When I sing, do you go weak in the knees? [Prologue-a/?]
anonymous
December 15 2010, 05:33:03 UTC
There were times that America hated his government.
And even though he did love and cherish democracy and everything it stood for, there were some occasions (such as this one) where he wished that he didn’t have to go through an extremely long process just to file a restraining order.
Heroes shouldn’t be put through this kind of stress!
Apparently someone way up high decided to make life suck for America, and stick him with an unrelenting secretary.
“C’mon, I just need to get the guy to stay away from me!”
The woman raised an eyebrow, green eyes dull from boredom. “Look here, Mr…”
“Jones.”
“Right. See, Mr. Jones, you can’t file a restraining order on a diplomatic representative. You might as well declare war on the country. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
War would be better than this hell. “Yeah…” The secretary smiled slightly, not unlike a mother chastising her child. “Good. Now that that’s cleared up, why don’t you run along and do whatever it is you ambassadors do.” She looked back down at her desk and began to file some paperwork.
America worried his bottom lip. When he woke up that morning, he swore to fix the problem once and for all. And right now, his situation was far from fixed! Un-awesome!
With a sigh of regret, the secretary tilted her head back up to acknowledge America again. “May I help you, Mr.…”
“Er, Jones. Uh, listen. I really need this order put out, like, immediately. You have no idea what this guy is capable of, and if he continues on doing what he does, I may be liable to shoot him.” Okay, that was exaggerating a little.
She raised an eyebrow again. America shrank backwards before righting himself up again. “S-so if he stays as far away from me as possible, then everyone’s happy, yes?”
“Mr. Jones, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” America flushed slightly in embarrassment, then straightened his tie and cleared his throat. “Right. Well then, looks like it’s story time!” And with that said, America jumped over the counter and seated himself on the secretary’s table, blissfully ignoring her cries of protest.
When I sing, do you go weak in the knees? [Prologue-b/?]
anonymous
December 15 2010, 05:34:20 UTC
It was a cold January evening, and America was enjoying a nice cup of hot cocoa (nothing like the basics) topped with excessive amounts of whipped cream. He was curled up on the couch, a blanket wrapped firmly in place and the TV flickering quietly. As sleep slowly overtook him, a knock sounded on the door.
Damn. It was too fucking cold. “Come in!” Hell, if it was a burglar, America always had his trusty handgun to keep him company.
The door opened and Russia walked in. “привет, America. I hope I'm not...interrupting anything important.”
“Hey there, commie bastard. I’m just watching some television. You wanna sit?” America tossed a pillow over to the sofa next to his, an indication that Russia should sit there.
Russia nodded his head and lowered himself on the cushion, turning his attention to the screen. It was just another random cop show that America seemed to love. A bag was thrust in his line of vision.
“Marshmallow?” Was America really eating these?
“Ah, okay. Thank you.” Russia picked one out tentatively and chewed it thoughtfully. While he didn’t care so much for overprocessed sugar, he had to admit it was pretty good…although he wouldn’t want to eat it by the handfuls like America was.
“Mfmmk.” America swallowed. “So, what brings you by? There aren’t any meetings that I know of, and it’s not like you to just come by and visit me out of the sheer kindness of your heart.”
“Well, I wanted to let you know that there is in fact an emergency meeting tomorrow, and I’ve decided that we’re going out.”
America groaned and muttered obscenities under his breath. “Ugh. Fine.” Russia’s smile grew even wider. Did America just accept the fact that they were dating? It looked like Russia wouldn’t have to resort to Plan B or Plan C. If he didn’t mind it all that much, then Russia should’ve done this years ago when-
“WHAT?! We are NOT dating!” Oh. America was simply slow. How disappointing.
“Yes we are, comrade. I think we should, and then afterwards have…” He put on a thoughtful look. “What is it you Americans call it? Wild wild sex?”
America sputtered and coughed violently. “Don’t you ever, EVER, say those words again.”
“Eh? Say what? Wild wi--” Russia was then tackled by 180 pounds of full America and together they tumbled off the couch and onto the ground. America straddled Russia’s sides with his hips and began pummeling his fists on his chest. “Shut up shut up SHUT UP!”
Russia grabbed America’s wrists and smirked. “Why America. You’ve placed us in such a suggestive position, I cannot help but wonder if you want to skip the dinner all together and go straight to the good stuff.” Once again Russia was treated to a lovely image of America blushing bright red and sputtering like an engine.
“Fuck off! This is rape! Don’t ask me how, it just is!”
When I sing, do you go weak in the knees? [Prologue-c/?]
anonymous
December 15 2010, 05:35:15 UTC
A low chuckle rumbled from Russia’s throat. He hooked his leg around America’s shin and flipped them so he was crouched over America. “It is only rape when it is nonconsensual, yes? And believe me, you will be begging me to take you harder…” Russia licked the side of America’s neck. “…and longer…” He slid his cold hands under America’s shirt, coaxing a moan from him. “…until you see those precious stars and stripes of yours when I release into you…” Russia lifted his head and breathed on Nantucket softly until it twitched and America mewled quietly, much to his embarrassment.
Hook, line, and sinker.
Russia picked himself off of America and smoothed his coat out. “W-wha-?”
“Come, America. Did you really think that I would rape the United States? It would take much more manpower to hold you down. It would also require the help of almost every nation. Think of it as…a world gangbang, if you wish. The only reason I would do so alone would be if I had a death wish or…” He leaned in closer. “…you gave me your consent.”
America bristled like a cat, and almost hissed like one. “Asshole! That’s it! Get the fuck out of my house, right now!” Russia looked mildly put off, but America snarled. He was just a giant dick (no pun intended) and deserved to freeze his huge commie ass off outside in the cold. Heroes shouldn’t have the villain chasing after them, and even so, it was probably some crazy Russian trap to get America to lower his defenses until the cobra reared its head back and-
He shook his head. There were instances when America hated having a one track mind.
“But мой подсолнечника, I still haven't given you your gift.”
“Don’t you dare call me a fucking flower, you oversized polar bear! Just get the hell away from me and--” America paused. “Gift?”
Russia nodded sadly and produced a small box from one of his coat pockets. Despite his brain screaming at him, America could feel his resolve melting away slightly. It was like a belated Christmas present, and God knew he loved Christmas.
“O-oh. Thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and he was NOT blushing because he loved opening presents and- Oh hell no. That was not a jewelry box.
Russia reached in and pulled out a sparkling necklace inlaid with sapphires, rubies, and diamonds. “See, the blue ones reminded me of your eyes, the red ones are your birthstone, and I got the diamonds because you always seem so obsessed with your flag colors. And…” He walked over to the door and grabbed the box next to it (when the fuck did that get there?) and pulled out…
“Is that a maid’s outfit?!?!” America couldn’t help himself from screeching loudly.
“It is! I saw it and thought it would look very cute on you!”
“Where the fuck do you go shopping at? Sex Toys & Sons?” Russia stared at America, mouth hung open in shock.
“How did you know?” Oh for the love of…
“It was a fucking joke! And I can’t believe you actually went inside a place like that!” America rubbed his temples, groaning in pain. “You are giving me a migraine. Now get the hell out before I make you.”
Russia frowned. “But America, I still haven’t sung your song for--”
When I sing, do you go weak in the knees? [Prologue-d/?]
anonymous
December 15 2010, 05:37:52 UTC
”He had the right idea, but he should’ve known you don’t give jewelry to a guy you like.” America sighed dreamily. “Of course if I were female, with a huge rack and all, I’d definitely wear it. The gems were so shiny…”
America glanced down at the secretary who had developed an eye twitch very similar to Germany’s. “Anyways, I kicked him out alright, but that didn’t mean he went back to his hotel room…”
“America, are you sure you don’t want to hear your song?”
“Oh yes, because every guy wants a creepy-as-fuck Russian crooning to them at fucking 2 a.m. in the morning!” Yeah. Sarcasm.
Apparently Russia didn’t quite catch the condescending tone in America’s voice, so he smiled and brought out a CD player. “Okay!”
“Hell NO!” America slammed the door behind Russia once he pushed him outside and stalked off to his room. He threw himself on his bed and covered his face with a pillow. Just a few hours of sleep, and when he woke up it would all be just a dream.
Or a nightmare.
“Creepy commie Russians and their creepy….creepyness.” Ooh, how original. America scowled at the ceiling for a few minutes until he felt his eyelids droop and the sweet, sweet embrace of sleep overcome his thoughts until-
He was rudely awakened by a light tapping noise. America snapped his head towards the window just in time to see a few pebbles rain lightly on the glass and fall to the ground. He slammed his head back in irritation only to reel forward in pain when his head connected sharply with the wall.
America grimaced and turned away, doing his best to ignore the constant pattering of stones against his bedroom wall. When there was a moment of silence, America sighed happily, then growled when a loud thunk interrupted his peace.
Once it seemed like Russia had given up, America settled in his bed comfortably, a small smile resting on his lips and-
A crash that came from his window jolted America out of his sleep, startling him so that he flailed off the side of the bed in a heap of pillows, sheets and limbs. “Holy motherfucking piece of shit! Call the cops! Grab the kids! Take no prisoners!”
Russia popped his head up so that he peered into America’s bedroom. He giggled at the mess he made; shattered glass, a broken CD player and America himself in a tangled pile on the other side of the room. “You say some funny things, don’t you, America?”
America glared at Russia, fuming silently and cursing him to hell and back and to hell again. “What in fuck’s name are you doing and how the shit did you get up here?!”
When I sing, do you go weak in the knees? [Prologue-e/?]
anonymous
December 15 2010, 05:39:38 UTC
“Well no freaking duh! Now get away! Go on! Shoo!” Russia merely walked closer to America and leaned down so that he was eye level with the other. “You are very adorable when you have a pouting look, America.”
“Don’t call me adorable! I’m a man for fuck’s sake!” He stuck his lower lip out a little more. “You’re supposed to say ‘oh America, you’re so handsome’ or ‘why America, that’s a fine piece of ass you got there, I’d definitely tap that sexy shit any day.’ You don’t call manly men adorable!”
Russia cocked his head to the side curiously. “So…you are giving me permission to flirt with you and…have sex?” He clapped his hands together and smiled brightly. “I like that idea, дорогой!”
“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down there. First of all, NO SEX. Second, get your overgrown snowman ass out of my house. And third, do not call me ‘darling’ in your Commie-nese language!”
But Russia only laughed, which caused America to growl even more. “My dear, you are just so precious, I want to take you home so that no one else can ruin your perfection~”
“That would almost be sweet…if you didn’t ruin it with your overly-obsessive compulsion. And stop calling me pet names!”
“Aw, you think I’m sweet?” Russia scooped America up in a bone-crushing hug. “I know for sure that you’ll love me!”
America struggled fruitlessly, but apparently Russia enforced his arms with grade-A steel or something, because the guy was strong. And coming from America, that meant something. “Do you want to sleep together tonight?”
“Fuck NO!” There was no way in hell that he was going to share a bed with Icicle Pop here, and yet he had a funny feeling that no matter what he said, Russia would somehow make his way into America’s bed.
”The guy was as persistent as fuck. I literally had to get a crowbar to pry him off of me. Of course…” America smiled at no one in particular and swung his head to the side. “I am pretty good looking to boot.”
The secretary (whose name was Tara, but it wasn’t like America remembered) stared at him emotionlessly. “Sir, if you don’t get your ass off my desk, I’m going to call security and--”
“Ah! That’s right! We had that meeting the next day! You won’t believe what he did in front of practically the whole world….”
Re: When I sing, do you go weak in the knees? [Prologue-e/?]
anonymous
December 28 2010, 17:22:38 UTC
I didn't know how fucking badly I needed this until it was all up in my grill. Goddamn I love you Russia, but you scary. author!Anon, I hope you post more soon, because this is definitely turning out excellently.
reCaptcha: Freiburg trendold. Oh now you're just making up words, Captcha. Don't be lazy.
Hey, this clicky thing lets me make words. Weird.
anonymous
January 15 2011, 00:03:15 UTC
D:
Whoa guys. It's already been a month. Okay. DUDES, SO FUCKING SORRY. I SWEAR I'M WORKING ON IT, BUT...THE WAY MY HEAD WORKS, IT FILLS THINGS BACKWARDS. SO...I'M WORKING IT OUT BACKWARDS. >>;; I'm definitely not stopping though. No way. Having too much fun torturing America. LMAO, but don't worry. I've got this special notebook I carry around my classes and outline my stories in there, AND THIS ONE IS ON THE FIRST PAGE HURR-/shot
And even though he did love and cherish democracy and everything it stood for, there were some occasions (such as this one) where he wished that he didn’t have to go through an extremely long process just to file a restraining order.
Heroes shouldn’t be put through this kind of stress!
Apparently someone way up high decided to make life suck for America, and stick him with an unrelenting secretary.
“C’mon, I just need to get the guy to stay away from me!”
The woman raised an eyebrow, green eyes dull from boredom. “Look here, Mr…”
“Jones.”
“Right. See, Mr. Jones, you can’t file a restraining order on a diplomatic representative. You might as well declare war on the country. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
War would be better than this hell. “Yeah…” The secretary smiled slightly, not unlike a mother chastising her child. “Good. Now that that’s cleared up, why don’t you run along and do whatever it is you ambassadors do.” She looked back down at her desk and began to file some paperwork.
America worried his bottom lip. When he woke up that morning, he swore to fix the problem once and for all. And right now, his situation was far from fixed! Un-awesome!
With a sigh of regret, the secretary tilted her head back up to acknowledge America again. “May I help you, Mr.…”
“Er, Jones. Uh, listen. I really need this order put out, like, immediately. You have no idea what this guy is capable of, and if he continues on doing what he does, I may be liable to shoot him.” Okay, that was exaggerating a little.
She raised an eyebrow again. America shrank backwards before righting himself up again. “S-so if he stays as far away from me as possible, then everyone’s happy, yes?”
“Mr. Jones, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.” America flushed slightly in embarrassment, then straightened his tie and cleared his throat. “Right. Well then, looks like it’s story time!” And with that said, America jumped over the counter and seated himself on the secretary’s table, blissfully ignoring her cries of protest.
“It all started one stormy night…”
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Damn. It was too fucking cold. “Come in!” Hell, if it was a burglar, America always had his trusty handgun to keep him company.
The door opened and Russia walked in. “привет, America. I hope I'm not...interrupting anything important.”
“Hey there, commie bastard. I’m just watching some television. You wanna sit?” America tossed a pillow over to the sofa next to his, an indication that Russia should sit there.
Russia nodded his head and lowered himself on the cushion, turning his attention to the screen. It was just another random cop show that America seemed to love. A bag was thrust in his line of vision.
“Marshmallow?” Was America really eating these?
“Ah, okay. Thank you.” Russia picked one out tentatively and chewed it thoughtfully. While he didn’t care so much for overprocessed sugar, he had to admit it was pretty good…although he wouldn’t want to eat it by the handfuls like America was.
“Mfmmk.” America swallowed. “So, what brings you by? There aren’t any meetings that I know of, and it’s not like you to just come by and visit me out of the sheer kindness of your heart.”
“Well, I wanted to let you know that there is in fact an emergency meeting tomorrow, and I’ve decided that we’re going out.”
America groaned and muttered obscenities under his breath. “Ugh. Fine.” Russia’s smile grew even wider. Did America just accept the fact that they were dating? It looked like Russia wouldn’t have to resort to Plan B or Plan C. If he didn’t mind it all that much, then Russia should’ve done this years ago when-
“WHAT?! We are NOT dating!” Oh. America was simply slow. How disappointing.
“Yes we are, comrade. I think we should, and then afterwards have…” He put on a thoughtful look. “What is it you Americans call it? Wild wild sex?”
America sputtered and coughed violently. “Don’t you ever, EVER, say those words again.”
“Eh? Say what? Wild wi--” Russia was then tackled by 180 pounds of full America and together they tumbled off the couch and onto the ground. America straddled Russia’s sides with his hips and began pummeling his fists on his chest. “Shut up shut up SHUT UP!”
Russia grabbed America’s wrists and smirked. “Why America. You’ve placed us in such a suggestive position, I cannot help but wonder if you want to skip the dinner all together and go straight to the good stuff.” Once again Russia was treated to a lovely image of America blushing bright red and sputtering like an engine.
“Fuck off! This is rape! Don’t ask me how, it just is!”
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Hook, line, and sinker.
Russia picked himself off of America and smoothed his coat out. “W-wha-?”
“Come, America. Did you really think that I would rape the United States? It would take much more manpower to hold you down. It would also require the help of almost every nation. Think of it as…a world gangbang, if you wish. The only reason I would do so alone would be if I had a death wish or…” He leaned in closer. “…you gave me your consent.”
America bristled like a cat, and almost hissed like one. “Asshole! That’s it! Get the fuck out of my house, right now!” Russia looked mildly put off, but America snarled. He was just a giant dick (no pun intended) and deserved to freeze his huge commie ass off outside in the cold. Heroes shouldn’t have the villain chasing after them, and even so, it was probably some crazy Russian trap to get America to lower his defenses until the cobra reared its head back and-
He shook his head. There were instances when America hated having a one track mind.
“But мой подсолнечника, I still haven't given you your gift.”
“Don’t you dare call me a fucking flower, you oversized polar bear! Just get the hell away from me and--” America paused. “Gift?”
Russia nodded sadly and produced a small box from one of his coat pockets. Despite his brain screaming at him, America could feel his resolve melting away slightly. It was like a belated Christmas present, and God knew he loved Christmas.
“O-oh. Thanks.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and he was NOT blushing because he loved opening presents and-
Oh hell no. That was not a jewelry box.
Russia reached in and pulled out a sparkling necklace inlaid with sapphires, rubies, and diamonds. “See, the blue ones reminded me of your eyes, the red ones are your birthstone, and I got the diamonds because you always seem so obsessed with your flag colors. And…” He walked over to the door and grabbed the box next to it (when the fuck did that get there?) and pulled out…
“Is that a maid’s outfit?!?!” America couldn’t help himself from screeching loudly.
“It is! I saw it and thought it would look very cute on you!”
“Where the fuck do you go shopping at? Sex Toys & Sons?” Russia stared at America, mouth hung open in shock.
“How did you know?” Oh for the love of…
“It was a fucking joke! And I can’t believe you actually went inside a place like that!” America rubbed his temples, groaning in pain. “You are giving me a migraine. Now get the hell out before I make you.”
Russia frowned. “But America, I still haven’t sung your song for--”
“OUUUUT!!!!!!”
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America glanced down at the secretary who had developed an eye twitch very similar to Germany’s. “Anyways, I kicked him out alright, but that didn’t mean he went back to his hotel room…”
“America, are you sure you don’t want to hear your song?”
“Oh yes, because every guy wants a creepy-as-fuck Russian crooning to them at fucking 2 a.m. in the morning!” Yeah. Sarcasm.
Apparently Russia didn’t quite catch the condescending tone in America’s voice, so he smiled and brought out a CD player. “Okay!”
“Hell NO!” America slammed the door behind Russia once he pushed him outside and stalked off to his room. He threw himself on his bed and covered his face with a pillow. Just a few hours of sleep, and when he woke up it would all be just a dream.
Or a nightmare.
“Creepy commie Russians and their creepy….creepyness.” Ooh, how original. America scowled at the ceiling for a few minutes until he felt his eyelids droop and the sweet, sweet embrace of sleep overcome his thoughts until-
He was rudely awakened by a light tapping noise. America snapped his head towards the window just in time to see a few pebbles rain lightly on the glass and fall to the ground. He slammed his head back in irritation only to reel forward in pain when his head connected sharply with the wall.
America grimaced and turned away, doing his best to ignore the constant pattering of stones against his bedroom wall. When there was a moment of silence, America sighed happily, then growled when a loud thunk interrupted his peace.
Once it seemed like Russia had given up, America settled in his bed comfortably, a small smile resting on his lips and-
A crash that came from his window jolted America out of his sleep, startling him so that he flailed off the side of the bed in a heap of pillows, sheets and limbs. “Holy motherfucking piece of shit! Call the cops! Grab the kids! Take no prisoners!”
Russia popped his head up so that he peered into America’s bedroom. He giggled at the mess he made; shattered glass, a broken CD player and America himself in a tangled pile on the other side of the room. “You say some funny things, don’t you, America?”
America glared at Russia, fuming silently and cursing him to hell and back and to hell again. “What in fuck’s name are you doing and how the shit did you get up here?!”
“I climbed a ladder.”
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“Don’t call me adorable! I’m a man for fuck’s sake!” He stuck his lower lip out a little more. “You’re supposed to say ‘oh America, you’re so handsome’ or ‘why America, that’s a fine piece of ass you got there, I’d definitely tap that sexy shit any day.’ You don’t call manly men adorable!”
Russia cocked his head to the side curiously. “So…you are giving me permission to flirt with you and…have sex?” He clapped his hands together and smiled brightly. “I like that idea, дорогой!”
“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down there. First of all, NO SEX. Second, get your overgrown snowman ass out of my house. And third, do not call me ‘darling’ in your Commie-nese language!”
But Russia only laughed, which caused America to growl even more. “My dear, you are just so precious, I want to take you home so that no one else can ruin your perfection~”
“That would almost be sweet…if you didn’t ruin it with your overly-obsessive compulsion. And stop calling me pet names!”
“Aw, you think I’m sweet?” Russia scooped America up in a bone-crushing hug. “I know for sure that you’ll love me!”
America struggled fruitlessly, but apparently Russia enforced his arms with grade-A steel or something, because the guy was strong. And coming from America, that meant something. “Do you want to sleep together tonight?”
“Fuck NO!” There was no way in hell that he was going to share a bed with Icicle Pop here, and yet he had a funny feeling that no matter what he said, Russia would somehow make his way into America’s bed.
”The guy was as persistent as fuck. I literally had to get a crowbar to pry him off of me. Of course…” America smiled at no one in particular and swung his head to the side. “I am pretty good looking to boot.”
The secretary (whose name was Tara, but it wasn’t like America remembered) stared at him emotionlessly. “Sir, if you don’t get your ass off my desk, I’m going to call security and--”
“Ah! That’s right! We had that meeting the next day! You won’t believe what he did in front of practically the whole world….”
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I know Russia hasn't actually started singing...that comes later~ He's just....busy, being creeper Russia....
Er, so I don't know how to file a restraining order, so if it seems really bad, I'm sorry! I'm a horrible American citizen!
asdfghjkl -crawls away to die-
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I LOVE YOUR CREEPER!RUSSIA. HE'S PERFECT IMO.
Please, PLEASE keep this up. Uuuuuuuu I need more of this SO BAD
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I'M DIEING!
DIEING.
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<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3
and ohmyGod Al's story telling lmaooo<3 I am besidemyself, I am laughing so hard. Thank you so much author!anon!! Thank you!!! <3333333333
captcha: Warrity measures
ohdear, really now?
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Ah...-bows humbly-
You're welcome, OP~ It was fun to write, and I swear I'm working on the next chapter! -shifty eyes-
reCaptcha: were impecto....is captcha implying something?
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author!Anon, I hope you post more soon, because this is definitely turning out excellently.
reCaptcha: Freiburg trendold. Oh now you're just making up words, Captcha. Don't be lazy.
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Whoa guys. It's already been a month. Okay.
DUDES, SO FUCKING SORRY. I SWEAR I'M WORKING ON IT, BUT...THE WAY MY HEAD WORKS, IT FILLS THINGS BACKWARDS. SO...I'M WORKING IT OUT BACKWARDS.
>>;;
I'm definitely not stopping though. No way. Having too much fun torturing America. LMAO, but don't worry. I've got this special notebook I carry around my classes and outline my stories in there, AND THIS ONE IS ON THE FIRST PAGE HURR-/shot
FINALS GAIZ. THEY BE A BITCH.
~S!Anon
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