OMGG!!! THE NEW MOON EXTENDED TRAILOR...MADE MY ENTIRE LIFE!!! k I admit, at first I thought Dakota Fanning would suck it...but I am sorry I ever had my doubts...I LOVE YOU DAKOTA!!! I mean she was absolutly perfect...If you havn't you must check it out!! It is much more than amazing!! X3
Funny story time:
I was looking up the extended trailer to send it to my friend when I found this. It made, my whole week.
Here it is:
http://www.youtube.com/v/aXIk696BlVg&feature=fvw&autoplay=1
"I think I'm ready to be a mother!"
"No ya ern't ya dumb b***h."
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Funny story time:
I was looking up the extended trailer to send it to my friend when I found this. It made, my whole week.
Here it is:
http://www.youtube.com/v/aXIk696BlVg&feature=fvw&autoplay=1
"I think I'm ready to be a mother!"
"No ya ern't ya dumb b***h."
---
Story starter:
I happened to be screwing around in class [[as always]] when I decided to ignore my english teacher and decided to some how regain my writting skillz....fail. Anyways...here it is:
Chapter one:
“You have a head full of maggots.”
My name is Emory Stanton. I’m a 5’11 white Saxon male with dazzling midnight blue eyes and the tousled dark black hair to match. Many times persons of every kind have told me of my looks, claiming me a being of the angels. I had the structure of a flawless twenty-five year old, and an ideally toned body. If only they knew. It was always the invariable; the similar hot fingers brushing over my cheek bones, lifting my silk hair out of my eyes; more of the same soft plump hands tracing burning lines against my skin. My thoughts always lead to one thing, somehow or another. Blood. I sighed.
I am an evil creature of the night; a walking corpse; the living dead; a vampire; immortal. I am the complete definition of the devil. I am temptation, alluring, twisted, hateful, and insane. Nevertheless I am God’s child; an angel. I am sane, much more than beautiful, strong, and adoring. Such similarity I have with mankind! Always contradicting myself, yet never could I ever compare my equal values with humanity. If a smile spread across my features I did not notice it. One of my many natural talents is to tune out everything around me, including my dearly beloved Olivier. He was my favorite, and all mine. He had a mop of blond hair and large innocent pale emerald eyes. I had just turned him less than three months ago, and how odd it seemed to me now that I had ever lived without him. Cold marble fingers pressed themselves against my forehead .My blurred focus instantly became sharp. Olivier stood on his tiptoes, for he was much shorter than I, nails digging into my skin. His lovely ocean green eyes held fear, innocents (as always), anger, and love. I took in everything. His right hand was clasped around my hillside green cashmere sweater, while his left palm moved to cup my face.
“Emory,” his soothing voice was filled with disapproval. Now out of my stupor of sorts, I noted his great annoyance with pleasure. “That was rather rude.” My eyes narrowed and aggravation held me fast.
“She is full of maggots, dare I say it again. The old hag’s thoughts are worthless,” I glanced over my shoulder. Behind me was a long rounded wall of built in burrows. In the rear of each gape of the cherry wood sat motionless figures; except for one however.
“You provoke me! My mind worthless you say? Never! I am your superior! You are nothing but a pet I can simply play with and toss aside. The gamble you take of mocking me!” The voice which spoke was female, and held such rage I wanted to laugh. The voice held a Russian accent foiled around a harmonious melody which to my ears was rather fake. I watched her curious. She had left her spot from the court, couching low out of the corner of my peripheral vision. I turned smiling, my lip upraise in a charming threat. Natasha was heartbreakingly attractive…to human eyes. I was much more use to the blinding appeal, and was not taken so fast. She was a platinum blonde. Her hair was very long, and ended at the small arch of her back. She was very tall, yet it wasn’t held awkwardly against her like most. Natasha wore a navy blue robe with wondrous markings around the abdomen and hips. It trailed in strict lines down the hanging sleeves, and the hem of the garment. There was no collar, just a neat hole in the fabric that held her slim neck. Her neck; my throat tightened.
“You are no such thing. It is ever so true that you are older than I. Even so, you hold neither power nor allure. You are aged, yet it does not mean you are wise. You are far from it.” I had entirely failed to remember Olivier’s hand on my face. He shifted his fingertips and traced them down my jaw. He proceeded then to grip my under chin and rotate my head to confront his glare. I could have easily broken loose of his tightest hold, or at the very least not comply, but Olivier was like a lost child to me; my very own lost child. I couldn’t lay a hand against him.
“You are arrogant.” He spat. Anger’s hand gripped me tight. I ripped myself away from him in one liquid motion, positioning my body so it was facing Natasha. She was still bent over in a demi-plies, her brown eyes drinking in my every movement.
“Natasha darling,” I spoke lightly, me voice as soft as a caress.
“Your wits are slower than your reflexes.” I smirked brilliantly.
“You son of a b***h!” Her scarlet lips parted, followed by a humming hiss. I stepped forward. She was like a caged animal. Her instincts told her to get away from me as my power trickled over my skin like cold rain and began to perfume the air. Her mudded eyes widened in terror as I closed in. She was mine. I slinked forward feeling Olivier’s arms covering my waist. He pleaded with me; whispering; lips at my ear.
“Emory.” A bell coo stopped me. The tone was purely feminine and rung high on pitch in the air. It held reason and a threat dipped in silver and blood. Delicious. I whipped round. Behind the exact middle of the ever going burrow sat a medium sized woman. She was gorgeous, even to my eyes. Her face held high rosy cheekbones, and tight pale skin. Her face was slim. She had the type of body and face any model would trade their soul for. On the contrary, that might be the correct asking price; One soul. Dark brown hair, almost so dark it looked black, curled around her face in long faultless locks of purple and black-brown. I saved her eyes for last. They were a reddish-purple tint framed with thick black lashes. It seemed she came from a Latin race.
“Enough.”
---
Wolfie: GAHH THAT WAS SO BADD DX
Kilo: Hush your mouth you'll wake up your mother...
Wolfie: WHY CAN'T I WRITE ANYMORE?!
Kilo: Good question...
Wolfie: FACK MY LIFE
((Kilo needed a color change because there was too much indigo...and yes I mean fack not ******** ._.))
[[~END~]] <3<3
