cherrichik

fic: burn

2009-04-15T05:50:10Z

title: burn
category: avatar: the last airbender
rating: some spice
involves: an exiled prince who once again finds himself wanting what he can't have
author's notes: initial kataang, eventual zutara. first shot at an avatar fic. tried to keep the references as true to the original show as possible, seeing as i hate it when characters are oc and/or canon is largely ignored. and that to do so would make me one helluva hypocrite.

also like to say that i dislike kataang as much as i dislike sanjinami and ichihime. which means i loathe it.

enjoy!

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

He is Zuko.

She is Katara.

He wants to capture the Avatar.

She wants to stop him.

And so they begin.

oOo

The first time his view about her changes is during their face-off at the North Pole.

She manages to freeze him in place, but he is so consumed by the adrenaline pumping through his veins – so close, the Avatar was so close - that at first he doesn’t feel the cold bite of the ice.

But then, with the moon shining in her eyes, she encapsulates him completely and only now that he is unable to move does his mind register his skin burning and suddenly he thinks we are not so different.

Though he would never admit it, that thought scares him.

And so, as it has for the past three years, fear is automatically converted into anger and he blasts his way out to show her (and he) just how different they are.

oOo

Hesitantly, hesitantly, he lifts the choker to his face and watches the candle’s flicker-flame glint off it. Marvels silently at its simple elegance.

Slowly, slowly, he closes his eyes. Breathes deeply.

Finally, finally, he presses it to his scar. Feels the cool touch of the blue stone.

It soothes.

oOo

He realises he wants her to trust him when they are imprisoned together in the underground catacombs of Ba Sing Se.

He realises he wants her to respect him when she coldly snubs him after he saved her life in the Western Air Temple.

He realises he wants her to love him when she stands frozen in place as lightning crackles from his sister’s fingertips straight for her heart.

oOo

They finally announce their inevitable relationship to the world a year after the war.

Outwardly, he smiles and congratulates and cracks bad jokes about descendents and drinks a toast for their eternal happiness.

Inwardly, he knows he would willingly allow himself to be chased all over the world if it only meant that he would be the one standing by her side.

oOo

He is at a get-together celebrating her twentieth birthday.

It is as lively and upbeat and crazy as always, yet he immediately notices that one person is missing. One who is, according to her brother, halfway around the world mediating a feud between two rival Sandbending clans.

It is only then that it dawns on him - Aang’s love is for the world. He was never destined to love one person alone. His heart clenches and seeks her out among the throng of partying people with a sweeping glance.

The sad look in her eyes he alone observes as she walks to the kitchen for refills tells him that she has known this for a long, long time.

And it is taking its toll.

oOo

Mai, for once, completely understands him.

Well, if accusing and then yelling and screaming and carrying on for a good half hour in the blandest way possible before packing up and throwing a few kunai at his head for good measure and moving to the other side of the city can be counted as understanding.

But she doesn’t tell her parents about their break-up (granted, she never told them about their getting together either) and visits when she needs to.

He is grateful yet can’t help but taste guilt, however, when she tells him that she is getting married in the next spring.

oOo

Sometimes he thinks Can we start over?

He knows that this is something that has already happened.

Sometimes he thinks Would you like to stay?

He knows that this is already happening, but not in the way he wishes it to be.

Sometimes he thinks Will you marry me?

He knows that this is impossible.

oOo

Many whisper that he prefers to be alone. Some think that he is detached and cold. Others gossip that he’s just not interested in girls.

With no other presence save that of a freshly brewed pot of jasmine tea, an old ex-general hears all and smiles sadly.

Iroh knows better.

Iroh always knows better.

oOo

She comes to him crying.

Tells his shirt that she can’t take it anymore as he uncomfortably returns her tight embrace.

Asks-no, pleads with him to let her spend the week, the night, the hour. Please please please she is silently chanting as her lungs fill with his scent. At first, he doesn’t understand what could possibly possess her to cross many thousands of miles from the Western Air Temple in the middle of the night with nothing but the clothes on her back.

And then he remembers the birthday party.

How many other occasions had the Airbender missed? He knows that she would have struggled with herself long and hard before coming to this point. He knows that she would have called herself things like selfish and needy and greedy for wanting the Avatar’s love for herself. Wanting to just be loved and not wanting to share, for who can bear to share the one they love most?

The next morning reveals a Fire Lord on the couch, a Waterbender in his bed, and an Uncle once more hopeful for his nephew’s happiness.

oOo

The Avatar never knows of her more and more frequent trips.

A part of him feels terrible guilt for stealing another’s woman, but he’s not. Isn’t he? She merely stays for the company, that’s all. Isn’t she? Her brother divides his time between the Southern Water Tribe and Kyoshi Island, while the feisty little Earthbender’s blatant distaste for Air Temples ensures she is never around either.

She spends her days walking the gardens and winding, endless hallways with him and, on occasion, his uncle. Eventually, she persuades Aang to relocate closer to the Fire Nation where, coincidentally, only ocean bars her from the Royal Palace.

He complies, and never guesses her ulterior motive.

oOo

“You know, I think I love you.”

oOo

He is waiting for her long after his candle burns out.

What she murmured right before the waves speed her away from him continue to ring in his ears.

But what would it change? Their love was forbidden. There was duty. There was responsibility. There was Aang. No matter how much she loved him, he was absolutely certain she couldn’t break his heart, and that thought broke his heart.

Having her so close and yet so far was killing him.

oOo

That night, with only Yue as a witness, they come to an unspoken conclusion amongst tangled limbs under red silk sheets and silent gasps stolen before they can escape open mouths.

She will stay with Aang, but he knows she will only ever love him and him only. Dimly, he also knows that eventually it would all blow up in his face. That he is jeopardising the relationship between their nations.

But when she walks towards him with dark hair tousled by the wind and salt encrusting her robes and eyes restless with loneliness and everything unfulfilled he knows he can’t deny her.

Can’t deny himself.

oOo

He is Zuko.

She is Katara.

Does he regret? If he were to be truly honest, without any explanations or justifications, he would say no.

Does she regret? If she were to be truly honest, without any explanations or justifications, she would say no.

And so they remain.

fic: all these lives

2009-02-19T11:45:45Z

title: all these lives
category: misc
rating: squeaky clean
involves: problems, so many problems...
author's notes: my entry for the tim winton awards. focuses on global issues and whatnot. created from a prompt by my school's writing club, where the words 'the moon', 'robbery', 'friends', 'crammed', 'child', 'reprieve', 'like', and 'invincible' must be used. also, the book included in this fic, The Reprieve, is a real-life book and, if you look it up, you'll find that it's not a random choice just to scratch a word off the list. also, apologies for the annoying extra large spaces :/

enjoy!

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

A young girl looks at the moon and sees beauty. Caught in the awkward stage between childhood and adolescence, she wishes she could be a celestial body too; only she will be in mortal shape and form, swathed in a loveliness none can compare to. Playing with her one remaining pigtail – the other had the ribbon plucked as soon as she reluctantly turned up for class - she smiled for the first time that day.

That’ll teach the girls in school.

oOo

A lone man looks at the moon and sees a friend. He is fishing on a small, wooden canoe - passed down from one generation to the next – and knows very well how important she is to his trade. Usually his nets are full by now, crammed with tropical marine life that he’ll gently return if they aren’t what he’ll bring home at dawn. But now, he is forced to go out further and further, and even then the fish are so small his knowledge of his isolated corner of the world tells him he cannot take them. Spangled light shimmers over the surface of the calm waters and across his back, tanned from hour upon hour of constant labour as wearily, he paddles further out to sea.

Maybe if he travels just a little bit further, he tells himself. Just a little further.

oOo

A teenage boy looks up at the moon and sees the only light for miles around. Wouldn’t it be nice to live in the sky, he thinks as he catches his breath in a darkened alleyway; but only vaguely, for he is trembling and in shock, trying to come to terms with what he has just done. A robbery. Clutching the small packet to his chest like a lifeline, he takes a deep breath and tries to calm his racing pulse, telling himself over and over that he did what he had to. When the urge to throw up everything and nothing subsides, he peels himself from the shadows and walks through the dilapidated, dirty streets to his home in the slums, bare brown feet scuffing through the rubbish.

Oh well, he thinks in an attempt to cheer himself up, at least he and his family will have food in the morning.

oOo

An old woman looks at the moon and sees hope. She is aged, and in her age knows the young people laugh at her story of horror. But who can blame them? She remembers laughing at the old people when she was their age, thinking that it was no good feeding them morals and warnings because they just didn’t want them to have fun. A copy of The Reprieve lies next to her hand, where the skin is now so transparent veins can be seen. She is lonely and forgotten, a souvenir of many yesterdays ago. All she has left is hope. Hope for what, she doesn’t even know. But she has hope and that keeps her alive, because she remembers better times. She remembers feeling invincible and laughing with her friends.

However, she also remembers being called a dirty Jew.

oOo

A curious child looks at the moon and sees just that. The moon.

2008 wrap-up. no pun intended.

2008-12-24T04:13:02Z

alas and woe, this'll be the last lj post of the year (off to die on a plane to melbourne then sydney for ten days XD). so, go figures, why not do a wrap-up of the year? this is also for me to look back on, so don't worry. i'm laughing at myself as well.

       general</u>

proudest achievement: my sister. always has been and always will be
oldest obsession: (actual) football (11 years... once you get into football it sticks with you for life)
newest obsession: ichigo x rukia (round a month. i love these two; they kill me XD)
stupidest thing said: "what happened to the fucking?" yer. that's why i've remembered it.
stupidest thing done: introducing my body to copious amounts of alcohol from questionable sources. not exactly my finest hour.
recently gained: a new friend =3
recently lost: 20 years off my life (when we almost lost my git sister in shanghai)
holidays: 3 (shanghai, melbourne and sydney. most i've ever taken)

        school

best subject: art design... because it's the only non tee subject i'm doing XD
worst subject: chem. for obvious reasons.
year highlights: hanging out with mates, making new friends, dinner dance (freaking awesomely sweaty clubbing sorta night *sighs dreamily*), our awesome mentor class with only one superly annoying person...
average stress level: 60%
can't wait for: muck-up week
can wait for: the ball (yaaaay... dresses... make-up... heels... fancy schmancy jewellery...)

        music (based on moi ipod)

top 25: from 1 through to 25, here goes...

enough - disturbed
indestructible - disturbed
façade - disturbed
inside the fire - disturbed
liang shan bo, zhu li ye - gary cao ge & genie chuo
torn - disturbed
deceiver - disturbed
haunted - disturbed
criminal - disturbed
stand by me - anna tsuchiya inspi. nana (black stones)
the night - disturbed
divide - disturbed
perfect insanity - disturbed
love me - yiruma
lonely in gorgeous - tommy february6
shuang fei - he run dong
sakura biyori - mai hoshimura
love hurts - yiruma
we can make it! - arashi
do you want to - franz ferdinand
kimi ga suki da to sakebitai - baad
kokoro no chizu - boystyle
sayaendou - newS
a to z - zz

in my defence, i say that i haven't even got half the songs i want - still lacking in pretty much everything trapt, relient k, rise against, evans blue, masterplan etc.

       the 2-D world

otp (one true pairing): zoro x nami forever, people!!
the best: one piece, hands down; but nana is also right up there. no other owns as hard as these two.
biggest opinion change: orihime ~~should just fucking die~~ is actually okay
happiest moment: when kubo-san came to his senses and BROUGHT RUKIA BACK!! (finally...)
saddest moment: ren's death... still so upset about that...
most hero moment: zoro after stepping into kuma's suffering paw. the fangirls died and went to zoro-worshipping heaven

        2009 (aka LEAVERS, BABY!! WHOO!!)

hopes to: redeem my (slightly) crappy 2008
new year's resolutions: pass chem, do nanowrimo (what? i can sleep in december, thankyou), stay sober the whole year, dress as a goth to muck-up week, get double piercings, kill jesse mccartney (*moans* my aaaaaaavatar moooovie... noooooo... *melts*) and buy my damned bag of sesame seeds
needs to do more: studying/sleeping
needs to do less: fic/meme writing, zoning out, procrastination, dreaming about meeting The One (piece of vivienne westwood i've always wanted... the silver armour ring) face-to-metal
would love to: make new friends
would hate to: part from friends at the end of the year
</strong>
it'll be interesting to compare this to 2009, considering by then i'll probably be screaming at myself at how stupid i was that i didn't put something smarter/wittier/more relevant... that is, if i haven't done nanowrimo and therefore am not using the summer hols as a suitable period to hibernate. so, hi future self! please don't kill me. if you do, you'll never exist!!

anyways, i'll get off now to watch the nightmare before christmas (one of the best movies e-vaah) on the plane. hope yous all have an awesome x-mas and new year, and i'll see ya in 2009 for more madness and crack!
mood: relaxed

-cherri

fic: the night went on

2008-12-18T07:55:10Z

title: the night went on
category: one piece
rating: squeaky clean
involves: a navigator's relationship with six different nakama at six different points in time
author's notes: nami-centric with no couplings, though i do have a subtle mention of sanji x robin. for all franky x robin fans out there, i'm awful sorry... i can't make up my mind between the two >.< this is just a mindless little thing that looks at nami's interactions with her nakama up until robin up until the end of events at enies lobby. no spoilers here. this was inspired by my random musings as to where chopper would go if he had nightmares. in this one i changed it so that he was feeling homesick as he's just left drum.

enjoy!

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

Luffy comes to her like a man on a mission.

“Nami,” he shakes her gently then pauses and huffs. She knows without looking he is folding his arms and pouting. “I know you’re awake. You’re ignoring me.” He accuses.

She rolls over to glare. “I’m not—” but she sees his triumphant grin and curses herself for falling for something so childish.

“What is it,” she mutters as she sits up. “And before you ask, no. I refuse to help you raid the fridge.”

His grin never falters as he shakes his head and hat with it. “Nope. Wrong guess.” Then he takes her arm. “Common!”

“Luffy!” She hisses. “There are sensible people,” she’ll think about the irony of that later, “sleeping above us. Like we should be. So if you’re not going back to bed, keep your obnoxious voice down.” But she is already walking over to her cupboard to put a coat over her flannel pyjamas.

When she is ready, she follows his excited form out on deck and watches as he punches the air to stretch his hand up to the crow’s nest. Once he grabs it, he then uses the other to hold her securely around the waist.

They land in a tangle of limbs and they laugh as they attempt to untangle themselves.

“Alright, Luffy. What’s this all about?” He says nothing, but merely flops down to joins her as she leans against the cool wood.

Then: “Watch.”

She frowns. The day has been long and draining and although it’s lifted a weight from her chest she still wants some time alone.

“I really don’t get you sometimes. Watch wha-oh.” She has turned to face him when suddenly bright stars have begun to streak across his eyes in all their fiery splendour, and she realises that they are a reflection… a reflection of…

She looks up.

The night sky is now alive with the meteor shower and though the sight also reflects in her eyes, the wonder and beauty sinks in.

“H-How did you—” It comes out as an awed whisper.

“It’s my turn for watch, right?” He never takes his eyes off the falling stars, but looks at her through his peripheral vision as she does with hers.

When the shower finishes, she still sits dazed up at the sky. This is not the first time she has seen one, not by a long shot, but it is the first time she has seen one while being free. Truly free.

“Th-Thankyou.” Is all she can choke out.

He grins at her. No problem, it says.

“But can I ask why?” He cocks his head and looks a little confused.

“Why’d you bring me out here? It’s not every night you drag a girl out of bed in the middle of the night.” Her tone is light and almost teasing, but the question is serious. She hopes he will catch on.

“Because.” The grin is gone, replaced by the serious look he always wears when he goes into battle. The same look he wore earlier today. “You’re special.”

She isn’t expecting that, and it shows.

“I mean it!” He nods his head emphatically up and down, and now he looks almost comical. “You always lead us straight to One Piece, and you wash our clothes—”

“I charge you, remember?” She tries to interject because admittedly his actions were scaring her, but he doesn’t seem to hear.

“—you make sure we don’t spend all our money… even though we end up broke anyway…” the last part is muttered more as an afterthought to himself than her, “and you mend my hat and you keep us in line and lots and lots of other stuff.”

“Luffy!” Finally, she is able to get a word in edgewise. “What’s your point?”

Whatever playfulness that has been there before is definitely absent now.

He frowns at her. “I’m your Captain now.” The frown becomes deeper. “Not him. I kicked his ass today, didn’t I? You are my nakama. Mine. Everyone heard. So don’t ever,” The frown is now bordering on murderous intent, “run off again and do something stupid.” His brow softens then. “That’s my job.”

“Luffy…” And she doesn’t know what else she can add to that.

Just then, he didn’t look like a boy. He looked like a Captain. A man.

“Aa, s’late.” He hops up nimbly and gives a yawn and a stretch and then extends a hand towards her, and suddenly he is the same youthful Luffy she knows again. She takes his hand.

One Gomu Gomu no Pistol later and she is climbing back into bed - not minding her warm spot has gone cold long ago – and he is walking to her door to resume watch over them all.

“Luffy?” She says sleepily, watching him with heavy lids. For once, she feels the tables are turned. Like she is the younger one and he is the protective older brother.

He turns to her.

“We should do it again sometime.”

The wide smile that creeps onto his face is contagious and she finds herself grinning drowsily back.

“Night… Captain.”

As he softly shuts the door behind him, she doesn’t see the trademark childish smile that curves his mouth turn into one of maturity and satisfaction.

oOo

Chopper comes to her as a young child does when disturbed by a bad dream.

She hasn’t gone to bed yet, even though it’s far into the second watch – the map of Drum lacks an eastern shore and north arrow – when he taps on her door so quietly that at first she doesn’t hear. Then he taps again, and her voice rings clear as a bell in the still, silent night air.

“No, Luffy. Not tonight.” But even she can tell that the annoyance and anger that make those words deadly and final are absent.

The door timidly opens a crack and she whips her head up from her map, fully prepared to throw her quill at the foolish man that has entered.

She is greeted by the sight of the reindeer boy peering out from behind the door – again, she thinks, the wrong way around – and notices how much smaller he looks in the flickering candlelight, especially without his hat.

He lifts wet eyes hesitantly to her face, and instantly she knows he sees he will get warm comfort here.

“N-Nami?” he carefully shuts the door behind him and takes a small step forward. “I-I, I keep thinking about Doctor. And Doctorine. Can I…?” He reaches up hoofed arms up in a gesture that would have pulled the brim of his hat down to shamefully cover leaking, homesick eyes, had it not been hanging on the peg next to his new hammock. He looks surprised and ever more scared and bewildered and she is beginning to think that the hat to Chopper is like a safety blanket to any young child.

But at the sound of his voice – all cotton candy and innocence and blissful naivety – she really looks at his face this time and sees the brave look set with large eyes that cannot hide his fright and uncertainty and is shocked at how much he looked like her all those years ago.

Not when she was making her deal with Arlong, no, she made sure the monster never saw how truly frightened she was - is – of him, but when she showed her first payment to Nojiko. To Gen-san. To them all. Somehow, in front of their eyes, the fright came out and, before she looked down at the thick wad of cash in her hand, the truth almost did too.

She could only babble to them about the money, because she was afraid of spilling everything if she spoke of anything else.

And so, because of that, she melts.

Though she will never admit it to them, she has gone soft, but none will dare to say it out loud because the unspoken excuse is that if it is, they will receive a debt not even finding One Piece three times over can repay in both gold and adventure. With all this processed in her mind in a flash, she comes to her decision.

The next morning, the cook glares burning cleavers at the little reindeer boy over the breakfast table.

oOo

Sanji comes to her bearing gifts.

Setting the small tray carefully on a stool next to her desk – so as to ensure no accidental spills over the tools of her trade and her almost-finished product – she is again reminded for the umpteenth time of how his overenthusiastic attention and care definitely has its benefits.

He is about to leave – silently, always silently, because it is late and they have just got back to the Blue Sea and he knows that when it is the two of them he doesn’t have to pretend – when the steam from the hot chocolate curls towards her and in a split second the word falls unbidden from her mouth.

“Stay.”

He freezes with a hand on the doorhandle, and she can see the muscles of his back tense under the thin dress shirt by the scrutiny of her candle’s flame.

“Are,” the word comes out hoarse and croaky, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Are you sure?”

Despite being surprised herself, she realises that past the poetic compliments and divine cooking abilities and insane strength… she still does not know much about him. The thought immediately makes her feel guilty – he is constantly trying so hard to please her, to make her happy, why can’t she do this little thing for him?

She nods her approval.

He comes back into the room, hesitant and on-edge and for a fleeting moment she thinks of Chopper, the first time he came to seek comfort.

And so it began. He always sits leaning against her bed (never on it) and does not talk (unless she does first) until she is done with her map, in which she will join him. It happens two, three times a week and sometimes he visits twice in one night. She does not always ask him to stay, and she can tell that he is torn between desperately wanting her to and desperately wanting to run. She knows that for him it is bittersweet bliss – having her so close, having all of her undivided attention, and yet never truly owning her. Understanding her.

She also comes to realise that he – unconsciously, because he would never say these things aloud – seems to mind this part less and less as time goes on.

In a small corner of her mind, she suspects it is because another woman has captured his heart.

It only becomes clearer when he always seeks to put a little bit of space between them, no matter how friendly the subject, or how when he talks of things she knows he links with his special woman his features will soften and his eyes are warmer than she can ever remember them being when laid on her.

She feels a little disappointed, but not jealous.

Never jealous.

oOo

Usopp comes to her because he doesn’t realise she is there in the first place.

“N-Nami!” He is panting, eyes still wide in the aftermath of fright. “Don’t do that!”

She wonders what he is doing out on deck so late (she is sure tonight she is on night-watch alone) and why his footsteps sounded so heavy and sad, so she tries to lighten the mood: “The Great Captain Usopp is scared?”

That does the job.

The long-nose is instantly on his feet, one hand on his hip and the other pointing a thumb at his chest in a dramatic ‘hero’ pose. She bites back a laugh – he looks ridiculous doing it in his pyjamas.

“Of course not, young girl,” the voice that speaks sounds like Usopp, but the arrogance and self-confidence layered on top makes her think that Zoro has been mixed in as well, “I was merely worried if you were scared.”

“Sure,” she rolls her eyes but allows a smile to curve her lips, “But anyways, what brings you out here?”

She almost wishes she hadn’t asked.

He drops the pose immediately – his shoulders slump and his nose points straight down. His face, however proud and cocky before, now looks withdrawn and worried and just so sad.

“You wanna share?” A frown mars her brow as she watches the instant change; she really is going soft, she thinks to herself dimly. But she also knows that she is past caring.

The sniper looks up and eyes her critically for a moment, as if weighing up his options, before giving a tired sigh and all but collapses next to her.

“I guess so. You’re probably the only one who’ll understand.” That grabs her attention even more.

“I’m,” he hesitates, as if picking his words carefully until realising there is really one way to put it, “I’m starting to doubt my place in the crew.”

It is as if she doesn’t have her coat on – the cold feeling that spreads is swift and instantly numbing.

“What do you mean?” She struggles to keep her voice calm, struggles not to expose the fear and panic that is worming its way under her skin.

“You saw Aokiji today!” Usopp’s shoulders are tense and hunched now – he looks so frustrated she is afraid to say anything in case he snaps. “Luffy was brought down instantly, a-and I… I just stood there. I feel so useless.” He gives a bitter laugh, something she has never heard or imagined escaping his mouth. “Why did he choose me in the first place? I’ll probably never understand. But whatever the reason, it was a damned mistake because he could have… could have died and I couldn’t do anything!” He slams a tanned fist viciously into the wooden panelling of Merry’s deck and she jumps.

He has never done that before. He loves Merry.

It seems to have occurred to him as well, because he blinks and stares at the fist like he’s never seen it before until realisation sinks in.

“I’m so sorry, Merry…” and the fist turns into a hand again to tenderly stroke the dent away.

She can only watch.

“But I mean it,” he says softly, still stroking, stroking, stroking. He does not sound angry or frustrated now, only… tired. “I’m telling you because we don’t have their monstrous strength. We rely on our wits to survive. But you…” he attempts to laugh again, but it comes out as a strangled choke, “without you, we’d be lost. We need you, Nami. But you don’t need me.”

“That’s not true!” They are both surprised at how loud her voice is; it ricochets off the railing and mikan grove walls to bounce back mockingly in her ears.

She doesn’t wait, though.

“Remember? When you fought for me at Arlong Park? You were nowhere near their strength but you fought just the same. You defeated a Merman! You bought us time we didn’t have to save Luffy from drowning. You’ve patched up Merry and because of your work we’ve come this far. You defeated single figure Baroque Works agents. You defended Luffy’s honour and dream. You helped take down a Priest in Sky Island. You got to me before Sanji-kun did and you stood up to Enel!” She realises she is on the verge of tears; his stunned face swims blurrily in her vision. “Don’t say that. Don’t say that. To lose a nakama… Usopp, we need you too. We’re a team. A family. All of us.”

The shock still frozen on his face indicates he isn’t prepared for that, but she can see she has got to him when he gives a small smile.

“Thankyou. Nami.”

She manages a watery smile. “If you dare think things like that again, I’ll tax you to the White White Sea. Got it?”

“Got it.” He walks away with a lighter step than when he came. As he turns the corner, she wipes her eyes and takes in a deep, calming breath before settling down again to resume watch.

It will take something huge to change his mind now, she thinks.

oOo

Robin comes to her because they share a room.

“Navigator-san, may I ask you a question?” The raven-haired woman’s voice always puts her at ease. It is rich and smooth, like the coffee Sanji makes for her each morning.

She likes to think that they are as close as sisters, but deep down she also knows there is a lot the archaeologist has left unsaid. She wonders if, left untapped, all the years she has suffered (and she knows she has suffered – one look deep into those blue eyes reveal what she knows can also be found in hers) might finally catch up to her… make her lose control…

The thought always makes her shudder.

“Of course.” They are both preparing for bed.

“Why did you join this crew?”

Her eyes darken as underneath her skin old wounds begin to stir and awaken. She realises there is a lot she has left unsaid as well.

“It’s a long story,” she laughs, consciously making her voice light. “Everyone’s is, I suppose.”

Robin does not speak for a while – instead, she slides long legs under the covers and reaches for a book. She realises with a jolt that her companion is still thinking about their run-in with Aokiji. Her mind jumps to Usopp…

“How much do you trust Captain-san?”

“With my mikan and gold.” The answer she gives is immediate and she sees amusement sparkle in those mysterious blue eyes.

“That much? What about—”

“I trust them all the same, Robin.” Up until now, she has never cut off the older woman before. Still, she just can’t help the bubble of annoyance that always rises when her loyalties are being called into question.

Never again, she tells herself. Never again.

To soothe the wound, she adds softly: “Including you.”

She does not expect her to answer, and she is right. The woman gives off an air of maturity that it seems to permeate the whole room, making her acutely aware at times that her cunning and quick wit is nothing compared to Robin’s wisdom and experience. When she asks someone as inexperienced and new to the world questions that she obviously doesn’t ask all the time, she can’t help but feel slightly more important.

But, she thinks as she climbs into bed, everything she said is true. Mikan and gold she considers far more valuable than her own life. She will gladly give up her existence if it meant saving them, saving her nakama - if Luffy will let her, she reminds herself with a tiny grin.

And, as Robin puts away her book and they blow out their candles after exchanging good-nights and the room falls silent save for quiet breathing and the occasional rustling of blankets, she wonders what the enigma in the bed next to her would do, if she was in that situation.

She has trouble sleeping, because she already knows the answer.

oOo

Zoro comes to her because he feels like it.

She is working on yet another map when she hears a self-confident knock at her door.

“Come in.”

To say she is surprised to see the swordsman enter is an understatement; he has rarely ever called in on her. But he shuts the door and walks in like he’s done so every night and been in here all his life and stands tall just inside the circle of lamplight.

“Yo.”

She can’t help but raise an eyebrow: “Need something?”

He ignores the question to squint at her and frown. “You look like crap.”

“Thanks.” She says shortly, turning back to her map.

“No, really.” Obviously, he hasn’t taken the hint. “Get some sleep… you look like a den den mushi.”

Well, she’ll keep that one in mind when she hands out pocket money tomorrow.

“What are you doing here, Zoro?” Her quill continues to scratch their adventures onto paper.

“Just wanted to know what you’re doing up so late,” he shrugs. “Went to piss and saw your light on. Thought I’d come see when I came back.”

At least he is making an effort to be nice, she thinks. So to acknowledge his efforts, she shows her appreciation towards the swordsman in the only way she knows how: nagging and insults.

“You’d better have washed your hands before you touched my doorhandle. Idiot.” But she can’t help smiling anyway.

The offending hands – which are stuffed into his pockets – emerge.

“What if I haven’t?” He holds them out in front of him and steps toward her.

“You’re being awfully friendly.” She can’t help but push his buttons.

It is all that needs to be said to bring the scowl back to his face. He lets his hands drop. “Thanks. But I think it’s the anaesthetic shit that’s making me less…” he struggles for the right word.

“Stoic? Unemotional? Anti-social? Take your pick.”

“Bitch.”

“That’s the Zoro we all know and love.” She rolls her eyes. “Wait, what are you doing?”

He has settled himself near her, leaning against her desk with closed eyes.

“Waiting ‘til you’re done.”

“Shouldn’t you stay in the medical room?” She asks, even as her eyes soften. “We just left Water 7. You still need so—”

“Woman, I’m fine,” he grumbles, never opening his eyes. “If you want me to get lost, tell me so. You’ve never had a problem with that before.”

“Neither have you,” she counters.

“Details.” A shrug of broad shoulders hidden by bandages. Her heart isn’t in their battle of words and he knows it. “But whatever, Usopp and Robin are back, and we got Franky and a bigger tub. After all the shit we went through, finally seems worth it, eh.”

That’s why he’s acting this way, she thinks. He’s much happier about the whole business than he lets on. So, the infamous Roronoa Zoro has a heart after all… even if it is the anaesthetic or sake talking. Probably both.

She smiles, completing her map to the sound of soft snores.

The night went on.

about yourself meme

2008-10-25T12:17:13Z

meme stolen from 73737 (who in turn stole it from mishagirl XD)

   -three names you go by:
1. liza
2. zaza
3. cherri

   -three physical things you don't like about yourself:
1. legs (were so sore i was seriously considering chopping them off)
2. neck (still creaking like old woman bones...)
3. nose (hehe, random)

   -three parts of your heritage:
1. ~~irish~~ chinese (pfft, i wish...)
2. chinese
3. chinese

   -three things that scare you:
1. my sister/friends getting hurt/dying (my ultimate nightmare)
2. horror movies (saw II... *shudders*)
3. weird eyebrow movements (i'm actually serious, they freak me out)

   -three of your everyday essentials:
1. friends (brilliant stuff, friends...)
2. ipod (surgically implanted in my ears)
3. band-aids (you don't wanna know)

   -three things you are wearing now:
1. grey hoodie
2. p.e. shorts
3. my mismatching 'emo' socks

   -three of your favourite bands/music artists: (CRUELTY!! CRUELTY!!!)
1. disturbed (their new album is just... sfhiso;zgn.)
2. new found glory (mmm... new found glory...)
3. paramore (all-around awesomeness)

   -three of your favourite songs right now: (dshfm.gro AAAAAHH!!!)
1. enough - disturbed (love it so much)
2. beg - evans blue (one of my original faves)
3. stand by me - anna tsuchiya inspi. nana (black stones) (so sweet... =3)

   -three things you want in a relationship:
1. trust
2. communication
3. humour

   -two truths and a lie (in no particular order)
1. border collies are my favourite dogs
2. loove all anime
3. i can get high on two jellybeans, but i can't with virtually every other sugary substance

   -three physical things about the preferred sex that appeal to you:
1. it's all about the smile *taps nose*
2. green eyes (second only by thiiis much *holds thumb and index finger half a millimetre apart)
3. chocolate brown, ruffleable hair (no idea why eh)

   -three of your favourite hobbies (hehe, go figures for all these):
1. music
2. art
3. soccer (i just don't have the time/energy anymore, otherwise this would be first...)

   -three things you want to do really badly right now:
1. sleep
2. relive the dinner dance
3. sleep (so i can do it all over again)

   -three careers you're considering/you've considered:
1. mid for chelsea wfc (my original dream ~~that's never gonna happen~~)
2. pro photographer (to see the wonders of the world)
3. forensics (my 'realistic' dream)

   -three places you want to go on vacation:
1. ireland (who didn't see this coming?)
2. canada
3. europe (to club/bar-hop XD)

   -three names you like:
1. aoife (ee-fee)
2. chase
3. magwitch (hey, SHUT UP!! *pouts* it has a ring to it, okay?)

   -three things you want to do before you die:
1. hire a whole floor of a hotel with my friends (PILLOW FIGHTS!!)
2. club from dusk til dawn, sleep, then do it all again
3. be the proud owner of at least one piece of vivienne westwood (i worship her like a valley-girl worships chanel)

   -three ways you are stereotypically a girl:
1. i completely worship the animated disney movies
2. i scream and carry on if something really exciting has happened (DRALION!! OMFG!! OMFG!! O.M.F.G!!!)
3. carry lip balm in my school bag, though i rarely use it >.<

   -three ways you are stereotypically a guy:
1. loooove my metal/rock/screamo
2. hate pink with a passion
3. i say fuck a lot... like shazza from bridget jones' diary...

   -three people you'd like to see take this quiz:
1. orientalblossom
2. see
3. above

mood: sleepy

-cherri

ps. as a side-note, the lie was number two. apart from a handful most anime are just... weird...

pps. a multi-chapter fic in the making. (purely a test-fic but, so there's a 99.9% chance i won't finish it...)

pic: green eyes

2008-09-27T02:43:55Z

another pic :)?

hehe once you've seen enough of my stuff you'll discover i have an awful habit of drawing on a tilt. again, all details are on the site, though i gotta say the shoulders should be broader >:( it's always annoying how it looks fine when you've been staring at it for ages, but after you don't look at it for a while and then suddenly look something major's always wrong >>:( *majorly annoyed*

also can't believe i haven't put up any punk stuff...

enjoy...?

to deviantart with a username that is a not-so-subtle tribute to my ultimate obsession!

mood: creative

-cherri

fic: points of view

2008-09-21T09:39:50Z

title: points of view
category: one piece
rating: squeaky clean
involves: two nakama attempting to see eye-to-eye.
author's notes: decided to add this section to clear up some issues; please go back and read the others. okay, this is a nakamaship of my OTP, zoro x nami with a few subtle hints of more than friendship =3 it's a little rushed as the idea hit me as i was washing the dishes, and i tried to leave it as unedited as possible.
as you can tell, it's set during the arabastan civil war-ness :/ not a good time... so yeah. i know the idea's been overused by zoro x nami shippers everywhere, but - like them - i just couldn't help myself *ashamed*
again, only scraping the surface with issues and character personalities (most of it is pretty OOC :/) but if i ever make a multi-chapter i'll expand on them.

enjoy!

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

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

She wasn’t talking about not knowing whether her nakama but one were alive or not. She wasn’t talking about the Marines out to get them. Hell, she wasn’t even talking about the downright civil war raging around them.

He wasn’t saying anything.

No complaint or biting retort to her demanding a piggyback ride when she had finally located him. No acknowledgment she’d beaten Miss Doublefinger. No expression at the sight of her punctured foot.

Nothing. Nothing but furious silence.

Nami wasn’t used to getting the cold shoulder from the swordsman; damn, she even considered their daily spats healthy. In some twisted way, it made her feel like everything was okay between them. Like everything was normal. This was not normal.

She had tried to irk him into at least some form of insult, but the only indication he had heard was the tightening of his muscles, and she still couldn’t quite tell if that was because he was ignoring her and getting more and more pissed – or because he was struggling with the effort of carrying her in his already handicapped state and getting more and more tired. If only she could see his face, she would be able to tell. Staring at the back of his head couldn’t tell her anything; who knows why she was still doing it? She suddenly felt extremely tired.

What made her finally feel the weight of the situation was when she noticed the blood that kept staining her front again and again was not hers.

Having a change of heart, she decided on a new tactic.

“Zoro,” the redhead tried in as gentle a voice as she could muster – which was hard, considering she needed to make sure he heard her above the sounds of cannon-fire and clashing swords, “Zoro, why are you angry with me?”

Again with the tightening of the muscles, again his taut arms hitched her up more securely.

He’s covering up, she realised. There’s something he doesn’t want me to know. Something about me.

As his nakama, Nami couldn’t deny that that hurt. Frowning, she decided she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Pressing herself closer against him by shaking arms around his neck, she placed her mouth close to his ear, now all but pleading.

“Please?”

She didn’t even have time to blink.

oOo

Next thing she knew, she was firmly seated on an abandoned stall and face-to-face with an extremely annoyed Roronoa Zoro.

“Don’t ever, do that again.” He was so close their noses were almost touching. Though his face and voice were laced with warning, his eyes revealed something akin to panic.

Like she had done something she shouldn’t have. Something no-one should ever know.

Curious brown eyes stared back. “Do what?”

He blinked, confusion flitting across his features that went as quickly as it came. Pulling back, he sighed.

“Never mind. Get back on.”

“No.” Zoro raised an eyebrow.

“Why are you annoyed? You wouldn’t even argue with me when I asked for a ride! And I meant that as a joke!”

He had the audacity to look slightly embarrassed and mumbled something under his breath. Now it was her turn to raise an eyebrow.

“What?”

”I said-” He halted, then, seeing her expectant expression, sighed and caved. “I said, I would’ve carried you anyways.”

And Nami didn’t quite know what to say to that.

“…oh. Thankyou.”

“No problem.”

Silence.

“So really, why did you ignore me? What did I do?” She dimly realised how pathetic she sounded, but the thought of having Zoro furious at her wasn’t one she liked having. Surprisingly, she realised that it wasn’t because of his reputation.

All she wanted out of this was to regain his trust.

“…You… really could’ve gotten hurt.” He looked so uncomfortable she fought the urge to smile. “I mean,” he raked a hand through his hair, “We were partners. I was supposed to protect you. What would have happened if you… you…” He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to say it.

She almost found it ironically amusing that the man who had killed without a backward glance was suddenly having so much trouble speaking the end product of his trade, but shoved that thought to the back of her mind as her annoyance rose.

“You think I couldn’t have beaten Miss Doublefinger?”

“I don’t know!” He was back to his usual frown, confusion now clear on his face. “That’s the thing. And also…”

“Also?” She prompted when he didn’t speak.

Zoro looked up, looked her straight in the eye. “If I let you die, not only can I never forgive myself… Luffy could never forgive me either.”

The way his voice almost cracked in the middle touched something in her heart. Up until that moment, Nami hadn’t realised just how much faith, how much hope, how much trust the stoic young man had put into their boy-Captain.

But still…

“I can fight my own battles, you know.”

He smirked. “I know you can, bu-”

“No, you don’t. I don’t want to be the damsel in distress. I’m tired of being saved. I did this to prove I can be more than just the cute navigator,” The bitterness in her words surprised them both.

The redhead didn’t even realise she was shaking until he placed his hands on her shoulders. They were calloused and hardened but warm and solid. It gave her strength.

“You did good,” he conceded. “But if you die, I’ll personally drag your expensive ass from Hell so I can send it back myself. Got it?” His tone was serious but his eyes were smirking at the familiar territory they were back into.

Smiling, she let him help her stand, get on his back: "Got it."

Things were back to normal.

pic: rising

2008-09-16T13:36:36Z

ok, umm... first of all... i've been hella busy and err... yer... *tugs collar*

but i've finally managed to drag myself on and get something up. it's not a fic, but something i did in art design (the crappy one, not the art that counts towards final exams).

enjoy...?

to deviantart with a username that is a not-so-subtle tribute to my ultimate obsession!

mood: creative

-cherri

ps. username was created because cherrichik was taken *mock-glare* and in one of my pensive moods. now i can't change it. phooey.

my rating system

2008-08-22T13:58:55Z

to clear the air as to what things are rated on my lj, i thought i might as well post this. bit dry but bear with me, please?

-- my rating system --

squeaky clean: pure fluff. may have a few connotations, but definitely few and far between.
some spice: some stuff references, may be implied but again, not much.
run through: some violence, but not much. this is the category i'll be writing the least of.
tainted: heavier stuff references and violence, but nothing graphic.

i do NOT write smut (aka graphic sex) or gorey/extremely dark fics, merely because i just can't.

next word dump should be up soon. as a side-note, if anyone wishes to use any as a prompt, feel free to. all i ask is that you let me know so i can comment; it's the least i could do.

mood: exhausted

-cherri

fic: modern world

2008-08-21T13:52:04Z

title: modern world
category: one piece
rating: tainted
involves: a man torn between his life and his pride.
author's notes: rated for themes but nothing explicit. the inspiration for this was hinder's song 'lips of an angel' and ai yazawa's beautifully true-to-life manga 'NANA'.
i wanted to do a zoro x nami centred piece set in today's world to expose the different shades of 'cheating' and how things are never black and white, as well as the idea of consequences from flaws that make us so human.
so sort of a condensed look at human nature and folly, but since this is a one-shot i haven't gone into all that much detail and really, i've only barely scraped the surface.

enjoy!

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

Five hours, too many shots of alcohol and a taxi ride later found Roronoa Zoro in an apartment that was most definitely not his.

Truth be told, he hadn’t had this much to drink in quite a while, as nine out of ten the effect it had got him into sticky situations… and this was definitely one of them. With blurred vision and slightly wobbly legs and seeing the floor mix with the ceiling and… this was new… thinking that there was something vaguely familiar about the hazy figure of mature, womanly curves coming towards him.

Huh…?

But then she was kissing him and reaching for his shirt and undoing his belt and pulling him down a dim hallway and then all coherent thought left him altogether.

oOo

The first thing that struck him when he woke up the next morning was his hangover.

He hadn’t had one like this since his high school graduation after-party. And when he looked down at the bed in bewilderment, he realised someone had changed his standard green duvet for a thick purple comforter.

Hold on…

Onyx eyes scanned the room, his splitting headache blocking out the all-important question of “What the fuck?” that was trying to be properly processed by his brain.

Black met blue.

“If you’re wondering about last night,” came a smooth voice after a long, drawn-out pause, “We had sex.”

Oh.

Fuck.

oOo

Well, he tried to reason with himself, it could’ve been worse. Giving her a quick once-over, he cringed. Could’ve been worse, but could’ve been a lot better, too. She may be attractive, but most definitely not his type.

So naturally, he asked: “Who are you?”

It came out far ruder than he intended; his voice was gravely with disuse and far deeper than usual, but he was surprised to notice her half-smile didn’t falter, her eyes betrayed no hurt.

If fact, she looked almost… amused.

“Nico Robin.” Again with the voice – so confident, so strong, “I happened to meet you at the bar last night.

…Well. That explained a lot.

She got up and walked to the bedside table, picked up a mug of hot coffee and handed it to him. Zoro needed no further prompting.

It was smooth and rich, just like her voice.

“Your clothes are on the chair,” Robin was walking to the door now, a casual air about her as though it was every morning a (naked) man woke up in her bed, “Oh, and by the way,” she turned towards him, “I’m pregnant, and its yours.”

The purple comforter bore spat-out coffee stains for the rest of its life.

oOo

“Man, after all that and you still come here!?” Usopp raked a hand through wiry curls, “Zoro, honestly? You should’ve learnt from our grad party. You’re supposed to be older and wiser now and you still haven’t learned.”

“Thanks, Mother.” Was the caustic retort. “Besides, you were the one who suggested we meet here.”

”I didn’t know what the hell you called me about until we were here! You should be making a bee-line away from bars, not towards them. And stop drinking!”

“I came for your advice, not for a lecture,” he said, rather irritated as his straight-up sake was whisked away from him. “You being the one with a wife and all.”

His long-time friend-now-husband sighed, then gave the matter a little thought.

“Depends which you value more.” Zoro raised an eyebrow, and Usopp gladly elaborated. “If you value your life more, you’ll forget all about this Robin and not look back. You won’t look after her or her baby and you’ll get on with your life.”

The green-haired man nodded. Seemed legitimate.

“My other option?”

“Is where it gets trickier. If you value your pride more, you’ll stick it out and look after your child.”

Zoro froze mid-nod; he knew exactly which one he valued more.

Damn you, Usopp.

oOo

He thought that Robin really should’ve been far more surprised than she was when she walked down the corridor to her apartment and found him waiting for her.

“Don’t have a key.” Was his brief explanation.

She nodded and neatly side-stepped around him to open the door.

He sat heavily at the kitchen bench, where immaculately clean stainless steel appliances gleamed, even in the dim light. The noises of the busy downtown were drowned out by the sound-proof walls, leaving the apartment uncomfortably silent.

He sucked in a breath, gathered his courage.

“I’m helping you look after the kid.”

oOo

Yes.

He was back at the bar.

Only this time, there was no Usopp to scold him and an actual reason for him to get completely smashed other than, well, he just wanted to.

He was officially single no more.

He was, as of half an hour ago, tied to a woman he didn’t – and doesn’t – love by a child conceived from his own stupidity. Don’t get him wrong, Robin was more than a decent person. It was more that if it wasn’t him in his shoes, he would’ve found the whole situation rather bizarre and laughable.

Damn all bars, he thought, punctuating the end of each of his curses with the downing of a shot and still not feeling the effects.

Damn all women.

Damn all babies.

Damn them all to Hell.

“You really don’t like your liver, do you?”

From the stool next to him, someone was speaking and then he realised.

That someone was speaking to him.

oOo

That voice… it was nothing like Robin’s. Robin’s was calm and mature and guarded and laced with mystery and cryptic clues.

But this one…

This one was open and vibrant and youthful and brimming with wit and the zesty tang of life. He’d had enough of alluring women given his current situation, so he didn’t dare look.

Then she giggled, and he realised – with embarrassment – that he had stopped with his shot halfway to his mouth.

Growling, he quickly downed it and picked up another.

“Mind your own business.”

“Whatever.” But he could hear the self-satisfied tone carelessly hidden behind the airy word. Provoking him. Taunting him. He swivelled in his seat to glare at her, completely forgetting his self-imposed rule of Not Looking.

It was at that precise moment that Nami turned to him, and grinned.

He was a goner.

oOo

Bending to kiss her bare shoulder, he smiled softly as she sighed in her sleep and snuggled up even closer. The grin abruptly dropped away when reality reared its ugly head. Again.

This was Meeting Number Six.

In ten days.

Logically, they shouldn’t even have had Meeting Number One, let alone the five that came after. But Zoro wasn’t logical and in his mind, though he knew it was (very) wrong, he couldn’t help but think that as he didn’t love Robin, he had no obligations towards her in terms of remaining faithful – they did, after all, live completely separate lives until their kid was concerned.

That was one part that irked. When the kid was born, he resolved, he’ll stop seeing her.

He knew where he stood there, at least.

oOo

The other part that irked - and he tried desperately hard not to let it – was the ‘breaking-off-with-Nami’ part.

Looking down at the lithe creature in his arms, his heart ached whenever he thought of the inevitable day he would have to do just that.

She was (excuse the cliché) a drug; his drug. She was his injection of sudden liquid fire, of frenzied passion, of wild, burning desire and… pure contentment. She was so dangerous, so addictive, so intoxicating.

And so forbidden.

See, she wasn’t single either.

oOo

After that, it wasn’t just about the sex.

They talked and laughed and bickered in equal amounts. They went to theme parks, saw movies, shared icecreams. They went shopping for clothes, for antique katana, for bargains, for nothing.

So, thought Zoro, this is what they mean by bittersweet love.

oOo

On the rare occasion he now did go home alone, he realised how much self-confidence and long legs and that mikan scent had ingrained itself into everything his, realised how her subtle marks were everywhere, realised how much he needed her.

His couch bore an icecream stain from when she flicked a spoonful at him and missed.

His kitchen table brightened with cut flowers from her window-boxes.

His pantry contained two bottles of her home-made orange sauce.

His bathroom held a bottle of her favourite bubble bath mixture.

His bedroom had some of her clothes, strewn all about, here and there.

It would all come and rush up all at once and he suddenly felt just how cold and empty and lonely it was without her.

And he always knew she felt the same because every time he made to call her, his phone rang.

oOo

He agonised constantly over the predicament he now found himself in. Always weighing up his two options in his head, always thinking and rethinking, trying to discover a loop-hole through which he could satisfy all his dearest wishes.

On one hand was his life and in it would be happiness and contentment and, to make that possible anymore, Nami. She made him feel so damn good, even when she took it upon herself to knock him down a few pegs. However, there came the Question: would he be able to live with himself?

Because on the other hand was his pride and with it a feeling that he just couldn’t possibly run from the consequences of his actions. Zoro prided in facing everything and anything head-on. He would feel guilty and selfish for letting himself off so easily.

But if he didn’t run, it meant that he would be roped into a life he wasn’t meant for, wasn’t ready for.

He imagined not waking up everyday to orange curls and caramel lashes and soft, soft skin and the scent of tangy mikan.

For the first time in his life, Zoro questioned whether his pride really was worth anything at all.

oOo

“It’s pointless.”

She didn’t need to wait for a reply, so well did they now know each other; months of intimate connection on all levels did that. “It’s pointless because you don’t love her. I know you feel like you have to stay for your child, but…” she trailed off, subconsciously wrapping her bare arms around herself.

He knew she knew those words and so many more hung between them, but she just had to voice them. She’d broken up with her own boyfriend a week ago; ironically, for catching him cheating. She didn’t want to know who it was Sanji had been seeing, still is seeing, so she just packed up and moved in with Zoro.

What seemed liked an eternity of knowingly leading her on and letting her lead him on had finally gotten to her.

He also knew what else she wanted to say, but didn’t for fear she’d come off selfish and not out of love for him. He smiled sadly.

It’s not you. It’s me. I’m the selfish one.

So to drive off those thoughts he let his hand snake around her bare middle and couldn’t help sadly smiling again when she let him pull her back onto his mattress.

Not another word was uttered as he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. Kissed her lips, her cheek, her nose, her forehead, her jaw, her neck, her lips again. But these were no lover’s kisses, hot and hungry. These were soft and gentle and tender. These were love’s kisses.

The next three words that fell from his lips, he knew, had her flying as high as he was.

“I’m leaving her.”

oOo

She’d invited him over for dinner and this was the time if any to break things off once and for all. Even though he told Nami he would, that was when he was with her. When he was with her his impending duties were all but quashed in the back of his mind, her warmth and life pulsing through his blood to charm him out of his brooding.

Now, he was seated across from Robin and all his doubts re-surfaced.

Robin was not a stupid woman. Could she know…?

But the thought of Nami reminded him of his original cause. For once, he would be selfish. Instead of facing it and sticking it out, he would end it right here right now. Nami was at stake and suddenly he realised that it wasn’t selfish at all, not really, because he wasn’t doing it for himself.

He was doing it for her.

So with this realisation at heart, he summoned up his courage and opened his mouth to say the words.

“I know.”

oOo

His head snapped up to look at the raven-haired woman. She forked a piece of roast potato which she had no intention of eating, a small, sad smile on her features.

Something in him ached; he’d never seen her wear that look before. It made him painfully aware of how little he really knew her. He wanted to apologise but didn’t, because sorry didn’t seem like a strong enough word to express his every emotion now running high.

“I’m also not pregnant,” Blue eyes slowly trailed up to meet shocked black ones. “You don’t need to stay anymore.”

He should be leaping up and running back to his apartment where Nami was, where his Nami was. One question held him back.

“Why did you lie?” His tone was soft with disbelief.

The sad smile widened slightly and she returned her eyes to her plate.

“I am not an impulsive woman, but when I saw you at the bar, I…” she drew in a breath, “I know now it was lust. After being deprived of proper love for so long, it was easy to confuse the two…” The last sentence seemed to be more to herself than him.

“But—”

She looked startled but covered it in a split second – something, Zoro knew, took years to perfect.

“I am a modern woman, Zoro. It would be foolish to uphold traditional views on romance, especially here and now. I concede what I did was wrong and selfish, but I couldn’t help myself. I’m only human as well. I made up the lie purely to see if what I felt was real. I took a chance, gambled and lost. Besides, I love another… and now, after this, I am sure of what I feel. Really, I should thank you…”

After a short pause, she looked up – it was the most she’d ever spoken to him by far. However, because of her closely guarded thoughts he was vaguely suspicious that she still harboured fond feelings for him, but wisely chose not to say anything on it.

Instead he asked, “So I can…?”

She roused herself from her thoughts to lift her chin, seemingly regained her composure.

“Yes.” Her usual smile was back, “You can.”

It was all the reassurance he needed to make him grab his coat and run for his apartment.

Inside, Nami waits.

moi is being lazy... again.

2008-08-06T13:36:58Z

my god i've been lazy.

haven't written on here for what... a week...?? bloody hell, i should get a move on and get something up on here.

hang around, something'll come very soon!!

mood: sorry

-cherri

word-dump: 1

2008-07-30T11:53:32Z

as the title implies, really. this isn't a fic, its more like a screen-dump, cept with words. i do them often; i have about six of these *embarrassed*

seperated by breaks, and each means a seperate thing aka they're not connected to each other. this is the way my mind works. these are all the random sentences and inspirations i come up with, the broken fragments of a bigger idea. enjoy...?

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

Strains of music.

Time condenses onto the mirror in billows of smoke.

Sometimes he wonders if this is wrong. It doesn’t feel wrong, only oh-so-sweet but he knows deep inside him that the person he is sleeping with is not his - never can be, never will be.

He holds on a little tighter.

Friends…

I needed them more than any cliché but then I didn’t need anyone at all. I’m only human, with basic needs and desires running into more intricate, complicated wants and dreams that somehow seem to matter so much more. In the end, however, sometimes all I want is for this feeling deep inside, this feeling that makes bile rise in my throat and the world spin because I feel so sick to go and leave me blissfully numb.

I want to sleep. I’m so tired. I want to crawl deep inside the covers, deep inside myself and fall into a deep, deep sleep. Just sleep, and never wake up again. Yes, that would be the best part.

Never waking up again.

She was in a heavy-peppermints-on-Sunday-mornings sort of mood.

So treacherously disarming. So subtly overwhelming.

Maybe it would be best for both of us to forget.

She wakes in a cold sweat. Her thoughts, those phrases, those images weigh heavy over her soul, her mind and she falls back onto her pillows as she realises it’s only a dream.

Rolling over, she re-buries herself into his chest.

"God, you punch like a girl."

"And you bruise like one."

Ground, charcoal blacks and sunny, daisy yellows and tainted, pearly whites and fresh, clover greens and raging, pomegranate reds and deep, mellowing oranges and fading, sky blues and regal, royal purples.

Of course, it all boils down to the small things.

It was all there. And jumbled up in it all was otherworldly, chaotic peace.

No-one will miss her. That much she knows.

And as he looked at their pale faces, one with sickness and one with grief, he suddenly found he couldn’t tell which looked worse; unable to bear the sudden, overwhelming emotions surging over him, he left.

Wild in nature and precise in habit.

But when she turned to him amidst her twirling with new rain rippling clean over her face and a bright spark in her eye and laughed with all the careless, youthful abandon of one who is wild at heart and free in soul, well, those thoughts went straight out the window.

wanted (more than preferably alive)

2008-07-12T10:18:27Z

this will sound a bit like an advert but bear with me XD

hi! i'm looking for someone (anyone?) to give constructive criticism on my fics. i write fiction and fanfiction, the latter i started earlier and got me into writing in the first place. concerning fiction, i write one-shots so if one or more people are good in the reviewing part of this stuff it'd be really appreciated!!

i don't aspire to be a professional author for the simple reason that i just don't have it in me and it's purely a hobby. i don't see myself making a career out of it, but regardless i'll jump at any chance i get to become better at it. writing's one of my great passions, even though i do kinda suck at it *sheepish grin*

cheers!
mood: hopeful

-cherri

fic: vintage daydreams

2008-07-11T10:17:51Z

title: vintage daydreams
category: misc
rating: squeaky clean
involves: the five senses
author's notes: no idea where i pulled this from.
i guess it stems from my hypocritical nature. i love the sleekness of the newest hi-tech gadgets, but at the same time the rustic and earthy feel of old, abandoned knick-knacks appeal to me as well. i'm hopeless when it comes to vintage things (the sheer number of vintage icons in my possession is almost embarrassing) and it spans from old flash cameras to worn-dorm stone steps covoured with brown leaves.
those sort of things always make me feel at peace, and when i retreat inside myself to think and ponder i always go to that place, where bright colours are right next to siena photographs. dedicated to all hopeless vintage lovers, of which i am but one.

enjoy!

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

They’re muddled and strange, weird little ditties and catches of words that make no and all the sense in the world. They are words from the heart, from her heart. Her inner thoughts.

She thinks that if they were a sight, they’d be rusty and faded and yellowed and all old parchment and pressed flowers and tick-tocking analogue clocks and frayed embroidery and rusted cabaret chairs and black cotton and sunsets in fairgrounds and large straw garden hats.

She thinks that if they were a sound, they’d be fire-cracker snap-bangs and hummingbird wings and content, silent sighs and crackly gramophone strains and welling streams and muffled nineties tunes through headphones and the echoes of a child’s footsteps on carpeted stairs.

She thinks that if they were a smell, they’d be musky and floral and sea-salty and of well-kept vegetable gardens and clean linen and fresh blotting paper ink and a grandmother’s traditional cooking and the sweet smell of new rain.

She thinks that if they were a taste, they’d be of victory, of bliss, of liberty, of sweet youth and heavy peppermints and milk-and-cookies and molten marshmallows in hot chocolate and the liquid fire of whiskey.

She thinks that if they were a touch, they’d be warm cat fur and smoothly polished cherry wood and ceramic mugs and plucked peacock feathers and pearls at your neck and sweaty, hot skin on cold nights.

She thinks, she thinks—

She thinks too much, really.

fic: coloured months

2008-07-10T07:32:49Z

title: coloured months
category: misc
rating: squeaky clean
involves: a garden, irish eyes and many-coloured dresses
author's notes: inspired by 'the secret garden' and written in year ten as a tribute to a very special childhood friend. the dress colours are the actual birthstone colours for each month. needless to say it's not very good, but it's all i have. also, i should say that the girl is not me. chase, this is dedicated to you.

enjoy!

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

In January, she wore a deep red dress.

It was one of her favourites, this one; the deep, smouldering material was a stark contrast to the Irish winter around her. She didn’t care that she was cold, that she was barefoot, that it was now ripped just below her knee from when she snuck through the gap in the hedge to her Secret Place; her Secret Garden, as she liked to call it.

She had been in love with that story ever since her Ma had read it to her when she was but a young child.

She liked wearing dresses, had a different one for almost every different occasion. It wasn’t that she wore them for the heck of it - she chose them and bought them and wore them according to her mood. It was one of those set things, and no-one had been able to stop her - not that they wanted to.

It allowed them to view her inner workings; she would rarely show anyone what she was thinking or feeling and hell, sometimes it helped her understand herself.

Settling down on the swing, she marvelled again at how the landscape had completely changed; it seemed like only yesterday she was tending to her plants. Kicking off, all thoughts flew from her mind as she soared higher and higher, imagining she was the mythical phoenix, that her dress was its plumage and she was really going to spread her wings and fly.

Because up here, with the wind in her face and a youthful spark in her eye, she felt nothing could go wrong.

oOo

In February, she wore a purple dress.

Unlike her garnet one, which was daring and wild, this one was more conservative and showy; with short sleeves, full skirt and body as well as a few amethyst beads sewn in here and there, it really looked to the few the girl did meet that she was on her own merry way to some major event.

Squeezing through the gap, she once again found herself surrounded by the snow topped hedge, by the soft crunch of thawing snow, by the bare flowerbeds of brown earth where she knew seeds and tubers were waiting for warmer weather. She had planted them last year, their foremothers and fathers, and that the bulbs left in the earth were self-seeded from them.

She couldn’t wait to make her Garden come alive again.

Long brown hair mingled with the wind as she closed her eyes, breathing in the smell of freedom. She wasn’t too sure if freedom smelt the same for everyone, but to her it was something like right now; the air crisp and clean, the scent of something fresh and untouched and completely new that teased her senses and invigorated her spirit as if daring her, willing her, to feel the liberty than ran in her blood.

As she sat on the swing today - almost lost in the middle of her pile of chiffon - she felt like a shy young lady sitting on a swinging chair at a Duchess’s garden party just hoping, hoping, she’ll be noticed.

oOo

In March, she wore a pale blue dress.

Today, she almost lunged for the gap in the hedge so that its quietness, its secluded privacy could help her with all the different thoughts running through her mind. Of course everyone had problems, but she struggled to remember the last time one was as bad as this.

Running for the swing, she sat on it and, with tears pricking the corners of her eyes, tried to get into her rhythm to get up so high that the breeze would clear her mind of everything.

A blank mind…she needed a blank mind.

But try as she might, her usual strategy that she did without thinking failed her and soon she found she just couldn’t get up. Trying again and again, she bit back her frustration and wondered if the leprechauns out there were pointing and laughing at her as she failed at every attempt.

Finally, her impatience reared.

Throwing herself on the ground, she clenched fistfuls of clover, pulling them up and throwing them across her Garden, consumed by her blind frustration and not even noticing the grass stain down one side of the hem. Soon tiring she collapsed and lay still, though her eyes betrayed the storm that had been brewing in her.

Suddenly, a thrush hopped on top on the hedge and broke the silence with its song. Startled, she looked up.

The hedge and swing tree had shaken off their robes of snow, but it wasn’t the tender new leaves that made her stop and stare.

The bare flowerbeds were in bloom.

Shoots of jasmine fluttered their tiger-eyes in the wind, overflowing in a cascade of white that brought with it its delicious smell. Honeysuckle had begun to climb the hedge, buds of butter yellow turning their faces to the sun. Cora aster joyously opened pods of bright blue while morning glory wound protectively around the countless fragile stems. There were only a few patches of thin snow left on the ground while sweet clover grew wild.

So caught up in her own misery, she choked out a laugh as she saw she had failed to see the beauty around her. Silently musing as to how they had managed to bloom so quickly, she shrugged it off and reached to pluck out a weed.

Really, she could always count on this place to bring out the best in her.

oOo

In April, she wore a white dress.

She felt innocence today, a sense of relative calm and balance. It was a sundress, as clean and pure as she felt, skipping down the path towards her Garden, her own private paradise.

But today, someone had beaten her to it.

Today, another was in her Garden, quietly tending to the plants. She stopped and stared in disbelief. How? How could anyone else know of this place? Her Garden was shielded from prying eyes by the high hedge, the brown dirt path obscured from civilisation - if the sleepy town of Maynooth counted as civilisation - by the imposing, towering wood.

Then suddenly he turned around, and her breath hitched in her throat as he stood; she was captivated by his eyes.

Frowning slightly, she had to shield her own as he stood into the setting sun, forming a ring of fire around his head and a black silhouette for a face, save for his pair of bright green orbs. He looked like a God, and she was rendered speechless.

“Hello,” said the God, “I’m Chase.”

oOo

In May, she wore a bright green dress.

It was light and made of cotton; perfectly made to catch the wind while she swung and breathe easily while she worked. Today, she carried a double batch of seeds in her hands and walked just that little bit faster.

She wasn’t too sure why she wanted to impress this boy with chocolate curls, this boy with green eyes; true Irish eyes.

Slipping through the gap, she gave a warm smile to the boy as he turned from his crouched position and was rewarded with a nod of acknowledgement, a cheeky grin from those eyes. He came every week, more when he felt like it, and she mentally smacked herself for not seeing it before.

How else could the plants thrive as they did? How else could those exotic blooms sprout so quickly after the frost? She may be good, but she saw now that some other force must have interfered to get the blooms she had tried and failed to encourage to take root, and it came in the form of him. But all that flew from her mind as she plopped herself down on the clover and passed off the seeds.

They worked in relative silence most of the time, and she took the opportunity to fully immerse herself into massaging her chosen plant between the folds of soil. She never noticed how he would glance in surprise at her methods, how a small smile of amusement would grace his features at her determined enthusiasm.

Summer was now well on its way, she realised as she wiped the sweat from her brow. The lines of her hands were outlined in dirt and bits of moist soil were ingrained under her fingernails, but she didn’t mind. She had never minded.

After the flowerbeds were lovingly filled with small buds and couldn’t hold another, he would sit under the tree while she sat on the swing; her with her bright green dress, him with his bright green eyes.

It was only then that they really got to know each other.

oOo

In June, she wore a cream dress.

She wasn’t too sure why. Maybe it was because he wasn’t coming today. Maybe because she wanted to feel like she was worth something. Maybe because she was confused.

Her confusion threw her out of rhythm, and again she mused on how her mood directly affected things she loved. She had so far pulled out three baby columbine instead of the annoying nettles, which she hated with a passion. None had grown for a while under her watchful eye, but her paranoia blinded her to this fact as the two looked so much alike. Now with two dedicated people looking after their Garden, it was near impossible for any weed to grow within its hedged walls.

But that would soon change, she thought bitterly.

Ireland had been her home since before she was born. She lived it, breathed it, was connected in every which way to it. Ireland was her flesh and blood and a part of her soul so deeply imbedded she could never get rid of it, even if she wanted to. It ran in her veins through and through and be damned if she wasn’t proud of it.

Why then, did she have to leave?

oOo

In July, she wore a red dress.

It was bright and vibrant; the colour of pomegranate seeds and pulsed a brilliant vermillion.

She was angry. Upset. But most of all, she was hurt.

In all her fourteen years of existence, she had never felt so deeply insulted. In her mind, it was like leaving the nest before her feathers had even grown. She craved freedom and fresh air and her new-found friendship with the boy with Irish eyes.

How could she have any of these when she moved to a foreign country?

One where no-one would know her and she wouldn’t know them. One where there were no silver birches or green hedges or endless rolling fields of clover. One with no mist to cloud it in mystery and become the stuff of folklore, or the lone plume of thin smoke curling towards the sky from somewhere in the heart of a deep wood. One without narrow stiles and bubbling brooks and people who spoke like she did.

She would be caged and unable to fly back to where her true home was. She would be kept in that country and have to pretend to like it. She would have to live with new people who might not like her, or who she would not like. Worst of all, when she looked at it on the map hanging in her room, she saw that not only was it halfway around the world, it was completely surrounded by ocean.

Would their Garden notice when she was gone? As with most things in human life, she half-hoped it would, half-hoped it wouldn’t.

oOo

In August, she wore a pale green dress.

If walking beside him in her emerald dress showed off her tumbling curls, then walking beside him in her August dress brought out his Irish eyes.

She thought bitterly that no-one in Australia would ever have eyes like his.

It wasn’t what was on her mind now, however. As she looked up at him, she realised that he really was rather tall. Grateful she had worn platforms (her only pair of shoes that would guarantee she wouldn’t slip up on any puddles caused by the moody August weather) to at least take a few centimetres off the height difference, her mind was cast back to her original train of thought.

Whenever she referred to her Garden, that was just it. It was always her Garden. Since when had she begun addressing her Garden as their Garden? She had discovered it back when she was nine, the first time she was allowed to go out by herself and since then had never addressed the place as anything else.

She hadn’t told him she was leaving, now she came to think of it, and the days seemed to slip through her fingers before she could fully register they were there and had happened and had passed; time was running out to tell.

Usually she wouldn’t have bothered - the children at school cared as much for her as she did for them. But they were friends, true friends, and the thought of leaving without telling had been ruled out of her mind from the day she had known.

Five months had been more than enough to establish a solid friendship, brought together by their Garden and made so easy by their identical interests. She knew that regardless of how close their thought patterns, how similar their likes and dislikes, if it hadn’t been for their Garden she would’ve walked straight past him as a quidam in the streets, ignorant to the life he led.

In many of these silent ways, he opened her world to include others. He coaxed her to view things in another perspective – what would have happened, had he had not stepped into her closed space of reality – and really, she owed him a lot more than she would ever dream of letting on.

She just hoped that she had done something similar for him, because then there wouldn’t be the messy process of thanking without knowing exactly what she was thanking him for, because there were no words able enough to put her gratitude into.

Words complicated things so much sometimes, she reflected.

Maybe it was best to let silence reign.

oOo

In September, she wore a deep blue dress.

She liked the contrast the sapphire satin made with the golden brown leaves, looking as if they had been baked and left on the clover to cool; she found the effect strangely beautiful.

Autumn was setting in, first making its presence known as she swung to and fro. The air was neither humid nor warm, as it had been until now, but crisp and slightly chilly; just the way she liked it. But it was getting close to the date for her departure.

This year, she would spend her Christmas in Perth, some stupid city that would be her home away from home.

She wished more than ever she had the power of flight, or could become a part of the ocean herself so she could float without a care in the world, her sapphire blending with the roar of ocean waves and the foamy white of sea-spray, back to be embraced by the sight of rocky beaches and rugged cliffs, of seabirds laying eggs on craggy limestone shelves and long grass swaying in the breeze…

Shaking her head to clear her mind she continued to weed, trying desperately to concentrate.

His hand had closed around hers before she could pull out a cluster of nigella at least twice, and more than she could keep track of he had looked at her through the corners of those Irish eyes, his Irish eyes, citing concern in the deep green pools.

Initially, she had wondered why he never spoke much and giggled inside at how everyone must think him so solemn because he almost never smiled. But that was back when she had just met him. Now, she knew that he never needed words with those who really wanted to know him, for his body language enabled her to read him like a book and when he smiled – which was more often than many gave him credit for – it was through those eyes.

For her, that was enough.

oOo

In October, she wore a kaleidoscope dress.

Those who had never seen the dress would have instantly been confused as to what she meant. However, if she was to take it out, it immediately clicked why she had dubbed it that; there was no other name for it, they would agree.

It was a myriad of crazy, confused colours; all the shades imaginable were there. They were all jumbled together so that there were so many tones you couldn’t place it on just one, yet the lines between each were so sharp and clearly defined that you couldn’t call it a blend.

Just like a kaleidoscope of colour, and she loved it.

It was, like all her other dresses, to show how she felt. In a month, she would never be able to walk down this path again. She would never embrace the wood that had for so long protected their Garden from prying eyes.

Her family had already started packing, but folding the crazy number of dresses into her suitcase was the last thing on her mind.

Yesterday, she had told him.

His reaction played again and again through her mind like a broken tape and it tore her heart out when he said nothing but – as usual – his eyes spoke for what his mouth would not.

He was hurt. She knew that at least.

When she looked at it now, as she absentmindedly took her map off her bedroom wall, she wondered how it could’ve hurt him as much as his eyes betrayed. After all, six months wasn’t much, strong as their friendship had become; they had even gone to the movies every once in a while.

Everyone there thought they fancied each other, and they had laughed so hard at the suggestion her face turned as red as her July dress. It was one of the few times she had seen his features smile as much as his eyes did.

However, she began to see now that their friendship was beyond friendship. It wasn’t that she liked him, but it was that stage – once again, no words could ever describe it – where they knew each other so well, where they could communicate without words.

She was sure she could never get that level of understanding from anyone but him.

oOo

In November, she wore a yellow dress.

Walking down the path, she blinked back tears. Her yellow dress was an irony statement; the traditional colour for happiness became her tool for satire, helping her convince her parents – and herself – that moving was alright and she was fine with it. Her silent statement in the one thing that could tell the outside world what she was feeling effectively masked her emotions well.

But now…she wasn’t too sure how she was supposed to feel.

After all, this was the last time she would ever see their Garden again.

She had made up with him, though now every time she saw him she found she couldn’t look him in the eye.

His Irish eyes; that deep fierce green which showed so much raw emotion she was sometimes stunned into silence by, they would stare right through her and while she could see his soul she knew he could see hers as well. They instantly showed his to be a storm of inner turmoil and hers, crushing guilt and sorrow.

She had brought along a packet of seed that would grow a spice worth more than its weight in gold; saffron. A parting gift.

Until now, friendship was something she had scoffed at. She had never needed friends; she had her Garden – now their Garden – and that was all she had ever needed. Everything she had been through until he walked into her life seemed so far away and distant and black and white. She was glad of that.

When she got into their Garden, nothing changed in their routine. They weeded and sowed the seed – the only thing to note was the flicker of surprise and joy at her present – and when they were done he sat under the now leafless tree while she sat on the swing, watching the snow fall lightly, covering the new seeds a second time and ensuring their preservation until warmer weather.

When it was time to leave, she gave him a hug and he gave her one too. Looking around their Garden for the last time with her hand in his, she drank it all in slowly with him standing right by her side. Noting the powdery snow gathering in hollows of their tree. Observing the everlasting green of the hedge and the bareness of the covered flowerbeds. Looking down at her sandaled feet, where the clover was dying back to sleep away the coming frost.

When she was done, she turned and left his side, her fingers slipping out of his grasp before she passed through the gap in the hedge and… was gone forever. Her last, whispered words echoed in their Garden and his ears long afterwards.

“Goodbye, Chase.”

His Garden cried white snow that day.

oOo

In December, she wore a sky blue dress.

It took her a while to get used to this place, this strange country with sun-kissed Christmases and brick-red dust and the strangest creatures she had ever laid eyes upon. But in the end, when all was said and done, she found she didn’t mind it as much as she thought she would.

In time, she grew to love the desert and the sea placed so close together it was near impossible.

In time, she grew to love the flat, white-sanded beaches with their pristine waters.

In time, she grew to love the bustle of the inner city and the chatter of the downtown.

However, most importantly, in time, she grew to love wearing her many dresses wherever she went.

But when the sun would set into the horizon in a spectacle of saffron rays, she was reminded of her parting gift and their Garden, now his Garden. She would wonder how it was going and what possibilities could be blooming behind that guarding hedge. She would remember a different kind of wild, a different smell of freedom, a different sense of security. As she lay in bed - just thinking - her eyes would close and soon her dreams would be filled with nigella, purple chiffon and a pair of loving green eyes.

Best friends are like four leaf clovers; hard to find and lucky to have.

new layout!!

2008-07-09T04:35:05Z

got this baby from tasha at premade lj's.

its just too cool.

i dunno how to fix the ads, seeing as they don't fit in but... that's okay!!

anyway, took a bit of fiddling around and asking for help... apparently the set-up's changed since last year and so things are being a bit elusive, but tis aiight :D. you won't believe how much code fiddling's happened but that's just the way things go if you want something as awesome as this...!!

nyways, next post is a fic, so stick around for that!
mood: dorky
most important: reading great expectations in time for the lit discussion

til next time!!

-cherri

first post!! woot!!

2008-07-08T09:33:01Z

first up, HI!

okay, i'm a little new to this whole thing so you're gonna have to excuse me as i try to figure out how the hell to work things around here XD.

like how to fake cut things... despite the faq section i think i have some work to do...

i am not a graphics maker, i am a writer. so yer... any fics that have a category (eg. from an anime, harry potter) i'll post on my fanfiction.net account with a link from here to there but the misc ones i'll post here for you lot to read =3

also, i'd just like to say now before people start spamming/hate-mailing me i do NOT own any icons/pictures/layouts i use. whilst i understand that maybe i should've taken the time to credit, it never really occurred to me until my avatar collection hit 2,000. so yeah. i have no skills in photoshop etc. apart from extremely basic stuff. don't sue me, please?

also, i'm probs gonna use this site to muse/celebrate/rant so you have been warned...!! crack ahead!! LOTS OF IT. *snickers evilly*
mood: cheerful
most important: getting back to studying chem *cries*

til next time!!

-cherri