pain, like corrosion, expanding. Loss of feeling. Maintain grip. Maintain vision. Foot on the wall pull the sword and lunge. Take a step fast towards the enemy, compress and attack. A howl is heard. The tip jerks after it briefly meets the resistance of flesh and is followed by an anguished yelp. Lash back, hit it! His fist comes down first. A crushing blow to the side of the ribcage. The ears hear the crackle of bones as the eyes watch the floor near. Stars. Get up! To stay down means death. Hands and knees on the floor now. The pain! Make it stop. Yell. There is the taste of blood. Those bullets! Get them out of there. Out! Push it out, stop the blood, kill the feeling... Push it out!
Two distorted, leaden shells thud solidly to the floor. Blood dribbles over them but, trickling now, soon slows to a stop.
He has just been watching, standing still; the resolve and fight left in his opponent is a baffling spectacle. The sword is still held. His leg, very close here, makes a fine target. A three quarters swing cuts down from the outside of his knee and through the lower shin to the floor. The massive man, yelling, crashes to the floor atop his disceted foot. The pistol clatters away on the floor. His fingers are crawling towards the weapon but a second strike removes the questing hand from his arm. Crawl up to his face. Panting and sweating he babbles for his life. Heave breath from between clenched teeth and let the pain slowly recede. His eyes are black and wide with fear. Climbing over him beads of sweat trail down and run off of the face. The tip of the sword hovers over his breast. A gleeful grunt escapes as forcefully the blade splits his ribs, piercing the beating core. The weapon is stuck in his chest. Place a bare heel on his stomach and pull it free. Blood pulses out of the wound, first in spurts then less dramatically with time. Within a brief moment it stops.
The robes are ruined. Many of the sheets on the bed avoided the bloodshed. Wiping the body down, much of the old fabric is discarded. A few quick cuts and new ones are wrapped around, the remaining cloth stowed for later tailoring.
Escape will not be easily made cautiously now that people have heard gunshots. How many heard the shots does not matter. Soon police will be here. It is time to go.
Dash down the hall. The room, being on the ground floor, is not far from one of the building's entrances. Double sets of heavy glass doors bar the exit from the lobby. Someone trying to get let in stands outside, cursing loudly into a silver box by the door. A tense moment then with the nervous voices of tenets behind and the hysterical man in front.
Find a new avenue of escape. The eyes dart about frantically but before a solution can be found the elevator opens and a woman, tall and dark, steps out. She looks. Seen, desperation takes over. A diving lunge with shoulder and head knocks the woman back into the lift. The sword's point, deftly manouvred, finds the soft spot under the ribs. The woman's shriek only partly escapes the hand quickly risen to muffle it. Her muscles slacken then she only has energy left to die. Close the door. Fingers stab at buttons and the doors roll shut. They open quickly on the next floor. In the foyer a long window reflects the bright interior of the building. A decorative plant is taken up, its heavy base hefted at the transparent barrier. It collides and falls, just scarcely causing a crack. Again. Heave the weight at the fractured weakness. With a tremendous noise the pane becomes opaque with shattering then falls away. No thought to height or what may be lurking below is taken before the legs find themselves running through the air. Six metres of falling. The eyes glare furiously downwards, adjusting to the sudden change to darkness. Bare feet meet the paved surface below. Despite every ounce of determination the landing is hard. The knees bend quickly, not absorbing all of the fall. The ankles roll sending splintering pain up the legs. The arms protect the head as the body continues to tumble a length before it stops.
As quickly as footing and balance restores, the need to run pulls the limbs into motion through the protests of a beleaguered nervous system. Get away from the building. Push. Run. Ignore the pain. Run. The lungs demand more breath, and begin to gasp. The heart races. Down rural streets and over lawns: the only path is one that is fast.
Fatigue wins over panic and reason is restored. Breathe, restore calm. Slow the heart. Fingers probe over smooth flesh of the back where once there had been holes. Only that original scar is there; a scar that memory can not find a place for. Yet the body can not completely suppress all its fatigue and soreness, as though in that past drama it was only able to save itself when in the throes of terror, at the brink of death. The mind wanders over many questions The sound of an approaching automobile interupts introspection. The lights must be avoided. Seek shelter in the shadows. This far from the city dense shrubery and patches of forest line many streets. Lying in darkness the body slowly but deliberately brings itself back to equilibrium. Instincts here before unknown have made themselves apparent. There is knowledge beyond education, its source a mystery. Memory is still a disingeuninous faculty.
The eyes search the skies.
"How do you know Polaris?"
No answer, though after a brief glimpse of Orion, it is not difficult to put orientation in check and find the star.
Sore and tired the sand of the shore and sight of water is a high note. Dawn creeps over the horizon. Still far away, the path with have to go inland again. Now though, the soft beach is a lullaby. Will fails and sleep consumes the senses.
Some notion shifts attention outwards instead of in. Notice a long black car slowly rolling to a stop in front. Do not move. Face down, keep the eyes looking up from under hair at the scene. For many seconds the car simply idles. The occupant is obscured by glare from the street. The driver door opens and a tall man stands up. Do not look up. His stare is here, palpable. The situation demands patience.
The man clears his throat then in carefully memorised Japanese: "Your mother sent me." He tries to raise his voice while keeping it down.
Rush to the door and enter the car. The man climbs in and extends a hand. "Helluva code you got there Toots." Quickly seeing his gesture ignored the hand reaches for the brake and the car is put into motion.
The man, a muscular American, runs his hand over his blonde shaved hair. His skin is darker than his hair by a fair amount. He babbles in English, and is barely understood. The car ride is long and the distance covered great. It may take an entire day to walk home. The trip has gone over the bridge and into the mainland.
"I guess you don't speak too much English," the man finally decides as he pulls into his building's parking lot.
Follow him in. He opens the door and enters behind. Lights come on.
"All right!" He claps his hands and his shirt is coming off.
Close the eyes. Body now relaxed the blood pumps and swells. A shudder is suppressed. A hand drops to the groin and clutches. It is a moment to prepare, savour the opportunity. Inwardly, concentration is at its fullest. What vile providence must make this so? Courage builds, until finally... Turn to face him, eyes open. He is taken aback by the sudden force in the eyes. Slowly open the mouth in a smile. He is shirtless, his muscular pectorals lightly tufted with blonde hair. On his belly is tattooed an eagle and below -- tucked under the waistband of his jeans -- a pistol peeks out.
Step to him. Hands grab the chest. Move him to the bed before he can respond with groping of his own. Push him down and leap up. The knees fall on either side of his hips. Reach for the gun. A hand comes down.
"Ah! What do you think you're doing?" He smiles and places the pistol on the bedside table. Act like nothing has happened. Go for the belt. Open the robes... Skin meets. Reach in and press, then push down with the hips. His hands go up searching. Lean and let them find the breasts. His face contorts and his eyes roll around, his mouth open in a huffing grimace. The robe still draped over the folds form a tent of heat in that triangle of torsos and arms. Perhaps enjoyment can be found here.
But it begins like it always does. The skin suddenly feels cold and damp. Light fills the eyes and again the bathroom stall is reality. This reflection is necessary if only to transform as before, with the faces above, when the gathering lightning-like pain was building to burst. After a scream as if in time of dying, the fist rose and struck. Spinning, a boy crashed face first into the partition. The other two, in shock could not move. Having stood, two fists swung down and crushed the ribcage of the second. The third, his wits finally gathered, tried to open the door but could not on account of his collapsed friends. A final swing cracked his skull. Then, over a toilet of bloodied tissues, came that vision blurring anger, the sort of heart-wrenching ire that can only be sated through malicious vengeance.
Now, like then, the urge comes. Slowly reach back... more slowly. Tighten fingers around the grip. Pay attention to his eyes, they will mark the time. His head lolls but his eyes still look this way. He's grunting now. Take care not to go too quickly. Wait. Wait.
The body tenses to act. He looks! Too late, the blade is in motion. A correction mid-swing only throws the balance off more and unexpectedly the body is falling through the air; his, having heaved the attack away, rolls aside. The weapon slices into plaster and leaves the hands. Rear hits the floor. Get up. Quickly feet are flat on carpet. The gun!
Pressure and light fill the senses. No! An explosion. Grope at pain and blood. Ignore the heat. The weight is there in the shoulder. Remember defense... what? Down. Grab the weapon. Facing the wall sweaty hands struggle to pull at the stuck sword. Again! A second explosion. The back reels under scintillating tendrils of pain, like corrosion, expanding. Loss of feeling. Maintain grip. Maintain vision. Foot on the wall pull the sword and lunge. Take a step fast towards the enemy, compress and attack. A howl is heard. The tip jerks after it briefly meets the resistance of flesh and is followed by an anguished yelp. Lash back, hit it! His fist comes down first. A crushing blow to the side of the ribcage. The ears hear the crackle of bones as the eyes watch the floor near. Stars. Get up! To stay down means death. Hands and knees on the floor now. The pain! Make it stop. Yell. There is the taste of blood. Those bullets! Get them out of there. Out! Push it out, stop the blood, kill the feeling... Push it out!
Two distorted, leaden shells thud solidly to the floor. Blood dribbles over them but, trickling now, soon slows to a stop.
He has just been watching, standing still; the resolve and fight left in his opponent is a baffling spectacle. The sword is still held. His leg, very close here, makes a fine target. A three quarters swing cuts down from the outside of his knee and through the lower shin to the floor. The massive man, yelling, crashes to the floor atop his disceted foot. The pistol clatters away on the floor. His fingers are crawling towards the weapon but a second strike removes the questing hand from his arm. Crawl up to his face. Panting and sweating he babbles for his life. Heave breath from between clenched teeth and let the pain slowly recede. His eyes are black and wide with fear. Climbing over him beads of sweat trail down and run off of the face. The tip of the sword hovers over his breast. A gleeful grunt escapes as forcefully the blade splits his ribs, piercing the beating core. The weapon is stuck in his chest. Place a bare heel on his stomach and pull it free. Blood pulses out of the wound, first in spurts then less dramatically with time. Within a brief moment it stops.
The robes are ruined. Many of the sheets on the bed avoided the bloodshed. Wiping the body down, much of the old fabric is discarded. A few quick cuts and new ones are wrapped around, the remaining cloth stowed for later tailoring.
Escape will not be easily made cautiously now that people have heard gunshots. How many heard the shots does not matter. Soon police will be here. It is time to go.
Dash down the hall. The room, being on the ground floor, is not far from one of the building's entrances. Double sets of heavy glass doors bar the exit from the lobby. Someone trying to get let in stands outside, cursing loudly into a silver box by the door. A tense moment then with the nervous voices of tenets behind and the hysterical man in front.
Find a new avenue of escape. The eyes dart about frantically but before a solution can be found the elevator opens and a woman, tall and dark, steps out. She looks. Seen, desperation takes over. A diving lunge with shoulder and head knocks the woman back into the lift. The sword's point, deftly manouvred, finds the soft spot under the ribs. The woman's shriek only partly escapes the hand quickly risen to muffle it. Her muscles slacken then she only has energy left to die. Close the door. Fingers stab at buttons and the doors roll shut. They open quickly on the next floor. In the foyer a long window reflects the bright interior of the building. A decorative plant is taken up, its heavy base hefted at the transparent barrier. It collides and falls, just scarcely causing a crack. Again. Heave the weight at the fractured weakness. With a tremendous noise the pane becomes opaque with shattering then falls away. No thought to height or what may be lurking below is taken before the legs find themselves running through the air. Six metres of falling. The eyes glare furiously downwards, adjusting to the sudden change to darkness. Bare feet meet the paved surface below. Despite every ounce of determination the landing is hard. The knees bend quickly, not absorbing all of the fall. The ankles roll sending splintering pain up the legs. The arms protect the head as the body continues to tumble a length before it stops.
As quickly as footing and balance restores, the need to run pulls the limbs into motion through the protests of a beleaguered nervous system. Get away from the building. Push. Run. Ignore the pain. Run. The lungs demand more breath, and begin to gasp. The heart races. Down rural streets and over lawns: the only path is one that is fast.
Fatigue wins over panic and reason is restored. Breathe, restore calm. Slow the heart. Fingers probe over smooth flesh of the back where once there had been holes. Only that original scar is there; a scar that memory can not find a place for. Yet the body can not completely suppress all its fatigue and soreness, as though in that past drama it was only able to save itself when in the throes of terror, at the brink of death. The mind wanders over many questions The sound of an approaching automobile interupts introspection. The lights must be avoided. Seek shelter in the shadows. This far from the city dense shrubery and patches of forest line many streets. Lying in darkness the body slowly but deliberately brings itself back to equilibrium. Instincts here before unknown have made themselves apparent. There is knowledge beyond education, its source a mystery. Memory is still a disingeuninous faculty.
The eyes search the skies.
"How do you know Polaris?"
No answer, though after a brief glimpse of Orion, it is not difficult to put orientation in check and find the star.
Sore and tired the sand of the shore and sight of water is a high note. Dawn creeps over the horizon. Still far away, the path with have to go inland again. Now though, the soft beach is a lullaby. Will fails and sleep consumes the senses.
*POW* *CLANK* *PING*
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Zenith Nadir
- this is my hammer
- Posts: 2767
- Joined: Wed Mar 12, 2003 11:40 am
- Location: between the black and white spiders
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Schroedingers Cat
- We must invent teleportation!
- Posts: 721
- Joined: Mon Jun 19, 2006 11:35 pm
- Location: Idaho, Wisconsin
Doom 4: Heaven Turns Agaisnt Me
Hi. This is my first Fan Fic so here goes! Hope you like it:
Chapter 1: The Madness Sarts All over again.
I lay back on my sunbathing chair as i took a brake. I beat Hell The times now, and i needed a rest. Suddenly the sun wasent there. It started Raining. I quickly grabbed my Cunbathing chair and put it inside. But something was not right. I went outside to see that it was raining Blood! "Oh no!" I said and rushed out of my front door. There was a dead corpse of a male on my doorstep. Now i Defintly was certain that something was not right. I heard yells and screams. I grabbed my pistil from the shelf on my right and ran outside. I saw something strange. An argurment was being held. An Argument between Heaven and Hell. An Imp saw me and yelled in his launguge "THE DOOM MARINE IS HERE!!!!" The hell master quickly tuned around and looked at me. "SLAUGHTER HIM!" He said with blood dripping from his mouth. Dozens of Former Humans, Fromer Sargents, Former Chaingunners and Imps cornerd me. I knew i couldent possibly make it this time. i was trapped.
End of chapter 1.
So what do you think? If it crap ill stop writing. <_>
Chapter 1: The Madness Sarts All over again.
I lay back on my sunbathing chair as i took a brake. I beat Hell The times now, and i needed a rest. Suddenly the sun wasent there. It started Raining. I quickly grabbed my Cunbathing chair and put it inside. But something was not right. I went outside to see that it was raining Blood! "Oh no!" I said and rushed out of my front door. There was a dead corpse of a male on my doorstep. Now i Defintly was certain that something was not right. I heard yells and screams. I grabbed my pistil from the shelf on my right and ran outside. I saw something strange. An argurment was being held. An Argument between Heaven and Hell. An Imp saw me and yelled in his launguge "THE DOOM MARINE IS HERE!!!!" The hell master quickly tuned around and looked at me. "SLAUGHTER HIM!" He said with blood dripping from his mouth. Dozens of Former Humans, Fromer Sargents, Former Chaingunners and Imps cornerd me. I knew i couldent possibly make it this time. i was trapped.
End of chapter 1.
So what do you think? If it crap ill stop writing. <_>
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Zenith Nadir
- this is my hammer
- Posts: 2767
- Joined: Wed Mar 12, 2003 11:40 am
- Location: between the black and white spiders
Many different desires are motivating us to create the new "Evangelion" film.
The desire to portray my sincere feelings on film.
The desire to share, with an audience, the embodiment of image, the diversity of expressions, and the detailed portrayal of emotions that animation offers.
The desire to connect today's exhausted Japanese animation [industry] to the future.
The desire to fight the continuing trend of stagnation in anime.
The desire to support the strength of heart that exists in the world.
Finally, the desire to have these wishes be realized.
For these purposes, we used the best methods available to us to make another Evangelion film.
Many times we wondered, "It's a title that's more than 10 years old. Why now?"
"Eva is too old", we felt.
However, over the past 12 years, there has been no anime newer than Eva.
The desire to portray my sincere feelings on film.
The desire to share, with an audience, the embodiment of image, the diversity of expressions, and the detailed portrayal of emotions that animation offers.
The desire to connect today's exhausted Japanese animation [industry] to the future.
The desire to fight the continuing trend of stagnation in anime.
The desire to support the strength of heart that exists in the world.
Finally, the desire to have these wishes be realized.
For these purposes, we used the best methods available to us to make another Evangelion film.
Many times we wondered, "It's a title that's more than 10 years old. Why now?"
"Eva is too old", we felt.
However, over the past 12 years, there has been no anime newer than Eva.
*POW* *CLANK* *PING*
But this is all only coming from somebody who actually, you know, gives more of a damn about the music than the bitrate that it's encoded at. I just feel fortunate to have what I do have at all (A lot of which really cannot be found anywhere else), even if it's not nicely packaged with a label that says "Super-Awesome Perfect Lossless quality!" on it.
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Shadow Mage
- Naked Zombie Sean Connery
- Posts: 163
- Joined: Sun Jul 30, 2006 6:18 pm