Sunday, 1 January 2012

Part one of something fun.

as with everything I write, language warning, from the third line. 


“Captains log, Stardate 21…”
“Oh for fucks sake…” Muttered the Captain, under her breath, brushing the dust off her trousers, and up-righting herself and the chair she was previously sitting on. “That better not be Georgie and Luna again…”


“Captains log, Stardate 2183…”
“Captain?” The Captain who wished he still wore blue, sighed.
“Yes ensign?”
The young recruit gulped.
“We may have a minor problem…”


“Captain Pine?”
“Yes Ambassador Felis?”
“Look at this…” Said the ambassador, showing the captain.




note - all of the header fonts are from here. 

I'll explain the reasons behind the choices as time goes on.

Thursday, 29 December 2011

Wednesday, 28 December 2011

Words cannot describe how I feel
Seeing her smile
Once again
Thanks to our friend, now her love
Overjoyed should probably come close.

Knowing why she smiles, knowing how they feel
It’s a new feeling, I’ll say that.
Love is wonderful, and being in it, is exhilarating.
Never have two deserved each other as much.
Never have two turned the world so pink!

Also, a purple wedding dress
Is on its way
A suit to match
And flowers too
Pencils pens and software chips
My meagre donation to this happiness

Winter is coming, but it’s a bright thing here.
It means time inside, time together.
It means Christmas is closer, the new year too.
This may be winter, but its soon to be spring.

Tuesday, 27 December 2011


I am beautiful.
I personally prefer wearing make up, but I look fine without.

Women are told thats its a very good thing to be beautiful.
But only so long as they stay "pure".

Men are... well, what are they told? Most every compliment, it seems.
And staying "pure" is a negative thing.

So, I am beautiful.
So... so what?
how is this going to get me through life?
Perhaps I could model, but I have very little desire to have to deal with parties and drugs and fame and fakery.
I have no confidence to act, or ability to sing...
and, while on the topic of singing, why is it such a bad thing to sing or look like the opposite gender?
My only talent is arguing. And possibly drawing, but that is just practice.
But, I don't have the people skills to be a politician.
I'm currently facing the facts that I may have to drop out of school. Which, as someone who has always prized intelligence over everything, is... well, I am trying so hard not to cry.

but it's okay.
I am beautiful.
And pretty
And have nice hair... once its been dyed and curled and shined and faked.
But my eyes are nice, and my skin reasonably clear.
so, I shall have a perfect life, from this.

*thinks again*
But, I guess I will be okay, even if what I love and need isn't here right now. *smiles*

Friday, 9 December 2011

NOT ME, NOT MINE. well. I added some words.

DISCLAIMER: I did not write this. Used  this here link to make it.
another name change, sorry.

Sue knew Bob was different from the other boys at school.

She noticed it the very first time she laid eyes on him - there was something about the way he fastly sat his head when he stood. Also, he seemed to have an unusual knowledge about geography. And just last Tuesday after maths, she saw him run in heels.

There was something else she knew: she was in love with him. But she didn't know how to win his affections, for he was always cold and distant.
One night, Sue was reading a book about paranormal creatures when she realized the truth: Bob was a fairy!
The next day after class, Sue saw Bob head off into Oz. ''It's now or never,'' she told herself with resignation, and jogged after him.
When she caught up to him, he was standing behind colum.
''Bob, it's me, Sue. I... I have to tell you something... I love you!''
He sighed deeply and shuffled toward her. ''Oh, Sue, there are things you don't understand about me.''
''I know more than you think,'' she breathed. ''I know that you're a fairy.''
''It's more complicated than that,'' he said, staring into her hard eyes. ''Love between your kind and mine is forbidden. They would destroy us both if they knew.''
''I don't care,'' Sue said. ''I could never live without you.''
''Truly,'' she answered.
He reached up and gently caressed her heart in his wooden hands. ''I love you, too,'' he whispered.And then he kissed her. His kisses were like small intestines-scented pillows upon her lips.The days and weeks that followed were lovely. They fondled boobs, ate grass, and they ate. It seemed that nothing could come between them.One night while tumblr, a thunder was heard from outside the bedroom window. ''They've found us,'' Bob whispered solemnly. Sue sighed. ''At least we've had this short time together.''''I won't let them take you from me,'' he promised.
As soon as he spoke, the enemy's leader burst through the door. ''Stand aside!'' the leader ordered Bob .''Never! She is my true love, and you will not take her from me!'' Bob stood defiantly between Sue and the leader.
''Then you will both die!''
The leader lunged forward, but Bob stood his ground. With a yodeling, he met the leader head-on. In a swift move, Sue ripped off the leader's arm and kicked him in the bum. Mortally wounded, the leader gasped and died.Seeing their mighty leader fall to Bob's strength, his underlings panicked and ran away, disappearing into the night.''That was amazing,'' Sue breathed.
Bob leaned down and gently brushed his lips against hers, his small intestines-scented breath caressing her cheek. ''Your love for me gave me the strength I needed. Now, everything is perfect.''''Almost perfect...''
''Everything would be perfect if you made me like you. I know you can do it.''
''Are you sure? If I did this, you'd never be able to the high amount of peoples boobs on tumblr again.''
''I'm sure,'' she breathed.
Bob smutted Sue's penis, allowing his very essence to flow into her body. She sighed, then laughed.Soon, the transformation was complete. Sue was now an edible fairy, just like Bob. Everything truly was perfect.The End.

Sunday, 20 November 2011

No regrets

Octalistas wedding! what I shall be wearing (or, something else.)
scary shitz peeps. And its okay for me to have it here,
as it's not what I shall be wearing =P
The brilliantly adorbz Lydia!!

Saturday, 19 November 2011

This is now my new art style

I don't even...
LEGOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, who inspired all this shizz

Florence Black, who asked

Isabella Midnight, who I think may have also asked.

Queen Kallista!! 

Because there is no fun in being good

1) Because I want this dress IRL. 2) Because I am naturally blonde. 3) Niall, injokes, red dresses, distraction techniques.

Sunday, 13 November 2011


 Now, all five of these lads have made an impact on my life, some more than others, and one very much in particular.

I love being me. Its so damn fun...
oh what would you all do without me?



Nialline! I can't say anything PG about this, I just can't.

I DO have a story behind this, like everything I do............................

tbh, I think this says it all

Chanora, at the request of Octalina

Pyra, version 2

Wednesday, 19 October 2011


She’d ‘forgotten’ her P.E. kit again. What a shame. After all, there was nothing like running aimlessly out in the freezing cold whilst being shouted at by a ‘teacher’ in a parka. Or being glared at by your classmates because you let a goal in due to the fact you were daydreaming about whatever world had taken your fancy… 

Art wouldn’t take her at this time. No point, she hadn’t her book. She hadn’t any book aside from her physics textbook. Which was why she’d forgotten the others – so focused on remembering that one, the others had slipped her mind. So, quickly, trying so hard not to run, she went to the only place of solitude and joy she knew. The library.
Well, library was her name for it. The schools real library was bright and modern and soulless. She’d been rather depressed when she’d started that year and found the vile metal shelves and the sheer noise of the place. So, she had gone looking. Always, in any older school, there was a place to hide and read. So she looked. Every lunchtime, every breaktime, she’d looked. She had gotten told off more than her fair share. It didn’t deter her; nothing could, so she kept looking. Until, eventually, she found it. And it was beautiful. She had hoped for a small forgotten cloakroom, at best. Instead she’d found heaven in a schoolhouse. Wooden shelves reached the dark ceiling, and covered all but one window. That one window spilled light all over, making the air glitter and hover. Time was solid and still here. As she traced the spines, she noticed something odd. While some were as dusty as she expected, others were brushed clean, and seemed to be recently read. This explained the leather armchair in the corner, just out of the light, and close enough to the single radiator to keep warm in the upcoming winter months. She walked over to the chair, and knelt to read the spine of the book propping it up. poetry of some form or another. It was a good enough place to start as any. 

                     WEEKS LATER

She walked up the stairs to their library, hands in pockets and smiling guiltily. She was skipping maths for this, and she couldn’t wait. She knew what book she planned to read next, and had brought one from home to lend to the boy. She couldn’t wait to see him either.


She stopped, frozen. When did this happen? When did a boy mean as much to her as books? She didn’t even know his name, and yet here she was, about to allow him to touch one of her most beloved items. What madness was this? Still, she walked faster, skipping up the steps. The door, ancient and wooden, stood slightly ajar. She walked as fast as she could towards it, even now unwilling to run. Her fingers closed on the doorknob, and she stopped and closed her eyes, savouring the moment. This, she realised, was the first time she was looking forward to a new term. She swore to herself that she’d know his name by the end of the day, and his favourite book, and song, and lesson and everything she wanted to know. She was looking forward to meeting that boy as much as she was looking forwards to sinking into the cracked leather.
Nodding to herself, she opened the door and her eyes, smiling warmly.
And her heart broke.
“No.” she whispered, hearing the sound of feet behind her. “No…”

okay... bad day at school when I wrote this... 

Wednesday, 12 October 2011


*sighs* the things we do for love...

I, Venice Rain, say that Gepard Valk may have Flo, so that he will return Niall back to me.

Monday, 10 October 2011

Purple (frozen) Roses

A young woman watched the tourists walk by from inside the café where she sat, overlooking the Seine and with the Louvre nearby. It was early spring, so they were few and far between, but she could spot them. Looking sneakily at maps and squinting at signs, pretending that they knew where they were going. Most were French or English, attracted by the late snow. According to some sources, this was only going to get more and more common – late winters, rainy summers, scorching autumns. Still, Paris was Paris, whatever the weather. Children cried and played, women flirted, men sat hunched over their lap-tops and newspapers, and teenagers held hands and kissed guiltily in the diminishing light. She sighed. She was hardly older than the two holding hands walking down the slush filled street, the brittle winter winds tousling their hair.
She missed London. She missed the way the people rushed to place to place, never giving her a second glance. Winter felt so right there, especially when it snowed. No one worked, everyone smiled together, no matter whom. They stayed inside with their families, and only the brave or lonely ventured out. She missed the snow; she’d spent so much time in it, after all…
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and she hadn’t noticed how white her knuckles had gone from gripping the now cold mug of hot chocolate in front of her. She sipped it while scanning the other patrons of the café’s along the road. Outside the café two shops down, a man about her age was sitting and watching a laptop with a bored expression on the little of his face she could see peeking out from his hat and scarf combo. In the café opposite, she saw a woman wiping the condensation off the window with a black sleeve, revealing another two girls with her, younger, but not in school uniform. She nodded to herself, and got up to leave, reaching for her wallet. A waiter wandered slowly over, and she took him in. He was cute enough, she supposed, just not her type. Not that she had a type… but still, something was off about him. He had an ink splodge or two on his hands, and more than one pen in his pockets. And purple socks. As he walked over, another one of the patrons looked up, a boy of 14 with brown hair and a devilishly cheeky look in his eyes. None the less, she paid and calmly walked up the street, anxious to get away. She passed the man on the laptop, who was clearing his glasses that had fogged in the cold. Now, he was her type. He looked up and smiled at her, and she smiled back without a second thought. She saw him grin guiltily and blush beneath his hat. Smiling to herself, she carried on down the road towards the Champ de Mars.

Wednesday, 5 October 2011

this is titled as 'people running'. How original....

People running, people screaming, thousands of faces, but none I want to see. Want? Need. I never had a choice.
Red dyes the streets, falling from those harmed by their beliefs.
“RUN” someone shouts. Not…her but a good voice none the less. So I run. I follow the voice, still shouting above the crowds and I herd the panicked along with me. I feel no fear, it left me when she went. But no time for this, for time is forever against us all. The chaos around me swirls and swells and the screams of thousands fills up my ears.
But then I hear. I hear Her voice and I don’t know how or why or even what she is saying but I push against the crowds towards the place where even the brave are running from. Because that is where she is. And I still don’t care I just run faster. And as my saviours scream my name I run towards the sound pushing against the current. And I’m no longer racing through bodies but over them, over the brave and the slow, the strong and the weak, those who dared to believe and died for it. And now there is nothing before me but a wall of death. And I search; I search for her eyes and her voice. But all I hear is an order. And everything is swirling and black and so quiet.