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Choose your ingredients and mix a Cocktail for you and your friends.
Hier findet ihr nützliches Zubehör für Rollenspiele.
Einfach einen Würfel auswählen und das Ergebnis erscheint im Chat :)
The next time you want to go shopping on Amazon, you could do it with this link:
Amazon for Belletristicans
(Only works for amazon.de at the moment)
... because if you get to Amazon via Bellatristica, we get up to 10% of the value of your shopping cart, without making it cost more.
The same thing works from everywhere on Belle, no matter if it's a book recommendation in our Blog or an Amazon link in a profile.
Everything we earn this way, will be added to Belletristia's development budget.
Thank you very, very much! :)
- Ben & Sebastian
Lisa-Marie did not know her father well. Even when he was still in the United States, he would hardly ever be home. To this day she still wondered what he would be like, if she ever went to see him. After her mom died, she turned to the streets. She was finally able to switch to wearing princess dresses again.
She purchased herself a net-gun, that shoots out a large fishing net. She didn't believe in killing others, but would sometimes be an occasional pest for militarized law enforcement. The remnants of a larger culture of mainstream police brutality. It was a struggle to maintain some semblance of anonymity, a think that she would eventually come to desire quite a bit. So when she had met Hemato, she had sorts of mixed feelings coming into her head at once.
There was a kind of identity crises. On one hand her mother was a French immigrant, and on the other hand her father was British. There would be constant fights of petty political issues; she never caught a break from yelling, and it would be a struggle just to have basic medical needs followed because they would be so caught up using her a token figure for their own political gains. Her house was like a miniature version of world war three.
So she came into the world largely unsure what to expect. She tried to maintain a semblance of friendliness. But not being used to the mean streets, the reality of it all hit her hard. Most of the people she encountered wanted to take her head, being partially of French origin. Others saw her as some kind of sexual treasure, and she became introduced from an early age the lusts of carnal desire.
Over time she lost her fire, that innocence.
That feeling of love.
Instead what remained was a girl that was a shell of her former self. She wanted to search for someone who could replace her mother, someone that had been missing from her life for many years. She became psychologically broken beyond the point of complete breaking.
She got involved with fashion cultures.
One such culture was what would become known as Steampunk. There was a loving atmosphere among these people that was distinct from her experience with her peers in middle and high school, which was still required of people her age. Because of the family structure, people protected each other. Even if people dropped out and became homeless, there would still be a home. None of them cared where you came from. You could be British or French. Everyone was friends.
This lasted for a while, then she stopped going. Being one that largely preferred to be alone, it made social interactions difficult to process. Everything was like multiple rows of obscure binary code, written in languages more arcane than Ruby and C++. The operating system of the social life.
So she came to the world with new eyes.
And net-gun to find her mother. So she could be loved again.
The thing about immigrating from Tennessee, you still have certain baggage from the old state you left behind. Luckily I've never had a strong accent in any direction, but when you grow up in a culture you still have certain lingual-ism that marks you as having from a particular territory in NashChat.
Although Lisa-Marie never seemed to notice or care about this, it was always something that I feared would mark me as being strange. Surely you figured something was off, but perhaps this all in my mind. I would have had the same fears for Anna-Marie, except she herself had come from France. If you're from France, you can't exactly complain about cultural markers. Especially when you're the one from hick town who invaded the US. Part of the issues came from the fact that as someone from Tennessee living in the North West, there was still a lot of element of shame from the association, and their tendency toward being conservative.
This includes determination in maintaining an unworkable capital punishment. In many ways if you like in Tennessee, there was a good chance you would like in France as politically they were relatively similar. At least more so than Seatak and France. As much as I hated Lisa-Marie's mother, I was also never a fan of capital punishment. To save an anti-death penalty discussion, lets leave at the fact that at lot of my vocalism against the invaders is partly from me picturing NashChat invade Seatak. Now here is the thing about NashChat.
You might have isolated pockets of people that are against corporal punishment of kids in school, but for every Nashville in the NashChat area that was always Smyrna, Tennessee. In Smyrna, or so I heard (I was only threatened by it at Blackman High, keep that in mind) you could be paddled on your jeans for wearing something as arbitrarily incorrect open toed Jesus sandals. And when you're a lesbian like me, well you tend to wear Jesus sandals. Though generally black. There was a certain association of paddled girls in Jesus Sandals or Potato Shoes with sex that became stronger over time, and I knew that paddling anybody was unacceptable. And yet I had that kink I could not quite explain, I suppose I was destined for cyber sexuality from the get go. I would picture in my mind little dark hair brunettes paddled to guitar tunes.
Did I mentioned I hate country music? Yea when I give "a country song", I don't mean a literal country song. Usually it's a way of me visualizing smashing a guitar over someone's head who hurt my friend.
At times at night I find myself getting enthused all of a sudden, I can't help but let my mind switch to Lisa-Marie that takes away all my sexual pleasures for hurting my beloved who reminds me of the kid me and Anna-Marie could have had rather than someone I'd want to give me head, even though now if Anna-Marie had lived Lisa-Marie would be about the same age. Neither did nobody any wrong, and yet in my mind I imagine me spanking their bottom.
It just fucking kills me.
With Anna it's worse, I know exactly what she went through.
... I've been there myself.
I think eventually I may in fact actually move out of the United States, and move to somewhere very north of Canada. I'm not sure if Lisa-Marie will go with me, and I kind of feel funny leaving Anna-Marie's grave behind.
I haven't visited Anna-Marie's grave actually. I suppose that will be the last stop before I leave the US.
Or I may hang myself from a tree.
I suppose I shall see.
So after Lisa-Marie gave me a very awkward head job, because she likes giving me a head job sometimes, I pack my bags when she is away. Her Jesus sandals make my lump inflate, so I suppose that's something I'll have to go without. However when I arrive at the train station to visit the graveyard, I dropped my bags looking at the long line at the station. Where trains constantly whistle.
I merely thought of Lisa-Marie.
She had nobody. She wouldn't have me.
She would have nothing. But then I am shot with net from her net gun, and then things go smoothly from there, as she says "You didn't tell me you were going on a trip sweet heart. Take me with you."
So I bought her a ticket when I was released from the net.
On closer inspection she was dressed particularly innocently, and I immediately felt awkward about the head and foot job she gave me before. I couldn't believe that someone dressed so much like a Christian girl in Jesus sandals, with a yellow flower dress and a yellow flower cap. "You decided to go with me." I said.
"You decided to abandon me." she said.
"I didn't want you to leave your family."
"Fuck that, I hate my family. I have nothing here. My brother has just killed himself because of his guillotined girlfriend I had. All I have is you. You're all I have left. Yet you felt you had nothing left to give." She covered her face in a tearful shame and regret. She got me there I suppose, I just never had a felt that was as devoted like my first girlfriend named Dog.
"I suppose I could give you a shoulder."
"That would be great."
"So where are we going to go first?" she asked, as we boarded the room. The waitress gave us breakfast for the morning, and for me I had always tended to drink my coffee nice and black.
"To the local graveyard, an old friend is buried there." I said.
"Your executed girlfriend?"
"You really talk in your sleep. But if I could be like your Anna-Marie, that would be really great." I wasn't sure how to respond to that, I didn't have a conversation like that sense I had last moved to the North West. One of my friends I knew, that was my room mate briefly when I was fleeing my parents, would talk about how I would never ultimately compare to the friend she had known for fifteen years. So as you could probably imagine, I didn't have the need to break my new friend's heart.
Besides, I loved her like family.
She was me and Anna-Marie's child. Even if she was close to our age, there was something about her innocence that made me feel very protective. She had the aura of someone you would to take care of and mother.
But not like my mother. A mother like me.
She kept me from ending my life.
I was lost in a sea of digital sexuality. I would decapitate French girls without a second thought. My sex drive rivaled the armies of Genghis Khan, the ladies fallen Chinese warriors who I slammed the knife down on their necks. Yet in the endless fog of dream-time, there was a light in the forest.
There was the sound of a innocent little girls voice, who held out her hands for me and gave me a smile I have never received in years. It was the face of the spirit of light in the dark, the face that combined Anna-Marie and Lisa-Marie both like angelic sisters after sundown. And yet there was a stitch marks on her neck, and her head wobbled as if she were beheaded by a guillotine gun. And yet there was something about her that could transcend other people's dreams and hopes sharing ideas. I simply wanted my internal nightmare to end.
She was almost psychic. I feared the worst for my angel. I was a demon lost in inferno. Lisa-Marie woke me up, and gently shushed me. Then offered to rub my shoulders, hoping it would take my night terrors away.
I thought moving would change things.
It only made things worse.
And in the morning, she sang children's rhymes.
I felt no need to rhyme today.
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