I haven't been here in a long time! Mostly because - 1) I haven't written a fanfic since the last time I posted here, and
2) I don't know if I'm allowed to say this here ( ) but I recently got obsessed with Livejournal and spent a lot of time there instead I know I won't be writing fanfics forever, and right now I just want to finish off the ones I have. I'm looking forward to create some original work, whether it be stories or graphics, so I'm working towards that. I'm like obsessed with making icons now, hehe. Oh, the Fan Fiction Awards is going well, I came up with a way so that I can vote as well. Only, in the second round, where there needs to be qualitative votes, some people are voting for a story because it has a certain element in it e.g. people making love, instead of focusing whether the story is good in terms of the plot/characterisations/language, etc. So it's kinda annoying. Anyway, I've updated Chapter 10 of And My Alias Is, here's an excerpt - First, breathe. Second, think. Now that my mind was fully functioning once again, I opened my eyes to make sure that I wasn’t imagining things. The boy was still standing there, staring at me through translucent tears, and his body was still emitting that unmistakable undead glow. “Are you alright?” he asked in his native tongue, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, because I should be the one asking him that. I mean, what kind of an adult I was, freaking out over a crying boy? Granted, he was dead. And granted, I haven’t seen a crying dead boy for almost seven years. In fact, I haven’t seen any kind of dead boys, crying, not crying, happy, naughty, funny, whatever. So seeing one appearing out of nowhere now was both surreal and almost tear-inducing in some way. “I’m alright,” I answered, even though my body felt cold and the place suddenly felt so foreign. I felt pain in my chest, I discovered that I’d been holding my breath all this while, so I let it out, allowing my breathing to return to its normal pace. Why now? Why here? Most importantly, why does this boy look familiar? “Can you help me?” he asked again, having gathered himself and appearing quite calm even though he had been sobbing like it was the end of the world just a few seconds ago (he spoke in French of course, but I have thoughtfully translated our conversation into English for non-French speaking readers’ benefit). That was the question, could I help him? I knew that I couldn’t say no to him but any minute now, Carl will come back and we will return to the hotel and in a few hours, fly back to the US. I can pretend that this didn’t happen, or I could do something about it. What would it be? | 
