Aha, so you're all still reading my utter sadistic crack fic? And those who know me from previous encounters (wink wink, you sexy little beasts, round two), I adore the Seth in this story. Bombshock is my most favored chapters of my fics, and I couldn't help myself but fall in love with it as soon as I concocted it and typed it out. And you think I'm possessed by some sort of demon, correct? Is it not natural to be privy to one's imagination? To fall full-heartedly?

If you'd like to know why I even considered this fic, you'd have to go deeper into the recesses of my mind to understand why I fawn over it. Quite honestly, the entire reason for Crossing the Lines and Impression were borne of my senseless self-depreciation – my want for something grand and spectacular, because while I lie... A LOT, I'm not when I say that I crave others opinions of my writing style and writing pieces. Like most are, we are so totally insecure that we must feed off of what other people think, and for most of you who have read my past stories, I come off with an air of serendipity. I. Don't. Give. A. Fuck.

But how can I truly say that with all my heart and, god forbid, my soul, when I know that it is untrue? Sheer insecurity that you all have experienced, thought as naught, and will surely scoff at as soon as you read this. You are not insecure.

But you are, don't try to lie. :)

Seth Clearwater in Crossing the Lines was my innocence's first steps in downfall. When it was first posted, I did not give much about who I was or how I acted. I remember. But once again – innocence. Over time, if you followed me, you would see my personality come out in my stories with a righteous vengeance. And I still remember (let's hope I don't, I'm only fifteen for God's sake! Forgetfulness at such a tender age, how quaint).

And while I cannot help your (teamLEAHcuzsheshott) dislike in my altercation of Seth's personality, his mannerisms, his entire fictional world, I can only say that there is nothing that I can change about it. Crossing the Lines was a failure, a misdirection, something that I want to wipe from my slate. While I wrote it, I hated it. I only perused it for laughter's sake and posted it because it made people happy. But there is no point in reposting it when it is the bane of my existence. It was a cautionary fic, an opener, to the flood of other shit I've posted with true spite. In good conscience, I cannot rewrite it, cannot endure it, when I have Impression's finished copy sitting in my harddrive.

When I reread it, I am happy. I suppose that's all that matters when it boils down to it.

I hope that you enjoyed reading my unstoppable thought process. I'm sure there are those who will respond to this with vigor, calling me several other ridiculing names, cursing my fingers, arguing with my logic, demanding my attention for more writing, heatedly denying what I've claimed, wondering why I even bothered to rant here, and various others.

That's all right. I think this is all in good fun, so your replies will most definitely amuse me.

Feel free to insult me. They give me the giggles.

Much love, hope you rot.

-Taylor

(CRAZY ASS BITCH, FUCK YOU AND YOUR DOG!) That's a post I'm waiting for. LMFAO.

And I wonder how many mistakes are in this. I didn't even reread it.