Weird Fishes
Sean's diary - Ian, hate and smiles
17 of October 2002
Dear Diary
I've picked you up at home along with clothes and some of my stuff. As you can see I'm not dead.
I was going to die, but I bumped into Jamie from Lostprophets. Yes. Believe me.
I don't know, I just told him. And he brought me back at his. And guess who was there? Almost all of Lostprophets!
You can't imagine how excited I was. I almost forgot I didn't deserve it, maybe because I wasn't looking at myself, I was too busy looking at them.
But yeah, as soon as I was alone it came back. I pulled up Mike's shirt (I was wearing Mike Lewis' shirt! FANGIRL!) and I saw my stomach and urgh.
I'm so fucking ugly.
I wonder why they keep me here. Sure they pity me. How fucking sad, a fat gay 18 years old fucking excuse for a human being that tried to drown himself.
They haven't seen my cuts. I cut in the crotch. Not on my dick, duh. On the higher and inner thighs, and in the end of the V-shape. I'm glad they haven't seen them. They surely would have taken the occasion to finally be done with me and send me to a mental hospital of some sort.
Anyways. Today I met Ian Watkins.
He's as gorgeous as ever. Fucking hell he's beautiful... He should be divinified.
Thank fuck they don't know I'm bi. But seeing as I'll probably end up unconsciously dry humping Ian one of those days, they'll find out one of those close days if I don't get away.
Anyways, time for bed. Hello sofa my friend.
--
19 of October 2002
Dear Diary
Today the 'Prophets made some crêpes. Some fucking crêpes.
I'm being serious here.
Hahahaha.
What am I even writing?
So they made crêpes and a crêpe fell right on Ian's head. It was hilarious. The guy can't cook AT ALL. Ian Watkins and the kitchen make two.
Stuart mastered the shit out of the crêpes and Lee managed to burn his little finger. All Mike and Jamie did was eat, honestly. Chiplin was at his parents'.
They were worrying about the fact I wasn't eating so Lee almost shoved two crêpes down my throat. That's going to go right to my fat rolls.
I felt Ian's gaze burn into my chest. Oh my god I hope he was staring at me.
I mean no. That's kind of creepy. And even if he was staring that was certainly to see if the lumps of fat on my body were just his imagination. They're not, sweetie.
Gavin called today and I vomited in his ear about friends and Pontypridd and everything. Not telling him about the 'Prophets, nor about the suicide attempt. I've got to escape those guys' grip if I want to kill myself correctly. I don't want to upset them if they find my body in their bathroom. You never like to find a dead body in your bathroom.
No, definitely I have to get away to do that.
But I don't know. I feel good here. Really.
--
24 of October 2002.
Dear Diary
YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT HAPPENED.
Last night, Ian was sleeping over here.
And they put a matress next to the sofa, saying he'd sleep there since the sofa is officially my bed.
We spoke during at least an hour and he was BARE TORSO. Exposing his beautiful tattoos. His bautiful chest. Not an inch of fat! You can see his abs of my god he's perfect, I just wanted to jump on him and rape him.
That was creepy.
Anyway, we heard noise from upstairs, so we decided to go see what it was.
Well basically, Lee had sneaked into Mike's bed and he wanted to snuggle up to him, because he was cold and Mike is always warm.
Mike was protesting, saying it was too much homoerotica for him, and that if Lee wanted to put his dick in a guy's arse, he should do it to Ian, "as usual". But Lee wouldn't move, spooning Mike, his arms wrapped around the guy's waist, and it was hilarious. Mike eventually stopped bragging, and resigned himself to sleep like that. Ian and I were struggling not to laugh, and then Ian had the brilliant idea to steal Lee's bed.
Lee's room is quite minimalistic. His guitars are lined up against the wall, books on the bedstand table, there's a dictaphone on the desk, and a few issues of Guitar Magazine and Kerrang!. The walls are bare save from a poster that list the dates for the American tour and a few family photos.
So we slipped into his bed, and Ian, the nosy bastard, found porn mags under the bedstand table.
Yes, calm, nice and polite Lee has porn mags in his room. And not any porn mags. We counted, there are ten, 6 het, and 4 gay. Four gay porn mags.
Lee, you sneaky bastard. Ian and I giggled because Lee had marked pages. Mostly asian girls, or black-haired ones. For the guys, they were the muscly tattooed ones, or the dark-haired ones too.
We laughed a lot, before placing them back where they belonged, and laying in the bed. And Ian ruffled my hair, and he closed his eyes, falling fast asleep.
And I watched him sleep. Creepy but beautiful. And now it's the morning and everyone is still asleep and I'm going to see if Lee and Mike have fucked, haha.
...
Well they apparently haven't. But Lee was munching Mike's hair in his sleep. Hahaha.
Those guys genuinely make me more happy than I've ever been for the last couple of years.
Dear Diary
I've picked you up at home along with clothes and some of my stuff. As you can see I'm not dead.
I was going to die, but I bumped into Jamie from Lostprophets. Yes. Believe me.
I don't know, I just told him. And he brought me back at his. And guess who was there? Almost all of Lostprophets!
You can't imagine how excited I was. I almost forgot I didn't deserve it, maybe because I wasn't looking at myself, I was too busy looking at them.
But yeah, as soon as I was alone it came back. I pulled up Mike's shirt (I was wearing Mike Lewis' shirt! FANGIRL!) and I saw my stomach and urgh.
I'm so fucking ugly.
I wonder why they keep me here. Sure they pity me. How fucking sad, a fat gay 18 years old fucking excuse for a human being that tried to drown himself.
They haven't seen my cuts. I cut in the crotch. Not on my dick, duh. On the higher and inner thighs, and in the end of the V-shape. I'm glad they haven't seen them. They surely would have taken the occasion to finally be done with me and send me to a mental hospital of some sort.
Anyways. Today I met Ian Watkins.
He's as gorgeous as ever. Fucking hell he's beautiful... He should be divinified.
Thank fuck they don't know I'm bi. But seeing as I'll probably end up unconsciously dry humping Ian one of those days, they'll find out one of those close days if I don't get away.
Anyways, time for bed. Hello sofa my friend.
--
19 of October 2002
Dear Diary
Today the 'Prophets made some crêpes. Some fucking crêpes.
I'm being serious here.
Hahahaha.
What am I even writing?
So they made crêpes and a crêpe fell right on Ian's head. It was hilarious. The guy can't cook AT ALL. Ian Watkins and the kitchen make two.
Stuart mastered the shit out of the crêpes and Lee managed to burn his little finger. All Mike and Jamie did was eat, honestly. Chiplin was at his parents'.
They were worrying about the fact I wasn't eating so Lee almost shoved two crêpes down my throat. That's going to go right to my fat rolls.
I felt Ian's gaze burn into my chest. Oh my god I hope he was staring at me.
I mean no. That's kind of creepy. And even if he was staring that was certainly to see if the lumps of fat on my body were just his imagination. They're not, sweetie.
Gavin called today and I vomited in his ear about friends and Pontypridd and everything. Not telling him about the 'Prophets, nor about the suicide attempt. I've got to escape those guys' grip if I want to kill myself correctly. I don't want to upset them if they find my body in their bathroom. You never like to find a dead body in your bathroom.
No, definitely I have to get away to do that.
But I don't know. I feel good here. Really.
--
24 of October 2002.
Dear Diary
YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT HAPPENED.
Last night, Ian was sleeping over here.
And they put a matress next to the sofa, saying he'd sleep there since the sofa is officially my bed.
We spoke during at least an hour and he was BARE TORSO. Exposing his beautiful tattoos. His bautiful chest. Not an inch of fat! You can see his abs of my god he's perfect, I just wanted to jump on him and rape him.
That was creepy.
Anyway, we heard noise from upstairs, so we decided to go see what it was.
Well basically, Lee had sneaked into Mike's bed and he wanted to snuggle up to him, because he was cold and Mike is always warm.
Mike was protesting, saying it was too much homoerotica for him, and that if Lee wanted to put his dick in a guy's arse, he should do it to Ian, "as usual". But Lee wouldn't move, spooning Mike, his arms wrapped around the guy's waist, and it was hilarious. Mike eventually stopped bragging, and resigned himself to sleep like that. Ian and I were struggling not to laugh, and then Ian had the brilliant idea to steal Lee's bed.
Lee's room is quite minimalistic. His guitars are lined up against the wall, books on the bedstand table, there's a dictaphone on the desk, and a few issues of Guitar Magazine and Kerrang!. The walls are bare save from a poster that list the dates for the American tour and a few family photos.
So we slipped into his bed, and Ian, the nosy bastard, found porn mags under the bedstand table.
Yes, calm, nice and polite Lee has porn mags in his room. And not any porn mags. We counted, there are ten, 6 het, and 4 gay. Four gay porn mags.
Lee, you sneaky bastard. Ian and I giggled because Lee had marked pages. Mostly asian girls, or black-haired ones. For the guys, they were the muscly tattooed ones, or the dark-haired ones too.
We laughed a lot, before placing them back where they belonged, and laying in the bed. And Ian ruffled my hair, and he closed his eyes, falling fast asleep.
And I watched him sleep. Creepy but beautiful. And now it's the morning and everyone is still asleep and I'm going to see if Lee and Mike have fucked, haha.
...
Well they apparently haven't. But Lee was munching Mike's hair in his sleep. Hahaha.
Those guys genuinely make me more happy than I've ever been for the last couple of years.
♠ ♠ ♠
ATTENTION READER!
Please leave a comment! Thank you ~
Please leave a comment! Thank you ~
Yeah, I chose a binary narration mode : from a third person narrator that focuses on the thoughts of one person, to Sean's diary. The chapters will be called "Sean's diary" or "Arpeggi" from now on, I'm going to edit them.
This will be quite short, though! I have another idea, for a Smatkins maybe.