riluri

PSA

2016-03-29T16:32:00.002+03:00

I just want all people older than me to stop assuming. To stop saying things like "Oh, my parents are getting older, you know how it is" and then wait for me to smile sympathetically, to say "Yes, of course, I understand, how horrible it must be to witness that." I can't take it anymore. I used to be able to, but something snapped. You don't get to complain about your aging parents to a 24-year-old who doesn't have anything anymore. You don't get to tell me that Oh No, you have to take care of them because they can't take care of themselves anymore. Been there, done that, only that old age is a little kinder than cancer.
A priest told me a while back that this is God's plan, and that he is killing my mother so that I can be better loved in a different life. He killed my grandparents so that I could be protected from the sky. But this isn't a prophecy and I don't have a lightning scar on my forehead. All I have is an empty heart. There is no meaning in this. There is no more meaning in anything. Life feels dry, leaving the taste of ashes behind with each passing day. Colors are dimmed and I'm scared one morning I'll wake up and everything will be gray.
I lead a simulacrum of a life and hop on my hamster wheel every day, because what if it gets better? Spoiler: it never does.
Today I congratulated myself for getting out of bed. For watching a movie. I rarely do even that anymore. I have books but I can't read. I have to write but the words get stuck somewhere between the fingers and the keyboard.
People around me complain that the food their parents send isn't what they wanted. I can't find the will to go out and buy bread. The onion in the pantry sprouted so I planted it. It will probably die, nothing I plant ever lasts.
I wasn't trying to make a point, other than I'm bitter, and life tastes bad and it used to taste so good and I'm scared.
So please just don't talk to me about your parents. I don't want to hear it.

Goodbye.

2014-02-26T22:43:00.002+02:00

And so it is-

2014-01-23T18:01:00.001+02:00

It's getting bad again.

~~Things to remember~~

Brush your teeth with warm water when it's cold outside, it will make you feel less empty
(at least for a few minutes)

Try to go outside at least once a day, even if it's the last thing you'd want to do.

Empty is not good. Empty is not good. Empty is not good.

Stop expecting so much from others. Expect more from yourself.

Things are not as horrible as 4 a.m. makes them seem. You are not as bad as midnight makes you believe.

The dull ache in your chest will go away. Or you'll stop noticing it. Either way, it gets better at some point.

...maybe.

Faaaanfic, part 4 (scris de la Xelu din crib, cu micul ajutor Dani si si mai micul ajutor Chibi)

2013-11-23T01:42:00.001+02:00

"W-why won't you notice me?" Xander whispered sullenly. He could hear the sloshing sounds of only-Kami-sama-knows-what-was-going-on-to-his-left, as soft moans were steadily building up. Kuso! They should have been MY moans. MINE.
He then heard gasps right as the door opened again. How much more must I suffer? he asked himself trying his hardest to hold back the tears that were forming behind his kawaii eyelashes.
"Bă, ați început fără mine?? Las', că am venit acum cu paloșul meu strașnic! Haida!"
Dan? Why was he here? And, most importantly, why was he talking like that?
"Hă-hă, văd că l-ați legat cum știe Lumpy mai bine. Făinoșag!"
Too bad nobody understood his accent, as he had been spending too much time reviewing weird games in his native accent. The almost-threesome remained quiet, the two of them that still had the ability to see looking at Dan with confused expressions on their faces. Xander felt a warm hand on his shoulder.
"Hai sus."
But Xander didn't understand him. The language barrier between them stood hard like the member in his pants. And it was only getting harder. It was almost like his dick was one of the Titans from their new favorite anime. But bigger.

**********************************wooooo**************************************

Fanfuck, part 3

2013-11-16T00:44:00.002+02:00

"Pants are stupid in the first place," Luffy whispered as he pointed towards Xander's pulsating crotch. Lumpy nodded in agreement, shivering with anticipation. They were finally going to have the threesome he's only dared dream about in the darkest corners of his mind. The ones reserved for weird Russian porn sites and furries.

"Shall we do everyone a favor and remove them?" Lumpy winked at Luffy, touching his chin ever so slightly.
"Do the honors," Luffy smirked, his chin blending into his other chin with desire.
"Don't mind if I do!"

"Hey hey HEY," interjected Xander. "I'm still here you know."
"We know. That's the whole point. If you weren't here, we'd all have to go back to our girlfriends and," Luffy looked at Lumpy for a moment before continuing, "... goats."
"You know what? I don't even mind. Schnitzi is a lovely goat and I don't have to explain myself to anyone. Hmpf." Lumpy pouted an irresistible pout that made Luffy's heart doki doki.
"You're so cute when you're tsundere, Lumpy-sempai," Luffy was smitten.
"N-no I'm not."
"Kya~ <3 So adorable!" Luffy took his glasses off, so that they wouldn't get in the way as he got on his knees in front of the kawaii Lumpy. Xander had been forgotten for the moment. He felt unloved. Stockholm called: it wanted its syndrome back.

*******************************moar?*******************************************

Fanfic, part 2

2013-11-14T03:20:00.001+02:00

Part 2

"What's going on here?" The door slammed open and Luffy stood in the entrance, his glasses all foggy and his forehead wet. He was holding a few concept posters for the convention he was organizing - he wanted to show them to Xander to see if he approved, but he soon realized something else was going on. Which was why he asked, of course. His face resembled that of an injured puppy. But Xander couldn't see, for he was still blindfolded and in the process of being fondled by Lumpy.

"Nothing," answered Lumpy, not taking his hand from Xander's crotch. "Nothing at all. I was just testing some ideas for next camp. We were thinking of going with a BDSM kind of theme. Heh."

"R-Right. Of course." Luffy wasn't buying this. Mostly because he had invested all his money and had nothing left to buy it with.

"Uhm, seriously? You find nothing wrong with this whole situation?! ARE YOU BLIND OR JUST STUPID?" Xander's powerful voice thundered through the room, making the other men shiver. They liked it when he was bossy. Bossssssy.

Luffy looked at Lumpy and a silent nod was exchanged between them. They would both have their fun that night. The posters lay forgotten on the floor next to the door as Luffy took his scarf off and approached his friends.

Fanfiction for my friends :3

2013-11-13T02:48:00.002+02:00

Part I

Xander woke up with a gasp, not knowing what was going on around him. Questions like "where am I" and "what the hell am I doing here" rushed through his blindfolded head as he tried to ease his wrists out of the handcuffs. Unfortunately for him, Lumpy knew how to tie a mean knot. He was, after all, an ex-boy scout.

"Hello?" Xander finally managed to say. The fabric over his head didn't cover his mouth. He suspected why but didn't want to think it, let alone say it. Kami-sama forbid it came true.

Lumpy shifted in his seat.

"Hello?" came Xander's rough voice upon the hearing of rustling in front of him. Was it nighttime? What day was it?

Lumpy decided not to speak, as the sound of his voice would give him away. He didn't want to be found out just yet. He liked to play hide and seek with his prey. He smirked, rubbing his rugged chin. He knew Xander wanted him ever since the last camp they organized together that summer. Something like this was inevitable. Welcome, even.

"Why are you doing this to me, you little shit? At least show me your face so I know where to spit." Xander was getting angry, his head still spinning from the roofies he probably ingested at that karaoke party Luffy threw in his honor. He knew that party was a bad idea. Hmpf. He should have just stayed at home and eaten candy while freelancing the night away. Baka.

He felt a hand on his leg and tried to move away, but the restraints made any kind of movement very difficult, if not impossible altogether. The hand was now near his crotch, rubbing slow but steady circles in the fabric of his jeans.

"I see you're pretty responsive, Xander-kun."

Xander inhaled sharply at the recognition of the voice that was burning hot breaths in his ear.

"L-Lumpy?"

"Yes, it is I, Lumpy."

Xander stood still for a moment, assessing the situation. On the one hand he was pretty pissed off that he was drugged and tied up and then fondled while blindfolded, but then again it was Lumpy who was doing the touching. As far as he was concerned, he was okay. He swallowed nervously and felt himself relax under the rough hands of his secret crush.

*********************************to be continued*************************************

Friday Morning Insomnia

2013-10-25T08:58:00.001+03:00

But not that type of insomnia that keeps you awake just to mess with your head because it's bored and needs someone to come out and play. Instead, I got the kind that buzzes in your ears and doesn't let you rest until you smack it against the wall and leave a bloody trail in its wake. [If mosquitoes fed off period blood, things would be much easier.] That's when you decide that maybe it's time to get up and do something productive, since sleep is already forfeited.

So I went jogging. At 7 a.m. Through the Opera Park. Through the fog. Through people in suits hurrying their morning away and students with frowns wishing they were still in bed.

And it felt good.

Life Updates from Late-October

2013-10-24T02:26:00.002+03:00

I opened this and then left it here for several ~~hours~~ days. Nothing creative happened. No spark. No divine inspiration. All I felt was a little tired and with a backache. Writing is hard.

I've mostly stuck to paper lately, but even then, even there, the words come out gutted and crippled, dragging on until I end up drifting away somewhere. Anywhere. Preferably not here-and-now, but there-and-then. If the past and the future move fast enough, the illusion of some sort of present is created. The faster you go, the more things you do, the more you get to live suspended in this illusory now.

I've decided to force myself to write, even if I don’t have anything to say. Especially if I don’t have anything to say. This void takes up more of my mind than I’d like to admit, and if the room is especially dark and quiet, I can hear my own bloodstream sloshing about in my ears. [So much for a great inner voice.]

In a week I’m supposed to start writing a novel and finish it in one month. This task was easier when I was still living in Vienna. The tiny, solitary-confinement-type room at the second floor of an all-girls dorm was the ideal recluse. This year I’m living it up in a noisy house with activity and laughter. That’s the last thing I need when I write. Contentment. Ugh.

.Time to fall asleep watching American Horror Story.

My day in pictures:

Saw the boots.

Bought the boots.

Made forest tea and pumpkin pasta.

((New) Beginning) Rinalda's Adventures in Bucharest

2013-10-01T18:31:00.002+03:00

After four days of loitering in my aunt's house, I finally moved into what will be my residence for the following year. It's nice but the dog is menstruating so there's blood on the porch.
It's been raining incessantly for three days now. If it won't stop, I'll have to start building an ark around me. Or at least learn how to swim. (Both options are equally unapproachable.)
My right hand is cold. So is my nose.
I feel lonely.
And hungry.
I skipped the opening ceremony because of adverse weather conditions.
The armchair I'm currently sitting on is worth more than my laptop.

Before I Leave

2013-09-24T18:44:00.000+03:00

I'm leaving again.

Not sure how many books I should take with me. Not sure how many winter coats. Not sure how many sweaters. This time I'm going way further than before, a 14 hour train ride from my hometown. And I'm nervous.

I replied to my 8 penpal letters instead of packing. I don't really want to pack *sigh*

I still don't know where I'm going to live. This is a bit stressful. I'd like it to be a nice place, with light and warmth and nice people. I'd like that.

Roşia Montană, underground folklore, Plai. We're waking up.

2013-09-04T18:00:00.001+03:00

Our country's hymn clearly urges us to wake up; well, it's finally happening. The angry youth is out on the streets, the even angrier elders are joining in. Children are rattling bottles filled with coins, adding to the chorus of voices demanding to be heard. The only ones who stay silent are the journalists, the filthy media who once more demonstrates that silence is golden. Isn't it, though. Our revolution is silenced by the media but flourishes on social sites, on independent blogs and in people's souls. The protesters were called hipsters just because they were wearing clothes that they felt would resonate with the movement. They were deemed unworthy of protesting by people who were sitting on their fat asses in front of the television while these so called hipsters who don't understand were taking over boulevards and reclaiming the country. They were mocked and still are, because many think that this is not important, that it will blow over and that "nothing would have happened anyway, gosh." "Calm down, no need to make such a fuss." "Why even bother?" Why bother? I'll tell you why fucking bother. Because this is our land. Our fucking land that we fought to keep, struggled to maintain yet slowly leave it to rot in the hands of even more rotten people. How does this not make you angry? How can we be so passive when there's still something to save?

Romania has a history of being an integral part of its valleys, mountains and forests. We are a people who knew how to respect the land, and that land loved us back. We have rich folklore and wonderful tales, great music that is lost as time passes. If this country's youth would only realize that what we have is powerful we might redeem the years of aimlessly floating through a nothingness characterized by lack of identity. Romanian is not a bad thing. Repeat after me. Romanian is not a bad thing. I'm only writing this in English because the narrative of minorities should reach beyond the borders imposed by language.

We're slowly waking up and with us resurrecting our old folklore.

The art:

The music:

The traditional clothing:

The festivals:

Plai 2013

FânFest 2013

This is our National Renaissance and I'm proud to be living through it.

August Randomium

2013-08-05T16:47:00.005+03:00

I only feel nice when my toes are painted turquoise.
My room smells like dying cat.
Banana split is the best split.
I can now (semi-)proficiently ride a bike, complete with turning corners without falling.
I've been reading a lot of Eliade lately, and I feel misled.
My phone got stolen in Bucharest on my birthday, but I got a better one instead.
Lemonade beer.
Oradea is actually a nice city.
A neighbor got killed by a tram this morning.
I wish I could draw better, yet I do nothing to improve it. This bothers me somewhat.
I'm leaving in two hours, but not looking forward to the sticky warmth of the train.

I hope your August doesn't make you want to hide in a basement.

P.S. Here are some of the lovely letters my penpals sent me in the past month <3

From England

America

India

Thoughts About

2013-07-22T17:10:00.003+03:00

I haven't written a blog post in quite a while, fact for which I apologize (mostly to myself, because I'm fairly sure nobody else cares.) I'm currently staying over at my aunt's in Bucharest, our lovely and immensely dirty capital (which I hate with all my little heart,) preparing for an upcoming MA interview that I'm scared shitless over. *takes deep breath* *listens to girly music and stuffs self with more chocolate*

Here's a short list of things I hate, in no particular order:

doormen
guards of any kind
doctors
especially dentists
feeling unsure
having to worry about the future, when life is supposed to be simple and beautiful and free

I'll go do some yoga and pretend I'm an heiress.

Stream of Unconsciousness

2013-06-27T22:42:00.000+03:00

I am unhappy again. And it's better when I'm not happy. Everything moves in all the right ways in my brain, for once I'm not a static thought repeating itself until the walls of my head are scribbled with the same line over and over again like the blackboards from old classrooms. I will not lie again, I will not lie again, I will not lie again, All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, All play and no work makes Jane useless and unfuckingsatisfied with her pathetic life.
Is it really that pathetic though? What is so cringe worthy that you can't deal with anymore? What are the monsters under your bed and why do you love them so? Is it because the nightmares are more tangible and less likely to forget? Is it that the good things are becoming so far apart that the hiatus between the moments in which you are happy without thinking or doubting it are a wasteland of forgotten thoughts? What if you could write all of that down? What if someone could hear that little voice in my head loud and clear until the things eating away at my core would worm themselves through the eardrums of the listeners until they all understood? Could they take it?
Everyone is a rotten apple in this fucked up garden of Eden, and we all have bad things worming their way in and out of us, like as many bad fucks on a prostitute's cross-out calendar. Crossing out the days until you don't really care about your birthday anymore - or about weekends, or about holidays, Monday Tuesday Wednesday become words that hold no meaning, empty carcasses of what they used to signify, why wake up and why go to work and why in God's name waste away your Thursdays Fridays that blend into one long workday just to get to the Saturday and Sunday of your miserable week that soon becomes a miserable month and sooner than you can say 9 to 5 you have a full year of Mondays and no way out.
Brave? Who has the time to be brave anymore? It's all go go go, run, if you don't run you won't keep up, if you fall then crawl, anything just keep moving. Never stop, why stop, there's no reason to stop, hurl yourself towards the grave, free-fall from the clouds that once held your dreams until your face is planted in the cold Earth that holds nothing but more worms for that rotten apple that you have become. Gravity took you and physics decided you were too old to believe in anything higher than yourself so you fell from that tree, covered in layers of knowledge that only made you heavier and sadder and you were hurled to the ground like so many others before and after you. You are not a seed, worthy of planting. You are a rotten apple and the garden is ugly and there's graffiti on the inside of my skull.
Sad is better than numb. Sad is better than nothing.

You have a gift though, oh God you have a gift but that gift only works when you don't and you're afraid you'll either lose it or lose yourself in the process. And if that's the case, which one would you choose?

All the bad memories are coming. There's no distraction to stop them. I'm scared.

Summer pet peeves

2013-06-19T19:00:00.000+03:00

When it's so hot during the day that I can't nap.
When I have to sleep at night, when it's acceptably cool, because I couldn't nap during the day.
When it looks like it's gonna rain but doesn't.
Having school until mid-July, thus rendering summer unsummerlike.
Permanent headaches due to atmospheric pressure.
Stickiness.
THE SUN.
OH GOD THE SUN.

Things to do on a rainy afternoon

2013-06-11T13:06:00.004+03:00

Pretend you're one of the Aristocats kittens in a basket on the river bank. I used to feel safe and cozy whenever I thought of myself as a kitten in a basket out in the rain.
Stuff yourself with comfort food and watch a nice show while cuddled up in your blanket.
Read a book while listening to the metallic pitter-patter on the windowsill.
Be happy that your crops will grow faster and better this year, sacrifice to the gods of rain and thunder and wash your face with the blood of your enemies.
Invite friends over (if they, unlike you, are able and willing to leave the house on a rainy day), order pizzas and watch shows or play cards against humanity or whatever crazy kids do these days.
Go outside and rescue as many snails as you can from the sidewalk.
Find an oversized leaf and walk around like you're from a Ghibli movie fuck yeah.
Do not post status updates, not even ironical ones, complaining about the rain or about people complaining about the rain or about the people complaining about people complaining about the rain. You get the point.
SLEEP.

Now if you excuse me, I'll go check numbers 2 and 9 off my list.

There ain't no party like a pity party

2013-06-05T22:44:00.001+03:00

If you're ever in doubt, remember this sentence: you only see what they show you. Everyone is secretly falling apart inside one way or another, but you don't get to see that. Oh no. Unless people deliberately show it to you or are very very bad at hiding. So all you know is that you are falling apart inside, and everyone else is happy. Let me just assure you that this is complete bullshit. We're all fucked up messes that go up and down the rollercoaster until we feel sick of all the moving, so we decide to lay in bed, pull up the covers and make the big bad world go away. This isn't a solution either. Don't do that.

I can't even follow my own advice.

This Is About Anime

2013-05-28T13:02:00.001+03:00

I haven't felt so attracted to anime characters since high-school.

I mean, how could I not? Just look at them.

My Little Monster (Tonari no Kaibutsu-kun)

It's actually been a three year hiatus between the last anime I really enjoyed watching and present day. I don't know what brought about the change in taste; maybe it was growing up. Or maybe the quality was lacking. Or maybe I thought that if I stopped watching silly cartoons, I'd have more time for stuff. Things. You know.

But come on.
Look.
At.
Them!

If someone would just get me the manga, I'd be the happiest girl alive.

I Feel Stuck Here

2013-05-22T20:48:00.003+03:00

Honestly, all I want to do is leave.

This is what happens when I stay in one place for too long. I start being miserable. And that's how it is right now. After great soul-searching and life-evaluating, I have hereby decided that if I am not travelling in one form or another (be it in real-life, through books or, preferably, both) then I am not happy. How's that for a goal in life--keep moving or your mind stops. Fun.

I haven't had a good idea in days.

This is honestly killing me.

I need to leave.

Things I've Learned From Higher Education

2013-05-19T17:01:00.003+03:00

1. Bureaucracy is God. Even if you have the cure to bloody cancer in your research papers, they will most definitely not care unless you also have a document signed by individuals that are never at their offices and don't own mobile phones and don't reply to e-mails. Best part? You get the blame.

2. Pretend. Pretend it's someone else's fault so your parents don't yell at you for something that will in no way add to your life experience or happiness yet is still apparently important because numbers on a piece of paper clearly show how smart you are. Pretend you know what you don't care about just to get over it faster. Pretend you care just to not get nagged. Pretend.

3. Nobody really cares. And the few that do have little power of changing things.

4. Big words are usually empty. The amount of ginormous words used is directly proportional to the % of bullshit. And just because you use them does not make you king and queen of cheese, my friend.

5. Learn by heart and do not question. What? You have opinions? How cute, now move along and listen to what we have to say about what you have to think.

6. Intelligent people can get around by doing very little. It's a thing. You do only the necessary and leave more room for what you actually like, this usually resulting in mediocre grades and higher overall happiness levels. This does not make you a failure. It makes the educational system a failure.

7. Naps are vital. For finding yourself and deciding whether the 6 page long report on sea slugs is actually that important.

8. Why. You will ask this question a lot. Why sit in class while an almost defunct teacher reads outdated theories out loud for you to write down and memorize word for word. Why attend any class that has one-way communication. Why accept opinions instead of challenging them. Why allow your mind to become so dull that conversations about the weather will seem like a good idea. Why.

I'm just very upset today, and not even coffee and denial will change it.

Novel Draft #1, Part #7

2013-05-18T22:36:00.002+03:00

Emma – Thank You

Bloody first class is bloody over and I bloody have to bloody thank the bastard. I can do this… I can do this! I ca… Oh, who am I kidding, I can’t do this. Professor Shangrove immediately left the classroom after telling us that today consisted of just one class and, despite the ruckus around me, I was still very much frozen in place in my chair.

“Are you planning on spending the rest of your day in that chair?” the voice of damnation came upon me from my right. “It’s a very comfortable chair, I’ll give it that, but- oh, did you say something? I couldn’t quite hear what it was,” Lucas mused. Is he actually implying that I should thank him? Why if that isn’t the most impolite thing I have ev-

“You are required to stand for the thanking process, you know,” he interrupted my train of thoughts. My blood started to boil as I tried to remain cool and collected, firmly planted in my chair. Don’t make eye contact, don’t make eye contact, don’t make eye contact.

“I did help you out of an otherwise embarrassing situation, did I not? I require at least a verbal appreciation, uhm… what was your name again?”

“EMMA!” I thundered, fists clenched on the edges of the desk.

“Ah, such a common name was to be expected,” WHAT? He did NOT just call my name ‘common’. “But leaving that aside, Emma, proper protocol requires the damsel to thank her knight after saving her from her distress. Care to contradict me?” I raised my eyes as far as his nose, and saw an evil smile flourish on his face, white teeth shining mockingly. Do not make eye contact, do not make eye contact, do-

“Are you, by any chance, avoiding thy knight’s gaze, my damsel?” he asked, leaning towards me and lifting my chin with his index finger. My body suddenly gave me alarm signals, which translated into something along the lines of ‘Hit him. Hard. Preferably with a metal object of undetermined weight.’ He forced me to look him in the eye, and his smirk expanded even more, if that was physically possible. The damsel shalt hit her bloody useless knight if he does not take his hand off her in the next five seconds. Thou hath been warned.

“That’s it!” I spat with trembling rage as I smacked his hand away. He seemed rather surprised, because he took a healthy step backwards, allowing me to get up from my very comfortable chair. “What do you want from me? Huh? What?”

“Well, a simple gesture like saying thank you and licking my shoe would be more than sufficient, I presume,” he adopted a thinking posture, but the playful twinkle in his eyes remained, betraying him.

“L-l…licking your shoe, huh?” I repeated, shaking with anger. He seemingly enjoyed that, barely holding back his smile. “Enough, e-e… enough!” I said dismissively, making my way around him and his aura of sarcasm and aiming for the classroom door. Is this guy for real? Talk about the spawn of the Devil… wonder what his father’s like. Oh my, what if the headmaster’s office actually hides the gates of Hell… I somehow find that frightfully plausible right now…

“You will thank me properly, new girl. Mark my words,” Lucas stated matter-of-factly as I was slamming the door shut.

Never.

My Dissertation

2013-05-15T23:09:00.001+03:00

Or how I can't seem to focus enough to actually write more than a paragraph about something I really like. Because who does things when they're supposed to? Not me, no sir. The theme I'm working with is dystopias. I just really like dystopian books, so why not write about something cool, right? Well, it's way harder than I originally thought. I don't have the necessary will to sit down and do something analytical as opposed to something purely creative.

The yield for tonight: 1 paragraph
Cups of coffee: 1 (so far)
Toothache: persisting

The paragraph is about Cloud Atlas.

Motto: “Souls cross ages like clouds cross skies…”

And stories cross genres like in no other work before it. Cloud Atlas is baffling and chilling in its implications, ambitious to the extreme in its language and, ultimately, a meta-novel of the highest form. Six intertwining stories told in six different styles weave a tale about what links us all together in a truly detective style, in which the reader gradually discovers the key to the biggest mystery of all: what happened to Civilization as we knew it? From the language of a 19^th century epistolary novel to the slurs of forgotten words in the post-apocalyptic future of ‘after the Fall’, Cloud Atlas promises and delivers a journey of the best kind: a journey through language and stories. Forward and backward we are taken through time, backtracking and completing the circle drawn by David Mitchell with precise and masterful artistry.

Novel Draft #1, Part #6

2013-05-14T22:04:00.000+03:00

Making pie pops. Because I obviously have nothing better to do, a few weeks before my finals/big exam/dissertation/graduation. Nope. Pie pops. (will probs post bad-quality-because-I'm-too-poor-to-afford-a-good-camera photos tomorrow though. +recipe)

Here's the next chapter of E/L. (I can't think of a better title right now, so if you have any ideas feel free to comment or message or send in a raven or something.)

Lucas – First Day

This is just too perfect. I knew today had a good feeling to it. But to be in the same class with HER is more than I could’ve asked for. Daily torture, here we come, I wickedly thought as Dylan was uttering complete nonsense about having to buy some outdated books of great ‘importance to our future’ and so on. That man is seriously getting on my nerves. And, even though detention will save me from my community work duties around the school today, two hours with Little Red Riding Hood over here might just terminate my nervous system. Ah, cope with it, Lucas, cope with it. It’s all for the greater good. I was incredibly bored, and the new girl was apparently ignoring me, so I decided to test her reactions to my oh-so-suave voice.

“Pssst.” No reaction whatsoever.

“Pssssst.” Is she dead?

“PSSSSST!”

“WHAT?” she exploded, looking at me like I was something that had just crawled out of a very dark pit filled with tar and clay. What was that called again? Ah, yes, I believe the common term for it would be Hell.

“Uhm, Miss Sheffield? Is there a problem?” Dylan asked, getting his nose out of the book he was presenting. ‘The Book of Creatures’, huh? Oh yes, that will be most vital to my future indeed. I do believe my life up until now has been incomplete, since I have been living without this astonishing book. As if.

“Miss Sheffield? Were you paying attention whatsoever?”

“Uhm… Yes, yes, of course I was,” she stuttered.

“Then please tell the class what we were discussing earlier,” Dylan puffed at the new girl, making a scene by closing that irritating book with a snap. Oh, how I’d like to incinerate that blasted thing. It would only take a moment and… Hey, the Sheffield girl’s in trouble. This will be a laug- no, wait. Her getting the question right means annoying the living hell out of Dylan. Opportunity seized.

“Psssst.” She now imperceptibly turned around, looking as if she could barely keep her eyes open. I’m going to help you, you foolish girl. Look at me! “The Book of Creatures,” I whispered, terribly amused by her current situation as Dylan’s prey. She nodded in agreement – or was it in disgust? Anyway, she got the question right, and Professor Detention here needed about two minutes to recollect himself from the shock. Just as planned, I smirked to myself, when I noticed that the new girl was now looking at me, obviously puzzled. Don’t get used to this, darling. It was nothing personal, as I have absolutely no wishes to help you. I merely wanted to annoy our dear professor. That’s all. But you are allowed to thank me. Yes, I shall grant you the honour of properly thanking me after class.

Ideas That Come at Night--

2013-05-13T14:58:00.001+03:00

--are always the best ones.

I was unable to fall asleep last night so I wrote down a few drawing ideas that have now materialized, mostly because I'm an active procrastinator who won't start working on what needs to be done academically until literally the last day before the deadline.

Hope you like.