Laura Bryannan

I'm a bad girl

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 14:24:55 GMT

John and Dylan are so far away, I can't get it up to write the next chapter no matter how hard I try. And, to make matters worse, I'm totally addicted to a new game. Final Fantaxy XIII? Nope.
MONSTER HUNTER! The beastie I'm trying to kill right now is the snow gorilla in the trailer below. Anyone else out there like this game? I'm obsessed......

GoDevilDante Goodness!

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 13:32:35 GMT

She hasn't animated in a while, but this is great! How many fandoms can you count, children?

~~Hey, who is Iroh giving a swishy to at 1:50?~~

Pet her for it here. (She can't use the music on DevArt, which is why I sent you to youtube).

MOUUUUUUUSE!

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Sun, 14 Mar 2010 16:14:52 GMT

Hubby found this and it made me smile.

This made me laugh

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 17:02:09 GMT

Stolen shamelessly from i_llbedammned's post at fanficrants today:

I know we get a lot of eye rants here. People often do not know how to describe the liquid filled globes that we get vision out of. But the phrase "his eye-like eyes scanned the room." does not quite suffice.

Post a poem meme

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 00:54:51 GMT

Stolen from gallo_de_pelea and pollinia.

Duino Elegies
by Rainer Maria Rilke

The First Elegy
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies?
and even if one of them pressed me suddenly against his heart:
I would be consumed in that overwhelming existence.
For beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror, which we are still just able to endure,
and we are so awed because it serenely disdains to annihilate us.
Every angel is terrifying.

And so I hold myself back and swallow the call-note of my dark sobbing.
Ah, whom can we ever turn to in our need?
Not angels, not humans, and already the knowing animals are aware
that we are not really at home in our interpreted world.
Perhaps there remains for us some tree on a hillside, which every day we can take into our vision;
there remains for us yesterday's street and the loyalty of a habit so much at ease
when it stayed with us that it moved in and never left.
Oh and night: there is night, when a wind full of infinite space gnaws at our faces.
Whom would it not remain for--that longed-after, mildly disillusioning presence,
which the solitary heart so painfully meets.
Is it any less difficult for lovers?
But they keep on using each other to hide their own fate.
Don't you know yet?
Fling the emptiness out of your arms into the spaces we breathe;
perhaps the birds will feel the expanded air with more passionate flying.

Yes--the springtimes needed you. Often a star was waiting for you to notice it.
A wave rolled toward you out of the distant past,
or as you walked under an open window, a violin yielded itself to your hearing.
All this was mission. But could you accomplish it?
Weren't you always distracted by expectation, as if every event announced a beloved?
(Where can you find a place to keep her, with all the huge strange thoughts inside you
going and coming and often staying all night.)
But when you feel longing, sing of women in love; for their famous passion is still not immortal.
Sing of women abandoned and desolate (you envy them, almost)
who could love so much more purely than those who were gratified.
Begin again and again the never-attainable praising; remember: the hero lives on;
even his downfall was merely a pretext for achieving his final birth.
But Nature, spent and exhausted, takes lovers back into herself,
as if there were not enough strength to create them a second time.
Have you imagined Gaspara Stampa intensely enough
so that any girl deserted by her beloved might be inspired by that fierce example of soaring,
objectless love and might say to herself, "Perhaps I can be like her?"
Shouldn't this most ancient of sufferings finally grow more fruitful for us?
Isn't it time that we lovingly freed ourselves from the beloved and,
quivering, endured: as the arrow endures the bowstring's tension,
so that gathered in the snap of release it can be more than itself.
For there is no place where we can remain.

Voices. Voices. Listen, my heart, as only saints have listened:
until the gigantic call lifted them off the ground;
yet they kept on, impossibly, kneeling and didn't notice at all: so complete was their listening.
Not that you could endure God's voice--far from it.
But listen to the voice of the wind and the ceaseless message that forms itself out of silence.
It is murmuring toward you now from those who died young.
Didn't their fate, whenever you stepped into a church in Naples or Rome,
quietly come to address you?
Or high up, some eulogy entrusted you with a mission,
as, last year, on the plaque in Santa Maria Formosa.
What they want of me is that I gently remove the appearance of injustice about their death--
which at times slightly hinders their souls from proceeding onward.

Of course, it is strange to inhabit the earth no longer,
to give up customs one barely had time to learn,
not to see roses and other promising Things in terms of a human future;
no longer to be what one was in infinitely anxious hands;
to leave even one's own first name behind,
forgetting it as easily as a child abandons a broken toy.
Strange to no longer desire one's desires.
Strange to see meanings that clung together once, floating away in every direction.
And being dead is hard work and full of retrieval before one can gradually feel a trace of eternity.
Though the living are wrong to believe in the too-sharp distinctions which
they themselves have created.
Angels (they say) don't know whether it is the living they are moving among, or the dead.
The eternal torrent whirls all ages along in it, through both realms forever,
and their voices are drowned out in its thunderous roar.

In the end, those who were carried off early no longer need us:
they are weaned from earth's sorrows and joys,
as gently as children outgrow the soft breasts of their mothers.
But we, who do need such great mysteries,
we for whom grief is so often the source of our spirit's growth--:
could we exist without them?
Is the legend meaningless that tells how, in the lament for Linus,
the daring first notes of song pierced through the barren numbness;
and then in the startled space which a youth as lovely as a god has suddenly left forever,
the Void felt for the first time that harmony which now enraptures and comforts and helps us.

Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 21 -- original fiction

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 04:15:14 GMT

Another close encounter, and Dylan is full of questions. 1315 words, mostly worksafe but a little not.

Title: Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 21
Theme: Emo techie meets MD, but not all is as it seems.
Rating: M, slash/yaoi

(Previous chapters)

Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 21
by Laura Bryannan

Raphael had promised a meeting, but it had been two days with no word, no call...nothing. Bummed, Dylan left the hospital one dreary morning oblivious to his surroundings only to be startled by a familiar, sultry voice. “Hey there, handsome. Going my way?”

“John!” Ecstatic, he lept into his lover's arms, demanding a kiss even though they were out in public.

Indulging him all too briefly, John backed away without letting go. “What would you do now if I wasn't here?” he asked.

“I'd go home and crash,” Dylan said.

Nodding, John pulled him toward the street, waving for a cab.

“It's too expensive,” Dylan protested, hanging back. “My place is far away.”

“Hush,” came the reply, as John shoved him into the waiting taxi and sat beside him. He called out Dylan's address like he lived there and Dylan leaned against his shoulder, content to be taken care of. The eyes that looked into his were as wolflit as he'd ever seen, inflaming his face and further inhibiting his already limited ability at intelligent conversation.

“I-I missed you,” he managed. The cabbie's curious eyes in the rear view mirror kept him from kissing John again, making it hard to know what to do with himself.

Smiling, John took his hand in between his own. “I've been indulging many blissful fantasies about this day,” he admitted. “Rafe returned from your meeting with quite a different attitude, you little charmer. I was surprised he let me out so easily.”

“Are you in jail or something?” Dylan asked.

“No, just an enforced vacation,” he was told with a sigh. “I'm not allowed to manifest, so I can't do my work. I'm like a beat cop consigned to a desk job until all this is sorted out. Today I'm ostensibly with Raphael, and he's willing to cover for me while....” John's impish expression finished his sentence, causing Dylan's heart to skip a beat or two.

“How much time do we have?” he asked.

“I'll take off when you go to work tonight,” came the welcome reply.

The prospect of all day with John, maybe all day in bed with John, caused Dylan such feverish commotion, he couldn't decide whether he was excited, terrified or both. But the cab ride to his apartment took way less time than he anticipated, and he hoped John didn't notice how his trembling hands fumbled the key in the door.

Once inside, John led him wordlessly down the hall into his room, pushing him caveman-like onto the bed. Pulling off Dylan's shoes while he toed out of his own, he hovered on all fours over Dylan's prone body, raking it up and down with a fiery glance that should have burnt his skin to a crisp. Growling in appreciation, John settled their hips together and gave him a smoky smile. “I don't know where to begin,” he whispered.

Welcoming the comfortable weight of John's body and the strong thigh nestled between his own, Dylan wrapped his arms around John's shoulders and pulled him into a kiss, hoping the luscious activity would still his pounding heart and quiet his nerves. It worked! By the time he realized John's hand was down his jeans, he was too horny to worry anymore.

Dylan couldn't tell which was sweeter, the tongue dancing in his mouth or the wicked rhythm of John's right hand. His hips responded in an ancient, obscene dance, the orgasm looming almost immediately. He squirmed, trying to warn, but John was aware. Breaking their kiss, he took Dylan into his mouth and brought him off that way, the vibration of his appreciative chuckling sending him blissfully out into the stratosphere.

It wasn't until he rolled over and bumped into someone that Dylan realized he'd crashed. “What about you?” he asked sleepily, “Aren't you horny?”

“I'm fine...for now,” John replied. Dylan heard him turn the page of a book and felt a gentle hand stroke his hair. “You sleep. Get all the rest you need and be strong for me later.”

Dylan took him at his word and let himself drift back into oblivion. It was deliciously comforting to have a warm body to snuggle against in bed. He'd forgotten how much. And, for the first time since their relationship began, he did not wake up alone. John smiled down at him, noticing his movement, and set down his book. “Good afternoon,” he said.

“Ummm,” Dylan replied, throwing his arm around John's waist, still not awake enough to talk.

“Do you want me to make you some coffee or tea?”

Tightening his grip on John's body, Dylan replied, “No. Don't go anywhere.”

Chuckling, John stayed put, waiting patiently until Dylan's brain turned back on. He kept his eyes closed long after he was fully awake, trying to memorize the moment, still finding it hard to believe it was actually happening. Finally, however, his genuine curiosity got the better of him. “Have you met God?” he asked. It seemed a natural question when you had an angel in your bed.

“Nope,” John replied. “As far as I can tell, the creator of this universe is not a being like you and me. I think the Buddhists got it right. They say you cannot know what God is, only what God isn't, for the creator is not of the phenomenal world, and that is all we can experience. God is what existence exists in. God created and observes existence, but is not part of it. Does that make sense?”

“Maybe,” Dylan said, trying to work it out.

“On this planet,” John continued, “the beings in charge are the archangels, and they answer to the Elohim. Above them are the....” John made a sound so foreign to Dylan's ears, his jaw dropped in wonder. “And that's all I know.”

Dylan would have preferred something more definite. “So, you're not sure God exists?”

“I didn't say that,” came the reply. “I don't know how anyone can look around creation and not see that there is intelligence behind it.” Leaning down to offer a sweet kiss, John concluded, “Utter perfection.”

“But bad shit happens all the time,” Dylan protested.

“The chaos is why it's perfect,” John told him. “The Creator put everything into motion and then set it free. It wouldn't be amusing otherwise, I imagine. Why play a game if you already know the outcome?”

For some reason, the idea pissed Dylan off. “So life is just a game?” he asked, indignant.

“All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players,” John replied. “Shakespeare said that, and he was right. What happens here cannot affect the eternal nature of your soul so, yes, you could call life a game. Or so say all the bodhis I know.”

“Bodhis?” Dylan asked grumpily.

“The bodhisattvas,” John told him. “The way-showers like Sid; the ones who voice The Teaching for a culture. I've been privileged to meet a few and they all basically say the same thing.” He grinned, pausing for dramatic effect, then sang, “All you need is love."

Dylan couldn't help smiling. John had a good voice. Still, it didn't add up. “Don't tell me John Lennon was a bodhi-whateveryoucallit.”

“No, of course not,” came the reply. “Not like Confucius or Buddha or Jesus, but The Beatles certainly had a unique role to play in this world's history.” With a quiet growl, John scooched down on the bed and grabbed him up in a bear hug, nestling their hips together seductively. “Enough talking,” he groused. “You're as bad as Rafe.”

Dylan giggled, flattered by the comparison to the dashing archangel. The powerful body in his arms was so perfectly delicious, John so forceful and demanding, he felt giddy with anticipation, ready for anything.

“I've never been inside a man before you let me in,” John admitted, voice husky against his ear, sending shivers cascading. “May I do it again?”

to be continued

Who are you crushing on?

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Mon, 22 Feb 2010 14:42:19 GMT

It's interesting. When I was at the height of my !ploo passion, I found real men kind of squicky to look at. Anime men were so perfect, so beautiful, they turned my head away from the real thing. These days, however, I'm drooling over some delicious specimens:

Tom Ford, Henry Cavill and Jon Kortajarena respectively. *fans self*

Send me some pretties, flist. Who are you lusting over currently?

P.S. In other news, more Knockin' tomorrow, I hope.

Kimono maker

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 14:10:03 GMT

My flist pal kittyjimjams found a great sandbox to play in. You can change her hair, her accessories, shoes, everything. Drag what you want her to wear and then click on the blossom at the bottom for more options. Have fun!

KIMONO DOLL MAKER

Complaining is an art!

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 14:26:39 GMT

My flist pal llamachan turned me on to the neatest thing if you're a choir geek like me, Complaints Choirs Worldwide. The organization challenges cities to come up with a song, the singers and to film the performance around town. It's interesting to see the universal complaints, common to people everywhere, and the ones unique to that area. Here's Helsinki, one of my favs.

If you're interested, there's more:

Tokyo (another fav and probably the best performance of them all)
St. Petersburg (not so in tune, but still fun)
Jerusalem
Birmingham, England
Hamburg
Singapore
Budapest
Chicago My hometown, but not one of the better efforts. :P

Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 20 -- original fiction

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 15:04:15 GMT

Finally, another chapter! I'm sorry this took so long to write. The holidays really threw me for a loop and so many folks I know in RL had disasters of one kind or another, I couldn't find my way back these characters. Anywhoo, this puppy is 1393 words and quite worksafe.

Title: Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 20
Theme: Emo techie meets MD, but not all is as it seems.
Rating: M, slash/yaoi

(Previous chapters)

Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 20
by Laura Bryannan

He usually declined the invitation to Sunday dinner at his uncle's house, but this week Dylan found good reason to go. The roast chicken was great and his cousins were crazy fun as usual, but all he could think about was getting his uncle alone to grill him about his father.

“I been waiting for you to ask,” Joe replied, cautiously, “and kinda dreading it, 'cause there's nothing to say.”

Dylan's frustration must have leaked like a rusty bucket.

“Look,” he went on hurriedly, “it ain't 'cause I'm withholding nothing. Annie was a good girl. Never had any serious boyfriends, even though lots were interested. That's why it was such a shock when she dropped the bomb she was preggers. Mom cried and Dad yelled, but she never told who knocked her up.”

“Not anyone?” Dylan asked, finding it hard to accept.

“Nobody,” Joe confided. “Me an' Drew even shook down a few prime suspects, sure she was covering for one of 'em. But I gotta say, we decided they were telling the truth 'cause they were as hurt and pissed as we were. No one saw her with anyone, not even her girlfriends. She took the secret to her grave, Dyl. Sorry.”

“Hey, it's not your fault.” Dylan sighed inwardly. “I don't know why I'm asking anyway.” John's people were all over him about his dad, but it felt wrong to bother his uncle about such painful memories.

Joe chuckled, scratching his head, seemingly unperturbed. “I always figured you never asked about your dad 'cause...well, look at yourself. You sure don't look like a Wozniak.”

Dylan laughed, knowing it was true, amazed he hadn't noticed before. The bodies of his family members were very different from his; shorter, sturdier, with ruddy complexions and fair hair. He hadn't paid attention to his otherness growing up, and he had no idea why considering it was so obvious.

“Maybe you'll never know who he was,” Joe continued, “but you gotta look just like him. I see Annie in your eyes, and sometimes how you smile. The rest is all him, I bet.”

Shocked, Dylan realized his willowy height, fair skin and black hair were indeed alien, unlike anyone else in his family. It was strange how he'd never made the cognition before—that to look at himself in the mirror was to see his father's face.

Joe was still talking and Dylan was relieved, as all the commotion in his brain made it impossible to think straight. “You never grew up into someone we recognized from the neighborhood, either,” he was informed. “You seen the kinda guys who live around here. Annie's beaus were all like them. Your dad's not Polish, Dyl. He's from somewhere else.”

Somewhere else....

Dylan landed at the counter of the local diner and ordered some coffee, trying to sort out his head. The whole interaction with his uncle left him feeling messed up. It was almost creepy to think he'd been wearing his father's face all this time and hadn't even realized it. Sighing, he picked up an abandoned Tribune to distract himself when someone sat on the stool next to him. Skin prickling, he cast a furtive glance to discover Raphael staring at him calmly. “Well, that was interesting, wasn't it?” he noted.

“You were spying on me?!?” Dylan gasped, freaked by the implications.

The elegant man shrugged. “John sent me to talk to you, and that's where you were when I arrived.” When Dylan opened and closed his mouth a few times but did not speak, Rafe continued, “Gabriel and Siddhartha have returned to their part of the world, so John has asked me to facilitate another meeting between the two of you.”

The news should have given Dylan hope, but he felt wary instead. After all, Raphael was John's ex, and came complete with a permanent stick up his ass. “You want to help us?” he asked, unbelieving.

“I'm not convinced I should,” came the haughty reply. “John is a child and you're not much more than one. You're both being ridiculous.”

Dylan snorted, smug he'd called it right. “John's a child? Sure.”

"He is!” Rafe insisted. “Adored by many, great and small, cherished and indulged as any baby brother would be. He is called The Beloved and comes by the nickname deservedly, but the fact that he allowed this thing to happen between you proves that he lacks any semblance of wisdom.”

Incensed, Dylan replied, “I still don't get why it's so bad.”

Raphael cocked a disdainful brow, making him feel instantly stupid. “You do understand that John is a non-corporeal being,” he stated, tone condescending. “He wears a body for the work he does, supporting those ready to pass on, but he cannot maintain it indefinitely. What kind of future do you expect to have with such a creature?”

“I'd take what I could get,” Dylan stated, defiant. “I was happy before you guys took him away.”

“You should be creating a life for yourself,” Rafe continued more earnestly, “a home, family, children.”

A home with John sounded heavenly, but kids...no thanks. “Are babies the only thing that matters?” he asked.

“Of course not!” Rafe replied. “But life is programmed to continue. It would be natural and right for you to seek such a path.”

“Not for me,” Dylan declared, ready to defend his choice. “What if I just want him? Why should it matter if we spend time together?”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “You honestly can't understand why it might be against the rules for an angel to be...fornicating with a human?”

Petulant, Dylan retorted, “So I guess God really is a nosy old fart with nothing better to do than snoop in people's bedrooms.”

“No. The man with the long white beard making lists is Santa Claus,” Rafe replied, chuckling at his own joke. “The Creator is something else.”

Dylan didn't think it was funny. “Well, if it's not a sin, what's the big deal?”

Exasperated, Rafe ran a hand through his hair. “Look, young man. Is it a sin to drive your car after you've been drinking alcohol? No. But it's against the law for good reason. The veil between the worlds exists for good reason as well. You seem to be handling all this better than one would expect, but most humans would find their sanity sorely tested by interacting with us.”

Not feeling particularly sane, Dylan found himself awash in the memory of John straddling his hips the first time they'd made love. “It's been too long,” he'd murmured, and it dawned on him that the last person to fuck his lover was sitting to his right. Imagining the aristocratic man all sweaty and growling, putting it to John with precise efficiency should have made him feel jealous, but instead his face was hot and his jeans uncomfortable. He could totally understand why John had loved this man, angel...whatever he was.

Dylan looked up to find his rival eying him strangely and was struck by another memory. “Rafe is a creature of the mind and our John is ruled by his heart,” Sid had said. “Raphael simply cannot love John, or anyone possibly, the way John wants to be loved.”

Overcome with compassion, Dylan knew what must have happened. “John left you, didn't he?”

Raphael grunted a concession, reaching to fiddle with a straw. “I would have been happy to continue but he wanted something more, I suppose,” he admitted. “And then I did something unwise and lost his trust for a long time. It's only in the last decade or so that he's speaking to me again.”

Dylan's suffering had been great since his lover had been stolen away that horrible afternoon, but at least he had the comfort of knowing that John had left unwillingly. He couldn't imagine how awful it would be for Raphael, longing for a partner who was gone by his own choice. Wanting to comfort but unsure how, Dylan was left with the usual mess of confusion waiting in line for his brain to sort out.

The harrumph caught his attention, however, and he was amazed to discover that what-a-cute-puppy expression on Raphael's face. “You're much like him,” he stated, grudgingly, voice warm. “Perhaps I understand a little better what is happening here. So, Dylan Wozniak, do you want to see John again or not?”

to be continued

MAN!COLD CHALLENGE

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 22:15:21 GMT

'Tis the season for it, so I was inspired. If you've ever spent any length of time with humans bearing the XY chromosome, you have encountered the dreaded MAN!COLD. *shudder*

The man!cold is fifty gazillion times worse than the woman!cold. The evidence, of course, is that when women get sick, meals still get prepared, work is accomplished, kids handled, etc. When men feel ill, life as they know it stops completely.

For the innocents out there, I offer a handy checklist. How do you know it's a genuine man!cold(TM)?

1. Has the man taken to his bed or become a permanent unwashed resident on the couch?
2. Is there dramatic whining about his uniquely profound discomforts?
3. Does he present a complete inability to lift one finger in his own behalf?
4. Is he trying to convince all within earshot he's not long for this world?
5. Has he apparently regressed into toddlerdom?

Slash or het, porny or gen, I present the

MULTI-FANDOM MAN!COLD CHALLENGE

Write your fav OTP with the man!cold from hell. Drabs to full fic, I'm easy, and OCs are welcome too. No prizes...sorry...play for the lulz. My own contribution to this meme is here.

Post your work as a comment here or link to your journal. Enjoy and pimp if you're so inclined. Thanks!

Things That Are Doing It

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 16:38:33 GMT

My pal achariya found a great collection of pics! Keep scrolling down to discover many pages of giggles therein. ^_^

ETA: *snort* A picture of a potato violates their terms of service. Okay......
ETA2: Hmmmm, pic's back. Cool!

The Third and The Seventh

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 12:54:49 GMT

Hubby found this video the other day, which illustrates architecture art across a photographic point of view. It's beautiful to watch on it's own merits, but even more astounding when you learn it is 100% CGI! I've embedded it, but encourage you to follow the link here to watch full screen. Enjoy!

The Third & The Seventh from Alex Roman on Vimeo.

If you have a hard time believing this is isn't a traditional film, check out this How I Did It piece.

Ol' lady rant

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 14:57:48 GMT

I've always been someone who needs music in my life to stay sane, and I prefer new to the stuff I've been listening to for 40+ years, but I have discovered one thing that sucks about getting old: you've heard it all before.

I learn about a new band folks are all gaga over and run off to listen, only to turn away thinking The Who did it better, or this sounds like re-hashed Elvis Costello, etc. I'm not going to name names because I'm not trying to start band!wank, but I'm finding the current music scene as dull as toast. *sigh*

I saw an interview with John Cleese recently and he observed, "You laugh less as you age, I suppose because you already know all the jokes."

Anyone else experiencing this phenomenon?

Last year's shining moments

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 14:14:39 GMT

2009 was a struggle for many of us, but I'd love to know something good about last year. Anything stand out as a shining moment? A review or comment that made your day? Tell me something great about last year!

For me, the fact that Lmuse is still hanging around playing with Dylan and John is an amazing thing. In RL, watching my son go from math-phobic to MathWhiz was quite a treat!

Happy New Year!

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 13:39:17 GMT

2009 sucked the big one for many of us, but here's wishing everyone a better 2010. I'm hoping we can all sing this song next year--that you find love, either in RL or a new fandom. And if you're happily ensconced, I hope your joy continues creating in your current one. Much love and light to all my dear flist!

I'm in Love Again by Maria Mena

He allegedly fell for me
through an open window
Cracked his chest open
to reveal his heart
still skeptic of my intentions
he made me swear
that I would always be there
I will always be here

Oh i'm in love
Again, again
And you may call me tomorrow my friend, yes
You may kiss me again and again
i'll hold on tight

I climbed upon his shoulders
And laughed until I cried
The view and I collide
To see this through his eyes
We never looked so pretty
Never seemed so real
I let go of myself now
And tell him how I feel

Cause i'm in love again, again
And you may call me tomorrow my friend, yes
You may kiss me again and again
i'll hold on tight

So I let go of myself now
And tell him how I feel
Cause i'm in love again, again
And you may call me tomorrow my friend, yes
You may kiss me again and again
i'll hold on tight

i'm in love again, again
And you may call me tomorrow my friend, yes
You may kiss me again and again
i'll hold on tight

Do one thing....

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 12:35:33 GMT

...to make life easier for the critters around your home this holiday season. Check out Breathing Places for some great ideas, and Merry Christmas to those celebrating!

Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 19 -- original fiction

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Sat, 28 Nov 2009 06:03:42 GMT

The reunion continues and Dylan learns more about John. 1433 words, worksafe. I hope everyone is surviving the Thanksgiving holiday. ^_^

Title: Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 19
Theme: Emo techie meets MD, but not all is as it seems.
Rating: M, slash/yaoi

(Previous chapters)

Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 19
by Laura Bryannan

Not human? Dylan frowned. Bad joke. Raising himself on an elbow, he eyed his lover skeptically. “You'd make a lameass vampire. No sparkles.”

John chuckled and shook his head. “No, not a vampire. Did you ever see the movie Der Himmel über Berlin by Wim Wenders? They called it Wings of Desire in the West.”

Gooseflesh rippled up Dylan's back. He had seen the movie, and he'd come away both comforted and saddened by it. Incredulous, confused, he could not understand. “Are you saying that you're the angel and I'm the circus girl?” he finally ventured.

“Well...yes,” John replied, looking both amused and apologetic.

Dylan had only seen the movie once when he was a freshman in college, but more scenes came flooding back at John's reply. The shock of awareness felt electric, almost painful, as too many pieces of the puzzle fell into place to deny what his lover was saying. Feeling as though his heart might break, he blurted, “Tell me your life isn't that gray and lonely.”

John stroked the side of his face, eyes misty again. “No, my Dylan, it is not. I see the world as you do, and I was quite enjoying my existence when you came along.”

Blushing, Dylan asked, “So that's why we can't be together? 'Cause you're an angel?”

“Yes,” came the simple but astounding reply. “I'm one of the fortunate few who are allowed to manifest here in the world, but I'm not supposed to be interacting with humans quite like this.”

Dylan's mind raced. The angel in the movie had made a momentous choice, one he hadn't agreed with. Suddenly in a panic, he cried, “You can't lose your wings for me.”

“Ah, sweet boy.” John looked over his shoulder impishly. “None to lose.”

Close to hysteria, Dylan couldn't resist teasing. “You mean you still need to earn them, like Clarence?”

“Certainly not!” John feigned insult, or maybe he didn't. “I keep some rarefied company, I'll have you know.” Sighing, he smiled wistfully. “There's no going back, I'm afraid. Herr Wenders got many things right but that part wrong. I can't change what I am and remain myself.”

“How did it happen?” Dylan asked, trying to stay calm. “You said you were human once.”

John looked him straight in the eye and shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, I don't know how I came to have this existence,” he admitted. “A long time ago I followed an extraordinary man and had a very satisfying life, but I can't say that's why I'm here now. Many among us had very different lives, and yet they're angels too.”

“You mean there's more of you around?”

“Of course!” John replied. “You've met a few already. Minty's like me and so is Sid, although he's higher rank and really something else altogether. But Gabriel and Rafe are big muckymucks, if you haven't figured that out already, so you keep some fine company yourself. Speaking of....” Squeezing him close with a quiet growl, he whispered, “Kiss me again before they come to get us.”

Dylan was happy to oblige, melting against the strong chest, although the alluring activity didn't stop his mind from racing. He could understand the words John was saying, but the current reality made them so hard to accept. The unique flavor that lingered on his tongue after John's orgasm was unlike anything he'd ever tasted, not pleasant or unpleasant, but seemed earthy and good because it came from him.

He could spy a small line of stubble on John's cheek his razor had missed. He knew the scent under John's arms was appropriately musty after a mighty adventure in the bedroom. John ate, belched and used the bathroom. He was hungry for parts of Dylan's body that no lover had heretofore approached. Nothing added up.

Breaking their kiss, he undid the top few buttons of John's shirt as his lover watched, curious but silent. The spray of pewter-colored hair across his breastbone seemed so masculine and animalistic compared to himself. Dylan lay his head on the nest of curls seeking reassurance, to feel the rise and fall of John's chest and the quiet thud of the heart within it. He could not understand how the creature holding him was not all man.

“You seem human enough to me,” he finally murmured.

“Oh, I am,” John replied. “When I'm corporal my body works pretty much as I remember and I enjoy it immensely. But what human can do this?”

He held out his hand and it began to fade, as Dylan gasped, mouth dry. A sudden banging on the door caused him to leap off John's chest with a shriek, both of them hurriedly sitting up as a frightening apparition entered in the room.

Not Gabriel or Sid, but the blond Valkyrie he'd seen berating John at the hospital, her eyes firing thunderbolts in every direction. Dylan's blood ran cold and he instinctively buried his face in John's shoulder in hopes of hiding somehow.

“A ha!” she cried, striding into the room, followed by the imposing African-American man who had come to fetch John before. “Michael, you see? I told you he was here. Caught red-handed with the human bo....”

Dylan gathered the courage to peek at her as she trailed off, looking dumfounded. Shooting a laser glance at Michael, she barked, “What do you know about this?”

Michael appeared amused, or maybe Dylan was imagining it. “You're the one who has insisted there's a problem here, Uriel.”

Face stormy, she stalked over to him to engage in a furious, but impossible to overhear conversation. Dylan turned to John, who shrugged, face mischievous, and promptly tackled him into a kiss. Laying on top, lodging one thigh between his own, the fit was too sweet not to grind a little bit even with witnesses. Dylan was ready to forget the inevitable when it finally arrived.

“John,” came a deep voice. “That's enough.”

He broke their kiss with a wink and sat up as Dylan grabbed his glasses from the nightstand so he could properly view their foe. The woman's golden hair was done in a long braid that reached to her ass, and her creamy white suit made her look every inch a Nordic princess. The way her mere presence froze his balls sealed the impression. But she peered at Dylan with more curiosity than anger at this point and asked, “What is your name, young man?”

“Dylan Wozniak,” he replied, amazed he could find his voice.

“Is that your father's name?” she continued.

“No, ma'am, my mother's. I don't know anything about my father.”

She glanced at Michael but he remained impassive, so she returned to Dylan. “And your mother's name?”

“Anna Marie Wozniak.”

She and Michael closed their eyes for a few moments, concentrating, then suddenly faced each other open-mouthed, incredulous. “You've got to talk to him,” she told Michael.

He harrumphed. “You talk to him.”

She frowned, turning her glare at John. Pointing her finger ominously, she exclaimed, “You should not be here. Come away. Now.” Turning on her heel, she exited the room without waiting for John to obey.

Michael headed toward the door as well. “One minute, John,” he said, giving Dylan a brief nod before leaving them alone.

Suddenly faced with another separation, Dylan was filled with dread, but John seemed nonplussed. As they tucked in their shirts, making themselves presentable, he noted, “Something's going on. What's up with your father?”

“Why is everyone bugging me about my dad?” Dylan wondered. “Sid asked too.”

Instantly John became more curious. “He did? What did he say?”

“He told me Gabriel said I reminded her of someone,” Dylan replied. “It's just the Johnny Depp thing, right?”

“Hmmm,” John pondered. “Well, I don't know what it could be, but I'll try and find out.” Pulling him into a hug before they reached the door, he received another heady, but all too brief, kiss. “Don't worry, my Dylan,” John whispered. “I'll see you again soon. I'm sure of it.”

Dylan didn't want to face the scary people on the other side of the door but there was nothing to be done. “Do you require fare home?” Michael asked him. When Dylan shook his head, begging off, he was introduced to a man who looked butler-ish. “Stephen will show you to the door.”

John left his side, but the sad, resigned air he wore at their first parting was nowhere in evidence. He smiled warmly, giving Dylan a reassuring nod that buoyed his heart, and the three of them vanished.

to be continued

Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 18 -- original fiction

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 01:02:56 GMT

The reunion and more! 1303 words, not very worksafe. ^_^

Title: Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 18
Theme: Emo techie meets MD, but not all is as it seems.
Rating: M, slash/yaoi

(Previous chapters)

Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 18
by Laura Bryannan

Dylan could remember nothing of the time between Minty's announcement and his sprint from the elevator, frantically scanning the lobby of the hospital for a familiar face thirty-six hours later. Stepping outside, he was ready to believe it was all a dream when he spied a dude next to a limo holding a sign that said WOZNIAK. Heart stopping, ohmygod it's really happening, he had to breathe a few seconds to calm himself before approaching.

“That's me,” he told the driver and the man nodded, opening the door for him.

“This way, sir,” he said. “M'lady is waiting.”

M'lady? Dylan wondered, but said nothing. He was content to watch the city fly by the window and indulge his curiosity about where the meeting would take place. Finally the car stopped in front of a large house buried in one of the posh neighborhoods near Oak Street Beach.

The driver opened his door and also the iron gate in front of the property. “Go ahead, sir. They're expecting you.”

When Gabriel answered the bell, it was almost too much reality to handle. “H-Hi,” he managed, still totally unnerved by her physical presence.

“Hello Dylan.” She smiled, motioning him inside. “Come along. I'm not sure how much time we have.”

He followed her in a trance, barely noticing the spacious front hall and its stately appointments as they headed up a spiral staircase to the second floor. She smelled like a garden on a hot summer's day, when so many flowers are in bloom you can't identify one single aroma. The icy sea green hue of her suit glowed in the dim light, and Dylan had to force his eyes away from the graceful movement of her hips as they climbed, lest he think himself totally depraved.

Finally upstairs, she guided him into a small suite full of mahogany furniture, including a loveseat with Sid upon it, who jumped up, exclaiming, “Here you are! Hello!” But Dylan barely had a chance to shake his hand when he heard movement and a catch of breath behind him. He turned and there was John, looking like that dream come true Minty had talked about.

Dylan ran to him, knees weakening as the familiar arms gathered him close, enveloping him in the scent of his beloved. “It's really you,” he whispered into John's neck.

“Ah, Dylan, Dylan,” came the impassioned reply, squeezing him tightly. “I'm so glad you're here.” The hug could have continued for another hour as far as Dylan was concerned, but eventually John loosened his hold just enough to pull him through the doorway. Catching John's grateful nod at their benefactors before he closed the door, Dylan discovered they were in the bedroom of the suite and could contain himself no longer.

“C'mere,” he demanded, pulling the handsome face into a kiss. John obliged him with a quiet growl and they stood together getting blissfully reacquainted. It felt like coming home, so delicious Dylan succumbed immediately, his erection uncomfortable in his jeans as their hips fondly remembered previous dances.

When the body in his arms began trembling, Dylan broke the embrace, backing away enough to gauge his lover's mood. John was misty-eyed, tears threatening, which sparked a brief panic. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

John chuckled, bumping foreheads. “Silly boy, everything is right,” he said. “I was so afraid I'd never see you again.”

Struck dumb by the tender emotion in John's eyes, Dylan could do nothing but kiss him again. It was softer this time, less insistent and more lingering, as though the reality of the situation was just beginning to dawn on them. All the lonely days and nights were banished in an explosion of awareness. It's really him!

Dylan felt ecstatic, grateful, needing to sing his lover's praises but finding his brain malfunctioning as usual. Suddenly struck by an inspiration, he realized there was one gift he could give that would say everything he longed to express without all those pesky words. Sinking to his knees, he grabbed John's belt buckle as the man gasped, backing into the wall.

“Dylan, no!” he cried. “We can't.”

“Why not?” Dylan asked, gleefully noticing how John's protest did not include any attempt to actually stop him from unzipping his jeans.

“They'll hear.”

“Be quiet, then.”

“No, you don't understand. They'll hear no mater what.”

“Who cares? They know what we're about, right?” The more John resisted, the more important it became to accomplish the task. Undaunted by the fact that he had zero experience, Dylan yanked the sedate navy boxers down enough to expose a partly-erect prize and pounced.

John's strangled moans as Dylan explored assured him that, while still a novice, what his technique lacked in skill it more than made up for in enthusiasm. He had forgotten the heady effect of John's most private scent, how it could make his heart do flip flops sniffing it on his hands hours after they were parted. It was acting like a drug now, and he was aware of nothing but the twitching, alive thing in his mouth and the sweet song of its owner.

When he finally raised his head, triumphant he had swallowed, he was amazed to find John horizontal on the floor. How did that happen? Still biting his index finger and not managing to be very quiet at all, his lover was the most delicious sight Dylan had ever seen. Struck by a second inspiration, he dropped his own pants, spit into his hand and slicked up his aching self.

Pushing John's knees to his chest he thrust home as, eyes wide, his lover gulped but did not challenge him. It didn't take long because it was all too much. Watching the beautiful man beneath him arch, writhe and claw the carpet, hearing his muted, “Unf,” every time he thrust, fueled an inferno within Dylan that went nuclear in no time at all.

He could hear John whispering, “Okay, okay....” as his brain turned back on, finding himself flopped on the jeans still wrapped around his lover's knees.

Guiltily wondering if he'd gone too far, he peeked into John's face to discover an impish glance and an arched brow. “Feeling a little angry after all, I see,” he noted. “Not that I blame you.”

“I'm not angry,” Dylan protested, truly not realizing he was until John said so.

John smiled knowingly as he stood, hitching his pants in the process, and sat on the bed, motioning Dylan to join him. “Come snuggle,” he said. “I'm not ready to let go of you yet.”

Dylan happily joined him, entwining their legs together and laying his head on the broad chest so he could listen to John's heartbeat. For many long minutes they were quiet, breathing together. Even the hands that rarely ceased their seeking and exploring were finally still. This is all I want. This is all I need, Dylan thought, happily drifting off into oblivion.

Startled by John clearing his throat, his announcement was most unwelcome. “You'll hate me if I let you fall asleep and sneak away without answering your questions, but I'm sorely tempted.”

After working all night and much sweet loving, Dylan was ready to crash. “I don't care,” he said truthfully, nuzzling closer, eyes still closed. “It's enough to be with you again.”

“I haven't wanted to speak about it,” John continued, ignoring him, “for fear you'd think me...well...crazy.”

Despite his sleepiness, the words disturbed Dylan enough to rouse him, concerned with the cold dread that was suddenly creeping along the edge of his awareness. Sighing, he whispered, “Okay, then. Tell me the big secret.”

John took a deep breath, paused dramatically then stated, “I'm not human. Not anymore, anyway.”

to be continued

Mansmex in a mainstream video game?!?!

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 14:22:23 GMT

It's true, it's true! My flist pal, dr_schreaber found this little gem and I had to pass it along.

A little elf/man action

In other news, I'm about 90% finished with the next chapter of Knockin'. Maybe tonight or tomorrow if I can focus.

Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 17 -- original fiction

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 14:34:20 GMT

Dylan's veggie adventure. Sorry for the long wait. I don't know why this chapter was so hard to write. 1408 words, not so worksafe. The song Dylan sings is here, if you're curious.

Title: Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 17
Theme: Emo techie meets MD, but not all is as it seems.
Rating: M, slash/yaoi

(Previous chapters)

Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 17
by Laura Bryannan

Dylan ended up with a whole salad worth of veggies because he was sure the checkout lady would think him a perv if he bought only a cucumber. Throwing everything but that into the fridge, he popped The Princess Bride into the player and kicked back on the couch to watch.

He was surprised by how little of the movie he'd seen, realizing he'd been paying far more attention to the beautiful man sitting next to him than the adventure on the screen. Watching alone proved similarly difficult, for his memories of that rose gold afternoon proved far more alluring than the film. This is where we started making out, he thought, closing his eyes and blissfully reliving the experience in his imagination.

He loved the way John kissed, always beginning the same way, with a few chaste pecks, gently sucking Dylan's lower lip in between his own before offering the tip of his tongue. Dylan would latch on greedily, sucking it into his mouth to shudder at the sensuous way it would tease his own. And the quiet contented sounds John made sparked hot desire that only one undertaking would quench.

Eyes still closed, Dylan trailed a finger along his neck and collarbone, recalling how John's nibbling habits always sent goosebumps cascading. His body jerked at the shocking sensation as he reached under his shirt and grazed a nipple. Gently flicking a hardening nub, he whimpered, the erotic response still as surprising as the first time John attacked him there.

Remembering another, more intimate caress, Dylan loosened his jeans and dove inside. He reached behind his balls, ignoring his usual destination, to tentatively explore the strange new world John had revealed to him. So sensitive was the opening, he lurched even at his own touch, shivering in pleasure at the delightful commotion it caused his nervous system.

Feeling brave and hungry for more, he grabbed the cucumber, suddenly realizing he owned no official lubrication. Eyes casting about the room, the butter dish on the coffee table from dinner last night provided a solution. Greasing up one end, he slid the toy home, moaning out loud at the penetration.

“Ohhh, my Dylan, thank you. Thank you so much!”

Dylan had forgotten John's trembling embrace, how he'd almost chanted the words as he gently pushed himself deeper. The sweet sense of possession was overwhelming him again. He could imagine John snuggled behind, setting his lower half aflame with every sensuous thrust, whispering the endearments that melted his heart.

“This means so much, you can't know. Sweet, sweet boy. Thank you, my love, thank you.”

Swept away, Dylan could almost feel John's breath in his hair, the warmth of his body curled around him accompanying the sinful attention to his cock. “Wait,” he murmured, not wanting to release so fast. “It's too soon.” But no one was listening and he found it impossible to slow down or draw matters out any further.

“Come for me, Dylan,” a lusty voice commanded, and he did just that, riding the blissful sensations skyward before falling into oblivion.

Beethoven entered his awareness and he sat up, startled awake, jeans still around his ankles. Groggily fishing for his cell, he answered even though the ID said “Private Caller” because he was too stupid not to. But there was no one on the other end, and he scratched his head in confusion before spying the clock on the cable box.

“Shit!” he cried, jumping up. It was 10pm! How had he slept so long? If he didn't move his ass, he would miss the bus and have to buy a cab to the hospital. Good thing the phone rang, he thought as he stumbled into the shower.

He was fifteen minutes late to work, but thankfully there was no one around to notice or care. Dumping his stuff on his desk, he headed over to The Terminal's room, still blissed out from lunch with Sid and his erotic adventure after. The space seemed unearthly quiet, constraining the heart that felt too big to for his chest, so he began to sing,

“I gotta feeling
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good, good night....”

Dancing around the beds, the uplifting vibes of the song buoyed his enthusiasm. He couldn't remember all the words, but it didn't matter. In the presence of such an accepting audience, he could push past his reserved nature and emote to his heart's content, grateful to feel so joyous.

“Shhhhh!”

Dylan nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. He turned to find Miguel, who had been comatose since a car accident over a month ago, watching him with lucid eyes. “Too noisy,” he rasped, as Dylan picked his jaw off the floor.

“Mr. Delgado. Holy shit!” Dylan cried, unsure what to do. “Lemmie get somebody.” He dashed out of the room to the nurses' station. “I was walking by and I heard something,” he lied, deciding it was better not to admit how he spent time with The Terminals. “One of the patients is awake!”

The news caused a flurry of activity and Dylan followed them all back to the room to watch from the sidelines. Miguel was indeed out of his coma, but remembered little of anything, it appeared. Dylan gleaned from the nurses' conversation that the only family he had left was a grandson who lived in California who had not come to fetch his grandpa after the accident.

Everyone was dumbfounded but pleased, and Dylan decided to get back to work as the nurses bustled about, murmuring, “What a night!” and, “It's a miracle!” to each other.

Exiting the room brought another surprise, for there was a familiar face in the hall waiting for him. “Ms. Minty!" he gasped, heart beating faster. "Hey, isn't it something? Mr. Delgado is out of his coma.”

She looked as surprised as the other nurses. “Miguel Delgado?!?” she asked, frowning. “But I.... Hmmm.” Suddenly one eyebrow arched and she gave him a piercing glance. “What have you been up to, young man?”

There was no lying to this woman. “I didn't do anything, honest,” he said, confused. “I was feeling good so I was singing, that's all. The next thing I know, he's shushing me and I almost shit my pants.” He cringed, hand flying to his mouth. “Ooops, sorry.”

Thankfully, Minty didn't seem mad. In fact, she got positively twinkly. “You were singing?”

Dylan shrugged. “Not well.”

“Very interesting,” she said, wearing the same kind of you're-the-cutest-puppy look Sid had shown him earlier that afternoon. It pleased him in the exact same way too, even though he had no idea what he was doing right. “Well,” she continued in conspiratorial tones, “I have news for you. Can you meet John for breakfast the day after tomorrow?”

All the blood in his head rushed to his groin and he felt dizzy. “B-Breakfast?” he stammered, mortified to be saying such a thing to this stately, older woman when it seemed so lewd in his mind.

“Is there a problem?” she asked, grinning like she totally knew what happened to him when he heard the words breakfast and John in the same sentence.

He shook his head, praying that the crotch of his jeans wasn't pulsing too noticeably. “No ma'am.”

Clearly sensing his inability to focus, she explained, “We'll send a car for you after your shift gets off at seven. It will be out front. All right? Boy, that smile of yours is as golden as a dream come true.”

Breathless, feeling the need to leap about, all he could manage was, “Yes, ma'am.”

“And here's a little something from me,” she added, handing him a Walgreen's bag, twinkling like Grandma again.

The tiny eyeglass repair kit caused huge consternation. He pulled off his glasses in dread, only to find the nightmare real. He'd been seeing John all this time with a staple holding one side of his frames together. Damn! Facing Minty helplessly, he sighed, “Wow, thanks. I forgot.”

“You won't forget about breakfast?” she asked, teasing.

“No, ma'am.”

“See you later, then.” She patted his shoulder in a motherly fashion and turned to head down the hall.

Falling into his office, Dylan dumped the contents of the kit on his desk, deciding he'd fix his glasses first thing, trembling hands or no.

to be continued

"I Gotta Feeling" by the Black Eyed Peas

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 14:26:42 GMT

This is the song Dylan sings in the current chapter.

When I showed Oprah's flash mob vid to hubby, he turned me onto this lipdub and I decided to post it instead of just the song itself. Performed by the students at the University of Quebec Communications Department, done in one take with just a few hours of preparation. Isn't that Amal at 2:11? ^_~

I Gotta Feeling by the Black Eyed Peas

I gotta feeling...
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good good night

I gotta feeling...
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good good night

I gotta feeling... (Woohoo)
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good good night

I gotta feeling... (Woohoo)
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good good night

Tonight's the night
Let's live it up
I got my money
Let's spend it up
Go out and smash it
Like Oh My God
Jump off that sofa
Let's kick it OFF

I know that we'll have a ball
If we get down
And go out
And just lose it all
I feel stressed out
I won't let it go
Lets go way out spaced out
And loosing all control

Fill up my cup
Mazel tov
Look at her dancing
Just take it... OFF
Lets paint the town
We'll shut it down
Let's burn the roof
And then we'll do it again

Lets do it
Lets do it
Lets do it
Lets do it
And do it
And do it
Let's live it up
And do it
And do it
And do it
Do it, do it
Lets do it
Lets do it
Lets do it

Cause I gotta feeling... (WoooHooo)
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good good night

I gotta feeling... (WoooHooo)
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good good night

I gotta feeling
Tonight's the night (HEY! )
Let's live it up (lets live it up)
I got my money (I'm paid)
Lets spend it up (Lets spend it up)
Go out and smash it (Smash it)
Like Oh My God (Like Oh My God)
Jump off that sofa (Come On! )
Lets kick it OFF

Fill up my cup (Drank)
Mazel tov (La chaim)
Look at her dancing (Move it Move it)
Just take it... OFF
Lets paint the town (Paint the town)
We'll shut it down (Shut it down)
Lets burn the roof (Woooooo)
And then we'll do it again

Lets do it (x4)
And do it (2x)
Let's live it up
And do it (3x)
Do it, do it
Lets do it(3x)
Do it, do it, do it, do it

Here we come
Here we go
We gotta rock
Easy come
Easy go
Now we on top
Feel the shot
Body rock
Rock it don't stop
Round and round
Up and down
Around the clock

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday
Friday, Saturday
Saturday to Sunday

Get, get, get, get, get with us
You know what we say (say)
Party everyday (x2)

I gotta feeling (WooHooo)
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good good night

I gotta feeling (WooHooo)
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good night
That tonight's gonna be a good good night

Woohoo

waves

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Wed, 21 Oct 2009 19:12:29 GMT

I've been a poop, lately, haven't I? Sorry 'bout that. John and Dylan have disappeared, I know not where. Even though I know what is happening next, I can't get it up to write. Maybe next week if I can find my way out of this blah I'm in.

Anywhoo, I forget where I got this pic, but it always makes me smile. I hope all your bottoms are more active than mine.

Afraid of the Dark?

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 13:42:52 GMT

Don't be! Come join us! This is an oldie but a goodie, and I don't believe I've ever posted it in my journal.

WOOT! Knockin' fanfiction!

laurabryannan@hotmail.com — Mon, 05 Oct 2009 00:55:16 GMT

My flist pal, achariya wrote a lovely piece about Sid that I just had to share, it touched me so! And if you're still working out who he is, it might offer a clue or ten. ^_~

P.S. If you don't want to be spoiled, you might want to wait and read this after a few more chapters.

The Book of the Bardo

link is to her writing journal