Random musings...

Eden...

Thu, 21 Apr 2005 18:21:15 GMT

Wow, well, I've hand an more intersting day than usual, though that's not saying much. My brother wants me to design and make a banner for a gay night he's organising. It's themed on the Garden of Eden so I gotta get my illustrated children's Bible out to get some ideas. I find that really funny. I'm sure the church will be pissed to know I'm using the Bible for inspiration for a gay night. Muhahahaha!

On a more pissy note I've had a character stolen! I made up a charcter for RPG AGES ago and some asshole stole her and passed her off as his own. He even wrote fanfic using my character. I'm so pissed. What a wanker. I hope he walks in dog shit and then walks it into his carpet and he can't get the smell out.

Tue, 19 Apr 2005 18:57:36 GMT

Wow, it's nearly been a year since I last posted. That's....sad. Pathetic really. And nothing interesting has really happened in my life in that year. God, that's depressing.

I guess I just didn't really have time for the internet. A week or two after my last post I went travelling around Europe. It was so long ago that I just feel like a loser posting about it. Needless to say it was fantastic. I'm so glad I got to see the eastern Europen countries before they become like the rest of Europe, all McDonalds and Coke. I think the only place I didn't see a McDonalds was Dubrovnik, Croatia, which is just sad.

I came back from Europe and immediately began work on my thesis. I spent months and months on it while my health steadily declined until I just collapsed while on a field trip in Cyprus and ended up spending nealry a week in hopsital with one of my poor lectures keeping me company. I had to come home in a wheel chair. In the end I had to defer the rest of the year. And yet the college still doesnt believe I'm sick enough to justify my continuning to get free fees. (You don't pay for college in Ireland.) Which really sucks. I'm still not fully better, like climbing a stairs is still a challege, but instead of concentrating on getting better I've to try and work to raise the funds for next year. Stupid college.

God, I'm a moaner. Good news, I'm learning to windsurf. Cant wait! I'm so glad I live by the sea. I don't know how people do without it. I had friends from Iowa come to stay once. We took them to the Aran Islands, to this massive cliff where all you can see, as far as the horizon, is the ocean. They started crying, which I intially thought was really wussy but I think I get it now. Or maybe it was just the prospect of going back to Iowa that got them....

Bla...

Thu, 27 May 2004 19:39:36 GMT

Wow, I'm boring. I've been working so much I've only had five minutes every three or four days to get on the net. I feel so strangely deprived. Though something good did come of my working endless hours in a really quiet shop. I learned I can lick my elbow. Yes, I can lick my elbow. I know it's supposed to be physically impossible but there you have it. I have hyper joint mobility in my elbows (i.e. they're double jointed) so I guess technically it's cheating but it's not exactly a sport with rules now, is it?

I also find it quite sad that this is the most interesting to happen to me in sometime. Very sad indeed...

Beautiful!

Tue, 20 Apr 2004 21:32:57 GMT

Ok, we all hate the library. It's either too hot or too cold. Too stuffy or you're being blown away by the gale force wind being emitted by the air conditioning.

People who sit beside you are annoying. They sniffle, they shuffle papers endlessly, sometimes they write so hard it registers on the Richter Scale, they talk endless to their friends or perhaps they space out while staring directly at you.

That's ok, because before you get to annoyed you realise that you too do this and you too are probably just as annoying to them. (Well, with the possible exception of earthquake boy!)

But what I cannot, cannot stand is the couple who routinely commit what can only be described as foreplay right in front of you! Trying to study while someone is kissing (shifting, snogging, frenching what ever you want to call it) right next to you is simply impossible!

I realise there's so much hate in the world and it's great that people love and all that jazz (I'm not a romantic, well I am, but not in a public setting like a LIBRARY!) but that has got to be out of order!

I swear tomorrow if someone tries that again...I will not be responsible for my actions! I'm tired of seeing people exchange body fluids while I try to learn the Barrovian sequence of metamorphism!

Judgement Day...

Sat, 17 Apr 2004 19:11:48 GMT

Wow, well...had a great and profound experience. Was on a class trip and was basically told that I'm, well, fake.

One of the other girls in my class (who I hardly know at all. Hell, I don't even know her surname!) decided to have a conversation with me about my personality.

She started off by saying all this crap about how I was pretty, had nice hair, was really smart...and I immediately knew something was wrong. Nobody says stuff like that to you out of the goodness of their heart, you just know there's a but coming, and hell, was this a big BUT!

Apparently I have a massive wall up, a barrier that people are afraid to attempt to penetrate. She said that people are afraid to approach me and that I scare them away. She said that it was obvious I was masking my 'true' personality.

Well, I'm fairly sure that's bullshit! I had the unfortunate experience of losing two of my friends last year and if it taught me anything, it taught me this; life is short and very unpredictable. You never know what's going to happen tomorrow so why bother spending your life trying to appease society. I'm by no means an anarchist but I do what makes me and the people closest me happy. I don't care what some random person on the street thinks if I just decided to do a cart wheel or play on my cousins tricycle. Why would I care about someone so wholly unconnected with me?

And that is why I'm so utterly convinced she's wrong. I try to always be honest, not brutally so, but honest none the less.

I realise that I'm not perfect but I'm quite happy with who I am on the whole.

What does she want? Me to sit down and comply with her and her sheep? Sure I dress a little different and I'm more into 'nerdy' things than bloody Cosmo or Vogue but, hey, variety is the spice of life.

She basically said I should calm down, and relax, because being confident was scaring people away. Basically be a wall flower like her!

I DON'T THINK SO!

That girl has made the biggest mistake of her life. If she's so threatened with me, well, that's her problem and she can deal with it, because there's no way I'm changing!

Grrr!

Tue, 13 Apr 2004 20:00:14 GMT

Ok, realise this is a stupid point but I wish there was a function to change the spell check to British/Irish English instead of American English. I fed up of it telling me I'm spelling 'colour' wrong!

Bleh!

Tue, 13 Apr 2004 19:45:53 GMT

Life so boring....study. Eugh. God, I so can't wait to finish my exams. Pouts. Stupid exams. I can't believe we're expected to know everything about EVERYTHING when even our professors admit they don't bother learning stuff that doesn't relate to them.
Ok, that's just me whining because I'm not doing any study and I'm gonna totally fail ALL my exams, but at least they'll be over.

I've another medical complaint to add to my journal. Anyone reading this as well as previous entries is going to really believe I'm the most accident prone person EVER. Which wouldn't be too far off actually. So yeah, fell again. This time on my right side banging my thigh really badly. The bruise on it is black, actually BLACK, with little purple veins. It's so gross. Thank God I don't live in shorts country. And it's swollen as well. The area around it has gone all cold as of today (hurt it on Sunday) and I keep getting pins and needles in my toes...It's freaking me out. I seriously don't think the going cold thing can be a good thing.

Last week I got hit on the head with a tape which fell from the shelf at work. Hit me right on the temple. Fecking hurt like hell too. And everyone just laughed at me. I'm all one for jokes and stuff but it was obvious I was badly injured. I puked and everything. In the end got so fed up of people joking I went home sick. I had a splitting head ache and was seeing stars at regular intervals. I didn't even know people saw stars. I thought that was made up for cartoons.

Still waiting for the new modem for my lap top. How can you lose a modem in a lap top anyway? I mean, it's inside the machine isn't it? I have no luck with computers. Can't wait to get it back though. Can start making icons and wallpapers again! Wahoo.

Have started another new fic! I'm such a fool. I have no time, exams looming, OTHER fics to finish and I start another one! Oh well, hopefully I work better under pressure.

It's a Harry/Draco one. I'm hoping it works out better than my previous attempts. I just never got around to finishing them. There are just so many amazing H/D fics, I feel so intimidated. Anyway, here it is...

Harry sat listlessly on the upper most bow of one pf the few remaining oaks surrounding the neglected play ground. He stared at the chill summer sky, watching the moon silently trek towards the horizon. He’d been this way for hours, ever since finishing his meagre dinner with the Dursley’s. Knowing he was out too late failed to evoke feelings of fear or guilt. The Dursley’s delighted in abusing him and he relished the absence of their presence. It was a win-win situation really.

The night slowly dragged on, like those before it. Harry felt empty and broken, as if inside were only a void and his exterior merely a poorly constructed shell, a façade. He didn’t think of Sirius much now and when he did it was only with the dim awareness of more emptiness. He knew he should be feeling pain, upset, anger but he felt nothing. He thought of his godfather and no emotion registered in his being. Even in his emotionally stunted state he was sure this was a very bad thing but he could not work up the energy to care.

He didn’t care about anything these days, not Ron, Hermione, Hogwarts, not even Voldemort. He didn’t care what happened to the world, Wizard or Muggle. Nothing mattered.

Sighing he laid his head against the rough grain of the tree and closed his eyes, wishing his overwhelming emptiness would consume him.

A slight rustle in the under growth drew his attention, but only mildly so. Slowly he turned his head in the direction of movement. With a pronounced roll of his eyes he turned back to his previous position. “Having fun there, Dudeykins?” He asked tonelessly. His obese cousin had in the past few weeks taken to spying on him and reporting his increasingly bizarre behaviour to his aunt and uncle.

“What did you call me?!” Came the out raged reply.

Harry’s eyes widened in shock and he sung himself to the ground just in time to catch Draco Malfoy storm from the subterfuge of a large fern. He was dressed in black robes which under normal circumstances would probably have looked quite smart but now were covered in under brush and the odd slug trail. Draco’s usually perfect hair was slightly muzzled, with dry leaf fragments clinging to the baby blonde strands. His skin was flushed a slight pink as he glared hatefully at Harry. The Boy Who Lived noted slowly that Malfoy had his wand drawn and pointed threateningly at him.

Harry mused he probably should feel naked, perhaps scared. He had no such weapon. He rarely brought his wand with him; it seemed like too much effort. “Malfoy?” He noted, his voice surprised and lacking the usual malice the name deserved.

Malfoy seemed taken aback by the lack of hatred but quickly regained his focus. He glared at Harry, seemingly lost for words.

Harry observed him back for a few minutes before growing bored. He watched Malfoy tense as he lifted his arm and checked the time. 11:22, late enough to enrage the Durlsey’s he supposed. Without so much as a glance in Malfoy’s direction he turned on heal and began to make his way back to Privet Drive.

With an out raged squeak Malfoy took off after him, easily over taking Harry’s lazy stroll, and halting before him, wand poised.

Harry sighed, folded his arms and waited for Malfoy to speak. As the minutes dragged on he decided the verbal first step seemed up to him. “Is there something I can help you with?” He could not help the sarcastic tone his question took.

“I..eh..” Malfoy appeared quite inarticulate when insults were not involved. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” He sounded slightly hysterical.

Harry shrugged. “I guess you’re spying on me.” Somewhere within himself Harry knew he should be outraged at the intrusion but he simply could not work up the energy to care.

Malfoy gaped at him, unable to decide how to react. He had prided himself on his ability to read Harry like a book. This new, apathetic Harry was disconcerting.

Harry bounced on the balls of his feet, slightly amused at Malfoy’s antics. “Well, now we’ve got that sorted…” He dug his hands into his pockets and attempted to step around Malfoy.

Malfoy let him get a few paces before calling after him. “Doesn’t that bother you?!” He asked incredulously.

Harry merely shrugged and continued walking. As he made his way across the road Malfoy caught up with him. “I’ve been following you for weeks you know.” He sneered, though the effect was muted somewhat by the fact he was panting slightly form his sprint. “I thought you were supposed to be this all powerful wizard. Ha! And you only caught me now? Pathetic.” He stood boldly before Harry barring his way.

“What an intriguing way to spend the summer holidays, Malfoy.” Harry feigned delight. “And here I was thinking you would have spent the time visiting Daddy in Azkaban.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed as an angry flush crossed his face. He raised his wand. Harry watched intrigued as the shorter boys knuckles turned white with the force of his grip. He hadn’t thought Malfoy’s skin could pale any further. “Shut up, Potter.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” Harry smirked, delighting in the reaction he evoked in Malfoy. “After five years of you making fun of my dead father I think it’s only fair I return the favour.”

Malfoy advanced a pace. “My father’s not dead.” His voice hissed across tightly gritted teeth.

“Hmmm… yes. Though he probably wishes he was. Disgraced and all that. Can’t be good for the Malfoy name.” Harry directed his gaze on Malfoy. “Though I guess that’s where you come in. With Daddy out of commission I guess olde Voldemort is looking for someone other Malfoy to step up and be counted. How’s that coming along by the way?” He asked in a light tone.

“If he didn’t need you, Potter.” Malfoy sneered, his hand now visibly shaking.

“You’d what? Set your cronies on me? Oh, I’m terribly afraid.” Harry rolled his eyes. “You’ve never been anything to fear, Malfoy. Excuse me if I don’t start quaking in my boots now.” Harry ignored Malfoy and began once more to make his way home. This time however Malfoy physically barred his way, pushing Harry back. “Get the hell away from me, Malfoy!” He pushed back.

Malfoy growled low in his throat. Throwing all his force he lunged at Harry and pushed him to the ground. Harry landed hard on the tarmac, wincing as his wrist landed awkwardly. He glared up at Malfoy. The blond stood before his wand hovering above Harry’s scar. “Nothing to fear?” He spat. In one fluid movement he raised his wand. “Obliv-”

And then Harry was aware of many things happening at once. He felt a force rush over him, something a kin to a gale. He felt his hair pushed back, his glasses buried into the bridge of his nose. There was something different to the wind though. With overwhelming horror he felt it penetrate his body. It tore at his mind, ripping at tearing at his very being. He watched as his life began to trickle away. First slowly, like a crisp mountain stream then faster and faster in a torrent. Memories leaked from his mind and Harry dimly felt himself covering his head with his hands in a vain attempt to stop it. He heard a second crack in his wrist as he squeezed tightly. To his left a bright light burned his eyes. At first he thought it was the last of his memories, or perhaps his first, his own birth. At the last second, however, he recognised what it was. He heard the grinding of metal and the loud screech of tires as the car swerved to avoid his prone form lying in the middle of the road. Only in the last second did the driver seem to notice Malfoy, clad entirely in black, standing over Harry.

Malfoy seemed to observe the car with only a slight interest and with last thought of his coherent mind was that perhaps Malfoy did not know what it was. Blackness began to engulf him before he heard Malfoy cry out and the crunch of metal against bone.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

He woke up a dazzlingly white room. He blinked blearily around, musing as to why his vision was so blurred. Slowly he began to sit up, groaning at the protestations from his arching body. Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort he slumped back down in the bed. Slowly he became aware of the fact he didn’t know where he was… and then slowly, very slowly he realised he didn’t know who he was.

Before the panic could rise he heard a door open and the familiar clack of healed shoes on tiled floor. A head appeared to his left. He blinked up at the woman observing him. With his vision so impaired he could not make out much of her features. She appeared to have shoulder length, mousy brown hair and slightly sallow skin but beyond that he could tell nothing.

After a moments hesitation she spoke up. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

“Ye-” He was forced to cough. Clearing his throat he spoke again. “Yes.”

The woman sighed in relief. “Thank God. We found you lying unconscious on the side of the road without any obvious head injuries. That was some time ago, we weren’t sure what happened to you. It was obvious what happened to your friend.”

She nodded towards his right. He turned his head in the direction she indicated but his vision blurred badly before he could focus the desired object. “I can’t see.” He replied, slightly worried.

“Oh, of course.” She began fiddling with something on his bedside locker. “I believe these are yours.” She placed a pair of glasses into left hand. He began to push himself onto his elbows before a biting pain shot through his left arm. He cried out before dropping back onto the bed. “Oh, mind your wrist. We were forced to perform surgery on it.”

“What?” He gapped. “Surgery? Why?” He felt dread rise in his stomach as he attempted to wiggle his fingers, panicking slightly when they only twitched slightly.

“I think it’s best we discuss that when your parents arrive.” She soothed him, placing his glasses on his face. Instantly the world came into sharp focus. He could make out what he assumed to be the doctor. She smiled at down at him as she adjusted her white coat. “Do you have a phone number we can reach them on?”

He thought for a second. “No.”

“Oh,” She looked taken aback. “Well, you’ve had a fall, just give me their name and your address and I’ll see about tracking them down.”

He wracked his brain for any information but only received darkness, like looking at a clean blackboard. “I…I don’t remember. I can’t remember their names.” He began to panic, feeling tears well in his eyes.

“Sush, calm down.” She attempted to sound reassuring but he could see the worry in her eyes. “Tell me your name and I’ll search through the files here at the hospital.”

He felt his breath quicken and tears leak from his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“It’s ok. I’m sure your memory loss is just a result of your fall. In such cases it’s usually only temporary.” She certainly did not seem as collected as she sounded. “I’ll go and find my colleague; he’s an expert in this field. We’ll have you back to normal in no time.” She squeezed his hand before setting off.

He felt so alone, so lost. He had to will himself not to cry. It was going to be ok, the doctor had said so. He would be fine.

Still he could not still his quickened breath nor the occasional tear that ran down his cheek. Ignoring the pain in his right arm he pushed himself into a sitting position. He glanced around the room, remembering he mention a friend in the room with him. Sure enough to his left was another boy. He lay as if sleeping, his face relaxed. His right leg was bound and cast as far as his thigh, suspended above the bed in a harness. His pale face was scratched and bruised.

He left his bed and approached the sleeping boy. Surely the sleeper would know who he was; the doctor had said they were found together, he had to have some information.

Slowly he approached the other bed, ignoring the dull ache in his heavily bandaged right arm. Sitting heavily he hoped the action would rouse the other boy. Unfortunately it did not. Biting his lip he gently prodded the sleeper, hoping not to anger him. The sleeper moaned deep in his throat before seemingly settling into a deeper sleep. Firmer he prodded the sleeping boy once more, this time achieving the desired affect.

The blond haired boy groaned, before exhaling deeply. His eye lids fluttered before he brought a hand to his face, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. Slowly they opened and silver grey eyes regarded his own for a few seconds before the sleeping boy seemed to become properly aware of his surroundings.

Instantly he flew awake. “Potter!” He hissed, jerking into a sitting position before seemingly to injure his leg. He cried out in pain, falling back into the pillows, his eyes squeezed shut and panting heavily.

“Potter?” He mused, was that his name? It was certainly strange. But then he couldn’t remember any names, perhaps Potter was a perfectly normal one.

The other boy fought to control the pain, steeling a glance in the other boy’s direction. “Are you feeling alright, Scar head?” He sneered.

“I, eh…I don’t know.” He scooted away a little at the tone in the other boy’s voice. “I seem a little mixed up.”

“A little mixed up? That has to be the understatement of the century.” The blond boy pushed himself up onto his elbows. For the first time he seemed aware of his surroundings. His eyes darted around the room, resting on his leg for some time before back to the boy perched on his bed. “Where the hell are we? This looks like…like Muggle stuff.” There was no mistaking the panic in his voice.

“Muggle?” He paused briefly, glancing around the room and seeing nothing remotely threatening. “Eh, can I ask you a question?”

The other boy regarded him strangely before nodding his head.

“I’m Potter, right?” He asked.

A brief pause, then. “This is a joke, right?”

He simply shook his head in response.

“You don’t know who you are?”

This time a nod.

“You have got to be kidding me. This can’t be happening! I’m stuck in some kind of Muggle fortress with a clueless Harry Potter! This is NOT happening!” He began to rant, biting hard on his lip and throwing his head back against the pillows.

“Harry Potter.” He tasted the name on his lips. “That’s me, right?” The other boy stared mutedly at him before shaking his head. “Ok,” He took a deep breath. “Eh, who are you?”

“Malfoy.”

“Malfoy?”

“Draco Malfoy.”

“Ok then, Draco. That makes things easier.” Harry relaxed slightly.

“Don’t call me that.” Draco’s voice, was quiet almost inaudible.

“Don’t call you Draco? But you said that’s you name.” Harry pulled back, confused.

“You don’t call me Draco and I don’ call you Harry. It Malfoy and Potter.” Draco began breathing heavily again, a note of panic in his voice.

“Why?”

“Because… because…. it’s just always been that way.” Draco squeezed his eyes shut briefly before pushing the bed covers from him. Tears stung his eyes as attempted to free his leg from the harness.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked jumping back in shock.

“I have to get out of here. I can’t stay here. The Muggles.” He ranted, slipping his leg from the harness. Underestimating the weight of the bulky cast he over balanced crashing to the ground. His pathetic howl of pain brought Harry to his side. Harry slipped behind the blond using his body as a lever so that Draco could cradle his leg. The blond continued to rant, even as doctors crowded into the room, alerted by the loud crash. “Can’t stay here. They’ll lock us up….do tests on us. The Muggles…. His voice drifted away as his head drooped forward, overwhelmed by their current situation.

~~~~~~

What ya thing?

Fic.

Tue, 23 Mar 2004 19:56:30 GMT

Had a stupid power outtage today. Bloody weather. One thing I'm thankful for is I had my laptop near by so I could make use of the boring interval. This popped into my head, I don't know why really. I'm not terribly proud of it but I thought I may as well post it as not. It was written in the short time I had battery power left on my computer so it's not well thought out of even well put together but, well, here it is.

Seth’s breath hitches as Ryan catches his bottom lip between his teeth. He opens his eyes just in time to catch the feral grin on the blond boy’s face as he begins kissing and nipping his way down Seth’s neck, concentrating on where smooth skin becomes chest. Seth cannot with hold a gasp as Ryan bites the skin lightly, his hands stroking Seth’s chest and sides, scratching lightly at his ribs. Disappointment silences the dark haired boy as Ryan discontinues his administrations only to inch his way up Seth’s neck.

“Sush, that’s a good boy.”

Ryan’s voice is quiet and husky, his tone alone sends a dull, wanting ache though Seth’s body. Ryan smiles against Seth’s skin as he takes the other boy’s ear lobe between his teeth and resumes his slow torture.

Seth moves his head readily to the side, responding immediately to Ryan’s wishes. He tries to restrain himself and almost bites through his lip in an effort to curb his vocal tendencies. In the end he takes to biting his fingers as Ryan moves down his body, landing butterfly kisses in some places, being decidedly less tender and biting else where. Seth himself is not entirely unforceful. He drags his closely cut nails across Ryan’s back, delighting in the smooth muscle he finds there. He runs his fingers through Ryan’s dirty blond hair as the other boy begins to kiss and nip at Seth’s hip bone. Through experience Ryan has learned this is one of Seth’s most sensitive spots. He will attend to this spot while Seth writhes beneath him, pleads in a breathless whimper. Seth often wonders if his own reaction to this turns Ryan on more than it does him.

Just when Seth thinks he can take this sweet torture no more Ryan begins to slide further down his body. He always glances up at Seth, always ensuring they make eye contact, before he takes Seth’s length in his mouth. Seth cannot prevent throwing his head back at such ecstasy.

“Ryan!”

It’s not immediately after that Seth feels guilty. In the post orgasmic bliss he actually convinces himself that he’ll go through with it, that he’ll tell Ryan how he feels. It’s not until after, when he’s getting out of the shower and towelling off that the doubt begins to set in, the shame. He just jerked off thinking of his best friend. He gets dressed without looking in the mirror (which he’s sure is not helping prevent his bad hair days) and slowly makes his way downstairs. It usually takes him a few seconds to gather his nerves before he can enter the living room, before he can face Ryan…and then the guilt really sets in.

Ryan always smiles at him, there’s never an exception. His smile is open, trusting and it breaks Seth’s heart. If only he knew. He tries to act normal, usually flopping next to Ryan and joining in whatever game he’s been playing on their games console. If Ryan notices the momentary difference he never speaks of it. Seth doesn’t see this as unusual though; Ryan is never very vocal about his feelings, about anything really. Ryan often wins the games they play in this situation. Seth’s mind is otherwise occupied.

He’s thinking about how awful a friend he is. He lies to his friend daily. He’s deceitful in the most appalling way. He understands that people are not always completely honest with each other; there are always little white lies. He even understands that friends often have crushes on each other, that more often than not these feelings are unrequited, but this doesn’t feel the same. Ryan is his best friend…and a guy. He must be completely sick to come calling Ryan’s name and then, a few minutes later, join him on the sofa for a game of Pro Skater. His daily routine disgusts him but he can’t seem to abstain.

Sometimes he wonders if Ryan has a clue, not of his shower activities, he doesn’t know what he’d do if Ryan ever found out about that, but of his crush. He’s certain Ryan must have noticed how he watches him. He tries to hide it, to pretend he’s just glancing around the room or he just happens to space out in Ryan’s general vicinity but after all this time it must be becoming obvious. Somebody must have noticed by now that he stares at Ryan infinitely more than at his supposed crush, Summer.

In a way Seth’s glad for her. While he hates how she treats him it doesn’t hurt any way as much as he lets on. He began talking about her after his mom started insinuating he was partial to guys. Somehow mom’s have a sixth sense when it comes to these kind of things. He really began to get worried when she started renting films like Pricilla; Queen of the Desert and discuss homosexual rights during it. He coped on pretty quickly that in order to get her off his back he would have to invent a crush…and in walked Summer. She was everything a guy would ever want in a girl, pretty, great figure, shame about the personality really. But as far as he could see that was a bonus. She hated him; there was no way anything was going to happen between them. And so his sexual orientation was settled with little danger of him ever actually scoring.

That was all before Ryan of course. Before he came to live with them Seth wasn’t even sure he was gay, he thought he was a sexual late bloomer. Sure he’d thought a few guys were hot before but he’d thought so of a few girls too…he didn’t seem to have a preference either way, and how he wished that hadn’t changed.

Every day is now a slow torture. Ryan’s so close and yet infinitely out of reach. If only he knew the effect he had on Seth. How every time he entered the room Seth felt his breath catch, felt as if he had just been enveloped in bubbles. How he strives to make Ryan happy to perhaps get a glimpse of that shy smile. Everything he does he does thinking of Ryan in some way, what would Ryan think of this, Ryan likes this colour, Ryan loves this song.

He wants Ryan to think of him, to wish Seth was thinking of him. He wants Ryan to watch the door for him at parties, to futilely keep a seat on the off chance he may look for it….He wants Ryan to feel for him what he feels for Ryan.

But he doesn’t…and he won’t.

People say you don’t miss what you never had….they haven’t a clue what they’re talking about. Seth wants Ryan, in some many ways but more than anything he wants to hold him and know that he’s his, Seth Cohen’s. He wants Ryan to look at him the way he looks at Marissa. He wants Ryan to ache painfully for him the way he aches for Ryan. He wants to feel the torture that being this close and yet this far is to him.

He wants.

Bleh!

Sun, 21 Mar 2004 14:19:11 GMT

How boring is my journal? Just adding to it so I don't feel as sad and anti-internert social. Have discovered an new obsession.....The O.C. or O.C. slash to be specific. How much do I love the Seth/Ryan goodness. Why don't I know guys like Seth? Cute, nerdy (and always a nice bonus, rich!)?
Am severly freaked out by the fact I'm nearly finished my penultimate in college. Will soon (hopefully) have a degree and be unleashed on the big, bad World. Scary thoughts.
Am making a conscious desision to actually finish my fanfics. I suck at the up-dating. Nearly finished my longest fic to date, currently at 10 chapters of usually more than 2000 words each. I always do this when I'm nearly finished something, be it a book, a PS game or a story (original or otherwise). It's as if I don't want the experience to end and so I do other things to avoid finishing. But, no, I must go on....Seriously....soon.....

Ouch!

Sat, 24 Jan 2004 01:39:12 GMT

Note to self: Juggling can be hazardous to one's health in unusual manners. Ass hurts like crazy. Assume it was from all those times I had to bend down to pick up my dropped juggling balls. Juggling = butt pain.
now know why all hot juggler guys have nice asses but serverely doubt it's worth the pain and effort.
Also, juggling invites too much innuendo.

London Calling

Thu, 22 Jan 2004 20:39:12 GMT

Well, here's one of my recent fics. I'm sticking it here because it my journal looks so very sad and boring. I wrote this after Erosion of Neverland after I started getting those niggling "what if Peter stayed in London" ideas. I'm not that happy with it so far but I like the direction it's going in so hopefully readers will stay with me long enough to see it through to the good parts!
I'm dying of the flu and feel like complete dookie! On the up side I learned to juggle today. Hurrah!

Disclaimer: Peter Pan and associated characters do not belong to me. I’m merely using them for kicks and not receiving any money in return! P.S. Hats off to J.M. Barrie who left the copyright of the novel to Great Ormand Street Hospital for Sick Children!

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Peter alighted on the nursery window, gazing inside. It had been some time since he had been to the Darling house, how long he could not be sure for sometimes his memory was not very good, but he was certain that Wendy would be still waiting for him, after all, the window was still open.

He glanced around, seeing the three beds occupied. Grinning to himself he strode into the room. Before he made his way inside, however, lightning flashed before his eyes and pain laced his skull. He had knocked his head against the window frame. Slightly dazed, he found he was forced to crouch low in order to gain entry to the house. This puzzled him only a little, as Peter rarely thought about the consequences of his actions. He peeped around the shadowy room in search of Wendy. Hoping to his feet, he glided through the room, coming to hover over the bed he knew to be Wendy’s.

He was quite shocked then to discover not the pretty girl he had entranced to Neverland but a boy, one with red hair and freckles. He stared at the boy for some time. Something about him was familiar… like the memory of a dream, but the memories eluded him. Peter frowned a little but did not dwell on it, there were often times where he found his memory unreliable.

He flew to the other beds but his search for Wendy proved unsuccessful. The other two beds he found occupied by the same boy, or was that two of the same boy? He did not care enough to dwell on the matter. But where was Wendy? He paced the room in anger, taking out his frustration on a shoe that lay discarded on the floor. It sailed through the air and collided with a hunched figure lying next to the fire place.

Grumbling in an almost human manner Nana raised her head. She had got a little deaf as the years passed and had not heard Peter’s entrance. However she saw him now and wasted no time in voicing her protest at the uninvited guest.

Peter quickly drew his dagger and was circling Nana when the nursery door flew open to reveal a pretty young woman in her night-gown.

“Nana! What on earth is this racket?! Did the-” Wendy fumed as she forcefully opened the door. She was in the process of striding over to Nana when the figure stalking their nurse caught her attention. Her jaw dropped and she began backing into the hall. Fear gripped her heart as the figure began advancing on her.

“Wendy!” Peter grinned as the subject of his search entered the room.

Wendy stopped her retreat when she heard her name. She eyed the youth thoughtfully for a second before recognition took her. “Peter?” She asked doubtfully.

He nodded enthusiastically, a cheeky grin on his tanned face. “Ay, tis Peter Pan!” He announced. His grin faded, however, once he observed Wendy’s countenance. “Did I not tell you I would return?” He explained.

“Peter,” Wendy replied with forced calm. “That was six years ago.”

“Oh.” Peter chewed on his lip. “I suppose that’s a long time then?”

“Very long.” Wendy blinked back tears. She had thought Peter had forgotten her, she knew how awful his memory was.

“Well, I’ve returned now!” He grinned again, wondering idly why Wendy was scrutinising him so.

“Have you been in Neverland all that time?” She asked doubtfully.

“Of course.” Peter replied in a slightly angry manner. “Where else would I be?” He inspected the chest of drawers in which his shadow had been trapped before returning his gaze to Wendy. Her troubled looks were worrying him. “Why?”

Wendy glanced up and down the hall, not quite sure what to say. She was quite glad her parents were at a party in the neighbours. “Well, it’s just that…” Peter gave her an impatient look. She frowned, deciding beating around the bush would not help lessen the blow. “Peter, didn’t you know?” He continued to stare at her, completely clueless. “Peter, you’ve grown.”

Peter stared at her horrified for a few seconds before turning angry. “That’s a cruel joke, Wendy.” He fumed. “I’m sorry I took so long to return but do not punish me with such lies.”

“Peter, it’s the truth. Haven’t you noticed?” She replied, tears in her eyes.

“No, you lie! Stop it!” He screamed, screwing his eyes shut.

“Peter, look.” Wendy pointed to the mirror hanging in the landing.

Peter glared at her but did indeed look into the reflecting glass. The face that stared back at him was most certainly not that of a boy. His features were sharper, more defined. He no longer had the round face of a boy. He was becoming a man. “No!” He cried. Hitting the mirror forcefully. His blow shattered the glass and sent it tinkling to the floor. He pulled his hand back in shock, cradling the injured appendage against his chest.

Wendy cried out in horror as she saw the rivets of blood flowing freely from Peter’s hand. “Oh, Peter.” She reached out to him but he recoiled.

“No, stay away from me!” He cried, backing away. In his turmoil he failed to notice the carpet behind him and tripped on the edge, landing heavily on the floor. He found himself weeping openly.

In an instant Wendy was at his side. “Oh Peter, please don’t run away from me.” She stroked his arm soothingly. Peter merely sniffed but did not otherwise respond. “I’ll bandage your hand for you and you can tell me what’s happened in Neverland since I’ve been away.” She smiled at him, while helping him to his feet. Gently she guided him to her room, the one she had moved into with the addition of the Lost Boys. She indicated for him to sit on the bed before she turned to leave the room.

“Wendy!” Peter called out in distress as he saw he abandon him.

“It’s all right, Peter.” She smiled gently. “I’m just going to get water and a bandage.” She nodded her reassurances to him before leaving to the bathroom. She filled a porcelain bowl with warm water and took a wash cloth from the rail. Sighing she began ripping old sheets into strips for bandage. She was still not quite sure this wasn’t all some kind of dream. She had waited for so long for Peter to return but after so long she had almost given up hope. But now here he was…but what had happened? For he appeared as old as she. Could it be that he to had grown? She had though it impossible, that Peter’s insolent will would always keep him a boy but it seemed she was wrong.

Satisfied with her medical equipment she returned to her room. Peter was slightly more composed now, though tears still shone in his cerulean eyes. “Here.” She took his hand gently and placed it in the bowl of water. She had often dressed Peter’s wounds and he had always been quite brave about it, she hesitated at using the words ‘grown-up’. He winced a little as she gently removed the mud and grime that seemed to constantly stain his, and once the Lost Boys, hands. “Peter, did you not notice you were getting taller?” She asked gently, afraid to upset him.

“No,” He replied miserably. “How would I?” He attempted to with draw his hand as Wendy began to remove the glass shards with a tweezers.

She held fast to his hand, pursing her lips in determination. “Did you not noticed you were taller that the other Lost Boys?” She winced at causing him pain, necessary though it maybe.

“They’re aren’t any Lost Boys.” He said stiffly.

“No more Lost Boys?” She looked up from her work, pity tightening her chest. “Why?” Peter shrugged in response. “What about the Red Skins?”

“Oh,” He grinned slightly. “We’re at war again.” Some of the mischief returned to his eyes.

Wendy returned her attentions to his hand, rolling her eyes in disbelief. But she could not quell the pity stirring in her heart. It was mostly due to her that Peter had been left alone. Maybe he had been forced to grow up. She knew he bored easily, perhaps some many years in solitude had caused a fundamental change in him, now manifested in physical growth. She sighed as she finished cleaning his wound and began to wrap it in linen.

Peter fidgeted, uneasy with the silence. He looked around the room, his attention not on any particular item. “You don’t sleep in the nursery any more.” He noted.

“Oh…no.” Wendy replied, securing at knot to keep Peter’s bandage in place.

“Why?” He asked childishly.

Wendy stared up at him. She could not decide whether it was the shock at seeing he had grown or her flowing night gown that hid the changes in her body, but it seemed Peter had not noticed that she was nearly a woman. “Peter, I’ve grown up.” She replied gently. He looked down at her sadly, even more upset than he had appeared to be with the news of his own metamorphosis. She stood up and returned his sad smile. “Stay, Peter.” She took a seat next to him on her bed. “Mother and Father will love you, I know. And the Lost Boys will be ever so happy to see you.”

Peter looked at her, his eyes devoid of their usual playfulness. “Stay…” He mused. “And become a man.” He added scornfully.

Wendy choked back a sob. “Oh don’t you see, Peter….you’re already a man.” She whispered, her heart breaking.

Peter wanted to scream and shout, to make her take it back…but he knew she was right. Perhaps he had known these past few years, instinctively understood that it was finally time he left Neverland. Breathing shallowly he began to weep, a fear the like of which he had never felt before tearing at his heart.

Wendy, seeing his pitiful state began to weep too. Gently she took him in her arms and stroked his back soothingly. At first Peter tensed in her embrace but slowly he collapsed against her, clutching her tightly, begging her to stop whatever was happening to him, to make him a boy again…

So caught up in their mutual grief were they that neither heard the front door open and Mr. and Mrs. Darling return. Shrewd eyed George Darling spied the lights of Wendy’s room still on. Smiling to his wife, they silently ascended the stairs, hoping to catch their only daughter still awake.

“And what are you doing up at such an hour as this?” George asked playfully swinging the door open.

The sight that greeted his eyes was enough to make him drop his hat in shock. Nestled comfortably on her bed was his first born in the arms of a savage-looking boy. “WENDY!” He cried in shock, adverting his eyes. He heard his wife gasp in shock just behind him.

Peter and Wendy broke apart in shock. Reflexes like lightning, Peter was to his feet in an instant, holding his dagger threateningly.

“No Peter, don’t!” Wendy cried, jumping to her feet and coming between Peter and her parents. “Mother, father, I can explain-”

“Explain?” He father said aghast, finally looking back to her. “How on earth can you explain? The disgrace, Wendy…” He shook his head in disbelief. “And you,” He turned his attention on Peter, not noticing the dagger. “Who are you? And how dare you enter my daughter’s room.”

“Father, please!” Wendy flashed Peter a look, and he sheathed his dagger. “It’s Peter Pan.” She looked to her mother. “Truly it is.”

They both looked at her as if she had gone mad. Further explanations on Wendy’s part were made unnecessary as, in the lengthy silence that followed, Michael and the twins burst into her room. They had been woken initially by Nana’s barking but the cries of out rage from their father had been the final straw. Upon hearing that Peter Pan was once again in the house they broke forth, determined to see him. Mr. and Mrs. Darling shuffled back in surprise as they pushed them aside, coming to a stop before Wendy. Three inquisitive faces blinked in Peter’s direction. It was at almost precisely the same moment that they simultaneously recognised each other. The three young boys became instantly giddy, delighted that their captain had returned, Peter however, was quite a different story.

He pulled away from them as they neared. He was increasingly uncomfortable with his increased height. He now towered above the pre-pubescent younger boys. He recognised something of his ‘old’ face in them. The soft, round features, the immature, button like noses. Appalled at the changes ravaging his body he stepped around them, placing Wendy’s body between them and himself.

Michael visibly wilted. “Peter, don’t you remember us?” He asked, sounding even more childish than he appeared.

Wendy glanced at the once proud boy now practically cowering behind her. She instantly recognised the fear in his eyes. She smiled reassuringly at him, opting not to take his hand after glancing at her father. “Of course he does, Michael…but Peter’s feeling poorly tonight. Why don’t you and the twins go back to bed and you can see him tomorrow.” She nodded in encouragement. Michael and the ever complaint twins frowned before taking one last glance at Peter and exiting the room.

Wendy took a deep breath before turning to face her parents again. “Father it’s true. He’s ill…and he cut his hand.” Wendy glanced in the direction of Peter’s bandaged hand. “I couldn’t leave him. It would be unlady like.”

“Don’t you presume to-” George began before his wife stopped him.

“Of course not Wendy.” She walked towards her daughter smiling serenely. Peter, his usual distrust of mother’s shining true, backed away in kind. Mrs. Darling observed him sadly before turning once more to Wendy. “Why don’t you explain everything to your father while I make sure Peter’s hand is all right.”

Wendy looked back at Peter, her doubt obvious. He seemed to be silently begging her not to leave him alone but what choice did she have? She needed to explain to her father. “All right.” She replied wearily, nodding gently to Peter.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Peter fidgeted on the chair in the Darling’s sitting room. He picked at his ragged trousers, at his bandage at anything to keep from looking at the lady sitting across from him. He could hear Wendy and her father talking loudly in the drawing room next door, but their voices were too muffled to make out any words.

“It’s been some time since you’ve visited, Peter.” He glanced up to find Mrs. Darling keenly observing him, the same serene smile on her lips.

He glanced around the room nervously, not quite sure she required an answer. Sighing, he shrugged. “I suppose. We don’t have clocks and calendars in Neverland.” He got to his feet and began inspecting the furniture in the room.

“Then how to you know how old you are?”

He looked at her sharply, quite certain she was making a point but not knowing if she was mocking him. He caught his newly unfamiliar refection in a mirror on the wall behind her. “I don’t.” He replied, walking past her to stare at himself once more. He sighed, disgusted at the changes he saw in himself. He looked so bizarre reflected in the Darling’s lavishly furnished house, he, a wild ‘boy’ with a dirty face and no shoes. He noticed Mrs. Darling watching him in the mirror. He wanted to scream at her to stop. How dare she look at him like that, with pity in her eyes. This was all her fault. If not for her Wendy would not have returned to London. She would have stayed with him in Neverland where they would have been young forever. But for her mother she had returned and nothing had been the same.

Any actions on his part were stopped by the drawing room door opening and Wendy and George entering. Mrs. Darling watched with half amusement, half apprehension as Peter’s face lit up at the sight of Wendy. Wendy too seemed pleased. This coupled with her husband’s pained and tired expression convinced her that Peter was staying, for tonight at least.

“Wendy?” Peter asked nervously, his attention solely fixed on her.

“Oh, Peter, father has said, that is if you want to…”She sighed, biting her lip. “You can stay.”

“Stay.” He began backing away from her, casting furtive glances to the window.

Wendy sensed his shift in emotion and reached out to him. “Not forever, Peter. Just until you feel better.” He did not seem convinced, as he began to edge towards a window, his breathing rapid and shallow. “Just stay tonight, Peter. Then, tomorrow, we can talk about your…changes.” She implored.

He looked down to his hand, pulling at the bandage. “Just tonight?”

“Yes, we won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.” She smiled brightly as Peter looked up, seemingly more up beat.

“All right, it quite late enough.” George interjected, a little uncomfortable with the looks being exchanged between the two young people. “To bed with everyone or we shall be fit for nothing tomorrow.” He walked uncomfortably to Peter’s side. “You can sleep in the elder boy’s room.” He informed Peter. “They are away apprenticing for the summer months.”

Peter eyed him suspiciously, his distrust of the man obvious. “Will you come with me, Wendy.” He asked.

“Certainly not! I-”

“George, dear.” Mrs. Darling interrupted her husband, hearing the innocence of Peter’s voice and understanding his request. “Wendy must go to her own bed, Peter.” She explained. Peter scowled and refused to make eye contact with her. “But I shall make sure you are comfortable.” She smiled brightly, even though Peter’s eyes were down cast.

“Come.” George insisted and ushered them all to bed.

.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Peter squirmed on the soft mattress. His back ached and he longed for his own cosy bed beneath the tree. The ceiling frightened him. It was so high and shadowed, not at all like the one in his home. There the tree’s roots twisted and curved across the low ceiling and he would imagine shapes in them until sleep took him. He pulled at the pyjamas Wendy’s mother had provided. They was heavy, over bearing and uncomfortably hot. With a grunt of frustration he sat up and pushed the covers off. He leapt from the bed and stripped the offending clothes from his body leaving behind only a pair of rough shorts he wore while swimming in the mermaid’s lagoon. He attempted to sleep for a little longer but Peter was never famed for his patience. Biting his lip he quietly stole across the room and to the door. Holding his breath he opened the wooden frame and crept into the hall. Slowly he ascended the stairs, wincing whenever a floorboard creaked beneath him. He made his way to Wendy’s room and quietly opened the door, watching what he knew to be her parent’s room intently. He stole into her refuge, closing the door behind him.

Wendy was not sleeping as he had expected her to be. In truth she was wide awake. The fact that Peter had returned, almost grown not with standing, and was sleeping downstairs was enough to prevent her any chance of rest. She sat up straight when she heard someone enter to room.

“Peter!” She hissed, pulling the blankets close. “What are you doing?”

He stopped in his tracks, remembering how Wendy’s mother had insisted he remain in John’s bed. “I…I couldn’t sleep.” He bit his lip, slowly edging closer to Wendy.

Wendy sighed. She remembered how Peter used to toss and turn in his sleep. He would mumble and cry out, fighting imaginary demons. She would sit with him through these nightmares, stroking his hair until he calmed down. Once she was reassured he was dreaming contentedly she would return to her own bed. She never spoke of the nightmares to Peter. In fact she wasn’t certain he remembered them himself. But still, she would have to convince him to remain in the elder boy’s room. He father would likely have him arrested if he found him in her room again. “Peter, you must return to your room.”

“It’s not my room!” He retorted forcefully, careful to keep his voice low. “I don’t live here…” He added softly.

“Oh I know that, Peter.” She slipped from her covers and approached him, smiling sadly. “But you must do as father asks. He does not approve of you being in my room.”

“Why?” Peter whined, sounding immensely childish.

Wendy could not help but smile. In essentials Peter would never change. She mulled over the question, wondering how best to phrase her response. “Well…things are different in England, Peter. It’s not…proper for you to be here.”

“What’s wrong with me?” He asked haughtily, looking down his nose at her.

“It’s a little hard to explain…girls and boys, they…well, oh…I don’t know Peter. It is silly.” She smiled at him, hoping to appease him. “But while you stay here you must not anger father. All right?” She looked up at him awaiting a response.

Peter pouted, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine.” He mumbled, although he did not make a move to exit her room.

“How about I make sure you’re comfortable down there?” She nodded, wishing she could talk to him but knowing the consequences of such actions.

Peter sighed long and hard, a long suffering look on his face. “If you wish.”

So together they descended the creaking stairs. Peter lamenting on how it was similar to many of their adventures, some of the mischief returning to his eyes. Silently they re-entered the boy’s room. Wendy chuckled as Peter tripped over the discarded pyjamas he had left balled on the floor. “Come on, to bed with you.” She attempted to sound commanding.

Peter moaned low in his throat, making a face at the soft mattress. “I don’t like it.” He whined. “It’s like sleeping on a cloud, all soft and lumpy…it makes my back ache.” Of course he was used to his own bed under the tree. Though covered in furs it was still more supportive of the soft down mattress.

“Well, how about this then.” Wendy began stripping the bed and pulling all the linens onto the floor. In less than a minute she had a bed that more resembled a nest prepared for Peter on the floor. “We had to all do this after we came back from Neverland. It took Nibs months to get used to a mattress.”

Peter eyed the make shift bed suspiciously before flopping unceremoniously onto the floor. He rearranged the covers as he saw fit until he was quite comfortable. Settled, he glanced up at Wendy. “Thanks.”

She beamed at him. “Oh the cleverness of me!” Peter grinned playfully up at her. She blushed and forced herself to look away. “Well…” She shifted on her feet uncomfortably. “I’ll be off then, good-”

“You’re leaving?!” Peter sat up straight.

“Yes Peter, I said-”

He interrupted her explanation. “Wendy! Please…I…” He glanced around the dark room, ashamed of his pleading tone.

Wendy sighed, coming to kneel next to him. She knew she could not possibly understand how strange and, frankly, terrifying this must be to Peter. In Neverland he was a force to be reckoned with, he had had a miniature army of followers, he had been known and respected…but in London, he was the lost boy. Everything was new and unusual to him, he was probably terrified. Not to mention the changes he was going through. Wendy knew Peter never wanted to grow up. He hated everything it represented and yet here he was, his body going through frightening changes and nothing he, or anybody else could do about it. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.” She pulled the covers around herself to stave off the cold.

Peter smiled crookedly before lying back. He shifted a little until comfortable before turning to look at Wendy. She blushed once more as he held her gaze but this time did not look away. She reminded herself not to read anything into it. Peter had always been like that, he was not shy about eye contact. He had often looked at her, a question in his eyes, as she did ‘unusual’ things…like darning socks, washing her hands, things he himself could not do or was not bothered with. As she gazed back at him she was amazed at how little he had fundamentally changed. While his body had moulded itself into that of a young man his eyes retained their innocence. He looked up at her unashamedly even as sleep took him and his eye lids became impossible heavy. His last thoughts were of Wendy and her warm, comforting presence. As Wendy reluctantly left him sleeping she worried he would suffer nightmares alone…she need not of bothered. For the first time in many, many months Peter’s dreams were untroubled.

New Year....

Wed, 07 Jan 2004 21:21:10 GMT

Well, here it is. I finally got a live journal. I don't know why it struck me, I suppose it was after someone suggested I join a livejournal group in a review. I don't know how you'll take this Northlight but you've inspired me to start this! I'm pleased anyway. As I write this I'm systematically deleting most of my older fics. I just don't see myself finishing them in the near future and I see it as unfair to leave them posted in such an unfinished state.
It's still sad though. I wish I could leave them, rather I wish I had time to finish them but I guess it's not that big a deal. They're all saved, along with all the reviews I recieved. It still hurts to delete them.
I guess I see it as motivation towards finishing my other fics. The ones still posted are the ones I truly, truly love so I'm definately going to finish them!
So what I've left to finish are Operation X (my X-Men Evo fic), Deadly Alliances (Invader Zim) and my two Peter Pan fics, Erosion of Neverland and London Calling.
So, that set the ball rolling! I don't know how often I'll
up-date this or how I'll even use it! (I'm just so organised, right?!) but it's nice to know it's here, even if no-one notices but me!
And so I shall say farewell, although I'm probably talking to myself! If anyone happens to be reading this feel free to make a comment on anything, how much of a wuss I am for crying over deleted stories, how silly I am for having four stories running at once or how the weather is where you are! All are welcome!

Have a good New Year!

Ánachia