ummm, HI! I'm alive!
- new therapist working out
- moved into a new apt
- have a bunk bed now (YAY!)
- had an interesting experience with an ovarian cyst
- returned to school
- rocked my editing class
- more stable, etc
- fiending for rpgs but what else is now
- SO INTO PRINCESS TUTU OMG
btw?
AWESOME VID, Princess Tutu, Slashy and Femmeslashy and Het-y and not really spoileriffic because dude that is one strange mindfuck of an anime and IT IS AWESOME. (the anime AND the vid)
GO NOW.
- new therapist working out
- moved into a new apt
- have a bunk bed now (YAY!)
- had an interesting experience with an ovarian cyst
- returned to school
- rocked my editing class
- more stable, etc
- fiending for rpgs but what else is now
- SO INTO PRINCESS TUTU OMG
btw?
AWESOME VID, Princess Tutu, Slashy and Femmeslashy and Het-y and not really spoileriffic because dude that is one strange mindfuck of an anime and IT IS AWESOME. (the anime AND the vid)
GO NOW.
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http://www.silverwolfie.net/video2.xml#
It's much cleaner than the you-tube rip, and thrice as lovely.
YAY PRINCESS TUTU CONVERTS! It is quite unbelievable, that show. It's one of my tip-top favorite anime series, and I adore it. Like, adoration to unbelievable levels. Will you be writing any fanfic? Fanfic for PT is in short supply on the internets, and often sub-quality.
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Fakir tries writing again the next day. He tries writing of their dance at the bottom of the Lake of Despair, and how he wishes he could dance it again. (Their forms painting shadows on the lake bed, her eyes like stars, and their arms looping into each other like infinity. She was so beautiful.)
He, later that day in front of their company's excited choreographer, finds himself learning an new dance, oddly old, disquietingly familiar, with a probationary member of their company for a partner. She was beautiful and was colored fair to his dark, hair shimmering like a precious metal. She danced like a masterpiece; which is to say she had perfect form and felt like a statue in his arms. He felt like his hands were nailed to cold stone and his feet slid along pre-ordained grooves in the floor.
She had eyes like glass beads.
Fakir went straight to the pond afterwards and looked and looked and looked at Duck until he felt clean again. She paddled towards the pier and asked him what was wrong, in her way. He told her that his writing failed again, and she said that was okay and good things aren't easy and ooo is that bread for me?
It was. Fakir broke off bits for her and bemoaned about how ballet was so *easy* next to this. Duck glanced sharply up.
Fakir! She sputtered, mouth full, flapping. It is probably good for the both of them that Duck doesn't need to actually use her beak to communicate with him, Fakir thinks absently, as he is suddenly reminded of the girl that tried so hard and tried so hard and whom he'd embarrassed in front of prima ballerina Paulamoni by dancing to his ability instead of hers. It shames him that he was so petty.
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You seriously made my evening. Thank you. That is lovely.
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