the story's played out like this

Original - Stranger than Fiction

2010-01-01T14:31:50Z

Title: Stranger than Fiction
Genre: Fantasy
Summary: The line between fantasy and reality is a very, very thin one.

This is how it will happen:

It will be a summer's day, warm and bright, and I'll load into my grandfather's station wagon fifteen minutes after he calls to say he's on his way. We will make small talk for a few minutes, and after the conversation dwindles down to nothing, I'll turn to my music. I'll plug my ears with small black earphones, turn on my MP3 player and watch the sky as we drive.

I'll notice the city is fading behind us, giving way to an open road with forest on either side. I will think of the things that may or may not lurk beyond the cement boarder. I will imagine great loping bodies and shining amber eyes and my heart will race at the thought of such wonders because I am not afraid of the unnatural.

We will cross a boarder, venture into another district, a land that has always felt magical to me. The car will come to a halt in front of a general store, and I will turn my music off, pocket my MP3 player and hang my earphones around my neck as I'm ushered outside. I will breathe in the rich, fresh air as though I will never breath it again and relish the creaking of the old wooden stairs beneath my sneakers before entering the store.

It will smell of wood and leather and tobacco inside. There will be souvenirs for sale, feathered and jeweled and hand-crafted, and I will wander while my grandfather waits patiently at the counter to purchase a package of cigarettes.

And then you will come out from the back of the store, and our eyes will meet. My breath will catch and you will smile and offer your hand. My grandfather will be confused, maybe even a little angry, as I leave the store without a word, just a silent promise to be back as soon as possible.

I will say nothing as we walk, then you will stop me with your hands to my shoulders and ask, “what's wrong?”

I will smile and there will be butterflies within my ribcage and, using another's words, I'll whisper, “I think I made you up inside my head.”

You will smile back at me, and the weight of your touch will lessen on my shoulders. “That's right,” you'll say and your eyes will flash golden before you disappear.

And as my grandfather comes after me, cigarettes in one hand, the other fisted on his hip, demanding to know why I up and left the store so suddenly, I will shake my head and tell him it was nothing, I just wanted air, and wish with all my heart that you could be real.

And somewhere out there, you will wish the same.

Gundam Wing x Transformers - Connect the Space Between: Salvage

2009-12-19T04:15:14Z

Title: Salvage
Fandoms: Gundam Wing/Transformers
Rating: PG
Genre: General
Characters: Duo Maxwell, Ransack (pre-BW Rattrap), Lady Une, Optimus Prime, Starscream; mentions Heero Yuy, Megatron, Thundercracker and Skywarp
Warnings: Minor spoilers for Transformers: Cybertron and Beast Wars.
Summary: They say someone's trash is someone else's treasure.

Salvage

“Are you certain sending them out together is a good idea?” Optimus asks, glancing down at the woman by his side.

“They were assigned to one another,” Lady Une says, crossing her arms over her chest as she watches the scene folding out in front of her: Ransack refusing to transform and Duo throwing his hands up in the air, threatening to walk off. Of course, Ransack tells him to go right ahead, it's no chrome off his dentals, and this leads to Duo suggesting that some alterations can, and should, be made.

“They'll have to get along eventually,” the Preventer says.

Optimus makes an uneasy sound, because he isn't so sure these two can sort their troubles out. They're frighteningly similar and at the same time vastly different, and Optimus knows enough to know that walking contradictions rarely compliment each other.

“I hope you're right,” the Autobot leaders mumbles, watching as Ransack finally transforms, but drives off before Duo can mount him. This leaves Duo fuming, cursing words the mech has never heard before but make Une clear her throat, all but scolding him.

“I know, I know,” Duo snaps, though he doesn't mean to take it out on his superior. “But – but, come on, Lady! You can't seriously expect me to work with that hunk of junk!”

“I do,” she confirms, a small smile tugging at her lips. There's just something amusing about the way this young man flails. “And do watch your language in the presence of our guests.”

He clearly mutters something about all of them being wastes of metal, but ultimately sighs and rakes a hand through his bangs. “Whatever. If you want me out there scouting, you can get his ass back here.”

Une and Optimus exchange glances. She nods, and he slowly radios in to the other mech. The argument that follows is one of the strangest Duo has ever witnessed. Until now, he thought only Trowa could argue in a way that was polite and biting all at once. Once all is said and done and the motorcycle is on his way back to Preventer headquarters, Duo is shaking his head, sighing.

“The chances only one of us comes back from this are pretty high, you know that, right?”

Optimus makes that uneasy sound again, but Une simply offers him an almost-coy smile. “Get to work, Mr. Maxwell.”

Scouting goes as predicted: horribly. Duo hates the fact that he's being forced to rely on this machine, and he doesn't care how alive it is, it's still just a damn piece of mechanics to him. He, like Heero, hates the fact that these aliens were careless and destroyed the peace they had fought so hard to obtain. He hates everything about this mess.

Ransack has a general dislike of nearly everything, but he really doesn't care for the fact that he's being forced into a partnership, and with a human no less. Humans are weak and frail and can do nothing to help their cause, he doesn't care how street-smart or tough they're supposed to be. He'd like to see this braided loud-mouth try his hand against Megatron; he bets that'd turn out real good.

They argue a lot while on patrol, toss insults at one another carelessly and inevitably wind up returning to headquarters not on speaking terms.

This happens every time they're sent out together. They argue going out and they're silent coming back, but Lady Une doesn't see the problem with this despite the complaints.

She knows it's the silence that really counts, not the razor-blade words.

Weeks pass, and one of their routine arguments is coming to a slow halt.

“I could do wonders with all the parts you're wastin',” Duo says snidely, only half-kidding. He personally would love to get his hands on Ransack and see just what makes him tick.

“Try it,” the motorcycle sneers back, taking a sharp turn, but isn't quite able to shake the man off. One day, he swears he will; that iron grip of Duo's will falter eventually.

“Don't tempt me,” Duo retorts, and he means it.

“I'm shakin', pal. I'm shakin'.”

Duo sighs out loud, a half-hearted grin on his lips. He's about to say something witty, perhaps cruel, when a good portion of the street in front of them is blown away. Concrete goes flying and cars skid and people scatter and this isn't good.

“You gotta be shitting me,” Duo groans as he dismounts Ransack once the motorcycle's come to a stop.

“Wonderful,” Ransack mutters, transforming, optics on the sky. “Seekers.”

“Great,” Duo huffs, more frustrated than anything. “If I had Deathscythe – ”

“Yeah, well, ya don't, do ya?” Ransack is quit to state, taking out a pistol and aiming at one of the jets in the sky. “All ya got is me right now, so get outta the slaggin' way or you're gonna get scrapped.”

For once, Duo has nothing to say. He stares and thinks as he watches the silver and gold robot fire at the approaching Decepticons, hitting his mark each time.

“Ya deaf or somethin'?” Ransack snaps. “Move!”

“Going soft, Ransack?” a red and white seeker goads from above. “Not only did you desert the Decepticons in favor of the Autobots, but now you protect the humans as well? How pathetic!”

Ransack mutters under his breath, red optics dimming for a moment, but he's quick to regain himself and fire repeatedly on the smart-mouthed antagonist. While there's a moment's peace, he turns quickly to Duo, who's still in the same place Ransack told him not to be just seconds ago.

“Look, I know we don't like each other or nothin', but whether we like or not, we got orders,” Ransack says, and his tone is serious for the first time since they've met. “An' my orders are t'make sure ya don't get killed in this war. So when I say move, you move, got it?”

Duo gapes a second longer before nodding, a faint smirk on his lips. “Never woulda thought you had a loyal,” he pauses, struggles to find the right word, “circuit in you. I'm impressed. Considering what that dolt you shot down said.” It's a low blow, he knows, but one he couldn't resist taking.

“Yeah, well,” Ransack does this thing with his optics, making it look as though the lights inside his cranium actually roll, “s'a long story.”

Duo hums in thought for a few seconds, then looks around and notices the seekers are retreating, the other two are carting off the injured one. He turns his attention back to Ransack, shrugs with one shoulder and says, “I got time.”

Ransack's optics widen, then he smirks at the human in front of him. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

Because orders are orders and he's not going to go wrong this time, and maybe working with this braided guy won't be so bad after all.

And, Duo thinks simultaneously, maybe he can learn to like Ransack, if he tries hard enough. Because even if he isn't Deathscythe, he deserves a chance – something he assumes no one else has ever given him before. Except maybe for Prime, but even then Duo has his doubts that the Autobot leader has complete trust in the turncoat.

They return to headquarters, silent, but Une doesn't fail to notice the different air around them.

“You should gave radioed for help,” she scolds, never letting on she's inwardly pleased the tension between them is slowly being vanquished. “It was reckless of – ”

“Eh,” Ransack interrupts, a smug grin on his mandibles, “it was nothin' I – er, we couldn't handle.”

“We?” Une presses on, intrigued.

“We,” the pair confirms, and they like the sound of that.

Gundam Wing x Transformers - Connect the Space Between: Duty Calls

2009-12-16T23:24:43Z

Title: Duty Calls
Fandoms: Gundam Wing/Transformers
Rating: PG
Genre: General
Characters: Heero Yuy, Ultra Magnus; mentions Lady Une, Trowa Barton, Wufei Chang, Quatre Raberba Winner, Duo Maxwell, Optimus Prime and Springer.
Warnings: Minor spoilers for Endless Waltz.
Summary: They're not ready for this war.

Duty Calls

It starts with an electrical storm and a meteor shower. Twenty-four hours, six minutes and fifty-eight seconds post-impact, he gets a call. Lady Une's composure is visibly wavering on the vid-screen as she all but demands his immediate presence on earth. He doesn't ask questions, simply complies, then the screen goes black and he's left to surmise one thing:

This – whatever this is, exactly – is bad.

Someone got it right when they said that so long as mankind exists, there would always be battles, so Heero Yuy isn't at all surprised when he finds out they have another war on their hands. He is, however, a little taken aback when he's led to a hangar with the other ex-pilots and introduced to what Une calls their new comrades.

It is safe to say that he, along with the other four, immediately think of Gundams as they look at the menagerie of giant robots presented to them. Except, they're nothing at all like Gundams; these robots are very much alive. It's unsettling at the very least.

Their leader – Optimus Prime – apologizes for bringing their war to this time and place, but “sorry” will do him no good, because in one fell swoop, these aliens have shattered the peace that had been maintained for four short years.

“It's not our war,” Heero tells Lady Une sternly.

“No,” she says, “but it is our world.”

Heero can't argue that, so he lets the Preventer explain their current situation. Confident these robots are allies, she will assign each a partner, because these robots will be as good protection from the opposing forces as any Gundam ever was, and these boys have all the know-how they will need to put an end to a centuries-old war.

While Une compromises with Optimus, Heero stands back, watches things play out. Quatre is already speaking with one of them, because Quatre is like that; willing and accepting and trusting. Until circumstances change, anyway. Then Quatre is just like the rest of them, hardened and impenetrable. The robot seems to at least appreciate Quatre's attempt at a warm welcome, but Heero wonders how quickly its opinion on the young millionaire will change once he sees him in the midst of a battle.

Duo is walking wide circles around another, head cocking from one side to the other, admiring the mechanics – and that's exactly what these are to him, Heero knows: cogs and gears and wires. It doesn't matter how sentient they seem to be; after Deathscythe's demolition, Duo swore off attaching himself to anything mechanical. Heero wonders what the Autobot would do if it knew the braided man wasn't as impressed as it would like to believe, if it knew he was merely picking it apart with his eyes.

Trowa and Wufei are quiet beside him, and he can't fathom what may or may not be going through either of their minds, save for the same thought that's going through his:

Not again.

This war is not at all like the ones they've fought before, Heero realizes. It's a relatively quite one that keeps its soldiers on their toes if only because of the promise of a potential surprise attack, something the Decepticons seem rather fond of. It's an unorganized war, Heero thinks, so it's really no wonder it's lasted so long.

There have been no attacks for almost a week, and in this time Heero has had the chance to get to know his partner. Ultra Magnus is, in Heero's opinion, everything a robot should be, and sometimes reminds me a little bit too much of Wing Zero. He's a soldier through and through, at home on the battlefield and restless during these periods of calm. He takes orders better than he gives them, and doesn't think twice before rushing headfirst into a losing battle, because he knows the chances that he doesn't come out alive are slim.

Heero sees a lot of himself in Magnus, and decides that it's that acknowledgment that makes this whole mess a little bit easier.

“You don't want to fight, do you?” Magnus asks from beside Heero, never turning his optics away from the setting sun. Heero says nothing, something Magnus has learned usually means to continue with whatever introspection is being made, because the man likes to be put under the metaphorical microscope, likes to see just how many people can get him right. Thus far, he can count them on his fingers.

“I'm no expert on human emotions,” Magnus presses on, slowly, carefully, “but you seem reluctant to participate in this war.”

Heero doesn't look away from the setting sun, either. He saves the “when you've fought for as long as I have” speech for another time and person, and instead says, “once you've had a taste of true peace, it's not easy returning to the battlefield.”

Because people change and he was never perfect and he swore he'd never fight again.

“But you're a soldier,” Magnus retorts quietly, as though that is all there is, was, and ever will be to this man at his side. “You were designed for war.”

“Molded is a more accurate term, I think,” he says, finally looking up at the large robot. Magnus has this look on his face as though he doesn't understand, as though something is unable to process, and Heero thinks that may not be too far from the truth. He could carry on with something elaborate, like how he was born a blank slate just like every other human being on the planet, and how he could have turned out any other way but didn't because the wrong people got a hold of him and turned him into something cold and ruthless. He could tell him that it was just as easy to change because of the people he found himself surrounded by later on in life. But he doesn't say any of that. Instead, he shrugs with one shoulder and says,

“Things change.”

Magnus is quiet for a few moments, then slowly turns to look at Heero, finally meeting his gaze. “If that's true, then why are you even bothering with this war?”

One corner of Heero's mouth curves in the slightest and he shakes his head, sighing. He would suppose it's in his nature to be drawn to the field, and that's partly true, but that isn't the reason he agreed to join this war.

“Peace,” he says, because to obtain peace, wars must be fought.

“Peace?” Magnus asks, and Heero can tell it really is a hard concept for the Autobot to swallow.

“It's something worth fighting for.”

The crackling of static disrupts them, and Springer's voice comes through the comlink loud and clear.

Stop slacking off and get your aft over here and help us build this fragging city.

“You should go,” Heero says, “it sounds like they need you.”

Magnus stands, nodding. “Do you want to come with me?” he asks. He doesn't need to tell Heero why he's requesting his company, he knows the young man will understand.

And Heero does, he understands perfectly that Magnus is beginning to process the concept of change. Whether it will happen for the Autobot is another question entirely, but the point is that he's trying, and that, Heero supposes, is all that matters for now.

“Why not?” he says and stands back to allow Magnus the room he requires to transform.

Gantz - Pride and Prejudice

2009-12-11T22:52:45Z

Title: Pride and Prejudice
Fandom: Gantz
Rating: M
Genre: Humor
Characters: Shimaki, Nobuo Muroya, Kazuo Kuwabara
Warnings: swearing, controversial humor (no racism intended)
Summary: It's because he's black.

“So, get this,” Shimaki said, looking from Knob to Kuwabara, “the other day, I went runnin' – ”

“Just in case, right?” Kuwabara laughed, easily avoiding the other man's fist.

“Shut the fuck up and lemme tell my story,” Shimaki snapped, then cleared his throat and proceeded: “I went runnin', and there was this older woman ahead of me, joggin'.”

“Was she hot?” Kuwabara inquired, more to bother his teammate than out of real curiosity. Like he honestly cared if some jogger Shimaki saw was hot or not; he could have any woman any time he desired. Not because he was irresistible, but because Kazuo Kuwabara just simply didn't take “no” for an answer.

“Man, shut it before I shut it for you.”

“Whatever.”

“Anyway, she looked back and started joggin' faster. So, I looked back, too. I didn't see anything, but I started runnin' faster anyway, 'cause if a white person's scared of it, then I'm scared of it, too.” He paused to make sure he wouldn't be interrupted again, and when the only sounds coming from Kuwabara were stifled giggles, he felt it safe to continue with his story.

“She started going even faster, man. So, I'm freaking out now and pick up the pace, too. But then I started thinkin', whatever we're runnin' from's gotta be fast, right? And this woman's not really goin' fast enough – I mean, I was gainin' on her like nobody's business, right? So, when she looked back at me again, I shouted at her, is that as fast as you can run?”

“You fucking moron,” Knob said, running a hand over his face. “She was running from you.”

Shimaki was quiet for a moment. “S'cause I'm black, isn't it?”

To his displeasure, both Knob and Kuwabara laughed.

“That might have had something to do with it,” Knob confirmed.

“Racist bitch,” Shimaki spat.

“The nerve!” Kuwabara said, shaking his head, earning himself a punch to the shoulder, one he couldn't dodge this time.

“You fuckers aren't any better!”

Original - Self-Destruction

2009-12-03T23:41:54Z

Title: Self-Destruction
Genre: Angst/Romance
Summary: Three, two, one: detonate.

Self-Destruction

She sits in the corner, quiet amongst your small shared group of friends. You watch her and don't fail to notice her anxiety, the way she draws her knees up to her chest and curls in on herself. She is out of place in this world, in all worlds, just like you.

“Just be yourself.”

Those are the first words you say to her.

Those words will haunt her for the rest of her days. No one has ever had faith in her before, no one has ever let herself believe she could be more than a mess of nerves and jumbled thoughts.

Those words – your words – make her heart skip a beat, just once.

Time passes, things change, life seems to spiral out of control.

“This wasn't supposed to happen,” she says, and she's pale now, panicked and at a complete loss of what to do to get things back on track.

“Well it did,” you say, “and there's nothing you can do about it now.”

You're harsh and cruel and the other boys in the room tell you to stop, that you're not helping, but you speak the truth and she knows it. The only thing she can do is work with cards life has dealt her.

The thought is fleeting, barely there long enough to be registered, but she thinks maybe you can make her stronger.

You start spending time with her, one-on-one. She doesn't know why and she doesn't care to ask, because even if she's a little overwhelmed by you, she enjoys your company.

It's an innocent gesture, her hand to your shoulder, but you jerk away as though her touch burns.

“Don't touch me.”

“Why not?”

“Just, don't.”

The urge to get her hands on you is suddenly irressistable, but she complies and keeps her hands to herself.

“But everybody else can – ”

“It just happens.”

“So, just let it happen now.”

And she's reaching for you again, slowly, so you take her wrist into your hand and return it to her side.

“No,” you tell her, command, plead, “don't.”

But she is stubborn and she informs you she'll keep trying and trying until her hands have memorized your body. You tell her that if that's what she wants, you won't stop her.

She notices you are always at the window, always looking to the sky.

“What's out there?” she asks one day.

“I don't know,” you tell her. “I don't know.”

You remind her of a caged bird, and a small part of her wishes to set you free, while the rest longs to keep you locked up. She'll even break your wings for good measure if she has to.

The way you make her think and feel lately is beginning to scare her.

Her hip brushes against yours one night as the two of you sit in the dark with only the light of the small television filling up the bedroom. Before she can move, you put a hand to her thigh and hold her in place.

Her heart pounds when she puts her hand over yours and you don't pull it away.

There is something growing inside of her, something grand and powerful and just for you.

You fuck her best friend. It's shocking, no one saw it coming, and a small part of her wonders if even you planned on it.

It makes her angry, makes her bitter, but she tells herself she isn't jealous. She can't be jealous.

She fucks another guy to spite you, to forget about you.

She says she's in love with him, and you believe it, because she wears her heart on her sleeve and you can see it bursting at the seams with what she feels for this boy.

But he isn't right for her, so you take matters into your own hands. You're a mastermind and you know the right things to say to turn this would-be fairytale romance upside down and inside out.

The perfect opportunity is presented when she asks you to find out how he feels, because you're one of his best friends and he opens up to you in ways he can't with anybody else. She needs to know, she insists, because he's been spending a lot of time with another girl lately, and what she was once sure of is now questionable.

“He told me,” you say, words chosen carefully, fingers tangling in her heartstrings, “and I quote, I love her.”

You can see her heart breaking, and you imagine it sounds a lot like glass shattering. “He does?” she asks in a whisper.

“That's what he said,” you confirm, watching expressionless as she shoves off the bed and walks to the window. Even with the effort to hide, you know she's crying.

“I thought,” she chokes, wiping at her eyes with a trembling hand, “I thought – ”

“You thought wrong,” you say, standing, and in an instant she spins around and buries her face into your chest. You put your arms around her and let her cry until her tears run out.

She feels safe wrapped up in your arms, like she could be as impenetrable as you if she just stayed like this long enough. Because, God, what she wouldn't give to have a heart of stone right now.

You send her a letter, and it says you're leaving and she can't quite wrap her head around it. She's taken aback when she realizes she can't stand the thought of living without you.

“I thought you were gone,” she gasped after bumping into you.

“I came to see you,” you say.

“So what are you doing here?”

“The others – they don't know I'm leaving,” you inform her, your eyes on the sky once more. “I only told you.”

Her heart is slowly dislodging itself from her ribcage, sinking toward her stomach where it will surely corrode. She takes a breath and asks, “why?”

“You won't tell anyone,” you say and your voice is quiet, confident as you turn your attention back to her.

She is overtaken with pride to know you trust her above everyone else, but it quickly sours into something dark that feels a lot like hate, because how dare you put the weight of this secret on her shoulders?

For the first time in her life, she glares at you. “Just go if you're going,” she mumbles, quickly looking to the ground. Just take your broken wings and go and get out while you can and never come back.

You leave without saying goodbye.

She cries and never tells a single soul why.

You contact each other now and again through email, sometimes chatting on MSN. You never tell her where you are, and she knows better than to ask. But she never stops asking you to come back, because things aren't the same without you.

You doubt it, but you eventually you give in and come back and life goes on as though you never left.

“He said you said you love her.”

He is quiet, contemplative, then chuckles bitterly. “I did say I love her.”

She is slow to come to terms with what he's saying, and her heart races and her stomach churns, and she's in love and she's in hate and she feels like screaming until her throat bleeds.

You're a conniving, manipulative bastard and she hates herself for not understanding any of this sooner, for being so stupidly blinded by your carefully and prettily crafted words, for trusting you with her heart.

She doesn't cry, she only hugs herself to his welcoming body and laughs into his chest quietly.

She's never felt like this before, so void and broken and used.

She'll never feel this way again for anybody but you.

You've ruined her with your pretty mouth and its pretty lies. She can't pick up the pieces of her broken heart and put it back together, the edges are sharp and they cut deep every time.

Pretty-broken-bird-boy, she hopes you're proud of yourself.

It takes time, but she realizes what you did, you did for her own good. To protect her, to make her stronger, to mold her into the woman you've always known she could be. But that doesn't make talking to you again any easier – if anything, it makes things harder. She knows her anger was misplaced, but she just can't seem to forgive you for playing with her heart as though it were a child's toy.

She'll try, though, because what she's doing isn't fair and she wants to make things right again. So she starts spending time with you again, but she can't open up, can't let you in the way she once did.

Because there are things inside she doesn't want you to see. Ugly things, beautiful things, and they're all for you.

She says they're okay again, and her acting must have improved because even you believe her for a little while. You believe she genuinely wants to help you through the awkward relationship you have with her best friend, because you're like a brother and she just wants to see you happy. Except you're not like a brother at all to her. You're so much more and she doesn't care to think about how it happened or when or even why, she just knows that she loves you and you love her best friend, and she really does want you to be happy, so it's the least she can do.

Her heart is disintegrating into dust, and you're sweeping it under a rug.

Somehow or another, with the permission of her best friend, you wind up in her bed. You take her and make her feel like a woman for the first time in her life, and when you're finished she holds onto you and swears that if she could she would never let go. But she has to eventually, so she hides her face into the crook of your neck, digs her nails into your shoulder blades and cries.

Life takes another turn for the worst.

She all wrong now and dying inside and some of it is your fault, but most of it isn't. She's caught in the eye of a storm with no way out and she feels herself slipping away, retreating to dark places in her mind to get away from it all.

But then somebody saves her, and no, it isn't you. It's a man with fire in his veins who swears up and down that she's a good person and he believes in her – something she figures you haven't done in awhile now. He says he wants to know her, to be her friend and have her in his life and it's surprisingly all she needs to hear.

She makes her choice and is confident it's the right one.

But then you come along, you and your pretty mouth and it's pretty words and you say you need to talk to her, that this is your fault for not saying something sooner. And in an instant she knows what you're going to say, but she doesn't want to hear it. Not now, not after warding off her own feelings for eight years and convincing herself you wanted nothing to do with her in that way.

“Don't you fucking dare. Don't you dare say it now.”

“I love you.”

And she shivers and shakes and cries and smiles and wants to laugh because this has to be some sort of cosmic joke and those three words are the goddamn punchline.

But a lot of things that you've done in the past make a whole lot more sense now.

She's learning how to be in love with you. It's awkward and it hurts because a small part of her will never be able to forgive you for everything you've ever done, from manipulating words to never telling her how you really felt. But she'll deal with it however she can, because she owes everything she is to you.

She knows this won't hurt forever.

Original - The Sake of the Thrill

2009-11-27T01:15:08Z

Title: The Sake of the Thrill
Genre: Erotic
Warning: hints of hard vore (m/f, teasing only, consensual)
Summary: He could fuck her until she bled or eat her alive at the moment, and it really would have made no difference.

The Sake of the Thrill

They sat together beside the waterfall that hid his den so cleverly, high above the jagged riverbed below. The misty spray of the cold water caused her to retreat, move further away, but not without urging him to come with her, which he did without complaint.

“This is nice,” she said, wiping the moisture from her face with a smile as she made herself comfortable again, “being out here again.”

“It's been awhile since we've been here together,” he concluded, and she understood instantly that over the course of the last troubled year or so he'd come back to this place on his own or with their children. She failed to hide the wince, and he rolled his eyes.

“Don't think too hard on it,” he said gruffly, “what's done is done. Point is: we're here now.”

“I guess you're right,” she said with a quiet sigh, leaning over to rest her head to his armored shoulder.

“Of course I am,” he chuckled smugly, wrapping an all too protective arm around her and making sure she stayed put. “I'm always right.”

She rolled her eyes and chuckled, too, for once not bothering to cut his ego back down to size. After a few moments, she eased herself up, causing his hand to fall to her hip. “Can I ask you about something that's been on my mind these last few days?”

He groaned inwardly without shame, because he really wasn't one to hold deep conversations as she was, but then again she never seemed to mind, happy with what he was able to provide. Usually.

“You're gonna ask anyway,” he said with a lopsided smirk and a one-shouldered shrug. “What is it?”

She sat up properly on her knees, suddenly looking to the ground beneath her, a blush steadily coloring her cheeks. “Uhm, do you remember a few years ago, when we were watching a movie and you started teasing me and said,” she had to pause here, just for a moment before continuing, “...you said that you'd eat me, so that way I'd always be a part of you?”

He stared for a moment, collecting his thoughts, remembering, then one eyebrow rose in acknowledgment and he nodded once. “Yeah. What of it?”

“I – I was just wondering,” she was speaking quietly now, and he could tell she was thoroughly embarrassed for some reason or another. She took a breath, then asked, “I was wondering if you've ever... ever given that serious thought?”

She dared to look up at him, and saw he was obviously confused. She was about to explain, but she saw his expression gradually changing, a smug, fanged-grin spreading across his lips in understanding.

“You mean,” he started, getting onto his knees, then easily pushing her to the ground, pinning her beneath his bigger body, “have I ever thought about eating you.”

Everything inside of her clenched and it was all she could do to nod and murmur a soft, “mhmm.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, and she had no idea if he was just saying that, going along with her and catering to her odd fetish, or if he truly meant it. Either way, he was getting the desired reaction from her as she began to tremble and suck in deep, greedy breaths. “Every time I get my mouth on you, I think about it.” Here, he bent to place his lips to the corner of her mouth, kissing softly then dragging his tongue across her bottom lip and snagging it between his teeth, tugging until she whimpered.

“Every,” nip, “damn,” tug, “time.”

She was gasping for air when he leaned back, smirking down at her, priding the fact he could so easily reduce his woman to a quivering, quaking, eager mess. “Ever since I got my first taste of you all those years ago,” he went on, now bringing her hands up and pinning them beside her head. For show, he licked his lips as he bent to press his forehead to hers, his breath warm on her mouth.

“Really?” she inquired, though knew there was no need for confirmation. He wasn't the type to lie, and even if he was exaggerating just a little for the time being, beneath it all he was completely serious.

“Mhmm,” he murmured, and she could feel his tail swaying mischievously behind him, the tip tickling her legs through her pajama pants. “The first time I saw you,” he began, “it hadn't crossed my mind. You were too skinny,” he chuckled, kissed the corner of her mouth again. “Just bones, really. But then we mated, and I tasted you inside and out, and could hardly believe a stringy thing like you could taste so good.”

She turned her head to the side, chest heaving, and he chuckled again as he planted his mouth on her neck. One hand moved from her previously captured wrist to one of her breasts, and he groped the budded mound expertly, causing her to writhe and gasp in all the right ways.

“St-stop,” she whimpered, feeling fangs and his tongue on her throat.

He went on as though he hadn't heard. “I've thought about it every time since,” he assured her once more. “It'd be so easy, considering,” at this he chuckled a little darkly, too deeply for her to be comfortable beneath him any longer. She pushed up against him, causing him to growl and shove her back down against the ground roughly, but not yet hard enough to bruise.

“There's no way you can out-power me,” he murmured now, pulling her shirt off and leaning down to press his lips too gently to her bared shoulder, after he'd pinned her hands down once more. “It'd be so easy,” he nearly whispered now, but the gruffness in his voice – the hunger – made it impossible for her to stop squirming under him. “So, so easy... to just,” a pause, a breath, “take a bite,” then fangs sunk into her flesh, almost hard enough to break the skin.

She gasped sharply and tried pushing against him, but he only growled at her, refusing to let go as he lapped at the pinched flesh caught between his sharp teeth. However, despite her state of panic, she found herself flushed with a moistness collecting between her thighs.

He drew in a deep breath, no doubt taking in the scent of her excitement, then promptly released her wrist again and shoved his hand down her pants. He pulled from her shoulder, pleased with the welts and redness he'd left behind as he pushed two fingers inside of her, urging a quiet moan out from between her parted lips.

He felt around inside of her for a few long seconds, feeling her need and want, then withdrew his fingers and licked them clean in a slow, predatory fashion. “Delicious,” he crooned as he bent to kiss and suck at the other side of her neck.

“D-don't say things like that,” she whimpered, trying her best to push him off with her free hand.

Again, he acted as though he hadn't heard, a part of her was beginning to think he really wasn't listening. He leaned up from her neck and licked his lips again. “You know what?”

She swallowed hard, trying to catch the breath he'd stolen from her. “Do I wanna know?”

He eased his weight off of her, looming over her now on hands and knees. “I think you should start running,” he mused, a fang-filled grin on his lips.

He allowed her to move out from under him until she was able to kneel in front of him, one eyebrow raised, heart racing. “Running? Why would I wanna run?”

“Because,” he said as he got into a one-legged kneel, “I'm hungry for you.”

Her throat ran dry as she gaped at him, grinning a wolf's grin at her. “But – but there's no way I can outrun you,” she stated, stammering, edging backward because she really didn't like that look suddenly in his eyes.

“That's not my problem, love,” he chuckled, reaching to hook a finger under her chin and guide her into one more kiss. He licked her bottom lip as he pulled away, whispering hoarsely, “run.”

“But – ”

“Run!” he shouted now, a growl resonating in his throat, and she didn't need to be told twice. She snatched her shirt from the ground as she got to her feet, spun on her heel and ran. She clearly heard him chuckle behind her, obviously allowing her to take the lead, allowing her to believe momentarily she stood a chance at successfully getting away.

She found her way out of the clearing and into the woodlands, not a particularly smart move on her part, considering the things that liked to lurk in the dark in this place. But she'd been running blindly, urged on by the gusts of wind and snapping of twigs behind her, as well as his occasional taunting call.

“I can smell you,” he shouted somewhere behind her, a good distance but one he could easily close if he chose to. She breathed heavily as she leaned against a tree, hoping she would at least have time to catch her breath.

“I'm getting close,” he teased, and she closed her eyes tight for a moment. The distant crackling of foliage beneath his feet came to a halt not a second later, and she found need to panic then, for it meant he was in the trees and it was next to impossible to distinguish his rustling from that of the wind or other forest creatures.

And that was exactly what he was relying on, the helplessness she found herself in. In her moment of confused panic, he dropped down in front of her, took hold of her shoulders and pushed her back against the tree hard.

“Should have kept moving,” he said, smirking. “I would have still caught you, but at least it would have been more of a challenge.”

She swallowed hard again, hoping to wet her extremely dry throat. “S-so, what now?”

“Well,” he murmured, cupping her chin roughly, “you're all mine now. I can do whatever I want.”

And for a split second she was reminded of their first time. How he'd brought her here and set her loose in the forest just so he could chase her, catch her, win her. Except then he had been all awkwardness and faltering confidence, where now it was danger and raw hunger gleaming in his eyes.

She licked her dry lips. “Ok, so what are you gonna do?”

He hummed in thought as he pressed closer to her, looking her up and down with nothing short of a wolf-like sense of possession. “I suppose I could eat you,” he said and she bit her bottom lip, fighting the very strong urge to close her eyes. He craned his neck, kissed her cheek, then dragged his tongue to her earlobe, idly playing with the jeweled stub of metal there for a few seconds, just long enough to make her knees weak.

“Tear you apart,” he whispered into her ear, “until you're nothing but a warm weight in me.”

The sound that escaped her was nothing short of a low, throaty groan, her fear giving way to pure adrenaline.

“Then we'd be together forever,” he went on, pleased to be getting this sort of reaction from her. “Would you like that?” he started kissing her neck again, and didn't give her time to respond. “I bet you would.”

“Y-yes,” she agreed, squirming against him, the thought of fangs and claws shredding her oddly welcomed for the time being.

“But,” he mused, suddenly pulling back and giving her yet another smirk. He let her wrists go and hooked his hands beneath her arms, lifting her and swiftly pinning her to the tree with his hips to hers. “I think I'd rather fuck you.”

She whimpered again, the reaction he had assumed he'd get from her. “Whatever,” she said, a little breathless as she wrapped her arms around his neck to hold herself up better, “do whatever you want. I don't care, just do something.”

He could fuck her until she bled or eat her alive at the moment and it really would have made no difference to her.

He bit his bottom lip, pressing his forehead to hers once again. “Say it,” he told her, one hand wandering lower to work her pants down and free himself at the same time. She kicked her pants off once they'd fallen to her ankles, then wrapped her legs around his waist.

She thought about it for a moment and decided a simple “fuck me” just wouldn't do this time around. She let a small grin of her own slide across her lips as she whispered on his lips, “devour me.”

This made his eyes widen for a few seconds, then he chuckled again. “Whatever you say, love. Whatever you say.”

He kissed her again, but this time it was not teasing as the others had been. It was real and hot and needy, though now that it was brought to her attention, she couldn't help but notice the hunger there either. She wondered how she'd missed it all these years, then concluded it must have been a delusion born of her naivety and youth. Just because she was his mate (never the other way around) didn't mean she was entirely safe from his very raw and animal-like instincts.

When their mouths parted, she was pleased to see him panting softly, a gesture which meant he was thoroughly aroused. Though she hadn't needed his heavy breathing to tell her that, the hardness pressing up against the inside of one thigh was more than enough proof of that.

“Let go,” he ordered, and she did because she knew what was to come. She expected nothing less while he was in this state. He hadn't needed to say anymore as she turned around, placed her hands to the tree and bent over for him.

“Good girl,” he crooned, rubbing a hand up and down her spine, under the shirt she'd managed to slip on again while he'd been chasing her. He then took hold of her hips, pulled her back, and shoved his way inside of her roughly. To his delight, she let out a deep moan and pushed her forehead to the rough bark in front of her.

He wasted no time, beginning to move in and out of her right away, not giving her any chance to adjust to him. She would have moved with him, but he refused to allow that this time, holding her steady in one place so that he could use her up for all she was worth.

She gasped and moaned in turn, sometimes the two sounds colliding to create a strangled sound of pleasure as she raked her palms against the rough, splintering trunk that supported her. She'd likely have cuts on her hands later, along with bruises on her hips and thighs, but it would all be so very worth it in the end.

He bent forward, pressing his torso to her back, his lips to the shoulder he'd spared earlier. Without warning, he clamped his mouth down onto her flesh, biting and sucking and licking, causing her breath to hitch and her insides to clench around him.

“I – I,” she started, but he silenced her with a deep growl. Now was not the time for words, and he made certain she understood as he pinched her captured skin just a little harder then withdrew. She didn't need to talk, to tell him she was about to come; he could smell it, feel it and her urgency for release only brought him to his own brink faster.

He straightened up and began to move faster, tossing his head back and closing his eyes. It wouldn't be long, for either of them. Just a few more thrusts, just a few more –

He gave a throaty shout as he spilled himself inside, and she, in turn, moaned his name, long and loud as her orgasm swept over her. He buried himself in all the way and stayed put for a few minutes, enjoying her contractions until they stopped. Only then did he withdraw and sink with her to the forest floor, shifting until it was his back to the trunk of the tree and she was cradled against him.

Once she'd regained her composure, she moved into a position that would better allow her to kiss the valley of his collarbone, then up his neck until she found the corner of his lazily smirking mouth.

“Well, someone enjoyed herself,” he mused, keeping his arms around her.

“Mhmm,” she mumbled in response, then shyly leaned up to kiss behind his ear before pulling back and kneeling between his legs.

“I'm glad,” he said, urging her back toward him, nuzzling the crook of her neck. “Though, I gotta say, I never thought the idea of me eating you would turned you on that much.”

She blushed and moved so she could duck her head beneath his. “Sorry,” she said, “I know it's weird.”

He rolled his eyes and pushed her out of hiding. “Quit apologizin' for it. Did it ever occur to you that I like it, too?”

She cocked her head to the side. “You... do?”

He pulled her close again, making it so she had no choice but to straddle his hips. “You have no idea what hunting you down like that does to me,” he said lowly, strong hands on her waist. “It gets my blood pumping,” he started to lean in again, his lips brushing against hers, “makes me hungry.”

She whimpered, closing her eyes and dared to speak. “Like, in what way?” Because, really, she just wanted to hear him say it.

“In all ways,” he told her, moving his sudden feather-light kisses across her neck, down to her collarbone. “Makes me wanna fuck you, eat you, keep you.”

She leaned her head back, exposing her throat to him for all it was worth and breathed a deep, content sigh as his mouth went back to her neck. Though after a moment, she cupped his cheeks and forced him to look at her. She bent and kissed his lips then said the words he'd been waiting and needing to hear, because underneath the ego and attitude, she now understood that his distance over the last little while had been caused by worry and fear of losing her. And she only had herself to blame, but this, hopefully, would make everything alright again.

“I love you,” she whispered, “I love you.”

He was quiet for a few moments, soaking in the sheer amount of emotion presented to him, then wiped the smile from his lips before she could see. “Hey, enough of that. No need to get all mushy.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, and before she could blink he had on her on back and was growling almost playfully down at her.

“What'd I tell you about apologizing for no reason? Hell, what'd everyone tell you about that? Knock it off.”

“Right,” she said a little sheepishly, then looked up at him shyly through her lashes. “We should do this again.”

“We should,” he agreed. “But, I should warn you,” he broke out into a fanged-grin, “next time you might not be so lucky.”

Her heart started to beat a little faster, and she dared to ask, “what do you mean?”

“Who knows? Maybe next time, you'll find yourself in an entirely different situation after I catch you.”

And, once again, the idea of fangs and claws was an oddly welcomed one.

X-Men - Sunburn

2009-11-20T22:03:07Z

Title: Sunburn
Fandom: X-Men
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Characters: Joshua "Icarus" Guthrie, Julia Cabot
Pairing: Josh x Julia
Warnings: AU.
Summary: They were never supposed to be a tragedy.

Sunburn

Car upon car had passed him by, speeding passed as though the drivers hadn't seen him, but he knew they had. He was hard to miss, being the only person walking the edge of the highway, heavy guitar case in one hand and a stuffed duffel bag slung over a shoulder. But that was just the way of the world, he supposed. Every man for himself. Survival of the fittest, of the superior.

He wasn't quite sure how long he'd been walking, but his back was burning through his shirt and beads of sweat were falling into his eyes, blurring his wavering vision further. However long it had been, he decided, it had been too long and that he was in desperate need of a short break from his roadside trek. He set the guitar case down, sloughed off the duffel bag and sat down on a rock that scorched through his jeans, making him shift uncomfortable until the burning sensation subsided.

He rifled through his bag, pulling out a bottle of water. He grimaced, realizing it had been warmed by the heat, but he'd make do. He had no choice but to. He broke the seal, twisted off the cap, took a greedy mouthful, then bent forward and dumped a good portion of the contents over his head. After capping the bottle again, he tossed his head back and ran his hands through his hair, down the back of his neck. It was mildly refreshing, but refreshing nonetheless.

Using one hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun, he looked skyward. There wasn't a cloud in sight, save for thin wisps that streaked across the blue. Were he not stuck in the middle of nowhere with a quickly diminishing supply of water and a constant, throbbing ache in his back, maybe he would have thought the day to be a fairly nice one. But circumstances being what they were, he was far from enjoying himself.

Hearing the distant but distinct rumble of an engine down the road, he turned his attention away from the sky and back to the highway, watching, waiting, expecting nothing.

If the world hadn't made him out to be so cynical, he perhaps would have believed he fell in love with her the moment the car came to a halt and she rolled her window down and asked, “do you need a ride?”

She didn't ask where he came from, only where he was going, and laughed when he told her he didn't have a specific destination in mind.

“Alright then,” she said, smiling mostly to herself. “So, do you have a name, wanderer?”

He somehow found the gumption to smile back, albeit faintly. “Josh Guthrie,” he said, “an' you're?”

“Julia Cabot,” she replied, introducing herself with a smile more brilliant than the last. “It's nice to meet you, Josh.”

He wondered how she could say that to a complete stranger, then decided it didn't matter. “Same t'you.”

“You're lucky I came along when I did,” she said, stealing a glance at him before turning her attention back to the road. “A little while longer out there and you would have burned up.”

“Prob'ly,” he agreed, chuckling dryly. “So, Ah s'pose yer a real life saver, huh?”

Her smile softened again, and she kept her eyes on the road as she said, “if you want me to be.”

He wasn't sure why, but he silently decided that was exactly what he wanted her to be.

They stopped at a small roadside diner and made small talk over cold Pepsi and grilled hot dogs.

“Ya never told me where yer headin',” he realized, a small smirk on his chapped, sun-dried lips.

She shrugged with one shoulder, twirling her straw between her fingers, watching the bubbles she disturbed rise through the amber liquid. “I'm not entirely sure, either. Since I finished with school, I decided to do some soul searching.” There was a pause and her straw became still between her fingers. “I don't know if I'm ready to go home just yet.”

He took a sip of his drink, set it down on the table, then said, “so'n don't,” as if it were that simple.

“No?” she asked. It sounded to him as though she'd been waiting for somebody to give her permission to run free if that was what she wanted to do. He'd never had been fond of cages.

“Nope,” he confirmed, and it really was as simple as he'd made it sound.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and smiled when she released it. “Well, then I guess it's just you and me and the open road until we figure out where we're going.”

The idea was inexplicably appealing.

They spent the night at a cheap motel, their room decked with layers of dust, cracked paint and scuffed floor boards.

From the bed, between the musty sheets, she watched quietly, slightly astonished, as he made himself comfortable in the lumpy armchair by the window. She took a breath, made some room and said quietly, “Josh, come to bed.”

Though he'd been raised a southern gentleman, he didn't think twice before getting into bed with her.

“Yer awful trustin', y'know,” he said, his back to her. “Lettin' a stranger sleep in the same bed as you.”

She giggled, a sound that seemed to make the staleness of the room dissipate for a few seconds. “We've known each other for a whole day, we're not strangers anymore.”

“Still don' mean ya know me,” he pointed out with a dry chuckle of his own.

“That's true,” and he felt her shifting, turning onto her opposite side to face his back. “But I think I'd like to.”

He was quiet for perhaps a few seconds too long before he replied, “Ah don' think ya wanna do that.” Because he was all wrong inside, twisted and ugly and a far cry from normal.

She put a hand to his back, felt something ripple beneath his skin. “Let me be the judge of that.”

“Do you think it's crazy to put all your faith in someone you just met? To believe that, for whatever reason, you were meant to meet that person and that they'll somehow make everything in your life make sense again?”

A pause, a long stare into the rear view mirror and the trail of highway dust behind them as they drove away from the motel.

A passing thought, a moment of clarity.

“Not at all.”

A smile.

“I didn't think so.”

“So, I was wondering something.”

“Yeah?”

“You have a guitar, but how come you never play it?”

He shrugged, letting his arm hang out the open window. “Haven't felt like it, Ah s'pose.”

“Do you think, maybe, one day, you could play for me?” she asked, giving him a quick smile.

He was quiet for a moment before saying, “sure.”

Because this girl, this pretty girl that came into his life out of nowhere, could put the poetry back into his soul.

That night, he played for her. Nothing specific, whatever he felt; a song just for her.

The next day, while she drove them through a small town, he put words to the melody. Later, on the roof of her car with the sky beginning to bleed orange and red, he sang to her and took her breath away.

“Be careful, Josh Guthrie,” she warned. “That's a quick way to a girl's heart.”

He plucked at his guitar strings, gave her the first real smile she'd seen him wear since they met and said, “lemme know when Ah get there.”

They fell into true love and it was the most wonderful feeling in the world – until he remembered they shouldn't be in love at all, because he was one of nature's greatest mistakes.

It was the dead of night when he snuck out of the car, careful not to wake her, walked a good distance into a wooded clearing and sloughed off his shirt. He took a breath, closed his eyes and let it happen: large, red feathered wings tore through his flesh, jutting out from the grooves beside his shoulder blades. He spread them wide, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. They had been hidden away for so long, it felt good to just stretch them, even if it was only for a moment.

The sound of twigs snapping behind him caused him to whirl around, and he was met with a pair of wide brown eyes staring at him. Specifically, the feathery appendages sticking out of his back.

And this was why a part of him had always favored the idea of having never met her to begin with.

“Y-you have wings,” she stated.

“Yeah.” What else was he supposed to say? It wasn't as though he could deny the glaringly obvious.

“You're a mutant,” she said, slowly, as though afraid to say the words.

This time he said nothing, just waited for her to continue with whatever it was she was going to do. He just prayed that if she was going to scream and run away, she'd do it fast and get it done and over with.

But she didn't scream, and she didn't run. She came to him, reached out a trembling hand to press her palm to one of his wings. She dragged her fingers over the feathers, then withdrew her hand and held it to her chest.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Most humans don' like mah kind, 'case ya haven' noticed” he drawled bitterly.

She wrapped her arms around him so suddenly he stumbled back a step. He looked down at her as she nestled her head beneath his chin.

“I'd love you no matter what.”

“You don't have to hide around me anymore. When we're alone, let them out.”

“But – ”

Habits were hard to break.

“Just be yourself.”

But he'd manage for her.

Maybe it was weeks or months after they'd met, it didn't particularly matter to either, when he asked, “can Ah ask ya somethin'?”

“Always,” she said, leaning back against him as they sat on the roof of the car. She pulled his hands from her shoulders and held them in her own to her chest.

“Do ya believe this was meant t'be?”

She was, for once, quiet, thumbing his knuckles. “I believe in love and fate and that we all have a path laid out for us,” she said softly. “And I believe that our paths were meant to cross.”

He gripped her hands in his. “Me, too.”

Autumn was fast approaching, but the sun put forth an effort to blare down on them once more. They laid on a hill in a field of wild flowers, her nestled against his shoulder, carpeted by a wing, protected by a strong arm. And he stared at the sky, one hand raised, reaching for sunfire.

“Ah feel like Icarus,” he murmured. “Headed straight inta the sun.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothin' this good ever lasts,” he went on, voicing internal fears that had been ravaging him for the longest while. “What we got goin' on here, s'gonna burn us, and we're gonna drown.”

She chuckled softly and shook her head, placing a hand over his throbbing heart. “You really think that?”

“Ya think otherwise?”

“I do, as a matter of fact.”

“Let's hear it.”

“We're not the next Romeo and Juliet,” she said, slowly easing herself up, careful not to crush his wing beneath her. “This isn't a tragedy waiting to happen.” She straddled his hips, put both hands to his chest and bent forward until her lips were brushing against his. “This is forever. This is the greatest love story never told.”

And somewhere, worlds always, tragedy has struck.

There's a scar on his chest that will never heal and she's dead on the grass, pretty even in death, and he's crying, begging, pleading to join her but he's tried and he can't and this life is nothing but one big cruel joke.

There's an angel at his side, trying to comfort him, but there is no comfort now. There is nothing. Nothing but the sun and the ocean and the plummet between the two.

-End

Ranma 1/2 - Regardless

2009-11-13T01:36:57Z

Title: Regardless
Fandom: Ranma 1/2
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Characters: Ranma Saotome, Akane Tendo, Genma Saotome, Soun Tendo, Nabiki Tendo, Kasumi Tendo
Pairing: Ranma x Akane
Warnings: fluff, a make-out session, and eventual implied lesbian sex of some kind or another.
Summary: She loves him, no matter what.

Regardless

They would put the blame on each other later, but really they were both at fault. Her for being too caught up in his movements to move out of the way in time, and his for not bothering to watch where he'd been going. He'd moved across the porch quickly, fists and feet flinging out in all directions as he fought invisible opponents to pass the time. It had been an oddly captivating sight to stumble upon, considering the grace of his movements and the darkening of the sky in the background, and she'd stopped at the far end of the wooden walkway, never tearing her eyes away from him. Then, before either knew what had happened, he was too close, and she was too slow, and they wound up tangled together on the woodwork.

Ranma stared at the splinters just inches away from him for a few seconds before he became completely aware of the warm body beneath his own. Very slowly, as to not antagonize her further, he hoisted himself up and quickly put on a scowl that matched hers perfectly.

“The heck were you doin' just standing there?!” he demanded, because, really, as a martial artist, she should have known better.

“I was – ” catching herself, Akane shoved her fiance off and got onto her knees. “I wasn't just standing there!” she defended quickly.

“Sure ya weren't,” Ranma said with a roll of his eyes as he, too, knelt on the porch. “Do you ever get tired of bein' in the way?” he sneered before she could get a word in edgewise.

Akane's eyes widened before the scowl resumed its rightful place on her face. “Do you ever get tired of being a jerk?” she retorted.

Somewhere in the house was the muttered chorus of “here we go again,” a statement which, of course, only added fuel to the fire.

“How the heck am I bein' a jerk?” he snapped back, fisting his hands and leaning forward onto them. “You're the one who didn't move out of the way in time!”

“If you would have just watched where you were going – !”

“Look, I don't mean to interrupt one of your lovers' quarrels,” Nabiki said from the doorway, “but you kids might wanna bring it inside. Looks like the sky's gonna open up any minute.”

Ignoring the older girl, the two got to their feet, fists tightly clenched and trembling. “I had the right of way!”

Nabiki sighed and shrugged. “Don't say I didn't warn you,” she said mostly to herself before retreating inside, closing the shoji screen behind her.

“This is my house!” Akane snapped, stepping closer to the fuming boy.

“Oh, sure, if you wanna get technical!” Ranma remarked.

“I do!”

“You would!”

She practically growled as she rose a fist and reeled it back, instinctively wanting to just hit him to shut him up, otherwise this argument would go on for hours. However, he easily dodged the punch that had been aimed at his head and caught her fist in his hand. She gaped, but only for a moment, before he let her hand go, squatted down and all too easily knocked her off her feet with a hand to the back of her knees. A move, she noted, he seemed to favor – and one she always seemed to fall for.

Now in his arms, inches from his glaring face, she had to stifle a gasp because this really shouldn't have surprised her anymore, but it did. It always surprised her, how easily he could sweep her off her feet.

“You're just too slow, Akane,” he said, and the glare was slowly fading, a smirk finding its way onto his lips.

And suddenly she lost the will to fight back, opting for a simple “shut up” instead of some other intricate and well-thought out comeback. Sometimes, when they were this close – when she could feel his steady breath on her lips and neck, when the pounding in his chest was strong against her fingertips – the fighting just seemed so pointless.

“What's with you?” he asked, though he sensed where this was going. Lately, as they matured, most of their arguments dwindled down to this: quiet, awkward moments that left their hearts pounding and their faces flushed, and if anyone in the house knew, they never let on. A good thing, too, because if they were ever found out, it was very likely the walls they were letting down would just go right back up.

“Nothing,” she said, and even though she was mumbling the fire was still there in her voice, daring him to challenge her.

“Yeah, right,” he taunted with a chuckle, and neither seemed to hear the thunder rumbling in the distance, otherwise perhaps they would have made an effort to get inside sooner.

“I said it's nothing!” she snapped on que, and he rolled his eyes before he planted his lips on hers, effectively silencing her once and for all, because he was just as tired of arguing as she was.

When he pulled away, she was blushing and wide-eyed and he laughed at her surprise. “Now will you shut up?” he teased, quirking an eyebrow.

A lopsided smirk slowly found her lips, and she narrowed her eyes almost coyly up at her fiance. “Nope,” she said defiantly.

He hadn't thought she would for an instant, and he was glad of that. Otherwise, he would have had to think up another excuse to kiss her.

“You never learn,” he murmured before he pressed his lips to hers again. He let out a muffled gasp when her fingers locked behind his neck and she pulled him down with force enough to knock him off balance, sending them to the wooden flooring once again. However, this time neither made much effort to pull away.

There was a very good chance that one of Akane's sisters may have come out to check on them, or even Genma or Soun, considering the storm was fast approaching but that didn't seem to bother them at the moment, as they were too caught up in the heated kisses that moved from mouths to cheeks to necks. They were still clumsy when it came to intimacy as they didn't often engage in it in any sense or form, but they were learning, and it was considered a bold move when Ranma's hand found Akane's chest and squeezed willingly for the first time.

She broke from his mouth and gaped at him, flushed and breathless. “W-what are you – ?”

He shrugged as he awkwardly massaged one breast, “just goin' with it.”

“Oh,” was all she could muster, not at all used to being touched by hands that weren't her own. It was hard to enjoy it, to succumb to him, but she forced herself to remain as calm as possible under his touch.

“Relax,” he mumbled, a blush forming on his cheeks as he bent to kiss the corner of her mouth again. “Enjoy it,” he whispered, hoping he sounded far more confident than he felt at the moment.

She didn't need to reply, her body was reacting to his touch. Nipples perking beneath her bra, the taunt nubs of flesh able to be felt through the support if he applied enough pressure in the right places. Then there was the heat forming between her legs, pressed firmly to his knee. It was enough to encourage him to continue, and to cause his own arousal to become apparent through his pants.

Too caught up in their needy mouths and wandering hands, they barely noticed the rain beginning to fall. It fell slowly at first, then harder until it was coming down in cold sheets. The wind picked up, soon enough lashing at the Tendo house with the cold downpour, catching Ranma and Akane in the process.

The change was inevitable. His frame became slender and his chest swelled and the tent in his pants gave way to a sticky warmth between his thighs. He pulled away from Akane, gasping, flushed and very embarrassed, for himself and for her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, easing back and then up onto his knees. “The rain – and – ” he looked down, now-red bangs falling into his eyes, the mood they had been building up to lost. “We should just go inside before we catch pneumonia or something.”

But to his surprise, she sat herself up and scooted closer until she was straddling his lap. “Are you just saying that?” she asked, eyebrow raised as she brushed some of the damp bangs from his face.

He could have easily been honest and said yes, but he refused to give in that easily. “It's raining and we're wet,” he pointed out stubbornly, because the last thing he wanted to do was admit he was embarrassed by his transformation at the moment.

“Yeah,” she said as she leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek, then her voice dropped to a whisper as she continued, “we are wet.”

She wasn't talking about the rain.

Ranma felt his cheeks burning and quickly pushed Akane away, staring wide-eyed at his fiancee. “Am I the only one who sees a problem with this?”

She giggled and locked her hands behind his neck, idly fingering the red braid at the base of his skull. “I think so.”

He furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side. “We're both girls,” he pointed out. “Not that I have a problem with girl-on-girl action, but... I mean, you – ”

Because even if his outside was feminine, he was still very much a boy on the inside, but that didn't deter the fact that Akane was a girl through and through and this must have been strange for her – especially considering she was razor blade straight.

“You really think this matters?” she asked.

He was quiet for a moment, then repeated, “we're both girls,” and maybe this time it would sink in.

“On the outside,” she said with a shrug. “But you're still you on the inside.”

He found himself smiling, breathing a soft sigh of relief as he slowly put his hands on hips that were not unlike his own at the time. “You're sure?” he asked, pressing his forehead to hers.

She shrugged. “As I'll ever be. I mean, yeah, it's gonna be weird, but I'll get over it. Because I – ”

And whether it was impulse and inconvenience or quick thinking and the urge to silence her before she went and said something stupid, he kissed her again. She didn't fight it, melting into the motions easily as they fell back against the porch and let the cold rain beat down on them.

By the time they came back inside, the storm had passed and they were soaked to the bone, their clothes clinging to their bodies queerly, their hair mussed and severely out of place. No one in the house said a word as the two stumbled toward the bathroom.

Soun watched the two, then looked across the table to Genma, one eyebrow raised. “Do we want to know?” he inquired, and the panda shook his head.

“I didn't think so,” he said, clearing his throat.

“I think it's lovely,” Kasumi said from the kitchen's doorway, running a drying cloth over a recently watched plate.

“I beg your pardon?” Soun asked his daughter, whom was obviously more observant and open-minded than he.

“Ranma and Akane,” she giggled, as though it should have been obvious. “She loves him,” she paused when she heard the water running in the bathroom, quickly followed by Ranma shouting that it didn't have to be so hot, then Akane shouting back to just get into the bath and stop complaining. This, naturally, caused Soun and Genma to rise and rush toward the bathroom, both fathers realizing just then that their children were naked together before they were wed.

Kasumi smiled as she went back to her dishes, the no interlacing shouting matches an oddly welcomed disturbance.

“No matter what,” she finished her prior statement, even if no one else was around to hear.

-End

Draft - Original - Fractured Fairytale

2009-11-10T16:28:04Z

Title: Fractured Fairytale
Genre: Romance/Angst
Summary: He's given her a Cindrella complex.

“Until I met you, I never believed in magic,” he told her that night spent in the cramped space of his backseat as he ran his fingers through her hair then dragged them across her spine. “You really do make me feel like a Prince Charming, you know that?” he'd laughed then, and she thought he'd blushed because boys like him were only supposed to play the role, not believe in it.

She laid her head onto his chest and listened to his heartbeat thunder beneath its cage of bone. “Until I met you, I never believed in Cinderella complexes,” she said, drawing invisible hearts on his right pectoral, the kind with two symmetrical lobes and a corner that was rarely ever turned. “You're stealing my independence,” she whispered, turning her head and pressing her lips to his pulse, and the thunder inside of him missed a beat, just once. “I need you too much.”

Draft - Original - Hiding in Plain Sight

2009-11-10T16:24:35Z

Title: Hiding in Plain Sight
Genre: Angst/Friendship
Summary: People don't disappear, we just stop looking for them.

There is something missing. Something important, something vital she shouldn't be able to live without, something like a pulse.

She's searched everywhere. Inside, outside, in the light and in the dark and she has yet to find this thing that may or may not have ever existed. But you can't miss something you never had, she reasons as she tears apart her bedroom one more time as though it (he, her mind corrects, he) will appear as magically as it (he) disappeared.

When she is done, her room is in shambles; her blankets are on the floor, her matress is skewed, her drawers and all of their contents are strewn everywhere, and she still has not found what (who) she's looking for.

Better luck next time, she tells herself while rearranging the ruins she created, because maybe then she'll find (him).

But, really, she knows she won't.

Years pass, and she eventually stops looking.

But he never stops waiting.

Gantz & Yu Yu Hakusho - Dead on Arrival

2009-09-17T23:32:03Z

Title: Dead on Arrival
Fandoms: Gantz and Yu Yu Hakusho
Rating: M
Genre: Drama/Romance
Characters: Kurono Kei, Urameshi Yusuke, Yonekura, Tachibana, Nishi Joichiro, Botan, Urameshi Atsuko, Kuwabara Kazuma, Kishimoto Kei, Kato Masaru, Shizuru Kuwabara, Genkai, Yukina; mentions Yukimura Keiko, Sakurai Hiroto and Sakata Kenzo
Pairing: Kei x Yusuke, implied Kuwabara x Yukina and Tugouro x Genkai
Warnings: Spoilers for Gantz and Yu Yu Hakusho, slash, violence, death, swearing, boysex.
Summary: The gruesome twosome. The fucking perfect pair.

Dead on Arrival

The new kid is an eyesore and a headache with his one-size-too-big uniform and his loud mouth that he just doesn't know when to shut. He walks the halls with his hands in his pockets and a glare on his face and nobody dares to get too close, because there's something in the kid's narrowed eyes that says he's dangerous.

It's hard to believe he's only fourteen.

“What're you lookin' at?” the newcomer snaps, noticing a pair of gray eyes on him, the only pair that doesn't falter when he meets the curious gaze.

Kei stays quiet for a few moments, looking the supposed tough guy over. He doesn't look like much, in Kei's opinion, but maybe that's because Kei's gone up against worse than this guy.

“You got rocks in your fricken ears or somethin'?” the kid pressed on, raising his voice and reaching for Kei's collar, gripping it tight and bringing the older boy closer. “I asked what you were lookin' at.”

Kei grabs his wrist, squeezes and the kid winces, but nothing more than that. “Nothing,” he says and shoves the kid away, sending him stumbling back into a wall.

“Don't you walk away from me,” he shouts, pushing off the wall and the crowd that had gathered scatters, not at all eager to get caught up in this.

“You're not worth my time,” Kei calls over his shoulder, flipping the kid the bird.

“Oh, yeah?” asks the new kid. “We'll see about that! Meet me on the roof after school!”

Kei rolls his eyes, but he's never turned down a fight before.

Kei meets him on the roof, just as requested, and is the least bit surprised to find there's an audience waiting. He ignores the whispers and cheering and looks straight ahead to the kid who's leaning against the chain link fence across from him, hands in his pockets, a smug look on his pretty-boy face. Kei can tell this kid isn't used to loosing the fights he picks. Well, that is going to have to change.

“What're you waiting for?” Kei shouts. “An open invitation?”

“Not at all,” the kid shouts back just as he charges at Kei with his fist raised, an attack the older boy easily avoids. This kid is nothing compared to the things he's fought, and he makes that point loud and clear as he raises his knee in one swift motion and knocks the wind out of him.

The kid stumbles back, arms wrapped around his stomach as he catches his breath. “Not bad,” he says with a grin, then launches himself at Kei again. Kei dodges his fist, but isn't quite fast enough to avoid the leg that flings out and knocks him off his feet, flat on his back.

Kei sees groans and starts to hoist himself up, but before he can there's a weight on his stomach and fists in his face. He goes numb for a moment, lets his head snap left and right, then the suit under his uniform starts to get tighter and the adrenaline surges through his veins. He grins against a punch to his left cheek, turns his eyes toward his attacker and in an instant his hands are on his shoulders, pulling him forward so he can crush their foreheads together.

The kid recoils, moaning in pain and holding his head, and Kei takes the opportunity to get back on his feet and land one more solid punch to the other boy's cheek, sending him stumbling backward into the fence.

“You're not bad,” he says, rubbing his jaw.

“Same to you,” Kei grins, and he thinks that if it weren't for his suit then maybe this kid would have stood a chance at winning. A slim one, but it was still a chance, he supposed.

“The name's Urameshi,” the kid says, spitting out a small wad of blood. “Urameshi Yusuke.”

Kei hesitates before extending a hand, which Yusuke takes and shakes with a firm grip. “Kurono Kei.”

When Kei finds out that Yonekura and Tachibana's sights are set on Yusuke, he sticks his nose in where it doesn't belong once again, and he's not sure why. As he walks around to the back of the school, he thinks maybe it's because he wants to see how this kid will hold up against thugs like them. Or maybe he just wants a reason to really beat the shit out of those lowlifes.

“Smile pretty-like for me,” Kei hears Tachibana say, then he peers around the corner and sees him smirking down at Yusuke, one hand under his chin, the other forcing his lips apart. He chuckles. “Nice teeth,” he croons, shoving Yusuke back, “they'll look good next to all the others.”

So the fucker's still collecting teeth, Kei thinks with a roll of his eyes. Some assholes never learn.

“I like my teeth right where they are, thanks,” Yusuke says back with a crooked grin, and Kei can see he's confident he can take this guy. Kei thinks maybe he can, but he doesn't let it get that far. He steps into view and clears his throat, the slight sound enough to make Yonekura and his cronies forget about grabbing Yusuke. Tachibana tenses and grits his teeth, and ironic nervous habit.

“Kurono,” he hisses.

“I thought you'd have smartened up after last time,” Kei muses, head cocked to the side.

“You gonna do something about it?” Tachibana asks before he can stop himself, and he knows that was a mistake. He reaches for and holds the wrist Kei nearly crushed a few weeks ago.

Kei chuckles and gives the other boy a look that makes him recoil. “Do you really wanna know?” he asks, noticing the way he's protecting his feeble wrist, and Kei remembers the way it felt so soft in his grasp then. It would have been so easy to break it beyond repair.

Tachibana swallows hard and audibly, then makes a sweeping motion with his hand. “Bail,” he tells his followers as he starts walking away. They follow and Kei can hear one of the other boys asking why they're just walking away like this, and then Tachibana says, loud and clear, “there something ain't right 'bout that fucker.”

Kei rolls his eyes and finally turns to Yusuke, who's gape is shifting from the retreating thugs to him. Finally, he settles his gaze on Kei, and the awestruck expression turns into a glare as he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“I could have handled them by myself,” he says, looking down to the ground because right now there's something about Kei's eyes that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Sure,” Kei says and it's not entirely disbelieving.

Yusuke wants to ask what about Kei freaks Tachibana and his crew out so much, but decides maybe it's if better he doesn't know.

Yet.

It's true what they say about car accidents, that no matter how horrible they are you just can't look away. So Kei thinks maybe he has the tell tale syndrome as he hears tires screeching and people shouting and the distinct thud of a body hitting the bumperhoodwindshieldpavement.

He tells himself he doesn't really want to see it, the mangled corpse of the unlucky bastard who jumped in front of the car to push a kid out of the way, but he pushes through the crowd anyway to get a better look. Because Nishi was right and it's human nature to want to see dead things.

But the thrill is short lived when Kei recognizes the green uniform that is now stained with blood. He feels his stomach churning as he stares at Yusuke, broken and bloody and very, very dead.

What the fuck? He thinks, unable to pull his eyes away, watching as the blood pools around his head. Just like that? This tough shit was taken out by a fucking car?

And Kei thinks about homeless men and express trains and flashes on cellphones, and he idly wonders if being hit by a car is anything like being hit by a train.

He hopes not.

He doesn't know why he's here, staring at Yusuke's coffin, surrounded by his friends and family. He has other, better things to do, and yet he can't bring himself to leave. He just stands there, quiet amongst the sobbing and prayers, eyes glued to the picture of the dead boy.

Maybe it's because this is the only solid reminder he has how frail mortality is, that without the alien suit under his clothes he'd be just as breakable.

He turns his attention away only when a girl breaks down outside, screaming Yusuke's name many times over as though that might bring him back. Her friends try to comfort her but it's useless, and not a second later a boy comes in, shouting and crying and groping at the air as two of his friends try to anchor him. But this guy is huge, almost as big as Kato, and all they can do is hang onto him and be dragged across the floor.

Kei will never forget the way that boy looked as his friends dragged him out after he'd finally given up. That defeated, useless look, as though the redhead's life had lost all meaning the moment Yusuke's dead body hit the street. And, he thinks, maybe it did – or maybe the other guy's just overreacting. He figures he'll never really know.

He has the weirdest dream one night, and it leaves him in a cold sweat and with everything on the inside trembling. He spends the rest of the night thinking of a golden glow and pressing his lips to Yusuke's.

The next day the dream is still on his mind and he can't help but wonder if it meant anything. He wouldn't be surprised if it did, but this is harder to swallow than extraterrestrials living in abandoned apartment complexes. Kisses only bring the dead back to life in fairy tales, and this life was definitely anything but.

Still, he goes to Yusuke's house after school, and just sits by his beside for awhile. He'd heard rumors at school that after the wake, Atsuko didn't cremate the body because Yusuke had showed signs of life again; a fluttering pulse and baby breaths. Kei hadn't believed them, until now, when he was able to watch that chest rise and fall with every shallow breath Yusuke took and place his hand over the gentle heartbeat.

“S'been like that for a few days now,” Atsuko slurs from in the doorway. “And I keep thinking that maybe,” she starts to choke and the tears fall freely, “maybe my boy can come back.”

“Yeah,” Kei murmured, not looking at the older woman, “maybe.”

And, for some reason that goes beyond everything Kei believes in, he believes himself when he says that.

“Stranger things have happened,” he adds for good measure.

“Stranger things – oh,” Atsuko groans and runs a hand through her hair, shaking her head as she turns and leaves the room. “I need a drink. Stay the night, if you want.”

So she leaves, and Kei stays. He stays in the same place well into the night, just staring at the barely living body beneath the blankets, watching that ominous golden glow rise up and encase him entirely.

“Weird glow? Check,” Kei mumbles inwardly, glaring at the younger boy because he knows what has to be done, and he has a feeling that if he doesn't do it now, it will ruin everything.

“Fuck,” he curses before he wraps his arms around the limp body and hoists Yusuke up, crushing their lips together without haste because the clock's ticking and they only have seconds left.

When he pulls away, he refuses to acknowledge the blush on his cheeks as he stares down at the unmoving youth in his arms. He looks him over quickly, near-panicked and starts to shake him when nothing happens.

“I didn't kiss you for nothing, you bastard!” he shouts and promptly lets the young body fall back against the futon. “Wake the fuck up!”

Then it happens. The slight twitch of eyelids and the parting of lips, the slightest groan as Yusuke pulls himself up into a sitting position, and Kei has never felt such a thrill surge through him.

“Yo,” Yusuke says with a smirk, touching his lips but never wiping them clean.

Kei swallows hard and manages to smirk back at the newly revived delinquent. “You owe me.”

“Big time.”

Neither admit they can't stop thinking about it, that damned kiss of life that wasn't really supposed to be a kiss at all, not by Spirit World standards anyway. But the Spirit World and the Human World looked at things differently, and no matter how many times Botan picks fun at Yusuke and assures him it really wasn't a kiss, Yusuke thinks otherwise. Because Kei's lips had lingered and his heart had pounded and Yusuke knew enough to know that that was what kisses did.

And no matter how often Kishimoto tries to pry Kei open just a little to find out what's bothering him, Kei just can't bring himself to tell her, even if he wants to. Because, hey, talking to her just might bring them closer together and maybe he'll finally get laid. Except, suddenly, Kei doesn't want to lay her, not since he held that body against his own and breathed life into it.

It's like some fucked up fairytale, Kei thinks. The dark kind with death and destruction and no happily-ever-after waiting in the wings.

Their friends keep asking, “are you sure you're alright?” because they're distant and quiet and something just isn't right.

Streets away from each other with Kei glowering at Kishimoto and Yusuke avoiding the piercing gazes of Botan and Kuwabara, they finally answer the question that has plagued them these last few weeks.

“Look, you – ”

“ – just wouldn't – ”

“– fucking –”

“– understand.”

Kei thinks he's seen it all until he sees Yusuke attacking what looks like a demon in an alley. He'd be more skeptical if he didn't fight and kill aliens every few nights. What's really hard to believe is just how fast Yusuke's moving, how high he's jumping and how powerful his physical attacks are. One kick in the right place breaks a tree trunk sized arm in two, leaving it useless.

The fight is over a few minutes later, after Yusuke does this thing with his finger. He rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck, spitting on the corpse of the defeated demon. When he turns around, that's when Kei makes himself known.

“What was up with that?” he asks, surprisingly calm.

Caught, Yusuke decides to come clean – after all, he's not Botan, he doesn't need to lie his way out of this.

“If you got a few hours to spare, I'll tell ya.”

And he does. Back at Kei's apartment, he tells him about being a ghost and the ordeals he had to go through to win the rights to his body back. He also tells him of his new job as Spirit Detective, and that he'll get a tongue lashing from Botan for spilling the beans.

“You don't look surprised,” Yusuke says after he's finished, noticing Kei has taken it pretty well from start to end, save for the occassional rise of an eyebrow or the slackness of his bottom jaw.

“I am,” Kei assures him with a chuckle and a sigh, “believe me, I am.”

“But?”

Kei absently runs a hand through his hair, over the little bomb inside his head that will go off if he so much as breathes the word “Gantz.”

“Nothing. Just, y'know, weirder things have happened.”

And Yusuke had no idea how right Kei was until he saw the other boy in a black suit, fighting off a small onslaught of aliens with a bunch of other people. Yusuke's in amongst the cheering, fearful crowd, watching as public property is destroyed and people are crushed and torn apart, blood splattering everywhere. This battle is far more intense than anything Yusuke's ever been involved in, and suddenly he thinks his job is the easiest in the world, compared to this.

When it's done, when the aliens are nothing more than bloody pulp on the sidewalk, Yusuke shoves his way through the crowd and stares at unabashedly at Kei, who's limping and wheezing and staring right back at him.

“Cat's,” Kei starts, breath hard to catch because something's broken inside and he just can't seem to breathe properly, “outta the b-bag.”

“Explain,” Yusuke all but demands, then his eyes widen as Kei starts to fax out feet first.

“Tomorrow,” Kei says before he vanishes completely.

So the next day, Yusuke corners Kei behind the school and Kei tells him everything he wants to know, because, apparently, they don't have bombs in their heads anymore (so said Sakurai and Sakata), and if they're visible to the naked eye now, then Gantz must want the word out on the street. For some reason or another.

“Well,” Yusuke says when Kei's finished explaining, a grin on his lips, “aren't we the gruesome twosome?”

Kei chuckles. “Yeah.”

The fucking perfect pair.

Like most of their odd relationship, they're not quite sure how it happens, how they wind up tangled together on Kei's bed, panting and cursing and needing.

When they're done, the sheets are soaked and the room smells of sex and sweat and blood (because boys like them don't know how to be gentle, especially with each other). They lay side by side, eyes wide and breathing raggedly.

“That was my first time,” Yusuke admits after his breath is caught, looking toward Kei.

Kei looks back and there's a blush on his cheeks and Yusuke still can't believe how easy it is to make the older boy go pink. “Mine, too,” he says.

“Wanna make a habit out of it?” Yusuke grins, getting the energy to roll back on top of Kei and pin him to the bed with his hands on his shoulders.

Kei still can't wrap his head around how strong this kid is. “You know, I never thought I'd fuck a boy.”

“Me either, but I'd do it again.”

Kei is surprised when he doesn't hesitate to say, “yeah, me too.”

In time, there are pictures of the two together mounted on desks and hidden in folds of leather wallets, and anybody who notices doesn't dare say anything about it. Except, of course, for their closest friends – a motley bunch drawn together as naturally as Kei and Yusuke had been. And it feels right, like they finally found somewhere they can belong.

Yusuke voices this once, and Kuwabara asks why he isn't smiling. It's Kei that replies, “because nothing this good ever lasts, don't you know that?”

“Kurono, you don't mean that,” Kishimoto scolds.

“No,” Yusuke says before Kei can even open his mouth. Their eyes meet from across Genkai's porch. “He's right.”

“What makes you so sure?” Kato asks, looking from one boy to the other. Because aside from the official Spirit Detective work and the Gantz games, he sees no friction in this relationship.

“It's just the way things are,” Kei says, looking away from Yusuke and to the sky. “The way things gotta be.”

And, months later, after the Dark Tournament and after the whole mess with the old Spirit Detective, Kei is proven right when Yusuke drags him out to the beach.

“So, why're we here?” Kei asks, though deep down in his gut he knows.

“I gotta take off for a while,” Yusuke says, picking up a rock and tossing it out across the surface of the ocean. It skips out of view, and to this day the younger boy's strength amazes Kei.

“How long's a while?”

“Three years. To train in the Demon World.”

“That's a long while.”

Yusuke stops walking. “Look, I'm not asking you to wait around for me or anything like that.”

“I know,” Kei says, walking a few steps ahead of the other boy before he stops. And he can't believe he's going to say this, because Yusuke's half demon and his ancestral father wants him to take the throne after he passes and there's a pretty goddamn good chance he won't come back at all, but it just comes out before he can stop himself.

“But I'll wait anyway.”

“Why?” Yusuke asks, and there are things he wants to hear but he knows Kei will never say them, but that's alright because Yusuke won't say them either.

Because you're the only thing in this life – or whatever the fuck this is now – that makes any sense.

“It doesn't matter.”

Yusuke leaves the day after his fifteenth birthday.

Kishimoto and Kato die in the game, and Kei plays two full rounds to get a hundred points to bring them back. They both tell him he didn't have to, that he should have used his points to free himself, but he just shakes his head and tells them to stop being stupid.

He'll do anything to keep himself in this game, it gives him something to do. Fighting aliens to the death is better than sitting around and waiting for Yusuke to come back.

It's almost a year and a half later when he starts to get sloppy, losing limbs more often and transferring back into the Gantz room barely alive. Kato knows he's getting tired of this, even if he won't admit it. So when Kato finally gets his hundred points, he gives them over to Kei.

“No way,” Kei argues, shaking his head.

“Just take the fucking points,” Nishi snaps. He's been more irritable than usual ever since Kei revived him, as well.

“Why don't you take them, you little shit?” Kei snaps right back.

“Because I like it here,” Nishi remarks, and Kei thinks, sure you do; next time you're biting the big one, try not to cry for mommy, and maybe then I'll believe you.

Rolling his eyes, he turns back to Kato. “I don't – ”

“Kurono, please?” Kishimoto asks quietly, one hand on Kato's arm, the other holding a fisted hand to her chest. “You're – you're going to die if you keep this up,” she says softly, her voice trembling.

And the truth is, he can't keep it up and she's painfully close to home, so he sighs and nods. “Alright.”

“You'll forget,” Nishi warns from the corner of the room. “About Gantz and everything that's happened since.”

Kei swallows hard and looks to the wooden floor, fists clenched at his sides. “Big woop,” he mumbles, “just do it already.”

“We'll fix it,” Kishimoto says, suddenly hugging Kei from behind. “We'll all be friends again. And Yusuke will come back.”

The notion is sweet and it makes him smile halfheartedly. “Sure,” he says, putting his hands over Kishimoto's and squeezing before he pushes away from her. He's tired of fighting, tired of waiting, and he'd really like to just go home. “Kato?”

“Right,” the older boy says, a little choked up. “Gantz, free Kurono Kei.”

Kei wakes up much later on in his apartment with the worst headache of his lifetime. He can't remember what he did prior to falling asleep, but he thinks nothing of it. His life has never been very exciting.

Then he notices the bristle board on the wall, full of pictures of people he's never seen before. Of all the smiling faces staring at him, there's one that sticks out more than the others. There's this brown-eyed, black-haired punk in every picture, and something inside tells Kei this boy is very important.

No matter how hard he tries, he can't take the bristle board down.

Kei never thought he'd meet the people in the pictures, but he does, slowly but surely. It starts with Kato and the pretty redhead who has the same first name as him, which is a little weird but he can deal with it. From there, the two bring in the others, and Kei can't believe how easily he fits in with this strange bunch. But then again, he supposes it should come naturally, considering.

He apologizes for not remembering once they're all together on the beach. Kuwabara thumps him on the back.

“Don't worry about it, Kurono.” He winks. “We'll be unforgettable this time around.”

“This time – ?”

Shizuru punches her brother in back of the head. “Shut up, moron.”

“Oh, right,” Kuwabara chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the sore spot on his head. Even after the Dark Tournament, no one else quite knows how to hit like his sister. “But seriously, don't worry about it. We're all together now and that's what matters.”

“Oh, Kazuma,” Yukina says, “that's so sweet of you to say.”

The incoherent stream of babble Kuwabara's suddenly spouting in resposne to the ice demoness' compliment sends the group into a fit of laughter, save for Hiei who still has yet to understand just what it is his little sister sees in that big oaf, no matter how many times Kurama tries to explain.

“This is nice, isn't it, Kurono?” Kishimoto asks once she's caught her breath and Kuwabara's walked off with Yukina down the beach, the two hand-in-hand.

“I guess so,” Kei mumbles.

“What's wrong, Kei?” Kato asks, arching an eyebrow.

“It feels like something's missing,” the other boy admits with a chuckle, a statement that causes the remainder of the group to exchange odd glances.

“Like what?” Botan asks, leaning forward to put a hand onto Kei's shoulder.

That bastard who's face is plastered all over my apartment.

“I don't know,” Kei says.

“Genkai,” Kishimoto starts, slowly turning toward the old woman sitting atop the hill, “how long has it been?”

“Not long enough,” she replies but there's this odd smirk spreading across her cracked lips. “Not long enough at all,” she says and stands, looking down the length of the beach.

“What're you talking about?” Kei asks, confused, but then he follows the old woman's gaze and he can see somebody approaching. He stands as well and his stomach is somersaulting, his heart beating faster because this just can't be real.

Nobody says a word as Yusuke finally reaches them, and he grins at Kei. “Miss me?”

“I think so,” Kei mumbles, suddenly feeling sick.

“You think?” Yusuke repeats, obviously insulted.

“Yusuke,” Botan starts softly, “he doesn't remember you.”

“Oh,” he mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck. “That sucks.”

“Walk with me,” Genkai suddenly says, and Yusuke knows better than to argue, so he follows.

“What happened?” Yusuke asks his mentor.

“He was freed from the Gantz game and subsequently lost his memories of everything that happened since the subway accident. That included meeting you,” she explains.

“Ironic,” Yusuke mumbles, and Genkai's sporting that smirk again.

“You're back early. How come?”

“I found a reason to fight,” he says, “and it wasn't in Makai.”

“There's nothing wrong with starting over,” she muses, stopping to look toward the setting sun. “And maybe this time, you two can get it right.” Because she knows how important second chances can be, and she'll be damned if she lets Yusuke let this golden opportunity pass him by.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “maybe.”

“Well? Move your ass.”

“The name's Urameshi. Urameshi Yusuke.”

A hand is extended and accepted and the grip is tight and familiar.

A grin, and no hesitation this time.

“Kurono Kei.”

-End

Draft - Kingdom Hearts - Change of Scenery

2009-09-07T18:00:39Z

Title: Change of Scenery
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Rating: PG
Genre: Friendship/Hurt/Comfort
Characters: Kovu, Bambi; mentions Zira
Warnings: Spoilers for TLK: Simba's Pride
Summary: He knows where to run to when he can't run anymore.

He felt so ashamed to be doing this, creeping through portals and sneaking into a world where he most certainly didn't belong. He was above this, he was better than this, and yet he seemed to have no other choice. He had to get away and just learn to breathe again for a little while. Mother's training was excessive, too much, and he hated to admit that when he thought of putting her plans into motion, his heart clenched painfully.

It took some time, but he found the place and person he had been looking for. The forest was green and damp, the scent of it so fresh and clean it made him dizzy, and the young buck that found him was quite the sight for sore eyes.

“Kovu?” Bambi questioned quietly. “What are you doing here?”

Despite the urge to just blurt it out (can't do it anymore, don't want to, it hurts and Mother won't listen – ), his training kicked in and told him some things were better left unsaid. Bambi still didn't know about Zira's plans, and if Kovu had his way he would never know, either. He cleared his throat and looked down to the wild flowers near his front paws.

“I... Uh. I just, wanted to....”

The buck came closer. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Kovu took a step back and glared at the other prince. “Look, it doesn't matter. Can I just... stay with you for a bit? I need a change of scenery.”

With no questions asked, Bambi nodded then lead the lion toward a thicket. “Stay as long as you need.”

I'm here for you.

Draft - Titanic - For What it's Worth

2009-09-07T17:51:52Z

Title: For What It's Worth
Fandom: Titanic
Rating: PG
Genre: Romance
Characters: Jack Dawson, Rose DeWitt Bukater
Pairing: Jack x Rose
Warnings: Spoilers, death.
Summary: She makes it count.

It's a feeling very much like the one she felt that evening with her hands in his, their arms flung out like starved, featherless wings to catch the wind. It feels like she's flying, and maybe she is – except she's certain she's falling. Sinking. Down, down into the freezing depths of memories and dreams that are suddenly more.

She knows the hall, the doors, the smiling faces that greet her, that welcome her home. And there's the echo of a promise ringing loud and clear through her mind.

Never let go.

And she never has.

She never could.

She walks toward the stairwell, her stride confident, and there he is, just as he was another lifetime ago.

She takes his hand and they kiss with a passion that goes deeper than the ocean, that transcends heaven itself. And in this life-that-isn't with this boy who is more than just a memory now, by the clock, she makes it count.

Draft - Kingdom Hearts x Mummies Alive - My Heart For You

2009-09-07T17:48:53Z

Title: My Heart For You
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts and Mummies Alive
Rating: T
Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort
Characters: Ja-Kal, Namine
Warnings: Disturbing imagery.
Summary: He'll give his heart to her.

He is a protector, and so he protects the little witch of a girl with his unlife, all the while feeling as though he has betrayed his boy-prince (who is still waiting to be found, rescued - salvaged).

"I don't have a heart," she explained once, when he caught her crying false tears and holding her empty chest.

One day, as she sits in her pretty white room, fabricating memories with colored wax, he presents to her a jar.

"For you, Princess," he says, kneeling, head bowed, eyes almost-closed.

"Ja-Kal?"

"My heart," he tells her. Because he's dead and rotting and his heart is only going to waste, collecting and turning to dust.

And she declines and she weeps, fake tears and forced sobs, because his heart, though three thousand and five hundred years-dead, is so much more valuable than her.

Draft - Ducktales/Darkwing Duck - Second Rate

2009-09-07T17:36:31Z

Title: Second Rate
Fandom: Ducktales/Darkwing Duck
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Characters: Launchpad McQuack, Scrooge McDuck; mentions the triplets and Darkwing
Warnings: Spoilers.
Summary: Second string just doesn't cut it.

The triplets think it's just the coolest thing ever that Launchpad works with Darkwing Duck. They ask him so many questions his head feels like it's spinning and he has to sit down, telling them to wait a second until his head is cleared. Then he answers one question at a time, and they cheer and laugh and stare in awe.

It is Scrooge that sees something out of place on the pilot's face, a light in his eyes that just doesn't seem to shine anymore, but when he asks what's wrong, Launchpad simply smiles and says it's nothing.

Scrooge doesn't believe him, and he has good reason to.

As much as Launchpad enjoys being the side-kick, sometimes he really misses being the hero.

Draft - Kingdom Hearts - Sweeter

2009-09-07T17:28:51Z

Title: Sweeter
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Rating: M
Genre: Angst
Characters: Axel, Sora; mentions Roxas
Pairing: Axel x Sora
Warnings: Spoilers, one swear word, implied domination, sex and biting.
Summary: Almost as good as the real thing (but almost isn't good enough).

For someone with fire running through his veins, his hands were so fucking cold. Axel’s fingers ran over Sora’s pretty little mouth, opened wide, gasping for breath and whispering quiet pleas.

“But you don’t really want me to stop,” the Nobody hissed before his mouth closed over Sora’s, swallowing his weak, pitiful voice.

“You know,” Axel murmured against those lips, now bruised and flushed, “he tasted just like you.”

And for a moment Sora thought the worst was over. Then Axel bit down, breaking flesh and drinking sweet, hot blood.

“Only sweeter.”

Draft - Cro - Frozen

2009-09-07T17:23:27Z

Title: Frozen
Fandom: Cro
Rating: PG
Genre: Angst
Characters: Phil, Mike; mentions Cro
Warnings: Spoilers.
Summary: He's just a memory now.

There are instances he wakes up screaming at night, trying to rid himself of the cold darkness that linger in the back of his mind, memories woven into wretched nightmares. Memories of snow and ice crumbling under his weight and falling down into the dark, into a deep freeze that lulled him into a death-like sleep before long.

Then he remembers waking up in this place, in this time, to humans that were nothing like the neanderthals he left behind.

Well, unlike most of them.

They remind him a lot of a boy he used to know, a boy smart beyond his years.

Heavens, how he misses that boy who is now nothing but dust and a memory.

"Phil? You ok, man?" Mike asks, noting that the mammoth is still panting and his pupils are still dilated.

"What? Oh, yeah," Phil replies, shaking his head and shoving at Dr. C with his trunk to keep her and her medical tools at a safe distance. "I'm fine."

And for the most part, he is, but there are instances where he wakes up screaming at night, longing for the safe, promising drab of death once more. Because sometimes he thinks the deep freeze was better than life without his best friend.

Conan the Adventurer - Sacrilege

2009-09-06T17:51:47Z

Title: Sacrilege
Fandom: Conan the Adventurer
Rating: R
Genre: General/Erotic
Characters: Dregs, Ava; mentions Set, Conan and Wrath-Amon
Pairing: Dregs x Ava
Warnings: interspecies sex, bondage, religious defilement.
Summary: It's blasphemy, but it couldn't feel more right.

Sacrilege

“Th-this is blasphemy,” Ava gasped, tossing her head back as Dregs' mouth descended upon her neck.

Dregs' didn't care to respond, because he'd learned the hard way that they were all damned anyway, regardless of loyalty or power. Set was in this for himself and when his time came, and it surely would, the world would be suffocated within his coils and the weaker pawns would be disposed of. The God's time was drawing nearer and Dregs had every intention of making the most of what time he had left. So let the great stone eyes watch as he deflowered the shrine maiden who'd shown him the light.

“D-Dregs,” whimpered, the sudden pressure of fang-points on her throat a cause for alarm. She groped clumsily at his shoulders and pushed until she'd put him, and his mouth, a good distance from her. “We cannot do this,” she breathed heavily, struggling to gain back the breath he'd stolen from her.

“And why not?” he demanded, because he certainly couldn't be bothered to worry about what may or may not have been considered wrong in the eyes of Set.

“This is His temple,” she whispered, daring to look over her shoulder to the giant statue of the snake God. “We cannot do this here.”

Dregs rolled his eyes. “I know where we are, girl,” he said and took hold of her wrist, pulling her closer until their chests were crushed together. He kept her captive hand high above her head and delighted in the way she tried to squirm it free. “And I don't quite care.”

“But – ”

He silenced her with a finger to her quivering lips, then dragged the clawed digit downward until it rested against the rim of the armored vest she wore, the proper attire for all shrine maidens, human and Serpent Woman alike. “I will show you how little your God cares for you,” he hissed, his hand creeping behind her until he found the lacing that kept the vest tight and secure to her body. He tugged the knot undone, then pulled the thin cord from its place, allowing the vest to loosen and fall to the floor. He didn't give her time to cover up, quickly grabbing her other hand with his free one, guiding it to his other where he then held both thin wrists all too easily within his grasp.

“Don't,” she pleaded quietly, “please.”

“That's it,” he chuckled as he started to coil his tail around her, letting his free hand cup one of her naked breasts now. “Beg me to stop, ask Him for help,” he crooned wickedly as he squeezed the mound of warm flesh, causing her to flush and whimper again. He bent down to flick his tongue against her nipple, chuckling again when she gasped and started to squirm again. Of course, her squirming only caused him to wrap around her a little faster, squeeze a little tighter, and he was surprised to find her body temperature steadily rising. She was enjoying this.

He withdrew from her breasts , grinning as his coils slid higher up, wrapped tight around her stomach and chest, the rattle sounding off to the right of her.

“You're silent,” he said as he released her hands finally and watched with little amusement as she fondled at the part of him that was wrapped around her torso. “Why?”

She said nothing, and his rattle sounded again in aggravation. “We'll change that,” he promised as he slipped between her legs, forcing her to wrap them around his waist as he assumed a more appropriate position. He pressed his sheath to her crotch, naked and moist beneath her red, silken skirt. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip, dragging her nails across his scales harshly.

He rose an eyeridge and watched her for a moment, supposing he had taken the scare tactic far enough. She had, after all, held her tongue when he told her tobeg for Set to save her; he could only assume she'd come to terms with the fact she was serving a selfish God who cared little to none of his worshippers.

“Relax, pet,” he crooned, softly this time, as he shifted all around her, causing pleasant friction against her breasts and center. “I have no intention of hurting you,” he explained with a sigh, reaching for her chin and turning it upward, forcing her to face him.

“I know,” she whispered. “I am just... overwhelmed.”

He grinned. “I can tell,” and he glanced meaningfully downward, to the girl's crotch. It was radiating heat like never before, and there was a slickness on his scales that hadn't been there prior. She flushed, then nodded, admitting quietly, shamefully, to her excitement.

They said nothing more as his member pushed its way through the thick, scaled folds of flesh and pressed against her hot womanhood. He pushed it inside slowly, hissing in pleasure as she took him in, until he found that wretched fleshy barrier. If she'd been expecting him to be gentle, to break through slowly, she'd been mistaken. He gave one rough shove and buried himself all the way inside of her, relishing the way her insides clenched around him and the feel of her blood and juices drenching him.

He pretended not to notice the tears in her eyes and the pained expression on her flushed face as he started to move. He found his curiosity piqued, however, when she looked up to his face and met his gaze while one hand reached for the end of his tail. She winced now and then when he shoved himself inside a little too sharply, but that didn't stop her from fondling that sensitive place just inches below his rattle, eliciting a quiet moan from the naga.

“What are you doing?” he inquired breathlessly, watching her hand on his tail intently.

“Do you n-not ha-ah-ave – ” She stopped speaking when what she was searching for came forth; slightly smaller, twin penes poking out from another sheath.

Needless to say, he was quite surprised to find she knew about those. He was surprised further when she started to clumsily grope at them, rubbing and squeezing them in turn, sometimes together.

Aroused beyond comprehension at this point, Dregs started to thrust harder and faster into the smaller body, eager to release the immense amounts of pressure building in his groin and the base of his tail. It helped none when Ava shyly tugged on his tail, bringing the penes toward her mouth and running the tip of her tongue over the slick organs.

“Yes ,” he hissed, tossing his head back and shamelessly slapping his tail over her mouth, forcing his penes inside with no intent of removing them until he'd come.

Ava's eyes fluttered close as she sucked on the two members, stroking each in turn with her tongue in an awkward fashion, but he seemed to be enjoying himself nonetheless. She stopped only when she felt a pressure building in her lower stomach, moaning out loud against him.

His own orgasm wasn't too far away, and he did everything he possibly could to speed the process up, moving harder and faster still against her until it happened. He groaned as he spilled himself inside of her, then grinned as he looked back to her, watching intently as she struggled to swallow what he'd poured into her mouth. Once he was certain she'd taken it all down, he removed his tail from her mouth and slowly released her from his hold.

She stood for a moment on trembling legs before they gave out and he was forced to cushion her fall with his tail. He arched it, pushing her up toward him again, putting his hands to her hips once she was close enough.

“You should go,” she said after a few moments of silence. “It would not do for either of us to be caught like this.”

“I doubt it would matter,” he said off handedly. “But if that's what you'd prefer.”

She nodded, slowly reaching up to cup his face in her hands. “Yes, but I have one question before you go.”

“What is it?” he asked, shuddering inwardly at the feel of her warm hands on his cheeks, still not used to the affection she gave.

“Why did you do that?”

He looked at her, then to the statue of Set behind her. He supposed he'd done it for many reasons, most of which he'd decided to keep to himself, but one stood out among the rest.

“You said it before,” he said slowly, looking back to Ava's face. “Blasphemy.”

“Should Wrath-Amon or Set find out – ”

“They likely already know,” he interjected.

This made her wrap her arms around herself, the realization that both God and wizard had ways of seeing everything making her horribly shy once more.

“Really, my pet, what is one more defilement?” he asked and expected no answer.

She was silent as she dressed, and he didn't bother to speak before he slithered out of the vast temple. He may not have been a warrior like that damned barbarian or a powerful wizard like Wrath-Amon, but he'd be damned if he was going to continue being trampled underfoot. And if violating and seducing one maiden was the only way he could fight back, then so be it.

Original - 11:59

2009-09-02T18:19:03Z

Title: 11:59
Genre: Romance
Summary: He calls her Cinderella.

11:59

He calls her Cinderella.

She thinks this should be derogatory, as he only calls her that when she's on her hands and knees, sponging dirt from the floor with toxic water until her hands are red and raw, or when she's trudging through the house with loads of wet laundry in her arms to be hung outside in the summer's sun.

He only calls her Cinderella when she's below him. Far, far below, and he's gigantic in comparison.

It should be insulting, she knows, but it still sinks her heart to the pit of her stomach, turning it to butterflies that flutter inside of her ribcage.

The mop glides across the hardwood floor, up and down, and he's watching her from the doorway with his arms across his chest and a smirk on his lips. He only moves when she misjudges a step, slides on the still-wet floor. He catches her under her arms, holds her to his chest and chuckles down at her.

“Careful, Cinderella.”

And there she goes again, releasing butterflies into her torso while her guts tangle themselves in undoable knots. But this time she can't stop herself and the words spring freely, easily, from her quivering lips.

“Why do you call me that?”

He lets her go, spins her around and says, “why not?”

He is all ego and complications as he stares her down, but there is something in the way those pretty blue eyes of his analyze her. Something that reminds her of endless skies and bottomless oceans, things that run deep and go on forever.

Like the happily-ever-afters in fairy tales that can never be real in this world.

But she's also felt akin to the impossible, so she chances it.

“Okay then. So what does that make you, Prince Charming?”

“You know it,” he tells her with a wink before he leaves her to finish her cleaning.

And she understands the reason behind the name, understands why this pretty rich boy wastes his time with a girl like her. She understands, and she will let him save her.

Original - Good Girl

2009-09-02T18:17:22Z

Title: Good Girl
Genre: Angst/Tragedy
Summary: She'll wait for him.

Good Girl

It comes down to sheer willpower and borrowed time.

He is a good man, and so she will wait for him. She is carted off to a friend's and is told to stay until he returns, so that's what she does, because he'll be back soon, not to worry, and it's the least she can do for him.

By the time he comes back, takes her home, there is barely a thread to hang on to. She is tired and weak and it hurts so bad, but she wants to see him this happy before –

It happens early in the morning. She cannot take the pain and so she cries, a sound that is strangled and strange, now. He comes to her, meets her gaze, understands, and takes her into his arms.

“It's alright,” he tells her. “You're a good dog.”

The best he's ever had.

“You're hurting, girl,” he croons, and she can feel the droplets falling on her fur, can hear the way his heart suddenly pounds. “You – ” he has to stop, catch his breath, “you can let go. You can let go.”

And this is enough, what she's waited for, what she's wanted.

She obeys one last time.

Gantz - Carbon Copy

2009-09-02T18:13:38Z

Title: Carbon Copy
Fandom: Gantz
Rating: M
Genre: Romance/Angst
Characters: Kishimoto Kei, Kurono Kei; mentions Masaru Kato
Pairing: Kei x Kishimoto, implied Kato x Kishimot
Warnings: Spoilers, mindfuckery.
Summary: He doesn't say "I love you" anymore, not unless she says it first.

Carbon Copy

She doesn't go home with him one night, says she's found somewhere else to stay, that she doesn't want to be a bother to him anymore. Before he can protest, she puts a finger to his lips.

“You'll see me again. I promise.”

And just like that, she leaves him.

They meet again two days later after school hours. It strikes him as odd to see her in a uniform all her own, book bag slung over one shoulder, a textbook and a binder tucked under one arm. Maybe, he thinks, she's picking up where she left off, starting over. Maybe her leaving him was for the better, after all.

When he speaks to her, her responses are short and cold and seem practiced.

He tells her to take care and that he'll see her around then walks away, assuming she's either in a mood or having a bad day.

The next time they meet, a week later, she goes home with him, and it's strange and uncomfortable because he knows she can't stay this time, and when she leaves there's a good chance she may not come back. There's something wrong and he can't put his finger on it, but he knows it's big and it's ugly and it could very well mean this is the last time he'll ever see her outside of the game.

They sit in silence and tea that has chilled, things they have never done before. He doesn't like this, not one bit.

“Where have you been?” he asks, breaking the tension.

She doesn't answer, only looks to the floor.

He goes to bed early and falls asleep to the sound of his apartment door slamming shut.

“Do you love me, Kurono?” she asks the one time he has her pinned to the wall with one hand on either side of her head, steel-gray eyes narrowed on her as he demands answers to the questions that have kept him awake at night over the last few weeks: where she's been and who she's with and why she suddenly seems different and, possibly the most important, why she keeps coming back when it's clearly obvious she doesn't want to.

Her question catches him off guard and his glare vanishes in a heartbeat, replaced by wide-eyed confusion and surprise. In a manner that's beyond boyish, one that is uniquely Kurono Kei, he pushes off the wall and throws his hands up in the air, snapping at her.

“What the fuck does that that have to do with any of this?”

She doesn't tell him she's thought it over, read between the lines, but she does tell him something that makes his jaw go slack.

“Because I think I could love you back.”

In the game, she throws herself at him and says she's missed him. He puts an arm around her slowly, unsure – because he was certain he'd just been with her mere hours ago.

He puts his mind at ease by telling himself that it's a girl thing, and it makes him grin a little to think she suddenly can't go make it through a day without missing him.

And yet, even with such thoughts in mind, it's hard to grin and bear it when she's protecting Kato like her life depends on it.

“What was up with that?” he asks the day after, a scowl on his face as they walk to his apartment.

“What was up with what?” she asks, and either she's good at playing dumb or she really has no idea what he's talking about because the look on her face is pure confusion.

“Last night, you were all over me and then left me for Kato.”

And there's a buzzing in his brain, an oddly pleasant tickle that no doubt comes before the explosion. It's a warning to keep his mouth shut, to not say another word because this girl doesn't know about the game.

He assumes it's Gantz fucking with him – it has to be, after all – and sighs, deciding not to talk about it anymore, just in case he triggers the bomb inside his head.

“Nevermind. Just never-fucking-mind.”

“It's been three months,” she says, taking his hand in hers with a coy, almost bold smile on her lips.

“Huh?” He cocks an eyebrow, watching her playing her fingers through his, threading them together.

She giggles, pushing him down onto the floor and straddling him. “I think I'm ready now, Kei-chan.”

That night, they fuck each other raw.

He scoops her into his arms after the mission is over, presses his lips to hers and is completely dumbstruck when she gasps and pulls away, covering her mouth with a gloved hand.

“I've done worse, you know,” he says with a raised eyebrow, head canted to the side.

She squirms in his grasp, looking off to the side. “You have,” she says, as though she has to remind herself of this.

“What's the matter with you?” he asks, letting her go.

“Nothing, Kurono,” she says softly, and he follows her sideways glance.

Kato.

He glares at her, hard and near-hateful. “You haven't called me Kurono in weeks.”

“Do you love me?” he asks a few days later, desperate for answers because he's tired of this game she's playing.

“Of course I do,” she says, looking away from the small television and up to his face as he kneads her sore shoulders.

“Sometimes,” he continues, boldly deciding to open up for once, “I don't think you do.”

She takes his hands in hers, brings them from her shoulders to her breasts after she's turned around to kneel between his legs. Her hands are on his thighs, dangerously close to the growing bulge between them.

“I'll prove it to you.”

“I thought I'd lost you,” he says, holstering his X-Gun and bringing her near-mangled body into his arms. Her legs are broken, so are her ribs, and he's sure there's something inside bleeding, but it's nothing Gantz can't repair if she can hold on long enough for the transfer to start.

“N-never,” and she coughs up some blood and bile.

“I don't know what I'd do without you,” he admits, brushing her blood-soaked hair out of her eyes before he leans down to kiss her.

She turns her head slowly, allowing him to only catch the corner of her mouth. She remains silent as he pulls back, her gaze anywhere but on him.

“Do you think Kato is okay?” she rasps.

And the idea of suddenly dropping her where she lies and leaving her for dead doesn't sound so bad.

He doesn't, but his grip on her loosens dramatically.

“I'm sure he's fuckin' peachy.”

“Do you love me?”

This question has become routine and he can tell she's growing tired of it. And that's just great because he's tired of having to ask it.

“I do,” she says. The answer is short and sweet, but it's enough for now.

“For how long?”

This makes her gape in shock, but she soon recovers and presses her lips to the bare flesh of his chest, kissing his fluttering pulse.

“Forever,” she whispers as she kisses every other beat.

He knows he should be happy, because that is exactly what he wants, but forever just doesn't seem very long anymore.

The world feels like it's suddenly spinning too fast and his heart drops like a rock to the pit of his stomach when he sees her on the street one day, her arms wrapped around Kato's shoulders as she hoists herself up to press her smiling lips to his.

“You don't love me,” he states quietly, pointing to the door. “Get the fuck out.”

She leaves with tears in her eyes, and he has to wonder if he's done the right thing.

In the game, he doesn't bother anymore. She's not in it for him, she's in it for Kato, so he lets her play it for him and he saves no one but himself.

“What did you do to him?”

“Me? You should be asking yourself that.”

“Aren't I?”

And Kishimoto Kei glares at herself, at the strange copy that approached her months ago and pleaded with her to give a boy the chance he wanted, the chance she refused to give, because she'd fallen for another and she couldn't stand to be untrue to her heart.

“We're driving him mad,” says the original. “I don't know what you're caught up in, but every time he sees you, he's different when he comes back to me.”

The copy looks down at the concrete, all shame and guilt and things the original could never bring herself to show again. “He'll be alright,” she says, so confident and sure that they can make this work.

The original isn't quite so sure, but she goes back to his apartment that night and asks for forgiveness, complete with tears and false guilt of crimes she hasn't committed.

He buys it and takes her to bed.

“Do you love me?” he asks after the deed has been done many times over and they're both sweaty and sated and sticky.

“Yes,” she whispers, breathless.

He just can't bring himself to smile.

After a mission, he holds onto her tightly, pressing her head to his chest. She is tense and rigid, and the frantic pounding of his heart is little comfort.

“Kei,” he says softly, and it's strange to hear her call her by her first name. “Can I ask you something?”

She nods, thinking, no.

“Do you love me?”

His heart beats rapidly, anxiously, and then she swears it comes to a dead stop when she answers him.

“Not today.”

He doesn't say “I love you” anymore, not unless she says it first.

-End

Kingdom Hearts - The Sea is Her Song

2009-07-14T23:51:04Z

Title: The Sea is Her Song
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Rating: T
Genre: Romance
Characters: Sora, Ariel, Eric, Stormy; mentions Goofy, Donald, Flounder, Sebastian, Melody, and Triton
Pairing: Sora x Ariel, Eric x Ariel
Warnings: Spoilers for KH II, Return to the Sea and the episode Stormy.
Summary: Five songs Ariel sang, and the one Sora will never be able to forget.

The Sea is Her Song

1. Part of Your World

The first time Sora hears Ariel sing like she means it, they are in her grotto and she's showcasing her vast collection of sunken human artifacts. There's a cigar box filled with corkscrews, pocket watches dangling from stone rafters along with necklaces, music boxes, and many other typically mundane things that have her entranced and curious. Watching her sift through her treasures, Sora finds himself just as mystified, as though he'd never seen any of these things before.

And just as suddenly as it starts, it ends.

But who cares? Ariel sings, leaving behind one of her many trinkets. No big deal. I want more.

She swims upward, twirling and she has everyone's attention now. Sora notices the look Sebastian has on his tired face, a mixture of awe and pity, and he feels his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach as he realizes just how bored and lonely this princess is.

He looks up in time to see Goofy offer his back fins to her, and she giggles as she remembers humans have those strange, fascinating things called “feet” attached to their “legs”. She then pushes backward and flips her tail about to prove her point, that it isn't good much else aside from that, but legs are made for so much more. Then she continues to ascend.

Wouldn't I love, love to explore that shore up above? and she's reaching up, out through the hole in the ceiling of the cove where the sunlight shines through, and for a moment Sora forgets to breathe.

Out of the sea. Wish I could be part of that world, her voice has dropped considerably as she lets herself fall back down to the ocean floor slowly. She comes to sit where she lands, and keeps her eyes on the sunbeam, oblivious as Sebastian begins to usher the trio and Flounder away. But Sora resists the crustacean and lingers behind, coming up behind her and just watching her silently until she snaps out of her reverie.

Before she says anything, he puts a finger to her lips and winks. “Maybe someday,” he says, hoping to make her feel a little bit better.

The smile is slow to show itself, but once it's there it's bright and beautiful. She takes his hand in hers, kisses his knuckles and turns her gaze upward once more.

“Maybe,” she says, but there's not a doubt in her mind that one day she will surface.

2. The Edge of the Edge of the Sea

The giant seahorse is beautiful with its silver mane and rich purple coloring. But it is also dangerous, Sora can see it in it's eyes as it struggles against it's reigns. It comes as no surprise that Ariel is instantly taken with the beast.

“Keep your distance, Princess,” the seahorse's caretaker warns as she gets just a little too close, “Stormy's too wild too tame, and too ornery to love.”

The animal bucks, sending Ariel backward through the water, into Sora's arms. He can't find any words to say as he watches her watching Stormy thrash against his bonds, eager to be rid of them.

“Someday,” she says softly, pulling out of Sora's grasp to move in closer, hands fisted in front of her because she knows she can't touch him – yet, “I'm gonna ride that wild seahorse.”

Sora doesn't ask why, he knows she sees something in that wild animal no one else can, or cares to. Instead, he lets her have her moment, then takes her by the hand and leads her back to the palace.

That evening, she brings up the subject of riding to her father, and Triton says if she cares to ride with him, he has an old mare ready for her. She protests this, blurts out that she's seen Stormy and it's him she wants to ride. Triton, naturally, becomes enraged and tells her she will never ride the beast.

Inevitably the outburst leads Ariel back to the corral, back to Stormy, and Sora's struck senseless as she approaches the thrashing seahorse, strokes his snout and begins to sing.

What am I to do? She asks, and she's looking to Stormy for answers. There's so much of me in you.

Sora feels his heart picking up its pace the way it often does when Ariel sings, except this time it beats faster than usual because she's going for the ropes now.

Someday, we'll break away and we'll ride, you and me, to the edge of the edge of the sea.

Her fingers play across the thick knot and Sora is moving closer and he's hoping she won't do it because she just doesn't know what this animal is capable of.

Come on, let's try it. So many worlds to explore, and she's beaming as she takes hold the worn end of Stormy's bindings, beginning to give it a tug. I don't have a plan, you'll just have to trust my hand.

“Ariel, wait – !” Sora finally gasps as he sees the knot coming undone, and the seahorse is deadly silent and still now, just waiting to be free. And when the knot is no more and Ariel's taking hold of the reigns and mounting him, Sora reaches for her in vain. They make eye contact for only few seconds before Stormy takes off into uncharted waters.

As Sora rushes back to the palace to tell Triton what's happened, he can't help but be blown away by Ariel's performance, regardless of the situation that brought it on. He's never seen the princess so raw before, and it was possible the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on.

3. Reprise

Sora's watched Ariel perform many times, and each time she manages to take his breath away and make his heart pound within his chest. But this time it's different as she lays on the beach, bent over the man she'd saved from the shipwreck, stroking his cheek with her knuckles, singing sweetly to him.

His breath still hitches, but he's sure it's because there's something nasty brewing inside of him, and his heart still pounds, but only out of fear that he's going to lose her.

The dog barking in the distance startles her, and she drags herself quickly back into the water, diving beneath the waves before the man regains complete consciousness. Sora follows, and when they surface a safe distance away, hidden behind a boulder, the man is on his feet with the ocean lapping at his boots. Sora scowls childishly when he sees that he has the same dazed expression his face as Ariel.

“We jus' gonna forget this whole t'ing eva happened,” Sebastian says from beside Sora, and it sounds like an excellent idea. Except Ariel's dragging herself up the slant of the boulder, propping herself up on her arms to watch as the young man – a prince, apparently – stumbles away toward his castle with the help of his man servent.

I don't know when, Ariel starts, and Sora feels his heart clenching inside of his chest again, this time almost painfully. I don't know how, but I know something's starting right now.

And it plays out like a movie scene, so beautifully as the waves crash behind her and the wind picks up, tousling her damp hair. Sora can only watch in awe and horror as she comes to a final conclusion: watch and you'll see, someday I'll be part of your world.

He doesn't return to Atlantica for some time after that, knowing she's too far gone to be brought back, that she's not his for the taking anymore.

4. Athena's Song

The next time Sora sees Ariel, she's human, married, and has a baby daughter.

The maid leads him to the baby's bedroom, where Ariel is rocking her to sleep as she sits on a windowsill that overlooks the ocean. She smiles at him, wide and bright and so Ariel, but she doesn't greet him right away. There are other matters to tend to first, namely putting her daughter to sleep.

Oh, the waves roll low and the waves roll high, she sings quietly, and Sora realizes this is the softest he has ever heard her sing before. It's, as always, breathtakingly beautiful. And so it goes, under a bright blue, endless sky.

The baby gurgles happily, then yawns, her eyes closing and then opening as she stubbornly tries to stay awake. Watching this, Sora has no doubt in his mind that Melody will grow to be a spitting image of her mother: stubborn beyond belief.

Waves try to measure the days that we treasure, Ariel continues, smiling warmly down at her daughter, pleased to see her (reluctantly) giving in. Wave hello and wave goodbye.

And, amazingly, by the time her voice drops off into silence, Melody is sound asleep. After she puts the baby down in her crib, she rushes over to Sora, walking expertly in her extravagant gown and expensive high-heeled shoes. She wraps her arms around him and he returns the hug, and both are at a loss for words because it's been too long.

“That was beautiful,” he says after they break apart. “Your lullaby.”

She giggles and looks toward Melody, whom is now cuddling with a plush turtle. “It was my mother's.”

5. For A Moment

Sora finds himself under the sea once more nearly twelve years later with Ariel at his side as they search the ocean for Melody. He has never seen Ariel so distraught before, has never heard her sing such a haunting, mournful tune. There are no words yet, only sorrow and worry as they hunt her daughter down. But when the words do come, Sora can see how much Ariel has grown.

If only for one moment, I had shared with you all I know, the sea wouldn't be a mystery. Her voice is loud and clear, a proclamation of regret that makes Sora's stomach churn. Oh, why did you have to go?

They swim for what feels like forever, and Ariel continuously sings wordlessly for all the ocean to hear. It is a song that chills Sora to the bone, and he remembers why mermaids are alternately called sirens.

I will find you, my darling, and the moment that I do I'll hold you close, my Melody, and sing the song of the sea with you.

“Ariel?” Sora speaks for the first time in hours, and the Queen of the land above looks at him with tired blue eyes. “We'll find her,” he assures her.

“I hope you're right,” she says before she carries on ahead. Determined to make her smile, he takes hold of her hand once he catches up with her.

“We will.”

0. Dreaming

Before he takes what he fears to be his final leave, she takes him out to the beach, to a shore they're both very familiar with.

“What are we doing out here?” he asks, eyebrow raised, hands behind his head in that boyish manner he will never outgrow.

“I just thought...” and she trails off, a wistful smile on her lips. She knows they may never see each other again after this, too. She looks toward the ocean, “I wanted to give something to you, Sora.”

“Give me something?” he asks with a shy chuckle. “You don't have to – ”

“I know I don't, but I want to,” she says with that smile he's come to adore. She takes his hand as she turns her attention toward him. “Please?”

He nods. “How can I resist?”

She giggles and leads him into the water, soaking her dress up to the waist as they stop by that boulder. He climbs onto it first, then helps her up, figuring the weight of the waterlogged dress would be too much for her. They make themselves comfortable; him with his back to the high ledge and her between his legs, her head on his thigh. He doesn't ask – because he's never asked when it's come to Ariel – he just waits, and his patience is rewarded when she starts to sing.

Dreaming is something that we both know how to do, she begins quietly, her hand finding his again. You wish upon that evening star and hope that it comes true.

There is a lump forming in his throat all of a sudden, but he doesn't dare silence her.

Dreams connect us even when we're far apart, and she looks up at him as she sings these words with a soft smile on her lips and a glassy look in her eyes.

When she finishes, she leans up and places a kiss on his cheek, then buries her face into the crook of his neck. “This isn't goodbye,” she murmurs, because they've been through so much and they've come so far and this just can't be it.

He wraps his arms around her, runs his fingers through her red hair and breathes her in. She smells of bath salts and roses fragrance, so human. After a moment, he pulls away and grins at her – because she's right, this isn't the end.

“Far from it,” he says with a wink.

He leaves, and he does return every now and again, but while he's away he remembers the song she sang to him on the rock until he's able to see her again.

-End

Gantz - Red Thread

2009-06-23T22:08:41Z

Title: Red Thread
Fandom: Gantz
Rating: M
Genre: Romance
Characters: Shinobu, Nadia; mentions Kazuo Kuwabara, Miho Yamanaka, and Sumiko Yamada.
Pairing: Shinobu x Nadia
Warnings: RP-based.
Summary: Some people are just meant to be.

Red Thread

The first time they meet, it's his second time in the game and the ball faxes her in with a bunch of other dead people. She's blonde and busty and Miss April of Playboy, and it's quickly revealed that she should have spent money on some miracle brain transplant instead of those D-cups. She has no idea what's going on and just doesn't seem to understand that no matter how hard she tries, the other players just don't understand what she's saying. Except, he does. He's not perfectly fluent, but he's taken English classes and he does what he can to help her out, instructing her to put a suit on and take a weapon.

She thanks him, introduces herself as Nadia and nickname's him dotei because she'd heard everybody else calling him that. He introduces himself as Shinobu, tries to tell her dotei means virgin and it's not a nickname, then quickly gives up when he sees her eyes beginning to glaze over. He supposes he doesn't really mind, even if it is embarrassing, and nickname's her usagi before the game starts.

Out in the playing field, she decidedly clings to him, an action that doesn't settle well with Kuwabara, who wants her all to himself and swears he'll fuck her before the night is through. She's oblivious to his crudeness, and Shinobu thinks it's for the better. If she knew, she'd probably only throw some kind of fit because girls like her like that, and they certainly don't sleep with men like Kazuo Kuwabara. The sex-fiend aside, because they have a horde of aliens to worry about, Shinobu surprises himself as he stubbornly protects her at the cost of one arm and a fair amount of blood.

When it's over, after they've been scored, she follows him outside. “I have nowhere else to go,” she tells him, and her apartment's all the way across town, too far to go at this hour of the night. So he does the gentlemanly thing and offers her to take her home. When she accepts, puts her hand in his, marveling at the sturdiness of the restored arm that had been torn off barely half an hour ago, he smirks to himself. Kuwabara never managed to lay a finger on her, and here he was, a seventeen year old virgin, leading a Playboy model home by the hand.

His mother calls her a whore the moment they step across the threshold, waving one hand up and down in front of the scantly clad, voluptuous body. His father, on the other hand, ushers the two of them upstairs. It's late and they both look exhausted, and he knows his son better. This girl isn't here at this late hour to screw Shinobu senseless, regardless of what his mother thinks.

Upstairs, Shinobu offers her the bed, says he'll take the spare futon and sleep on the floor, and she's alright with that. Once the lights are out, she strips down to nothing and climbs in between his sheets, and he feels childish for sleeping in pajamas. It takes a lot of willpower not to look over at the bed, to try and find and trace the outline of her hips and breasts under the thin blankets. It takes even more willpower not to turn around when she crawls onto the futon with him and wraps her arms around him, pressing her forehead between his shoulderblades.

“I'm scared,” she whispers, and his heart beats faster. “What if those monsters come back?”

He takes one of her hands in his, holds it to his chest and whispers back a simple, “no.”

It hits him very suddenly, but the urge to protect her is mind-numbingly strong and he swears he will never let anything hurt her.

Over the course of time, he falls into the roll of her protector all too easily. When they're in the game, he's at her side, following her, covering her, nearly dying on repeat occasions for her. Miho and Sumiko laugh and tease him, saying that's one way to impress her and get into her pants. When he tells them that's not it at all, they both laugh and wave him off; why else would be putting his life on the line for such a klutz?

So he thinks about it, long and hard late one Friday night with Nadia beside him, already asleep. Her head is on his bare shoulder, her arm wrapped loosely around his waist with her hand tucked under his hip. Her breath is soft and warm against his chest, and he realizes weeks ago he would have been a stiff as a board and a nervous wreck in this position. But now, at this very moment, he is calm and relaxed, as though this is the most natural thing in the world.

She shifts, ever so slightly, giving him a little squeeze before she relaxes against him again. She murmurs dotei in her sleep, and his heart skips a beat.

He can't believe he hadn't realized it before, but everything suddenly makes a lot more sense now.

He's in love with her.

Apparently, she's not as dumb as she looks, because she figures it out soon enough and confesses that she has feelings for him as well. It is an awkward moment that passes thereafter, the two of them sitting in silence, blushing and smiling and fidgeting like shy children. Then she leans in to kiss him, as she has so many times before, but this time the kiss lands on his lips and not his cheek.

“You're the first boy to want me for me,” she says with a smile.

He doesn't tell her she's the first girl to want him, period, but he smiles back all the same, nodding.

“I love you, Dotei.”

He decides he will never tire of hearing those words, nor will he tire of saying them back.

“I love you, Usagi-chan.”

Their first time is in a hotel and it's clumsy and awkward because, while she's definitely done this before, he hasn't and she has to tell him what to do. But in time they do it all; they screw and fuck and make love, and he'd never known there could be a difference until now.

Fucking is nice, but he prefers to make love, and he's sure she does, too.

The day she gets a call from America is the same day she starts packing, because she has a contract and she was never meant to stay in Japan forever.

At the airport the next day, she continuously glances over her shoulder as she walks away from him. She's crying, softly, in an oddly refined manner for a girl like her, and it breaks his heart every time she looks back. He wants to look away, but he can't, for her. He has to be strong, like every other time.

And then he hears it, the strangled, high-pitched moan-like-whine, followed by the clicking of expensive heels against polished tiles. All he can do is open his arms to her, then wrap her up in them after she latches on and hides her face in his shoulder.

“I can't,” she says through her sobs, sad and embarrassed and angry. “I can't go. I can't. I won't!”

So they go back to his house and she makes a few phone calls. When all is said and done, she practically squeals in delight as she tackles him to the bed. A contract is being worked out and she's here to stay for as long as she wants.

He doesn't say anything, but he promises that if he can, he'll never let her go.

It all comes down to this, a mission completed and two scores of one hundred points. They should be rejoicing, but they're both silent as they stare at the options displayed on the screen. They don't want this anymore, so freedom sounds like a good idea, until they realize they'll forget each other.

“I... I don't wanna fight anymore,” Nadia says quietly, catching a pink-painted lip between her teeth. “But...”

Shinobu doesn't look at her, only takes her hand and squeezes. “No more fighting,” he whispers, because they're lucky to have survived this long, and while the other players might enjoy this game he certainly doesn't, and one round was more than enough. “No more.”

“Dotei,” she chokes out, and he doesn't need to look up to know she's crying. “I...”

“Usagi,” he says softly, tries to sooth but his voice is cracking, too. “Shh. Is okay. Is okay.”

Together, they choose to be free, choose to forget.

He goes on to graduate high school and college at the top of his classes, and when schooling's a thing of the past he sets his degrees and certificates and diplomas aside to write science fiction novels. He writes stories about alien invasions and beautiful girls who need saving and are waiting for Mr. Right to come along and sweep them off their feet, futuristic fairy tales.

When the reporters ask what inspires him, he tells them, “dreams.”

But he knows there's more to it than that, he just wishes he knew what that something more was.

“Excuse me?”

He doesn't look up as he signs another book for another fan. “Yes?”

“I... I came a long way to see you, and I have a question.”

The voice is vaguely familiar but he can't place it to a name or face, so he brings his gaze upward to the woman's face. Something inside twists and knots and makes his blood run cold. “Yes?” he inquires, going about this as professionally as he can because he doesn't want to cause a scene in front of a crowd.

She looks a little lost and nervous, and she's wringing her hands together as she stares down at this man in front of her. “Do you remember me?”

And it all comes rushing back in an instant. The urge to protect, the immense love, the horrible suppressed memories of grotesque aliens that had birthed so many of the nightmares that have plagued him over the last few years. He's awestruck, because here she is, the one's he's tried so hard to recreate and capture and love in his novels.

“I dream about you,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “All the time. And I was hoping that, maybe, you dream about me, too.”

“Nadia,” he says, and to remember her name again and say it aloud for the first time in years is a wonderful feeling. “Usagi.”

“Dotei,” she breathes and smiles and cries as she throws herself at him. The crowd around them is quiet for a few stunned seconds, but then they cheer and applaud, not entirely sure of what is going on, they only know that it's something beautiful.

He holds her awkwardly from across the small table, burying his face into her shoulder and her hair. “No more dreaming,” he whispers, his grasp on the English language far better than she remembers.

“No more dreaming,” she repeats, and it's a promise.

He makes that same vow again, to never let her go – and this time, there's nothing stopping him.

-End

Gundam Wing & Rule of Rose - Saving Grace

2009-06-03T16:26:00Z

Title: Saving Grace
Fandoms: Gundam Wing and Rule of Rose
Rating: T
Genre: Drama/Angst
Characters: Solo, Clara, Duo Maxwell; mentions Diana, Jennifer, Wendy, Olivia, Mr. Hoffman and Heero Yuy
Pairing: brief and implied Solo x Clara
Warnings: Spoilers for RoR and Duo's Episode Zero; implied rape, self-mutilation and abortion.
Summary: He was a hero in her eyes, and she was a Princess in his.

Saving Grace

Until now, Diana had been the only to know Clara's dirtiest secrets, that old hands liked to wander and cracked lips liked to kiss; that, not too long ago, there had been a weight settling in her stomach, growing heavier as the weeks drew on – until that dirty old man paid a doctor to cut her open and remove that which would have surely caused a great deal of problems. Until now, nobody else ever asked about the bruises on her arms and legs or the scars on her wrists. Most of the other children were too young to understand, or simply too oblivious, and the faculty knew better than to get involved. Until now, no one had ever come into her room because they heard her crying and caught her caressing the hideous scar on her abdomen through the thin material of her nightdress.

Until now, this boy – this nameless boy with the sky-blue eyes and messy blond hair had kept entirely to himself. They had nicknamed him Solo for a reason.

As he closes the door behind him and makes his way toward her slowly, she stares at him with wide, fearful eyes. She's long since lost her trust in the opposite sex. “What... what are you doing in here?” she asks, voice cracking. “What do you want?”

“Heard ya cryin',” he asks, and his stark American accent is not at all something she's used to. Unabashed, he sits on the edge of her bed and isn't at all surprised or insulted when she recoils a little. “Thought I'd come check it out,” he decides to tell her, tries to make certain she understands his intentions are not at all malicious.

“Y-you never bother with the others,” she says quietly. In the time Solo has been in the Rose Garden, she has never seen him play with Xavier or Thomas or Nicholas, has never seen him interact in the slightest with Diana or Meg or even that poor, unlucky girl, Jennifer.

“I stick with the little ones,” he tells her with a roll of his eyes. “Us big kids,” he gives her a slight smirk, “we can take o' ourselves.”

“Some better than others,” she replies in a mumble, adverting her gaze. If she recalls correctly, Solo a year younger than her, but he handles himself far, far better. She supposes those are the lessons learned on the streets, where he supposedly came from before the police picked him up and dragged him kicking and screaming to their front door.

“True story,” he agrees, because he's seen the way she cowers and flinches at the touch of adults, especially men. He may be younger, but he's no fool. He's seen girls like her die alone and scared on the street because they were too damn scared to do anything about it. “But it don't gotta be like that, ya know.”

She looks up at him slowly, curious.

He holds out a hand. His palm is littered with small scars. “Sometimes, it don't hurt to take care o' each other.”

“W-what?”

“I'm breakin' outta here in a few days, gonna head up to those space colonies,” he says, stretching his arm as far as it will go. “Come with me.”

She looks from his hand to his eyes, and there's something there, swirling beneath the anger and the hatred that tells her it's alright, that she can trust him. “Alright,” she says as she takes his hand. “But why me?”

“'Cause,” he says, squeezing her hand. He won't tell her it's because she's still pure despite the bruises and scars and he doesn't want to see her ruined. Not in so many words, anyway. He gives her hand a tug, pulls her forward until her cheek is pressed to his chest and his arms are wrapped around her in that protective way he's held Olivia a time or two. She is tense, but melts into the hug the moment he leans down and whispers, “You're beautiful.”

In five days time, she's nestled against him in the cargo hold of a shuttle headed for the L2 colony cluster. She had been hesitant to follow through with leaving when she found out they would be stowing away, but he had managed to convince her it really was the only way. They didn't have much money between them, he reminded her, and he insisted she keep it for herself once they arrived in space. Reluctantly, she agreed and soon enough found herself here, in the dark, with his scrawny but strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, her head tucked under his chin.

Once the gravity of earth releases its hold on them and they begin to float a few inches from the floor, she squeaks in surprise and pushes the skirt of her dress down forcefully between her legs. “What in Heaven?!” she asks, eyes wide, and he laughs at her.

“There ain't no gravity in space, babe,” he says through his laughter. It's so amusing to see her struggling to stay on the floor and hold her dress down all at once. She winds up lopsided, and he feels obligated to reach out and anchor her beside him again, as upright as possible. “It really ain't so bad once ya get used to it.”

Her surprise and panic fade once she realizes he speaks from experience. “You're from the colonies?” she asks, relaxing once she's secured her dress between her legs.

“Uh huh,” he mumbles.

“Why did you come to earth?” she questions, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, only to have it rise up and out of place again a few seconds later.

Solo turns his gaze away from her, stares ahead into the darkness of the hold, and it's the first time she's seen him so stoic. Like this, she thinks, he looks much older than fifteen. “Figured things'd be better there, ya know?”

She looks down to her lap. “And what are things like where we're going?”

“Don't worry 'bout it,” he says, and turns to her with a smile. He won't tell her that war is like a disease and it's already spread throughout space, that the Organization of the Zodiac has a choke-hold on the colonies, and the Alliance forces from earth aren't any better. She doesn't need to know those things, not yet. “It won't be so bad. Nothin' like the orphanage.”

She is quiet for a few moments, studying that smile of his. She can tell it's forced, but the best he can muster at the time, so she smiles back in a similar fashion, halfheartedly. She supposes nothing could be worse than the Rose Garden and the horrible, horrible things that went on there. But, oddly enough, since leaving she has never felt more like a princess – though, she is not as frightful as Wendy had declared when the Red Crayon Aristocracy was formed and she was made one of the many Princesses. The smile turns into a whimsical one as she looks away from him.

“I suppose you're right,” she murmurs.

“What's the smile for?” he asks, eyebrow arched.

She shakes her head. “Something silly. Nevermind.”

“C'mon, tell me. We got time to kill.”

So, hesitantly, she tells him the story, tells him about the Princess of the Rose and the hierarchy she had created. She also tells him of her former title, and that she never really felt like royalty – just a hapless mermaid in waiting, but she feels like a princess now, here, with him.

“I make ya feel like a princess, huh?” he muses, a crooked grin on his lips.

She blushes. “W-well... What I meant to say was, this reminds me very much of those old fairy tales. The ones where a dashing young hero comes and rescues a trapped princess from some horrible fate.”

He scoffs at the suggestion. “I ain't no hero, trust me.”

“You saved me,” she says. “That makes you hero enough in my eyes.”

And it is Solo's turn to blush, and he turns his head away sharply, hoping the dark conceals the pink on his cheeks well enough.

“I thank you,” she whispers, leaning over to rest her head to his shoulder, “from the bottom of my heart.”

“An' this is where you go your way, an' I go mine,” Solo says a day after they've made it to L2–X17835.

Clara stops walking, and her eyes are wide as she stares at the back of his head. They are outside, in the middle of a crowded street, and she wishes he would have brought this up somewhere else. “W-what?”

“Hey,” he turns to her, reaching for her shoulder and squeezing it, “I never promised we'd be in this together forever now, did I, babe?” There's a smile on his lips, one full of sympathy and confidence, and it makes ignoring the passersby a little easier, so long as she focuses on him.

“I – I don't know my way around, I have no idea where to go from here,” she says quickly, brow furrowing.

His other hand goes for her other shoulder, and he leans forward to press their foreheads together. “You go wherever ya feel like now,” he says, and his tone is stern, as though he's speaking to a stubborn child.

“But – ”

“No buts. You're gonna walk away from me, an' you're never gonna look back, ya hear me? I gotcha outta that hell-hole, away from that old bastard for a reason, Clara; so you could start over,” he says, lifting his hands to cup her cheeks, fingers hooked behind her ears.

“Solo...” and she starts to cry those ever-familiar fearful tears. “I can't do this on my own.”

“Yeah, you can.” He thumbs away her tears as they fall. “This ain't a fairytale. This is the real world. There ain't no mermaids or princesses – and Prince Charmin' ain't comin' to save ya any time soon.” He leans in, kisses her lips, makes her stop crying and blush all at once, and when he pulls away he's smirking. “Ya gotta save yourself, babe.”

She presses two fingertips to her lips as she looks him up and down. She's learned, over the last few days with him, that once his mind is made up there is no changing it. If he wants her out on her own, he will drive her away if he has to. Deciding to walk away will hurt but will ultimately be less painful than being forced away, she takes a breath and nods, her first step in making her life her own.

“What about you?” she asks quietly.

“What about me?”

“What will you do? Will I see you again?”

He looks away from her slowly, to the ground, to an alley. “Don't worry 'bout me,” he replies to the first question. “An' who knows? Ya might,” he says with a shrug, answering the second, “if ya know where t'look.”

Another deep breath, another nod, and then she leans in to shyly return his kiss. “Goodbye,” she murmurs, then walks away and into the crowd with her heart thudding away anxiously inside of her chest.

“Later,” Solo calls after her.

She doesn't look back.

He smiles.

She can hear voices from the other side of the room, and it's an old habit that keeps her from knocking right away.

“What? You gotta be kiddin'! Sure, your name would stick out too much here, but still. I mean – ”

“Instead of complaining, why not spend your time resting and concentrating on getting better?”

She barely has time to step aside as the door opens and a young man walks out, as stoic as stone. She clutches the charts and the clipboard to her chest as she watches him head for the nearest exit, and only turns her attention back to the hospital room when she hears the assigned patient mumbling to himself.

“Of course he's gonna overdo it.”

Brow furrowed, she crosses the threshold and closes the door behind her. “Mr. Maxwell?” she asks, and is taken aback to see the boy look to her with a practiced smile on his face.

“Just Duo's fine,” he tells her.

“Right. Well, Duo,” she sets the things in her arms down on the desk in the room, “it looks like everything is in order. Nothing a bit of bed-rest can't cure. Which is surprising, considering the bruises you have.” She had been there when the doctor checked him out, and there had been black and blue and purple bruises everywhere. “If you don't mind, how in the world did you come by those?”

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “just boys bein' boys, Clara.”

She turns to him, eyebrows raised. “How did you – ”

“Name tag,” he smirks, pointing to the left side of her overcoat.

“Oh, right. How silly of me,” she mumbles with a blush.

“You're not from the colonies, are ya?” Duo asks, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“No, but how did you know that?” she asks, brow furrowed once again.

“Clara. It's an old-world name. Not somethin' people are namin' their kids these days, not up here.”

“Oh,” she mumbles, looking to the floor.

“I've only heard that name once before,” he tells her, because there's no harm in making idle chit-chat. “A friend of mine said he knew a Clara once. Talked about her from time to time.”

She can actually feel the blood draining from her face. “Your friend... Was his name Solo, by chance?”

Duo's eyebrow arches, then he smiles faintly at her. “Fancy meetin' you in a place like this,” he chuckles.

“How is he?” she asks, her insides trembling. God knows how hard she had tried to find him after they'd gone their separate ways, but it had been impossible – the colony was too big, and there were too many people, and she had a feeling that was what he had always wanted to begin with.

The boy in front of her opens his mouth, then closes it and looks to the ground again. “Shoulda known you wouldn't have heard 'bout it.”

There's a sense of dread settling in her core, making her stomach knot and churn. “About what?”

He decides to spare her the gruesome details. “He, uh... He died.”

“W-what?”

“Eight years ago, when the plague hit.”

She braces herself against the desk with one hand, and presses the other to her forehead gently. She has a hard time accepting it, and there are so many questions she wants to ask, and her head is suddenly reeling and –

– there are arms around her, and a voice beside her ear, quiet and kind. “He wouldn't want ya to cry.”

And Duo's right. So she takes a few deep breaths, blinks away the tears that had almost fallen and he lets her go as she straightens herself again. She gives him a sad smile and nods. “I have to get back to work.”

He backs up to give her the space she needs to move without skewing herself into some odd shape to escape the space between him and the desk. She heads for the door, but stops before she turns the handle.

“When you're released, would you mind if we met up to talk? There are so many things I'd like to know...”

He cocks his head to the side, smiling wistfully. “Sure. Why not?”

“Thank you, Duo.”

“No problem, Princess.”

She chuckles and manages a sad smile. “I'm not a princess.”

“You were,” he says, because he thinks she needs to hear this, “in his eyes.”

-End

Casper - Rehabilitation

2009-04-26T20:19:12Z

Title: Rehabilitation
Fandom: Casper
Rating: T
Genre: Romance/Humor
Characters: The Ghostly Trio, Stephanie; mentions of Casper, Kat and James.
Pairings: Stinkie x Stephanie; implied Casper x Kat.
Warnings: Major spoilers for the movie.
Summary: She makes him sick.

Rehabilitation

It's cliché to say she's not like the other girls, but he can think of no better way to describe her, this wild redhead who's driven him to the brink of stark raving madness in the course of twenty-four hours.

They met in the middle of the night and quite by accident. She managed her way passed the iron fence, having climbed and jumped over it, risking but not suffering broken bones and bruises, and after a few minutes of relentless pounding, kicking and screaming at the front doors, the locks gave and she stumbled into the vast foyer. It was dank and cool in the house, and it smelt strongly of dust and the ages, but she didn't let that deter her determination to spend a night inside Whipstaff manor and prove to her friends that, ghosts or no, the old house was nothing to be afraid of.

There was a gust of wind that picked up from somewhere upstairs, and it rushed passed her to slam the doors shut. Then came the cackling that seemed to come from everywhere.

“Well, well, well,” one voice detached from the chorus of laughter, “looks like we got ourselves another tourist, boys.”

“What ta do, what ta do,” another replied in a nasally lilt, and finally the laughter came to a full stop. Yet Another, deeper voice hummed in thought.

The intruder swallowed once and fixed the foyer with a stubborn glare. This one wouldn't be scared off so easily. By now, most humans would have run away screaming, the fear from hearing disembodied voices a surge too powerful for them to conquer, but she had barely budged. She was going to be fun to play with, and they laughed again at her defiant sneer.

The first voice spoke again, and she swore it was closer than before. “We got us a trooper!” There was a cold pocket of air beside her suddenly, brushing against her arm. “Whattaya say we try t'break 'er?”

Another cold pocket on her opposite side, and something cold wrapped around her shoulders. Instinctively, she looked toward it – and she gasped when she found herself staring into a pair of pale brown, almost-amber eyes. “I t'ink dat could be fun,” said the ghost, returning the intense, inquisitive stare before he looked to his cohorts as they finally showed themselves. She followed his gaze and recoiled from the thin ghost now in front of her. Beside him there was another, more rotund ghost.

“Losin' ya nerve already, meat sac?” the lanky ghost snickered smugly, cocking his head to the side as he closed in on her. The one with his arm around her shoulders released her and joined the other two before her. With the sensation of being held in place gone, she took a few steps back.

“No,” she said flatly, in a tone that was almost convincing. They would have believed her, had it not always happened the same way, with near-convincing tones that crumbled when they applied just the right amount of pressure.

“Ya sure?” the one that had been at her side mused. “Ya lookin' a lil pale.”

To their surprise, she rose an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest, fixing them with a stare that said she was none too impressed. “That's my natural complexion, idiot.”

The three ghosts exchange looks, then turned their attention back to the human standing in front of them.

“Excuse me?” the thin ghost inquired with a sneer of his own.

“I said, that's my natural complexion, you idiot,” she repeated her words, slower this time to ensure it all sunk in.

“Jus' who d'ya think ya are, talkin' t'us like that?” he pressed on, eyes narrowed and taking on a soft red glow.

“The girl who's gonna be spending the night, that's who,” she retorted, still not showing any signs of intimidation, even as the tall ghost came as close as he possibly could to glare daggers at her.

“Is that so?” he mused.

“That's so,” she told him stubbornly.

It had been a long, long time since humans had stayed in Whipstaff, almost ten years if Stretch recalled correctly. Dr. Harvey and his daughter hadn't been able to stay due to the expenses of the house; the heating bill alone nearly put the good doctor knee-deep in dept. After struggling for almost five years, James had broken the news as gently as he could to Kat and the ghosts of Whipstaff. Casper didn't think twice when Kat asked if he'd come with her, and the Trio had bid the Harveys and their nephew fare-thee-well with some reluctance. They'd never admit it out loud, but they'd grown attached to those obscure humans and the bulb-headed kid, and afterlife without them proved to be a very boring existence indeed.

And now this stubborn redhead with the faded black dye in her hair and abstract brown eyes was just begging to spend the night in their home. This was perfect; finally, they'd have some quality entertainment.

“That's so,” the ghost murmured and grinned over his shoulder to the other two, both of whom were grinning back broadly. They nodded and Stretch snickered as he turned back to the girl, hooked an arm behind her and shoved her forward.

“Welcome t'Whipstaff, baby,” he announced loudly, aggressively, ignorant of the fact she was glaring at him again.

“Don't call me baby,” she muttered, brushing off her shoulders and arms as though he had somehow sullied her.

“Stinkie,” Stretch said, and the nasally ghost came forward, saluting the oldest of the bunch.

“Yessir?”

“Show Little Miss Sunshine 'ere t'her room for the night.”

“Ya got a name?” Stinkie asked as he led the stranger upstairs.

“Stephanie,” she told him, dragging her fingers through the dust on the old banister. She made a face as she looked to the ghost just ahead of her. “What kind of name is Stinkie, anyway?”

He snickered. “Da kinda name dat implies da obvious, kiddo.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “I don't smell – ” She was silenced when he spun around, performed the ghost-equivalent of an inhale and then exhaled a pungent green mist that made her eyes water. However, she did not recoil. In fact, she started to laugh and wiped the water from her eyes.

“ Now that's a stink!”

Stinkie stared vacantly at the girl for a few seconds. Was she not repulsed? Sickened? Even just a little nauseous? Apparently not as she finally caught her breath and then carried on upstairs, shaking her head somewhat.

“You coming or what? I don't know where I'm going.”

“Y-yeah. Sure,” he mumbled as he floated at her side now, eyeballing her curiously. “Dat – dat didn' botha ya at all?”

“Oh, don't get me wrong, it stunk to high heaven, but it was pretty funny if you ask me,” she replied with a coy smirk and a sideways glance.

“Most fleshies faint from dat stink,” he mumbled.

“ Yeah, well I'm not most fleshies.”

“I noticed,” he said quietly. They continued to the second floor, down the halls and finally to an empty bedroom. He went through the door and unlocked it before opening it for her and motioning for her to step inside.

“S'not da Ritz, but it'll 'ave ta do,” Stinkie said, watching her as she walked around the room, then sat on the bed. Dust rose from the old sheets and the springs groaned in protest under her weight.

“Guess so,” she shrugged. “I've slept on worse.”

Fighting the urge to inquire about the supposed horrible sleeping conditions she'd endured, because asking too much would give him insight and he just didn't want to know, he rubbed at the back of his neck and asked, “so, whatcha wanna stay 'ere for, anyway?”

“People say this place is haunted,” she said with a grin, and he matched it almost instantly.

“Seein' ghosts ain't enough for ya?”

She shook her head. “It's not that. I wanted to prove this place was nothing to be freaked out over.”

“Fleshies like you are gonna give us a bad rep, yanno dat?” What were they coming to if they couldn't even scare away some kid with an attitude problem? Then again, with the way the world worked nowadays, with ghost-whisperers and zombie flicks and haunted hotel rooms for rent, maybe this was how it was supposed to be.

“Sue me,” she chuckled.

“I would if I could,” he said with a snicker.

“So, what's up with you three stooges anyway?” she asked a few moments later, cocking her head to the side. “Especially the skinny guy. Does he have a superiority complex or what?” she mumbled, whistling afterward.

“Stretch's always been a lil high on himself,” Stinkie shrugged. “Don' mind 'im.”

“Didn't plan to,” she said wryly. “Ok, so what's your story? You don't seem so bad. I mean, you kinda reek, but other than that...”

Oh, Christ, he thought, he was turning into the next Friendly Ghost if all he came off as was pungent instead of frightening. If Stretch caught wind of that, he'd never let Stinkie hear the end of it. He'd have to change this kid's opinion if he valued his reputation, and the respect of their leader.

“I can be plenty scary when I wanna be,” he muttered, and made a mental note to prove this to her one day.

She nodded, uncaring, disbelieving. “Sure. And the fat one?”

“ Fatso's... Fatso,” he said, skewing his face. The heavyset ghost was unique, that was for certain, and possibly crazier than Stretch. Idly, he wondered if he was able to acknowledge the fact the other two had lost a few marbles too many if that made him the sanest of the bunch. With only passive aggression under his belt, he figured he just may have been on the right track. But now was not the time to think of such things.

Now was the time to set this bone bag in her place – except he never had the chance. She started to speak before he could even open his mouth again.

“You know, if you guys really wanna scare me, I could tell you what'd do the trick.”

Naturally, she had his interest. “Do tell.”

“Put that Stretch guy in drag.”

Surprisingly, they spent a few hours talking. She told him trivial things about her life, because those were the only details worth sharing in her opinion. Things like how she'd been kicked out of nearly every house she's lived in, and that she's now living with her best friend from grade school. She also shared with him the fact that, one day, she'd like to own an animal shelter, and she didn't know why.

He told her what little he could about himself; that he'd been dead for over a century, that he couldn't really remember if Stretch and Fatso were actually his brothers but it damn well felt like it on most days and there was a small, odd comfort in that. He told her about the Harveys and about Casper, how they may or may not have been his real uncles, and how things had been horribly dull since their departure.

It was close to three in the morning when she finally said she'd be going to bed. In jest, he told her she could get out now if she wanted to, since she'd spent the night. She'd grinned and told him good night before she pounded the dust out of the provided pillow and laid down between the old sheets.

He left the room, avoided Stretch and Fatso, and headed for the attic. The Trio had a lot of their own memoirs stored up there, in boxes dustier than Casper's old chests, older than J.T. McFadden's documents. Stinkie found one of his boxes and merely ran ectoplasm-fingers through the layers of dust, leaving streaks behind. He didn't have to look inside, he knew what was inside; doctor's reports, pictures, and a death certificate. He smirked inwardly, recalling snapshot-like memories of his final moments, how they were uncomfortable and he'd been exhausted and giving up seemed like the best option. And then there were memories of the things that came before – of drunken stupors and warm bodies next to his and the way the world just didn't care to slow down for a schmuck like him.

She made him feel all of those things again. Sick and tired and dazed and like he just couldn't keep up, even if he wanted to. He wanted to hate these feelings, but he couldn't bring himself to. Before he left the attic to join Stretch and Fatso, he concluded that this was one sickness he didn't want to be relieved of just yet.

“I'll be back tomorrow,” she says before leaves. Stretch muses on how that sounded like a threat (and it had to have been, because “dames like 'er are always makin' wit' threats”) but it sounds more like a promise to Stinkie. A simple, unabashed promise of her return.

He waits for Stretch and Fatso to return inside, then he smirks and shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “Dis is nuts,” he mumbles before following after the others – because she's made him think up dozens of overused axioms to describe her (she's one in a million; she's salt in the open wound; she has him believing love can be blind), because she's made him remember the way a heart can knot up and a stomach can somersault and how a throat can run dry.

She makes him feel alive again.

He snickers to himself, the notion amusing, unsettling, but for the most part it's right on the nail (and there he goes again, using another cliché).

“Where's a shrink when ya need one? Da girl's drivin' me completely outta my mind.”