IRC-Galleria

yesh. I've got a fever and I've lost my voice. FUCKSAKE.

I can't talk. I love talking. this makes me sad. it makes me look like this: ='(( Srsly. It does. : D
and I can't laugh, and I can't sing, and it freaks me out!

and I don't dare to write, 'cause my brain is fever-affected and I don't know what it might come up with : DD so I'm just sitting here, wearing my beloved Hoodie (yes, it needs a capital H!), drinking tea (I've made a new personal record - 25 cups only today) from my Wicked mug, and doing nothing. I should go to bed. but I don't want to. But i'm kinda tired. but still not, 'cause I've been drinking tea with caffeine the whole day. but I'm still sleepy. I woke up at 14:30, and STILL I'm in tired.

and now I'm just confused. : DDD

ooh. I want to read nc-17 slash. *runs off to read*


***


“He said I smelled too much of holy water,” Danny sniffed. “Fucking freak, water don’t smell.

---

“I’ve parked in the middle of Trafalgar Square!”

“So it’ll get towed.”

“I am going to end up as a cheap headline,” Tom moaned.

“Well, you’re always saying that we need more publicity,” Danny shoved the paintball gun more securely under his jacket. “People will think we’re right rebels!”

“No, they’ll think we’re attention-seeking twats.”