Malcolm Reed is a pervert.

Well, he is when I write him. See, I started writing this thing, got a bit stuck, asked nostalgia_lj, kind of but not really took her advice, and ended up with this fic which has him... well, that would be telling.

But there's a moment where he reminds himself not to think too much about phase pistols. Because obviously they turn him on.

OK, so I guess most of why I'm upset isn't that he's perverted - it's all perfectly natural (well, apart from that moment) - but rather that, y'know, I wrote this. I still think of myself as relatively pure.

and I just realised I missed my anti-d's for the second day in a row. buggery.

will work tomorrow. honest. well, depending on when I wake up and all that.

ohshitohshitohshit excuse me while I panic because I am going to fuck up my entire life by completely failing this semester and... aargh. never mind. at least I can write stuff like this.

"of a shyness that is criminally vulgar"

There are worlds upon worlds inside my head. There are alternatives that approach the infinite. There are stories. And oh so very few of them are my own.

The first viewers came to the house today. They weren't supposed to start this quickly. I need to get out of here damn soon. Really, really need to get back to St A's. Though I have an excuse not to stay past Sunday, which is helpful. If parentals had it their way I'd be here till the day before classes start back, and that's just... not a good idea.

want out want out want out

using music as an escape is almost working, though, so I guess I should be something approaching happy about that except... um. stopping.