dubois, amanda a.

[amanda]

amanda alouette dubois ,

[/size]
22. MANDA. RHYTHM GUITAR. STRAIGHT. MURDER MAYHEM[/font]

stubborn . sexy . bratty

this shining city built of gold, a far cry from innocence. There's more than meets the eye round here, look to the waters of the deep

[/i]

Avenged Sevenfold → Beast and the Harlot

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]
____________________________________

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -[/size]
____________________________________[/center]

SEVEN DEADLY SINS

LUST

He was not the first, or the second, or the third.

She was not concerned with numbers, she always got what she wanted regardless of whether they were the first or the fifth. That, and a good girl never told her numbers. She was far from a good girl, and to be honest, she was pleased with her reputation. People came to see bands sometimes for the sole reason of fucking a member-- she was more than happy to oblige. She'd brought a trail full of happy little handsome groupies into their bus to seduce , to teach.

Most of the time the poor saps didn't know what kind of a hot kinky mess they were getting into, but they always had fun. Of course, she preferred to have 'fuck buddies', people she could trust that would come and play with her regularly. After all, wasn't this all just a giant game?

A cat and mouse game of lust and affection, sometimes one and sometimes the other, but mostly lust.

GLUTTONY

Is it really so wrong to want to fit in? She had been young…and all she had wanted was to be like everybody else. Her first real boy-girl party with alcohol. She was just 14, and the party was a raging kegger. People danced on table tops, slopped beer everywhere, radio blasting as loud as it would go. It was a surprise the cops hadn’t been called yet.

She took every shot they offered to her. Tequila? Check. Whiskey? Check. Vodka? Check. It all went down with a burn and a cough and it felt good.

But too much of a good thing can turn things sour. When he asked her to go up to the bedroom, she went. She let him kiss her; she kissed back. When he pulled off her shirt, she said yes. She said please, she said touch me. When he pulled off her pants, she said no. She said stop, I don’t want to do this anymore. He said, shush.

She squirmed and his warm hands held her down on the bed, and he said, why not, baby? You want it don’t you? You’ve been flirting with me all night, and you wouldn’t wear that skirt if you didn’t want it.

When he pulled down her panties, she said no. she said, please, don’t. she said, I don’t want to, and he said, shut up.

She whimpered, and he pushed her legs apart and pushed himself inside her. It hurt, and she cried out, and he pumped harder.

When he left, the sheets were stained with blood and her body was battered with his hand prints.

Two months later she found out about the fetus growing inside her barely-teenage body. She couldn’t tell them about it. Not when your daddy was a priest, she couldn’t go away and have a baby and spend her whole life under a curtain of shame and guilt. The lady at the clinic was understanding. They gave her some pills and told her to make another appointment in two weeks.

A lot of blood and pain later and there was no fetus. And her daddy never found out.

WRATH

Being harassed by non-fans was a part of being in a band. Especially when you were on tour and surrounded by other bands and their fans. This particular day was uneventful. She sat in her tent, legs up on the table as she signed autographs. And of course, there was the group of teenage boys that seemed to think that they were all that, making jokes about how Murder Mayhem wasn't hardcore enough for them.

That was all fine and good. It wasn't until the threats started coming. Rape jokes.

She had stayed relatively calm and collected until then. Slamming his fucking face down into the table and breaking his nose was the highlight of her week.

ENVY

All her mother would buy her was conservative clothes. T-shirts that hid her burgeoning breasts, bras to strap them down and minimize them. Jeans that were two sizes too big. Cotton panties that covered all of her bottom and shoes with no heel.

She hated to watch the other girls, so pretty. Even though their school was catholic and had strict dress codes, they always managed to look better. And in the change room when they all were supposed to avert their eyes and put on their gym clothes, Amanda always looked around. And nobody else wore the white cotton panties she had. The kind that covered your whole bottom. The kind grandma’s wore.

So the first time she went shopping with a friend, she bought all the little blue thongs, the racy skirts, the low cut shirts. And she hid them in the back of her closet.

Her mother would never let her wear them. If she even found out she had them, she would probably be punished. As if wearing blue panties would turn her into some kind of harlot. Some kind of loose, immoral slut. Her mother would freak out.

And so she never wore them.

SLOTH

Amanda had never felt so down in her life. When her father had called her, she thought maybe everything would be okay again. Maybe he would say, he was sorry. He had forgiven her. She could come home again and visit, and they would love her.

But he didn’t. He had found out about the fetus. Not the rest of the story—just about the fetus. He was just calling to tell her about how her soul was eternally damned to hell, and how could she do that? How could she kill his grandchild, when she knew, she KNEW they could send her away to immaculate conception and she could have that baby and they would pay for it.

She said, it was always about you, you, you. It doesn’t matter how she felt, and how could YOU? How could you force her? How could you tell her what to do, she could never ever raise a baby in that hellhole, in that fucking town worse than the deepest bowels of hell.

And he said she was no longer his daughter. And he hung up.

For a whole week she didn’t move off the couch.

GREED

The need for fame ran hot inside her. She had desired it since she was small, growing up in a fucking nobody town with parents who were too protective and too conservative and just so fucking close minded.

It burned in her all through her teenage years where she experimented desperately, trying to fix what had been done and make herself whole again.

And then when the opportunity to gain a name presented herself, she took it. She knew she had the talent to do so much more and get here where she is right now, but at the time the promise of double-spread glossy pictures of her seemed like the perfect way out of this nowhere town.

Fetlife wanted her, that was obvious after the first meeting. They dolled her up in latex skirts with the ass cut out and handcuffs, paid her an obscene amount of money to drape herself over the lap of their male model and have her ass paddled cherry red.

She loved every fucking second of it, and from the moment she saw her body splayed out on the shelves of the magazine store, she knew she had to have it,

PRIDE

Nurturing pride in herself took a very long time. An entire childhood of being told you're displeasing god. Now whenever that comes up, all she can think of is how fucking angry god must be with her now. If only her daddy knew what she was doing, he would kill her.

Pride is a sin, he said, it's wrong to feel like you are worth anything. You are a servant of god and that is your sole purpose. Anything else is heresy.

She was the fucking heretic queen. Everything she did was for her own furtherment, her own pleasure, because she wanted it and when she stood up on stage with her guitar slung over her shoulder, she was proud of herself.

[/justify]

____________________________________

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

[/size]
____________________________________

MY NAME IS TAYLOR, I AM NINETEEN YEARS OLD AND HAVE BEEN ROLE PLAYING FOR TEN YEARS. I FOUND THIS SITE VIA CHARLIE OBVCS THEY'RE/ IT'S AWESOME!

[/font][/justify][/blockquote][/center]