When life gives you lemons...

NEW STORY

Sat, 05 Apr 2008 15:42:39 GMT

I have become obsessed with FMA and have created a new fanfiction- which I'm hoping to finish this time round XD I'll have approximately 7 chapters and I'm currently about halfway through the fourth- (although not very well...)

But here's the first part of the first chapter/day anyway

Chapter 1- Thursday

“Ok class, we’ve got about 3 minutes left- I want you all to complete the question on the board,” Miss Higgins instructed with a voice like a drill sergeant. Edward joined the groan which broke out around Central High’s Class 2A and he looked unhappily at the slide that had been projected on the whiteboard.

‘Calculate the empirical formula of a compound containing calcium and oxygen when oxygen is 16.6 percent’. Ed’s immediate grievances were lost at the words and he felt a chuckle rise to his throat as pulled out a particularly useful bit of information from the depths of his memory. Cheerfully he wrote out the chemical formula for quicklime- one of those lovely, quintessential alchemy elements.

The blond to his right eyed him warily, “what’s so funny?”

“Nothing Russell,” Ed replied innocently, finishing the curl of his ‘O’ with a small flourish and pocketing his pen smoothly.

Russell glared and his eyes lowered to Ed’s paper. “Hey!” He exclaimed, “How can you have done it already?”

“It’s just skill,” Ed sighed, leaning back and buffing his nails on his black school shirt.

“Sure it i… wait a minute…” Russell blinked, “That’s… you’re supposed to work it out, you little cheat!”

“WHO ARE YOU CALLING SO LITTLE HE’D BE CRUSHED BY ONE OF HIS OWN BRAIN CELLS?” Ed roared.

“ELRIC! DETENTION!” the teacher screamed back, but was drowned out by the lunch bell and the subsequent stampeding students. Ed, bag and folder beneath his arm, jumped into the crowd and ducked through the door before the angry woman could call him back.

In record time the two second years made it to the heavily packed lunchroom and immediately they made a beeline for a table to the far right. Ed wrestled his folder into his bag, and ignored the glares burning into his back as they crossed the room.

At a table made for eight, nine sat in a misshapen circle and two chairs were waiting empty. Ed gladly occupied the seat next to Alphonse and Russell took the chair two seats up, next to his own brother.

“Hello people,” Ed greeted with the air of someone quite satisfied with themselves.

“What are you so happy about?” Roy Mustang asked suspiciously before sipping from a cherry-red can.

“Nothing,” Ed answered, digging through his backpack for lunch.

“He just escaped another detention Colonel,” Russell provided, although it was slightly muffled as somehow he was already halfway through a sandwich.

“Do I need to ask?” Roy asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Just the usual Colonel” Russell replied cheerfully, Roy sighed.

“Hey Al did I…” Ed stared down at the box that had been slid across the table.

“You forgot it this morning,” Al told him.

“I love you little brother,” Ed informed him with a grin, quickly prying open his large bento box to devour the contents. Al ignored the gorging beside him and turned to his right, his ponytail swaying with the small action.

“Have we got Maths next?”

“Yep,” Fletcher Tringham replied, “I think we’ve got a supply today though…”

“A supply?” Jean Havoc asked, turning away from the homework tutoring he was receiving from Kain Fuery, “Is it that really hot one? The one with all the” Havoc made an hourglass gesture with his hands, “curves?”

“I don’t know,” Fletcher replied, eyeing the man warily.

“Ooo, I know the one you mean!” Heymans Breda exclaimed, “The blonde one who always wears skirts and heels,”

“Oh Miss Kelly!” Roy supplied helpfully, “yes she is a beautiful example of the female specimen,” he proclaimed dreamily.

“HEY! HOW COME YOU KNOW HER FIRST NAME?” Havoc lamented loudly.

Roy leaned back in a quixotic pose, “Oh, we went to a nice little Italian restaurant a few weeks ba…”

“WHAT!” Several voices crushed over his sentence.

As the group around him got drawn into the discussion, Fuery make the mistake of starting a conversation with the person on his left.

“So er… Major. Are you well?” he asked the imposing man politely.

The major turned his head towards the smaller boy slowly and Fuery realised that somehow he’d made another conversational mishap, “Am I well Sergeant?” the major boomed, “Do my beautiful muscles not sing with perfect health?” ‘Major’ Alex Armstrong demanded, his shirt landing on the head of some poor girl sitting innocently behind him. “Listen to their healthy swell! Listen!” The muscled teen pushed his arm so far into the bespectacled boy’s face it pushed against his nose, and flexed it expertly. The man positively sparkled.

Ed sighed and looked away from the frighteningly common spectacle to survey the crowds. The population of Central’s dining hall seemed quite content to stare at the half-naked teen, they were no doubt enjoying the lunchtime entertainment. However on the opposite side of the room there was someone who didn’t consider themselves a part of the common population; he was Envy Homunculus.

The purple-eyed teen was grinning at Ed across the sea of students and when Ed caught his gaze he gave a mock-salute. Ed glared back and raised a single middle finger in response, carefully maintaining a countenance which screamed ‘I hate you’ at every angle. Unfortunately this only seemed to amuse the other further. Ed scowled and looked pointedly back at his friends where Roy caught his gaze.

“I think the Homunculi are going to propose a fight,” Roy noted from across the table. The words caused an inactivity to spread amongst the group; they stopped heckling, muscle-flexing, retreating so far back that they were almost laying on Havoc’s lap and whatever other activities the group had been involved in. Instead they turned their heads to face Roy, and the dining hall population, sensing that the entertainment was over, returned to its meals.

Edward nodded in agreement, “We’re only two days into the year, I think it’s a record,” he added.

Roy smirked, “well then; we should beat them to it. Havoc, Breda , suggest the old light warehouse on Gaol Street .”

“Yes Sir!” The two third years responded sharply and jumped to their feet smartly. As they marched away an undercurrent of whispers erupted beneath the room’s conversations and the Population realised that the entertainment had not yet ended. Ed listened absently to their excited hisses as he watched his two friends converse quietly with the four siblings sitting in the far left corner.

Lust Homunculus leant across the table to make some reply. Her shirt was unbuttoned, displaying an ample cleavage and a circular tattoo, and her black hair fell elegantly around her face. The two messengers appeared to stammer and Lust laughed at their embarrassment, before stating something quite firmly. Beside her Envy observed with unbridled amusement and Wrath pushed his bento box towards Gluttony. Ed hypothesised that the latter was probably to stop the obese teen from actually trying to eat the table he’d been gnawing on.

“Brother,” Ed looked back at Al, who was still staring across at the table.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think Wrath even touched that bento box,” he sounded a little worried and Ed had to roll his eyes. Leave it to his brother to get concerned over an enemy.

“Sure he did, he pushed it across the table to give it to Gluttony.” He sassed, aiming to divert his brother’s attention from his distress. It didn’t quite work.

“Brother you know what I mean!” Al replied with some annoyance.

“He probably just saw Gluttony eating- that’s enough to put anyone off their food,” Ed said flippantly.

Al couldn’t deny the truth; after all, he had pushed his own dinner away at the sight of Gluttony’s demolishment of food. “Yeah,” Al looked down at his hands.

“Oi, cheer up. Mum said she was cooking miso ramen tonight!” Ed told him, nudging the younger boy in the side.

“That’s good,” Al replied, his eyes brightening some. Ed smiled affectionately and absently pondered on how much of moron his brother was before Havoc and Breda returned.

“Well?” Roy inquired patiently, his empty can still grasped between his fingers.

“They agreed for tonight after school,” Havoc reported, sitting back down in front of his homework.

Roy opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted before the words even made it out of his mouth, “and how are you planning on explaining this to Father, Colonel?” Riza Hawkeye asked calmly, her hair was pulled gently into a clip but some how it didn’t manage to soften the disapproving features of her face. “You know fighting is prohibited without a reason.”

“Now now, what hot-blooded young man needs a reason to fight?” Roy responded exaggeratedly, his hands spreading outwards.

Riza turned away from him, “One that might just lose his position, Colonel” she replied, her tone deceptively light. She bit delicately into the apple piece she’d just expertly sliced.

“Relax… I’ll just say they started it,” Roy responded flippantly, leaning back in his seat. Riza stared at him for moment before she turned away and proceeded to ignore him, “Riza? Riza come on… they’d only come up with a reason anyway- and isn’t it better to fight on our own turf?”

“It’s Lieutenant,” Riza informed Roy coldly, still demolishing her apple in small, efficient bites.

“Bu… but… I can’t change it now!” the young colonel exclaimed hopelessly.

“I’m well aware of that,” Riza’s expression didn’t change.

“Come on Riz… forgive me?”

“Lieutenant.” Riza repeated smartly.

“Come on- please? I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll do all my paperwork on Saturday!” Roy pleaded, Riza observed him for a second before sighing.

“Wait for me after Maths, you can drive me down,” she told him.

“I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me for long,” Roy crowed triumphantly. He seemed to miss the smirk that flickered over the young woman’s face. Ed didn’t, and found that he was slightly worried at her ability to wrap the colonel round her finger without the man realising it at all.

“I’ve got to go, I promised to meet Winry at one,” Riza informed her superior. She kissed the man on the cheek and left. Silence followed her departure as the whole table stared at their colonel and Roy pressed a hand to his cheek dotingly.

“…what just happened?” Havoc asked blankly. No-one answered him, but instead waited for Roy ’s response. Unfortunately the teen was too busy sighing to notice.

Eventually Vato Falman reached past Breda to smack the back of his hand against Roy ’s forehead. “Oi, answer the question,” he said briskly.

“Huh, what?” Roy ’s head darted round in various directions, catching the gazes of his friends, “what question?”

“The question where we all wanna know what the hell just happened,” Ed supplied, still surprised.

“She kissed me,” Roy replied, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“Yeah but why?” Havoc retorted.

“Oh yeah, you guys don’t know,” suddenly Roy became very smug and pressed the tips of fingers together smoothly. Ed briefly speculated where the can had disappeared to.

“There’s no way she agreed to date you!” Havoc exclaimed disbelieving. He was backed by murmurs of agreement from the table’s occupants.

“…Wait,” the colonel blinked, “…none of you think I could date Riza?” Roy asked, equally disbelieving.

“Nope,” Breda replied brusquely.

“Sorry sir…” Fuery trailed off with an apologetic smile.

The rest of the table also gave their own kinds of negative responses.

“My guess was it was a dare… or a bet,” Falman concluded.

“More likely a bet,” Havoc replied, nodding sagely, “Lieutenant wouldn’t do something like that for nothing,” Roy stared round at his friends in shock, “hey anyone for a game of footie?” Havoc continued, looking away from the colonel and round at the others.

“Yeah I’m game,” Falman replied, standing as Havoc retrieved the ball at his feet.

“I’d never refuse a chance to train my beautiful physique,” Armstrong declared, still yet to return his school shirt to its rightful place.

“Nothing else to do,” Russell admitted.

“Could do with the exercise,” Breda conceded.

Fuery gave a small shrug and a smile, “I guess so,”

“I will, you coming Al?” Ed added his bit.

“Mmm, I will if Fletcher will,”

“I’ll come.”

The group of boys quickly packed away their lunch boxes, shouldered their bags and trudged out of the hall leaving a stunned Roy behind. “Hey! Wait a minute, you damn subordinates! Have you no faith in me at all?”

Sat, 19 Jan 2008 16:52:12 GMT

Everything accomplished! Yay! And I've done my psychology exam ^^

Mon, 31 Dec 2007 15:57:25 GMT

Ok... I'm not gonna moan, I'm not gonna moan
All ever seem to be doing on here is whinging XD
Probably cuz I can't seem to find anything else to say O.o

Erm... to do lists are always good ne? ^__^
To Do List:
~~Proofread Prim-and-Proper Iceburg~~
Type up Itachi-centric story for 3660round
Complete english Drunk story
Draw Totoro picture (and paint)

Sun, 04 Nov 2007 22:06:26 GMT

Mark and Kira are finally together- wootie woo...and I may actually be starting to write a multi-chaptered fic... well 6 but yeah... NaruSasu again,
Naruto is a single-paerent, clubowner, business open uni student. Sasuke turns up on his doorstep in hiding from Orochimaru- drug-lord and business man- twist? he's pretending to be a woman.
Got it all planned out... well vaguely. The timeline needs perfecting- and I need to work out when to bring Shino in...
14th Dec- Sasuke arrives, Orochimaru's out on bail
13th Jan- Orochimaru's trial

15th December- Naruto goes to Uni- Friday?.... Shino comes into talk about supplies.
Hiding from ex-girlfriend? ...when?- Christmas dinner shopping.
Sasuke sees second tattoo after Naruto comes out of the shower- before Xmas.

KakaIru NaruSasu

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 11:26:14 GMT

First KakaIru up- have had some good feedback on that one- which is good ^___^
Also my NaruSasu smut- which I posted just on a whim (whim heehee Sasuke) has gained itself 10 reviews!!! I'm very proud, I've even posted it here, although its success remains to be seen...

Sun, 14 Oct 2007 10:10:55 GMT

I've had reivews ^___^ on both here and ff.net- yay ^^*lil cutsie smile here*

OMG COLLEGE

Sat, 13 Oct 2007 20:42:56 GMT

Urgh, can't believe its been 9 weeks since I last updated this....
But yeah wahatever

Naruto rocks ^_____^

BAHH

Sun, 05 Aug 2007 12:58:56 GMT

Been a while so I thought I'd bounce in and scream hi!
Life is boredom... oh joyousness! Got to the point where I asked my mum for work... be afraid, be very afraid
And also very bad block for SasuNaruSasu drabble- why on earth would Sasuke lose sanity apart from teaming up with Orochimaru? (Cuz' its too cliche?)
Grr...
And a lovely picture of Marcus!

Wed, 18 Jul 2007 16:07:56 GMT

Exams firmly, long over.
Am now a happy bunny... kinda. An icredibly lazy bunny anyway.
Manga/anime taking over life
starting to write again- sweet sweet inspiration
damn naruto... damn bleach....
damn printer won't in-bloody-stall, and the meat cravings are coming back. This is a good thing as I have been wanting ramen since I started watching bloody Naruto and we have no noodles (insert sob here).
Ok leaving now

ARGH

Tue, 22 May 2007 16:52:49 GMT

AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH EXAMS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mon, 09 Apr 2007 18:42:26 GMT

Ha four chapters, 11,000 words and no reviews- story of my life.

xenith

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 16:59:16 GMT

http://quiz.ravenblack.net/blood.pl?biter=Xenith

Sat, 03 Feb 2007 10:12:47 GMT

I'm putting this everywhere lol
Chemistry- Monday
Exp. Arts- Friday
English- Monday/Friday
ICT- Friday (EEK!!!)
Spanish!- Thursday
Maths:Statistics- Friday

Sun, 14 Jan 2007 19:30:05 GMT

Ahhhhhh I've posted my first fanfic! lol

Understanding

“Sir I’m goin…” Ianto looked at his boss suspiciously as he noticed the bottle on the desk and the glass in his hand, “Jack, are you drunk?” He asked cautiously. His captain looked up at him and grinned devilishly before looking back at his hand

“I should hope so, else that was a waste of some bloody good whiskey.” Jack replied, not taking his eyes from his hand, which was curved away from Ianto. His curiosity getting the better of him Ianto stepped forwards to see what fascinated his leader. His eyes widened in surprise as he sees the blood pooling in the middle. A quick look at the corner of the desk proved his theory. “I think these metal desks might be slightly hazardous.” Jack admitted, still grinning.

“I’ll get some bandages, sir.” Ianto inwardly sighed, glad for an excuse to stay at work.

“No need Ianto. You go on home, you could do with some rest- you look like death warmed up.” The older man told him, Ianto turned to face him “Thanks.” He said sarcastically and left the office. Jack sighed as he was left alone once more and stared back at his hand. A few moments later he realised that the door into headquarters hadn’t opened which meant Ianto was still in the hub. A quick check of his watch told him that the young Welshman was in autopsy. Despite the slither of guilt for taking up Ianto’s free time he still grinned, he allowed himself some, slightly bittersweet, amusement at Ianto’s persistence of cleaning everything up before he left- including his boss.

He was still grinning when Ianto returned. The unofficial butler of the group eyed his leader warily before making his way over to him. Jack stretched out his hand to him palm up. Ianto took it gently and pursed his lips as looked over it. Taking one of the pads he’d brought up he delicately mopped up most of the blood. Taking a second he dipped it in a mug of steaming water, squeezed out the excess, and began wiping off the blood that had been left behind. Once he’d finished cleaning he secured a bandage in place.

“All done, sir.” He told him promptly.

“Ianto, what would I do without you?”

“Live in a pigsty I expect, sir” Ianto replied without hesitation.

“Most likely, after all, who else would tidy up after us?”

“A maid, perhaps, sir?” Jack frowned at him and persisted.
“Or make the perfect coffee just when you need it?”

“I don’t know about perfect sir.” Ianto admitted, but Jack ignored it in favour of continuing his ramblings.

“And who else would make sure Tosh remembers to eat? Or clean up after Owen and Gwen when they’ve relieved their frustrations in the bathroom?” Ianto blinked in surprise and open his mouth to reply but was again ignored. “And who else am I meant to imagine bending over the table in the conference room when the meetings start to drag?”

“What?” Ianto exclaimed, his mouth was left open in shock, Jack seemed oblivious to the Welshman’s surprise and continued.

“It’s hardly going to be Owen is it? Gwen’s far too tied up in her own little soap opera to be useful even as a fantasy and, don’t get me wrong, Tosh is a lovely girl, but she’s just that little too uptight for the conference table don’t you think?” Ianto didn’t reply, still too surprised at his boss’s sudden confessions. Jack finally looked over at him, a wicked grin stretched across his features, “whereas you…” Jack left the words hanging letting the younger man use his imagination, which could be very creative if the blush was anything to go by.

“I think you’ve drank too much, sir, perhaps you should sleep it off.” Ianto suggested a little coldly, his polite demeanour harshened slightly and it was clear that Jack had over stepped some boundary.

“You always know best.” Jack replied, a minor flippant, “You should take tomorrow off Ianto, I’m not blind, I can see you wince every time you sit down.”

“It’s nothing, sir.” Ianto answered, “Just bruises; they won’t interfere with my work.”

“I know.” Jack told him, “It’s not your efficiency I’m worried about, it’s you.” Ianto eyes widened slightly before looking away from the captain’s knowing gaze.

“I’m fine.” He reported softly

“No you’re not- you were nearly killed and eaten, how can you be fine?” Jack exclaimed, “You weren’t meant to be in today, I told you to stay at home, rest up. Why did you come in?” Ianto went quiet for several minutes, until the silence grew uncomfortable.

“Because I have nothing else left…sir.” The Welshman finally admitted. Jack stared at him for several moments before pushing himself up and striding over to him as steadily as he could. He grabbed Ianto around the waist before he could protest and pressed his lips against the younger’s. Ianto squirmed in his arms in the attempt to break free but all he managed was a delicious friction that Jack’s body found hard to ignore.

It was hard for Jack to discern exactly when Ianto went from pushing him away to pulling him closer, or when his lips went from resistant to forceful but it was what he’d been waiting for. Finally everything that Ianto had been bottling up side himself came pouring out: his anger, his loneliness, his pain, his fear- Jack swallowed them all, trying to easy it away with steady lips and a caressing tongue.

This night was so different to the one he’d planned: get drunk, wallow in self-pity and disgust and try to forget that he nearly lost his whole team yesterday. Instead he was sucking pouty lips and trying to stroke away someone else’s suffering. Except Ianto’s movements were becoming a little less desperate and Jack could almost feel him detach himself from his emotions. Ianto pulled back and released Jack’s hair and shirt from his vice grip. His breathing was short, ragged gasps against his cheek as he stared into his captain’s eyes- head still reeling from his loss of control.

Jack saw it in his eyes before he did anything- his intent to leave- and the ex-pilot was hit with a sudden irrational fear of being left alone tonight, and somehow he couldn’t just that fear push aside like he always did. Not when there was this beautiful body in his arms and his breath was still being shorn from his chest in fast, almost brutal, pants. Not when he could feel how swollen his lips were and his body was aching for more.
So before Ianto could say anything that would appeal to his better nature he pulled the younger man closer and buried his face in his neck, tasting the skin there.

“Sir!” Ianto gasped in surprise and Jack thought that it was possibly one of the most beautiful sounds his lilting accent had ever made. Ianto’s head fell back on reflex and Jack worshipped the smooth expanse of pale skin left on show.

Ianto knew that he had to leave before this got out of hand, before he did something he’d regret but he couldn’t quite find the words. Instead he gasped and moaned and any coherency that he may have found got lost on the way up his throat leaving only half-formed syllables to be exhaled.

Finally Jack pulled away and fixed him with a sincere and pleading gaze.

“Stay with me.” He beseeched and Ianto’s dazed mind could only nod in reply, all other thoughts lost in how much he needed this right now, no matter the consequences. This wasn’t enough for Jack and he continued “Please say you’ll stay.” He kissed a line up Ianto’s neck and Ianto had never realised how much of erogenous zone it was for him until Jack had kissed him there and left a trail of fire emblazoned on his skin, “say it for me Ianto, please say it.” It was almost like a mantra, but then the similar syllables all started to roll into one. “Please please please…” and how could Ianto refuse? Refuse the liquid whispers in his ears, refuse the growing need in the pit of his stomach, refuse the way Jack’s hips were grinding into his ever-so-slightly, refuse the way that made him arch and gasp softly? This subtle seduction was slowly driving his body higher and higher into a desperate need and Ianto didn’t think he could afford to lose it, not now.

“I’ll stay.” He exhaled; the taunting tension in their bodies was exhaled with his words. The burning kiss he received in return said thank you in a way words never could and all he could do was try keep up with the rapid movements of his captain’s mouth.

Jack felt his constraint rend like a dam and his need burst forward through his kiss. It was frantic, messy and careless and Ianto matched him step for step. He grinded himself desperately into the compliant body he held on to tightly. His groans were rough and his breathing uneven and his eyes were bright with lust. When Ianto groaned it sounded like it was being wrenched from his throat and his own breathing was so ragged you could almost believe he’d been running for miles.

Jack pulled back from the kiss and his head arched back as Ianto pulled neatly trimmed nails down his back, leaving marks the Jack was sure would still be there in the morning- despite the layer of clothing between his skin and Ianto’s fingernails. He looked back down and Ianto hissed at him his pupils wide with lust mixed with pain. Jack realised with a jolt that he’d forgotten completely about the Welshman’s injuries. He slid his arms loose from their previous grip around Ianto’s waist and pressed an apologetic kiss to his lips.

He brought hands up to push Ianto’s jacket off, Ianto caught it and draped it smoothly over the back of a chair; Jack watched him with a smile flickering around his lips. When Ianto turned around Jack undid all the buttons on his shirt and helped shrug that off as well. It was given the same treatment as Ianto’s jacket and it gave Jack time to study the welts and bruises covering the younger man’s body. He remembered, with a shot of guilt, that he’d left Tosh and Ianto- thought they’d be fine, didn’t want to think that they might not be. Ianto with just about no field experience and Tosh, the mathematics genius- what had he been thinking?

Ianto turned to face him again, his eyes diverted to the floor, his hands fidgeting uneasily at his sides. Jack took at step closer to him and pressed a chaste kiss to the nearest bruise: one on the top of his left arm- could have shattered his bone if it had been one inch higher. Two small ones on his right collar bone and one just below.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered

“S’not your fault.” Ianto replied thickly

“I never should have let you go off alone.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have, I knew it was trap. The SUV was obviously the bait and yet I still let you two go off alone.”

“It’s okay.” Ianto tried to reassure him, pressing closer to his boss

“It’s not, I’m meant to be you leader, what good am I if I get you all killed?”

“But you didn’t, we’re still here, I’m still here.” Ianto grasped his hand and pressed it to his heart, “see? Still beating.” His welsh lilt gave his words just the right lift to set a small smile flickering on his lips. Ianto pressed even closer to him and pressed his lips against his. Feeling him shivering slightly from the cold Jack slipped his arms back around Ianto’s waist- feeling surprised at how easily it came and how natural it felt. A welsh tongue lapped gently at his lips until he opened up and then slid in languidly- their earlier speed forgotten. Jack let himself be kissed for a moment, just revelling in the body in his arms, before pulling away. He smirked down at his partner before nodding his head over to the trapdoor that led down to his bedroom.

“Shall we?” He asked teasingly and it coaxed a smile to Ianto’s lips.

“Of course, sir.” He replied, his welsh lilt softened his husky voice but couldn’t hide it completely. Jack’s smirk grew and he pressed another kiss to the secretary’s lips before the two of them slowly made their way over to Jack’s quarters, stopping for another kiss at every other pace. Both feeling a little lighter knowing that they had finally found someone who understood the loneliness they felt.

I'm not too sure about the ending.... but then I'm never sure with my writings I'm constantly changing them in the attempt to make them better. I didn't do that with this one though- I just typed and typed (which is unusual in its self 'cause I've always pen and paper) until it had all come out. The story basically wrote itself! I reckon it was the left over residue of my expressive arts lol.

Exp. Arts! Ok so it wasn't an hour or two (try a day or two) but it is done!

Sat, 13 Jan 2007 12:47:40 GMT

OMG OMG OMG OMG SQUEEEEEEEEEEEE!I've finally finished my Expressive Arts story! I'm so proud of me!! lol! So proud in fact that I'm posting on here...not sure why but it seems like a good idea for now :D
Alone

Tyr: (Old Norse Tŷr) was the god of War and Law; he symbolised single-combat and heroic glory. He is portrayed as the one-handed god as the wolf Fernir bit off his hand. This earned the title the Leavings of the Wolf. The origins of his name, which meant god and his possible relationship with Tuisto (see Tacticus’ Germania), suggest he was once considered the father of the gods and the head of the pantheon.

Tŷr er ein hendr áss --Tyr is the one-handed god

Ok ulfs leifar --And Leavings of the Wolf

Ok hofa hilmir. --And Prince of Temples

Mars tigga.

Unfortunately I don’t have the sway over war and law as my namesake did. Nor am I renown for either my combat skills or any heroics. I am fully bodied; both my hands are intact. The only title I have is Mister, I am the father of no one, the leader of nothing and I am certainly not the prince of any thing, place or people. I am merely Tyr Loki Matthews- victim of my mother’s fascination of the Norse- formerly I was Tyr Loki Jefferson. Does the name ring a bell? It should, Jefferson and Sons was the largest and most effective law firm in Britain. There was a time when I was being groomed to take its throne. However that was then and this is now and now I’m a psychology student at Loffage University in Wolverhampton. My father would be rolling in his grave. He expected for me to attend Oxford or Cambridge.

Of course that’s not the only reason he’s rolling; there’s also the fact that his beloved law firm collapsed due to his brother; the same brother that turned to cocaine and his perfect son… well I became an ‘undignified delinquent’ as he called them. Then again it’s been over 9 years since I’ve had to care what my parents think and at 15 I gave up on people altogether, they never did anything for me so why should I give a damn about them?

My upbringing after my parents’ crash was far from perfect. At first my uncle was fine, I thought him slightly eccentric at times but thought nothing of it. When I was 12 my uncle decided to introduce me to smoking. I had been bought up to do as I was told and that adults knew better than me so I took to it like a fish does water. Although I was 14 before I was deemed old enough to find out the reason for my uncle’s eccentricity: cocaine. I knew that this was beyond smoking, cocaine was a class A drug- that meant a hefty penalty for those caught. Nonetheless I was still under the influence of my early discipline and therefore I did as I did before and embraced this new ‘gift’ willingly.

I was stupid. My uncle got steadily worse sometime after that, then money started running out and he’d turn to drink if he couldn’t get his hands on coke. My uncle was a mean drunk but meticulous as ever he made sure no one could see the bruises… or the wounds. I was fifteen by then and I pledged to leave as soon as possible.

The opportunity came about when I was sixteen; a boy I knew had left his parents and was currently trying to juggle a house, education and a job. I had been reclusive at the school my parents had sent me to, by the time I was sixteen my education had been reduced to the nearest public school and there I was completely solitary. Dave was the boy who sat next to me in many of my classes and he would talk to me about almost anything. He didn’t seem to mind that I never replied, nor that when he would use his hands too much I’d flinch. He noticed though, he asked me why I didn’t just leave. I think it was the first time I’d spoken to him in three months. I told him I had nowhere to go and he immediately offered to share his flat with me. I was unsure at first, about living with someone I didn’t know but in the end I figured that it had to beat living in the same house as my uncle. I agreed and moved in the next day.

Dave found out about my cocaine problem quite early on, he found it in my bags. He refused to have it under his roof, and told me to store it elsewhere. I agreed with little fuss, it wasn’t until later that he said he’d help me kick it. That was when he realised that was where a large part of my money was going and he was basically providing for the both of us. He introduced me to weed. I found it strange that this drug did almost the opposite to me than coke. I welcomed it happily and by the time I had scrambled through life to 18 cocaine was a thing of the past, although it hadn’t been as easy as it sounds; nothing ever is. Unfortunately Dave was also a thing of the past, he moved out to live with his 25 year old boyfriend and two months later I received a phone call telling me that he’d been beaten to death. Dave had been the only friend I’d ever really had, he was also my first and only serious partner to this day. You see Dave introduced me to more than just friendship and marijuana; he brought me into a world of music, sex, and parties.

Naturally I wanted revenge on his killer, unfortunately the bastard was still locked behind bars, fortunately at 18 an account made by my father was made available to me: my university fund. It was unexpectedly large and a bribe made a surprisingly small dent in it. The police officer in question allowed me the use of a room, and a certain criminal in chains. If my uncle taught me one thing it was how to make a beaten person look untouched. The experience left me satisfied on the revenge level but dented on the pride level. I felt considerably pathetic at the fact that I could only beat him up whilst he was still in chains: hardly a fair competition. So I took up martial arts- Ju Jitsu in fact.

Not that you could tell, I don’t look the sort. White pale skin with longish dark hair that falls scruffily over my head. I inherited my mother’s eyes and mouth so my irises are so dark that they could pass for black and my lips are full and red. My nose is almost aristocratic and my features more on the refined side. Black leather trousers - and no, not skin-tight ones - encompass my legs, decorated in chains and buckles. Moreover I wear big black boots complete with buckles and spikes. However my most prized item is my jacket: long, black and leather.

Currently the aforementioned jacket is streaming out behind me as I hurtle pass the night-time traffic on my bike. I zoom round into a quiet car park, stop the bike and climb off. I remove my helmet and revel in the feeling of the cool breeze against my sweaty brow. I pull out a chain and lock my bike to a nearby lamp post before walking out with my helmet beneath my arm. I’ve set aside my baggy T-shirts in favour of a skin tight black one instead. I stride down the street towards a club notorious for the habits of its customers. When I reach it the queue outside is long. I’ve never been one for hanging around in queues for half-an-hour. So instead I keep walking, taking a turn into a side-alley that leads to the backdoor of ‘Club Midnite.’

Once the customary amount of money had traded hands then I leave my helmet in the capable hands of the club’s backdoor bouncer and I smoothly enter through into the hot, dark, cacophonic atmosphere. As I leave the narrow passageway the already noisy rock music has become so earsplittingly loud that I can feel the very foundations of the building shaking, the vibrations fly up my body through my feet as I am assaulted by the heat, the deafening sound of guitars, drums and screaming vocals, the multi-coloured strobe lights, the sight of pulsating, gyrating bodies squeezed on the covered dance floor, and the smell of sweat, beer and smoke is so strong that I can almost taste it’s reek upon my tongue. It tastes so very sour, and yet so very wrongly sweet.

The bars are indistinguishable behind the mass of people, but I had expected this and from a deep pocket of my long jacket I pull a bottle of neat vodka. I find a reclusive spot to sit and get as inebriated as I possible- alone, as usual.

I finish of my bottle quite quickly; the alcohol hits my system like a lorry going at 70 miles per hour. My head feels pleasantly light and no thoughts of loneliness even so much as brush my mind. I stand and the world rolls around me agreeably, my lips spread lazily into a smile and I stroll to the dance floor like a seaman compensating for the up and down rhythm of the sea beneath his feet. My eyes close and my hips go first, swaying side-to-side to the throbbing of the music then my body follows, sweat’s already falling slowly down my face to trail over the smooth column of my neck. My head falls back and my arms rise above my head unabashedly. Now my whole body is moving, swaying, pulsating just like the press of bodies around me. My head descends and my eyes open slowly and survey the dark crowd around me.

My eyes lock with intense ones of a dark face. A red light glides over him and I see piercing eyes, they’re almost all pupil and it makes me shiver as I identify the emotion behind them as a deep primal lust. He has dark hair, a tall frame and golden skin. I lick my lips; this is what I had been after, been waiting for. I smirk and my expression turns nothing less than predatory. One of my hands slides down and I curl a finger very deliberately at this new creature. He’s beside me in an instant, his hard chest pressed against mine. My hands are filled with firm muscle, I curve my hands and feel the muscle beneath them curve and something hot and wet presses against my throat, I identify it distantly as my partner’s mouth. His tongue begins to trace slow circles on my neck; each lick feels like liquid flame flowing over my skin. A groan escapes my lips and my breath turns shallow and ragged as a hand slides over my body beneath my coat and shirt, sweat lubricating the process. My partner bites down on my neck and I hiss, pushing down with my hands. His tongue quickly caresses the mark on my throat and my palms slide over the jut of a hipbone, but its hidden beneath scratchy, interfering fabric. My alcohol-induced haze vibrates angrily: not good. My fingers slide down past the shirt and then back up, pushing the offending piece of clothing out of the way so I when I pass my hands back down I can feel hot skin.

The heat at my throat moves up and glides along the edge of my jaw, a second heat pushes against the inner side of my thigh and I go with it, I let my leg be shoved aside so that I have heat pressed against me from groin to neck. My hips shift and my leg moves against the top of my partner’s legs. His head pulls back as he lets out a groan. He stares down at me and I shiver again, my lips curving into a lascivious smile. He fights down a moan at the obscenity of my tongue sliding wantonly out to wet my dry, parted lips. He grasps my hands and drags me to the toilets.

I don’t leave the club until past one. I pick up my helmet from the bouncer and stride to my bike; my body’s still basking in its afterglow and I feel almost euphoric. Forgetting and not caring about rules and regulations I mount my bike, rev it, and all but fly out of the car park. Keeping to the speed limit when your drunk can be tricky but I manage it the whole short distance to my house. I drag the motorbike into my apartment, thanking the gods that I was on the bottom floor.

After I prop the motorcycle against the wall in the hallway I make a trip to the bathroom. I then stumble into the kitchen/diner and, although all I want to do is fall into bed, I force down a pint of water to help with the morning hangover. Only afterwards do I half-stumble to my bedroom, my movements hindered by exhaustion and the remnants of alcohol pumping its way around my body. I strip off to my underwear before falling into bed and curling up beneath the covers to fall asleep.

Welcome to my life, although that’s only half of it. My years at the hands of my uncle taught me how to cover my pain so hangovers are easy for me to hide from my peers. I leave my jacket at home and wear jeans with baggy old band T-shirts ranging from Metallica to H.I.M whilst my boots are traded with scruffy non-brand trainers. To complete my look I added a pair of glasses, only they are filled with normal non-magnifying glass. No one would associate me with my club-going persona, I don’t mind though, I prefer to keep the two areas of my life separate. Sometimes I feel that the university boy would be tainted if it came in contact with the other half of me.

Today, however, I don’t have class, so when I crawl out of bed all I do is go into the bathroom to do all the things that the morning entails; pull on a pair of pants and scruffy jeans before walking into the kitchen. I set the kettle boiling before taking two aspirins for my pounding headache, ever been run-over by a speeding truck? Well that’s how I feel, two aspirin isn’t going to be enough.
My kitchen is something you’d expect to see in a cheap council house. Dingy with light green walls, a white ceiling and white wooden cupboards that are all but falling apart. A clock hangs near the bottom of the left wall, just beside the door and above the bin. In the middle is a small table with one chair and pressed against the closest wall is an old, rusty fridge still decorated with the magnets that Dave had scattered across it. Opposite that, on the far side of the room, is a large window, the window sill outside was painted white but covered in a rust that had crept in so far that you could just about see a thin line at the bottom of the window when it was closed.

I check the clock on the wall: ten thirty…hardly late considering. I pick up my tobacco tin off the side. It had come free with a pack of tobacco- Cutter’s Choice. It came complete with the cheery slogan “Smoking kills”. Ignoring this as usual I take the lid off and pulled out my rizla (red), my tobacco and a small earthy brown ball kept in a small re-seal plastic bag. After ripping off a piece of the rizla packet to use as a filter, I roll the joint and then light it with a silver zippo lighter that would have been plain if not for a smallish pentagram on one side.

I inhale the slightly spicy smoke before breathing it out of my nose. I stand and make my way over to the window, much like I do most mornings. I stare at the life passing the flat; nobody sees me, like I don’t exist. I stay there until my cigarette has burned down to the makeshift filter and then stub it out in the astray on the kitchen side beside me.

Feeling thirsty I stroll over to the fridge and pick up the carton of orange juice inside it, after realising that it was lighter than it should be I shake it: empty. Sighing I throw it into the bin before crossing the kitchen to the cupboard where I keep the juice. I bend down to open it and frown when I see no more. Yet another thing to add to my shopping list. Sighing again I trundle over to the kettle, noting it is full I flick it on and take a plain black mug, coffee and sugar down from a small shelf above the only side not overshadowed by a deteriorating cabinet.

After I’d made my black coffee, I leave it to cool slightly and go to fetch the coursework I’d been working on from the living room. When I return I place the paper and my laptop on the table and sit down to work.

I become so engrossed in my work that I don’t notice how much time has passed until I need to go to the bathroom. The clock on the wall tells me that it’s five o’clock and the pain in my stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten so I quickly toast and butter some bread before sitting back down. I finish my sentence and then eat before shutting everything down. I pile my paper on the corner of the makeshift desk and place my laptop on top.

I take a shower, taking my time to revel in the feeling of the water running over my skin, before drying off quickly. I get dressed quickly before walking into the hallway. I pick up my boots from in front of the radiator and pull them on before donning my long jacket. I grab my wallet and keys from the kitchen and deposit it them within the inner pockets of my jacket after opening the door. I roll my motorbike out of the flat and the lock the door behind me.
This is an annual journey I make every April at the end of the month. It’s something Dave used to drag me to every year because he was a strange boy really, a class geek with a body that was all angles but a soft face. Now I go alone- voluntarily- because it’s in those instances that I can still hear his voice, telling me that it would be fun.

Beltane, a spring festival from the Celts, Dave had always been interested in older civilisations, especially the Celts and Ancient Britons; that’s why he’d taken history at school. I didn’t share his fascination but I loved him enough to humour him, so it had never really been much of a struggle to get me out the door.

It takes me about half an hour to reach the field that it was being held in. There were several tables set up down one stretch, many are covered in savouries and sweets kept warm by placing them on top of metal cases filled with small tealights. A few hold various other things from tea to home-brewed ale. To the side there is a stage upon which a folk band is setting up. It’s set to be a clear night so there’s no tent set up above them but I can see poles and a stretch of white material just in case. Closer to the middle there are three sizeable bonfires, each surrounded by a small makeshift wall. Unfortunately the imagery is spoilt by plastic buckets full of water placed in small clumps next to each bonfire.

I chain my bike to the fence closest to the party field; the field I’ve parked on is being used as a crude car park for the night. The traffic warden gives me a nod as walk into the festival area.

I move towards a small table boasting homemade cakes; Millie looks up as I approach. She smiles at me before holding her hand out. I give her a small smile back before handing my helmet to her. As payment Millie had decided long ago that I was to pay her by buying a slice of one her cakes. She was the mothering type and was always concerned that I was too thin especially after Dave. I buy and eat a piece of her carrot cake before striding off towards the beer stall. I pull my tankard from its pocket to have it filled.

Once I’d paid I walk away; resolutely keeping my eyes off my drink, knowing if I didn’t then I would catch a glimpse of the engraving on the side of the tankard. Instead I keep my eyes focused forwards, watching the sun slowly setting behind the hills.
Later, when the only light is that coming from the moon and the distant street lamps, the bonfires are lit and band starts up a lively tune. I hand my tankard over to Millie and it only takes one look for her to coerce me into buying another piece of her cake. Once the song is finished the band steps down, their set done. A CD is inserted into the stereo and a slow, rhythmic song starts to play. I stand on the outskirts of the unofficial dance floor watch the pulsing life before me sway and shake to the music. Suddenly a flash of red distracts me and eyes dart to the left in search of it.

A girl with fiery hair sways her hips to the music; the light from the bonfires, which cast strange shadows across her face, illuminates her skin. Shapely arms and legs are bare to the cool night air. She wears a dull red skirt that flies smoothly over her thighs and a basque top of the same colour. The thick straps of her top reach the top of her bust and the hem between them ducks into a shallow ’v’ showing a hint of cleavage. The bottom hem mirrors the shape; the tip overlaps her skirt and the edges slope upwards to her waist so the top of her plumps thighs are on show. Her hair flows down to her waist and points towards her hypnotically swaying hips. Her head tilts backwards slightly and a small smile sits lazily upon her lips.

Before I know what I’m doing I’m striding over to her and by the time my mind has caught up with my body I’m spinning her around and encircling my arms around her waist. She stares up at me in surprise but then her face softens and she smiles at me as though she’s seen something in my eyes that I didn’t know about.

Her hips roll with mine, her hands creep up and past my head to clasp behind my neck. She steps so close that her body is all but shielded by my coat, it’s almost as though she wants to slip inside me so we are one. Somehow we are still dancing, bodies moving in harmony. I bend my head so that her mouth is so close to mine that I can feel her breath flutter against my lips. I’m aching to bend a little lower and fall into her, to just lose myself and forget all my pain. Yet I don’t, I watch her, waiting for something but I don’t know what, and she watches me. Her eyes, those dark pupils, gaze up at me through half-mast eyelids. Then it happens, whatever we were waiting for, perhaps the crescendo of the music or the lazy passing cloud to unveil the moon once more or maybe the wind that flickers across the meadows and slides past all the obstacles to reach us. It doesn’t matter; all that matters is her lips on mine. She tastes of apple; I can’t help licking the sweetness from every crevice of her mouth. She kisses me back just as fiercely as though she’d been waiting for this for years.

Then she’s gone, her mouth, her hands, her warmth. She spins away and faces away from me, still swaying her hips from side to side. I stare at her in confusion before she shoots me a glance over her shoulder that’s half-coaxing and half-impatient. My eyes widen in realisation and I step towards her, I get so close that we’re almost touching before she spins away again. It’s like a game, I get so close that we almost touch and then she dances away, teasing me with the fluctuating beat of her hips and the gentle sway of her body.

Slowly she dances us away until the party is no more than a gentle hum in the night air and the burnt-down bonfires are fireflies. Finally she stops, I hesitantly lift a hand up to touch her, still half waiting for her to dance away again. But she doesn’t and my hand touches her shoulder and slides down her arm to slip into her own hand. She turns to face me and smiles serenely. She stands on her toes to place a kiss on both corners of my mouth before sliding an arm around my waist and burying her face into my jacket.

Something in me clicks, as though my whole life has been leading up to this, as though every clamber and struggle was to reach this place, at this time. Nothing is a coincidence, my mother had once told me. I wonder if she feels this too and look down to realise with a jolt that she’s looking up at me, a smug smile playing across her lips. I narrow my eyes in suspicion and my hand travels to the small of her back. I feel a slight raise in her skin, my expression turns accusing and a small smile is all I need to confirm my theory. A priestess; I realise that this isn’t the first time I’d seen her; I can remember her now. Her dark green eyes and flowing red hair, I’d seen her every year but I’d never noticed her; but she’d seen me, she has been waiting for me for years. Her fingers trail down my cheek, over my jaw, down the column of my throat and down to where my heart beats beneath the skin. She presses her palm flat against it and slides another into my hair to pull me into a kiss. I respond happily and somehow I know, even without words, that I am no longer alone.

“No Man Is Whole If He Is Alone.” Anon.

Wow. I still can't believed I finished it. Now I've just got to start that painting, find a blumin matchbox that's small enough and record this song and I think that's all the artwork done. Between all that I'm gonna have to start on the notepad though... Ok now I don't feel so accomplished...

Exp. Arts

Thu, 11 Jan 2007 15:54:13 GMT

Ok, the story fiasco has been (kinda) resolved but I have lost all muse and I have to go out tonight and my aunt is coming over so i need it finished as soon as possible. Like within the next hour or two...

Wed, 10 Jan 2007 19:11:33 GMT

OH MY F***ING GOD!!!!!!!!!!!My computer just delelted all the work I did today!!!!!Like it wasn't hard enough the first time I now have to try and remember what I wrote before and the problem is the only muse I have is anger... which is never good for a fic! Fuck.

The seduction of the internet

Wed, 10 Jan 2007 18:07:27 GMT

I should really come off livejournal- it keeps distracting me... I've only done about two sentences since I came on here and I definitely should of stayed away from msn...its boring after the first five minutes.

The Evil Writer's Block

Wed, 10 Jan 2007 14:00:04 GMT

Ok, I am so close to finishing this story, so close I can taste it but it's so hard in coming, it's like trickles of water draining through the cracks in a dam whilst the water behind it strains in the attempt to get free.

Fustrating Fandoms and Maraudering Muses

Wed, 10 Jan 2007 13:01:06 GMT

I've said before that Torchwood has become my muse, but it's a damn distracting and demanding one. I keep getting drawn away from my work by it to read fanfictions, ogle at pictures/videos or to go through my (far too big) collection of icons. It also keeps letting plot bunnies loose in my house and they keep chewing at the furniture. I'm running out of vegetables to bait them with as well!! Bloody muses, more trouble than they're worth sometimes...

Sun, 07 Jan 2007 16:10:39 GMT

Torchwood and Cpt. Jack Harkness are officially my muses at the moment so as you can expect my Expressive Arts story is slowly circling the drain as Tyr has gone from Draco angst to Jack angst. One half is sarcastic and cynical and the other half is charismatic but sorrowful.
It's never good to change one's influence halfway through a story but it's the story of my life.
I'm still actually working on the HIA, I finally got the basis of Voldemort's plot down passed the 'some ritual' stage. I've changed the relationships around again and I think they fit better now.
Draco/Ginny- and I don't know why I tried anything else
Blaise/Susan- Is still working
Luna/Neville- Beneath the surface...
Pansy/Terry- Because she's nastier than Ginny
Harry/Faye- couldn't go with any other- some Faye changes
Seamus/Dean- Because they were made for each other
Ron/Hermione- have the Old Married Couple Snydrome
Sam/Hannah- wrote themselves, what can i say?
Feeling sorry for Morag but determined not to cave because it'll probably be with an OOC Crabbe or Goyle and then Millicent will come into it and Colin Creevey will be there and then it will all go to pot... or maybe Colin and Morag????? Then what will the world be coming to?
But back to original conversation- Expressive Arts- I'm unsure as to whether to call it Alone because I keep getting an annoying little voice in my head that sounds like Mr Dunster saying"Well that's not very original is it?" One of my ideas was 'Albeit Lonely Without Hope'. Although 'Lonely Without Hope' would work just as well... or just 'Lonely'..,hmmmm, something worth thinking about... or maybe 'I Am A Man Even Though I am Lonely And Without Hope' nah, that's too long, it's more like an opening sentence.

CGS

Sun, 19 Nov 2006 13:47:37 GMT

"NO MORE sporks, knuknives, and knifoons! It's like a damn Dr. Suess kitchen in there!"
~Angry woman from Andy Richter rules the Universe

Arrrrrggggghhhhh!!!

Mon, 09 Oct 2006 15:50:49 GMT

COURSEWORK!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yes these rapid mood changes are normal.

More random pictures!

Mon, 09 Oct 2006 15:22:48 GMT

Wooo! Random picture!

Mon, 09 Oct 2006 14:59:01 GMT

A random picture of Mark from the Belgium trip