caciturnity- a writing blog

this isn't some 70's american musical

Thu, 16 May 2013 21:47:18 +0800

Kuroko no Basuke, fanfiction.

Hara Kazuya x Furuhashi Kojirou, drabble.

Character prompt: Describe each of the shipmates from their partner’s point of view. Pay attention to what they would be noticing or paying attention to, so that you can write in character. Something should be revealed about each character in both descriptions.

Summary: Kazuya redyes his hair a few times per year. From Kojirou’s perspective.

Word count: 530

Kazuya dyed his hair blond in the last year of middle school, and often forgets to redye it until the black roots become visible on his scalp as he uses Kojirou’s lap as a pillow; at which point, Kojirou had probably already noticed the day before and bought Kazuya’s exact shade of blond dye, and chooses this moment to promptly summon the box from a plastic bag and drop it on top of Kazuya’s face. Kazuya enjoys it when Kojirou helps him comb the thick paste of developer and bleach powder onto his hair, and has a tendency to make almost purring noises when Kojirou brushes his bangs off his eyes. Kazuya instinctively closes his eyes whenever he’s aware that his bangs aren’t covering them, even if the person who sees them has seen it all already.

When they’re waiting for the bleach to take effect, they often watch movies, bad ones that take Kazuya’s mind off the warmth and itchiness of his scalp. When he leans his elbow on the couch arm and props up his cheek with a hand, it’s always on the left side, even though the ugly red scar on the edge of his right eye doesn’t hurt anymore. The scar tissue is ragged where the torn edge meets healed skin, and is coarse to the touch where the broken glass bottle had stabbed into his flesh. It might be out of reflex or instinct, bred in the few months after the accident, or simply coincidence. Kazuya is messy as ever while watching movies, the debris of his potato chips sticking to his lips or tumbling into the crevices of the couch.

Besides being messy and inconsiderate, Kazuya is also ridiculously careless. He can’t be trusted to remove his shirt for a shower without ruining the dye job, so this too must be tended to by Kojirou. Kazuya is able to stay stock still for once as the garment slowly slips over his shoulders, and passes his head only brushing several hairs on the way. He shivers slightly as the chill hits his skin, dark eyelashes (one of the giveaways hinting to his natural hair color) fluttering over bright blue eyes. He stretches once, fingers unknowingly brushing across the scar on his elbow from breaking his arm at age ten, and heads off to the bathroom in order to wash off the dye. He tolerates more than enjoys cold showers, but takes them nevertheless because he never remembers to turn on the hot water boiler.

When Kazuya returns, his bangs are too wet to cover his eyes and stick flat to his forehead, much to his displeasure. He lets Kojirou help him rub his hair off with a towel and blow dry it, complaining about how the blow dryer is too hot and burning his scalp the entire time. He threatens to dye Kojirou’s hair green (or some other absurd color) one day, although Kojirou most likely knows more about hair dyeing more than he ever will. The fact that this ritual occurs only a few times a year is a blessing and a pity.

Part Time Job

Thu, 16 May 2013 21:44:19 +0800

Alternate Title: Bad Luck Bandou

Project K, fanfiction.

Bandou Saburouta, oneshot.

Word count: 916

birthday gift for kris even though i got the date wrong. just something short and cute to make up for the regular heartbreak and pain that i cause. 19/5/13 hapiba <3

The summer heat in Shizume is absolutely stifling, and Bandou would normally cite being able to bask in an air-conditioned space as one of the few meager perks of his Sunday afternoon part-time, had the sketchy street side music shop’s indoor cooling system not suddenly broken down. The smiley face on the notice taped to the shop door, apologizing to customers and announcing that repairs will be arranged as soon as possible, has been hanging there patronizingly for the past week, an indication of the shop owner’s lack of impetus to get anything fixed, and serves no purpose other than to exacerbate Bandou’s irritation. He reckons that someone may have left some food in the storage room, because the electric fans that have been temporarily set up carry the scent of spoiled milk from the back of the shop, and the odor of it makes Bandou’s stomach turn.

Bandou fans himself weakly with his hand, leaning his elbows on the cashier counter, and the shop swims before his eyes, distorted by heat waves. The sweat-soaked folds of his t-shirt cling to his shoulders, and he wouldn’t hesitate to strip it off if the boss wouldn’t reprimand him for doing so. He’s already discarded his hat and his sunglasses in hopes of warding off the heat, but the small breezes from the oscillating electric fans are just too weak to provide any satisfaction.

Sprawled out on his front without a care of what any passing customers of co-workers may think, Bandou begrudgingly moans to himself about how much he loathes this job. He’s been in the work force for years now, but still stuck doing low brow part time jobs with shitty hours and minimum wage payment. He often has to take up multiple jobs at the same time to be able to afford food and rent, although the recent development of having his best friend move in has helped with shouldering half the rent. Bandou has blamed his occupational problems on many factors: from the rising unemployment rate in Japan, his lack of a high school diploma, to the gargantuan mass of Japanese national debt. But examining his fellow Homra members, it’s almost painful to chalk up a comparison.

Yata, despite having been fired from one or two jobs due to violent behavior, has now found steady work in a rather popular barbecue house a few blocks from Kusanagi’s bar. Chitose serves as an assistant at a hair parlor, and has been crowned Employee of the Month and is up for a promotion because his mere presence attracts customers. He’s even started to step up as bartender whenever Kusanagi-san feels like taking the day off. Fujishima is by far the most dedicated animal shelter worker that Bandou’s ever seen, Kamamoto cooks at a ramen shop, and even Akagi has recently been hired at courier service after a long time stint as a pizza delivery boy. Meanwhile, Bandou is currently juggling between part times at the music shop, a burger stall in a food court, and a convenience store. It’s only mildly embarrassing.

Frankly, Bandou knows that it would probably be a step up in payment and chances of promotion if he decided to just take a full time slot at one of his many workplaces instead of switching jobs every year or so. The only problem is that he’s only qualified for the crappy jobs, and can’t stand any one of his jobs to be able to tolerate it full time.

Hearing the obnoxiously cheerful pop song of the week replay on the speakers for the nth time, Bandou slams his forehead against the counter. No sane person would venture into this sauna of hell for overpriced music that they could easily procure off the Internet, or buy in another better, more air-conditioned music store, so Bandou hasn’t had a customer all day. He’s had to amuse himself for the past three hours by staring numbly at the video of some rainbow-colored boy band’s latest MV on the screen across from the cashier point. The shaking of their hips may or may not be branded into his brain forever.

All of a sudden, an icy water drop drips onto the back of his neck, relief from the choking heat of the shop, and Bandou shivers out of reflex before rolling his head over to see what it is. His boss stands over him with a stern expression, but with a can of cold Pocari in his hand. “Hey, your shift’s over,” he says gruffly, thrusting the sports drink into Bandou’s hand. “You’re free to go. The repair man’s finally coming tonight, so it won’t be so bad your next shift. Now get out of here.” Bandou stares at the Pocari like it’s an oasis in a desert, and thinks that his boss’ voice has never sounded more beautiful than now.

After quick words of thanks, Bandou flings open the music shop doors like a slave liberated, and is hit in the face with a refreshing blast of cool air. Stepping out onto the street with his face turned to the heavens and arms spread out, he feels a sense of survivor’s pride. A light breeze flirts with the edges of his hair and sends a wave of cold along his sweat-soaked back. It’s glorious. He stands there, basking in the sensation for several moments and exalting the heavens.

His eyes are closed, so they don’t notice the cloudy sky until the rain begins to pour down.

Thick as Thieves

Thu, 16 May 2013 21:41:00 +0800

Kuroko no Basuke, fanfiction.

Seto Kentarou, Hanamiya Makoto, chapter 2.

Word count: 730

Warning(s): Mentions of drug use, drug dealing, and blackmail, fantasy au, thieves guild.

When Hanamiya enters Seto’s workroom, the apothecary is asleep, body slumped forward onto the table and mouth trailing a puddle of saliva onto the wooden workbench. Hanamiya questions the common sense in a wanted criminal sleeping so soundly in an unguarded location where anyone could easily slit his throat, but Seto has hardly ever been the most cautious of individuals. Hanamiya decides to demonstrate his point by stabbing a dagger roughly into the surface of the table, only a few hairs away from the side of Seto’s head. “Wake up,” Hanamiya orders, his tone leaving no room for questions of “five more minutes”. Seto gives a low whining sound, before turning his head to look at Hanamiya’s knife.

“Already got enough dents on this thing,” Seto complains, jerking the dagger out of the wood before handing it back to its owner, and he fumbles around the surface of his workbench for a few moments before finding a small, round container of gel. Deftly turning the cap open with one hand, he scoops a generous amount with his thumb, before rubbing his hands together and slicking back his messy bangs. Only now can he look Hanamiya in the eye, and Seto does so with an eyebrow raised in question. “How’d the job go?”

Hanamiya also questions the safety of blindly reaching for containers when in a room filled with potentially lethal substances, but refrains from commenting because he figures that Seto knows his own workshop well enough. However, he can’t help but wonder how problematic it would be if Seto one day grabbed the paralysing or tranquilizing agent instead of hair gel. It’s already difficult enough to wake Seto from a natural sleep; Hanamiya hates to think how difficult it would be to wake him from paralysis.

“Relatively smoothly,” Hanamiya replies, twirling the knife once in his hand before stowing it. “Your sleep drug worked very well. They’re getting better.” Seto’s eyebrow arches even more at this rare word of praise, and a small smile twists his thin lips.

Seto’s eyes are sharp as he grins at Hanamiya. “You must be in a good mood. But of course it works well. Target was a corrupt noble or something this time, right?” He asks, adjusting his cuffs with a small hint of pride. Considering how long Seto’s worked with the creation and dealing of illicit chemicals and substances even before joining Kirisaki Daiichi, it’s only natural that his concoctions would be of a high standard. Hanamiya surmises that had Seto continued as an independent trader on the black market, he may be earning a much higher salary than he does now, which is impressive, since Kirisaki’s income is nothing to sneeze at. But Hanamiya thinks that the apothecary finds life as a guildsman more beneficial in the long run, due to the steady demand, and protection from knight raids. Supplying a thieves guild with serums and poisons is likely to be much more exciting than selling Fairy Sugar and Flowerseed to addicted nobles, although Seto might still be running a small business of the latter option on the side. Hanamiya doesn’t complain of course, because Seto’s drugs are as good a leash on addicted clients as they are a muzzle on lips that would flap otherwise. Taking note of the dazed look that the apothecary sometimes wears, however, Hanamiya sometimes can’t help but wonder if Seto may imbibe on his own wares on occasion.

“A knight actually, lieutenant general in fact. An aristocrat as well, count of something or another. Pretty high profile,” Hanamiya answers happily, thinking of the price offered by the client who’d hired them. Someone had apparently gotten tired of the lieutenant general’s embezzling habits, and as defenders of justice, how could Kirisaki Daiichi turn down the chance to bring down such an awful tyrant? “This payday’s going to fill our pockets for months.” Seto’s eyes gleam at this, proving that he’s just as pleased as the rest of them.

Seto’s low chuckle sounds throughout the room, and he runs a sticky hand through his hair once again. “The knights are going to investigate this, you know. They won’t take this sitting down,” He warns, although he’s clearly just repeating what Hanamiya has already accounted for.

Hanamiya shrugs with the flippancy of an aristocratic lady, and sticks his tongue out in mockery. “We’ll see if they find us first.”

Thick as Thieves

Thu, 16 May 2013 21:38:51 +0800

Kuroko no Basuke, fanfiction.

Hanamiya Makoto, ft. Hara Kazuya, Furuhashi Kojirou, Kiyoshi Teppei,

Word count: 1263

Warning(s): Violence, blood, gore, shit (meaning feces, actual poop), procrastination writing, fantasy au, thieves guild

Parallel series to “The First Time I Met Him, I Think He tried to Kill Me”, set in the same universe and timeline, but from Hanamiya-centric.

It isn’t as if Hanamiya particularly enjoys handling the dirty work, but he cannot deny that there’s a grim satisfaction in a job well done when he sees the target gasp as the knife twists in deeper, and then go lax. He releases his grip over the victim’s mouth and takes a step back to watch the body collapse to the ground in a limp bundle. With its wide eyes, dilated pupils, and slack-jawed expression, it looks like a puppet with its strings cut. He kneels down to flip the victim onto its back, and checks the neck for a pulse, and finding none, tugs his knife out of the man’s kidney in a rough motion. Corpses don’t bleed much once their hearts have stopped, but Hanamiya doesn’t have the time to wait for that to happen. In any case, if the blood loss and injury doesn’t finish the man off, the toxin laced on his blade most certainly will. Hanamiya almost pities the poor soul who’s going to have to clean the blood off these pristine marble floors later on.

Hanamiya wipes his blade off with a rag, which he makes note to burn later in order to destroy all evidence. He’s careful not to cut himself as he slides the knife back into its satchel. The sound of footsteps herald his comrades’ arrival, and Hanamiya is irked by their lack of stealth.

“That was quick, cap’n,” Hara comments unnecessarily, fanning himself with his hand and carelessly flicking blood all over his cheek and the long blond fringe that obscures his eyes. The claw-like points of his gauntlet are crimson, no doubt from crushing the windpipe of some poor guardsman. Furuhashi, who accompanies Hara, generally prefers to slit throats instead of crushing them, but even he looks covered in a bit more gore than usual. Perhaps those bodyguards were slightly more formidable than Hanamiya had surmised, but generally, that just meant that their deaths would be slightly messier.

“Or rather, you were just slow,” Hanamiya quips back, before signaling his teammates to follow him with a flick of his hand. The duo fall into line behind their guild master with practiced ease, like trained hunting dogs, and allow Hanamiya to lead them to the exit. A stench fills the air, and Hanamiya notices Hara wrinkle his nose before grinning cheekily. Despite it being the natural progression of things, the release of feces is still highly unpleasant. However, Hanamiya thinks that Hara might find it darkly humorous to see their victims shit their pants after they die.

Most of the estate guardsmen are still asleep as the small procession makes its way down the halls. Hanamiya can’t help but commend the steadily increasing potentness of Seto’s sleeping drugs. To think that a small vial’s worth of liquid poured into the communal drinking trough was enough to knock dozens of full grown men into stupor for hours, it’s one of the times that Hanamiya truly does appreciate their guild apothecary’s latent genius, despite how lazy he may be.

It takes a while before they reach the forest clearing where they’d left their horses, and several times on the way, they had been forced to hide in shadows or take detours in order to avoid detection. Their lowtown garments offer too distinct of a contrast against the embellished robes typical of the capital city’s aristocratic sector. While it would be an easy matter to disguise himself as a nobleman and his two accomplices as bodyguards, lavish clothes would be far too noticeable and restrictive for the task at hand. In their line of work, it’s probably best not to show your face, in any case.

As he mounts his horse, Hara makes a short comment about how he’ll be able to show off his success to Yamazaki when they return to base. Hanamiya doesn’t quite pay attention to Furuhashi’s reply because he’s busy checking that they have all the resources needed to set up camp that night. It’s nearly a two day journey between the guild cities and the walled capital, so he and his guild rarely take up jobs so far from home. However, this particularly influential customer was highly effective in his use of material persuasion, and Hanamiya would not be a guildsman if he turned down such lucrative work. “A den of thieves” is what they call his guild, but Hanamiya finds it to be a rather generous title, considering the broad range of jobs that Kirisaki Daiichi is willing to accept. Of course their skills do endear them to a particular niche of work, and thus Hanamiya has found himself killing more often than stealing as of late. Not that he isn’t capable of doing both at the same time. Hanamiya is sometimes lucky enough to make off with a piece of jewelry or pocketful of coin, but this time’s target is too well known to go pick-pocketing off, much to his disappointment.

Hanamiya knows of every crooked knight and warden from the capital to the rural mountain monasteries of the Seihou Temple, so he and his men have no trouble passing through the eastern gate, save for the small traffic toll that a guardsman collects with a twisted grin. Hanamiya doesn’t deny that a deep breath leaves his lungs once he’s out of the capital. He doesn’t enjoy having to enter that place, and is even more reluctant to admit that it’s his hometown. The oppressive atmosphere that most large cities possess is only augmented by the stink of pollution, and Hanamiya always feels on edge when trapped in by those skyscraping walls. He really hates it.

Camp that night is in a small dip of land hidden from view by surrounding hills, and Hara complains about the cold despite knowing that a fire would be far too conspicuous. In spite of his grumbling, the blond is the first to fall asleep, and Furuhashi follows him into slumber soon after. Hanamiya stays up to keep watch, reading medical documents by the light of a lantern. The rumble of hoof beats alert him to the approach of a troupe of knights on the sloping path above his hiding spot, and he moves quickly to blow out the light and dive beneath his covers in order to hide himself in the darkness. He prays that their horses don’t make a sound, and waits with a hand on his knife for the knights to pass.

The thundering of hooves fades into the distance, and Hanamiya thinks that he’s safe again for a moment, before he hears the crisp trot of a single horse. “Kiyoshi, what are you doing? You’re going to get left behind,” a female voice reprimands.

There’s a moment of silence before Hanamiya hears a deep chuckle. “Maa, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about how exciting it is to finally go out like this. I haven’t been outside of the capital in a long time,” a man replies. The woman scolds him mildly again, and the both of them gallop off to join the rest of their unit.

Hanamiya crawls out from beneath his covers, takes a moment to think, before deciding that re-lighting the lantern may be too risky. Instead, he opts for resting his back against a saddle bag, letting the chill of the nighttime wind keep him awake. He plays with his knife, stroking his finger over the edges and pressing his thumb against the flat of the blade. His mind buzzes too relentlessly for sleep to overtake him, so he waits like this until morning arrives.

Three am Adventures with Koujirou & Kazuya

Thu, 21 Mar 2013 22:34:24 +0800

Kuroko no Basuke, fanfiction.

Furuhashi Koujirou & Hara Kazuya, oneshot.

Word count: 1791

Warning(s): Hara’s eyes

When Koujirou hears the sound of his apartment door opening, he rolls over on his bed, pulls the covers over his head, and wonders if it would be possible to smother himself with a pillow before his uninvited guest reaches the bedroom. Loud thumping footsteps mark the progression of the invader from the living room towards the corridor, which really doesn’t take long considering the size of the apartment. Koujirou wonders if his guest has even bothered or remembered to shut the front door behind him, and bemoans the fact that if his home ever gets robbed, there’s a nine-out-of-ten chance that this man will be at fault. As the visitor tromps through the apartment without a shred of consideration for its owner or any downstairs neighbors who may be sleeping, Koujirou can feel a headache coming not only from the noise, but also the annoyance of having to clean the floor again. It’s been raining the past few days, and the roads are still polka dotted with small puddles and large ditches of rainwater; Koujirou almost sobs at how he imagines the state of his living room floor at this point. Who knows how much mud and grime that man has collected on his shoes? Koujirou rues the day he ever shared his house key.

The stomping sounds outside have not ceased, but Koujirou’s bedroom has yet to be entered, so he assumes that the invader is helping himself to the contents of the fridge. Groaning as he reaches out from under the covers to grab his phone, the glare of the retina display makes him squint when he checks the time. It’s 3:42 am. As if he lacked incentive to do so already, the idea of smothering his guest with a pillow becomes ten times more enticing.

It’s this mental image as well as the constant munching sounds coming from outside that drive Koujirou to drag himself out of bed, and he sees dark spots in his vision as he slips on a sweater before confronting this late night intruder. Sliding his feet along the floor, Koujirou makes his way to the living room to find his visitor helping himself to a can of beer and pack of chips on the living room couch. Crumbs have spread all across the cushions, and the beer is placed on the armrest of the couch, possibly knocked over and spilled at any moment. Koujirou takes a deep breath to maintain the already-frayed string of his patience and sanity.

“Kazuya, do you know what time it is?” He asks in the most condescending tone he can muster at this hour. It comes out a croak because, after all, he’s just woken up from a very pleasant sleep. The darts of Koujirou’s malice bounce off the armor of Kazuya’s obliviousness, not leaving a single mark, and the blond continues to fish chips out of the bag in a characteristically messy manner without qualms. Koujirou sometimes wonder if the man’s sight-obstructing fringe renders him blind to everything around him, or if he’s just permanently stuck in an thirteen-year-old state of mind. Considering that Koujirou’s known Kazuya at that age, and how startlingly little has changed since then, the latter hypothesis seems soundly feasible.

“I dunno, late I guess. Seriously, Kouji. Get a watch,” Kazuya replies with a shrug, as if he doesn’t see anything wrong with breaking into friends’ apartments at ungodly hours of the morning, on a weekday nonetheless, and raiding their pantries. Koujirou amends that thought with the notion that knowing Kazuya, he probably doesn’t see anything wrong about it. Koujirou mentally recounts his schedule for tomorrow: two lectures starting at eight and ending at twelve, before a seminar, followed by afternoon and evening shifts at his part time. Koujirou had been up studying until two, and had hoped to get at five hours of sleep. It’s clear that Kazuya enjoys ruining his plans.

Koujirou tries to stave the imminent aneurism, and squeezes the bridge of his nose, reminding himself that even if homicide were legal in Japan, it’s rather socially unacceptable to murder one’s childhood friends, no matter how unreasonable they may be. He also reminds himself that the sharpest kitchen knife is in the third drawer from the left, in case he may need it. Years of high school biology have taught him that if he wants to puncture any vital organs, then he’ll need to slide the blade in sideways to get between the ribs. Bones need to be broken or sawed through, not that Koujirou doesn’t have experience with the breaking part. Cheating in basketball had always been surprisingly scientific, a combination of specialist knowledge of physics and human anatomy.

”Why are you here?” Koujirou asks, finally voicing the inevitable question, and Kazuya is surprisingly prompt in his response, giving a simple shrug.

“I was bored, so I decided to come here. Problem?” Even with the blond’s eyes obscured, Koujirou can imagine the arched eyebrow. It’s really a miracle that Kazuya has survived for this long on his own without causing some sort of significant damage to himself or those around him. That’s likely the reason why Kazuya comes over so often: despite supposedly being an employed and fully functioning young adult by now, he still needs someone to take care of him. Leaving him to his own devices would invariably lead to disaster. Koujirou has always been the one to take care of Kazuya, and on days like this, it feels like a duty he will never escape. In all honesty though, Koujirou is more bewildered that Kazuya still lives alone. It still hasn’t occurred to Kazuya that Koujirou, by giving Kazuya his house key, is effectively inviting the blond to move in with him despite the nightmare that would result. Koujirou, of course, is far too passive to propose it outright.

Koujirou tilts his head back to count the cracks on the ceiling. Either there’s a few stains that take the shape of a gun, or Koujirou’s homicidal desires are getting to his head. Kazuya rises from his seat, scattering chip crumbs everywhere. The beer tips off the couch and falls to the ground with a metallic clatter, much to Koujirou’s chagrin. But Kazuya seems to have no awareness of his surroundings or consideration for personal space, and flings an arm around Koujirou’s shoulder. “Go out with me?” he asks.

It’s Koujirou’s turn to raise an eyebrow, and he glances out the window. It’s raining again, he notes, and rather heavily. There is a puddle of beer on his floor, the couch is littered with chip crumbs, and Koujirou has only had roughly an hour of sleep. In addition, Kazuya’s word choice is as terrible and oblivious to the implications as always. It doesn’t even take a moment to make his choice. “No,” is his firm answer, before he turns on his heel and heads back towards his bedroom. It is, he decides stalwartly, far too early for Kazuya’s shit. Even without looking, he can hear the blond’s indignant whine.

“But Kouji! Come on, it’ll be fun!” Kazuya whimpers loudly, pouting like a five year old, and Koujirou is once again reminded of his friend’s toddler mentality. The blond is going to wake up the entire building soon, but Koujirou is really too tired to go out into the rain at three am in the morning just to please his asshole of a childhood friend.

Koujirou makes it three steps down the hall before a hand grabs his shoulder and spins him around by force. Frankly speaking, Koujirou had seen this coming. If anything, Kazuya is predictable, especially when Koujirou’s known him for this long.

The blond has a two cm height advantage on Koujirou, but the thick soles of Kazuya’s boots stretch the distance between them a bit more. Koujirou looks at the childish set of Kazuya’s lips, the way the bottom lip juts out indignantly, and the angle is just right that he can catch sight of Kazuya’s eyes beneath his bangs. No matter how many times he’s seen them, Koujirou will always be taken aback by how shockingly blue Kazuya’s eyes. It might be because the occasions on which Koujirou gets to see them are so few and far between, so it always seems like some sort of rare cosmic phenomenon. Koujirou has never been the poetic type, so he won’t describe it in terms of shining stars or ocean depths. However, right now, they’re impudent and beseeching and begging, and Koujirou thinks about Kazuya hasn’t changed the least in all these years. Kazuya’s gotten taller, his hair’s gotten longer, and there are a lot more holes in his ears, but in essence, he is still the hell-raising little boy that Koujirou met near the empty construction lot when they were thirteen years old.

Letting out s small sigh of resignation, Koujirou shakes Kazuya’s hand off his shoulder and runs a hand through his hair. He’s going to start getting gray hairs soon, he just knows it, and the man-child in front of him will be completely to blame. “I’m tired and I have class tomorrow morning. I’m going to sleep now,” Koujirou explains slowly, enunciating his words as if talking to a very stupid toddler. He once again adopts the disciplines of patience, tolerance, and self-control that are paramount in the care of blond idiots, and points towards the mess of a couch behind Kazuya.

”Clean that up, and then you can stay the night, alright?” Kazuya seems to brighten up at this, and his pout dissolves into a wide, toothy grin. Kazuya’s hair may be dyed, but Koujirou can’t help but think the stereotype of dumb blonds is very applicable in this case.

“Tch, you’re such a stick in the mud, Kouji,” Kazuya snickers, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “But fine. Go catch your beauty sleep then.” Koujirou rolls his eyes and retreats to the sanctuary of his bedroom marveling at his friend’s perpetual immaturity.

Exactly five minutes later, there’s a loud thump as Kazuya dives into Koujirou’s bed next to him and promptly steals half of the covers when he curls up next to his friend. Koujirou knows that the living room and couch are likely in the same catastrophic state that he’d left them in, but at least is thankful that Kazuya’s taken off his boots now. He doesn’t want mud trailed into his bed. It’s startling how quickly Kazuya falls asleep for someone who wanted to go outside not ten minutes ago, but Koujirou has come to regard logic and reason as tertiary considerations when dealing with the enigma that is Hara Kazuya. Koujirou closes his eyes, and falls asleep listening to the sounds of Kazuya’s breathing.

kuroko no basuke, fanfiction. liu wei, drabble. word count: 892 warning(s): hong kong ramblings,...

Mon, 18 Mar 2013 17:22:10 +0800

kuroko no basuke, fanfiction.

liu wei, drabble.

word count: 892

warning(s): hong kong ramblings, headcanon, idk i’m sorry??

There is a narrow street court crammed in the space between an alleyway and a twenty-story building next to a steep cement staircase in Wan Chai. It’s surrounded by government-standard green mesh fences, and resembles a crater or aperture sandwiched between two main streets. Wei passes it by on the way home from his weekly tutoring session, and sometimes he leans over the wall of the street above and watches the other boys with a bird’s eye view. He doesn’t quite know how to play, but he knows enough to enjoy being a spectator to the half-court games that go on. It’s only a logical progression of events that one day, a team happens to be short a member. One of the boys who attends Wei’s school spots him and waves him over. “It’s fine, we’ll teach you how to play,” the boy, Jialang, says with a smile. “Join us. Basketball makes you taller.”

It’s at about the same that Wei hits his growth spurt, and it’s rather difficult to tell whether basketball is a factor of causation or correlation, all Wei knows is that he can now reach the top of the handholds on public transport and his mother won’t stop complaining about how he’s wearing out all his shoes. It’s supposedly a gradual process, but to Wei it seems a bit more like a mystic spell that keeps stretching him closer and closer to the skies. The magic doesn’t stop until he’s about 2 meters tall, sticking out of the tide of the Causeway Bay crowds like a stick of bamboo, and he hates that he keeps hitting his head on doorframes and that none of his favorite clothes fit him anymore. It’s awkward that a boy in his last year of primary school is now taller than most grown men, but there’s not much Wei can do about it.

This altitude makes him a valuable asset on the court now, and his teammates can safely rely on him to snatch the ball out of the air after tip off or during rebounds, his reach often extending far above the fingertips of any of their adversaries. It’s not often that he has to be too serious about it though, most of the time, they just spend afternoons and evenings leaving half the court for other groups to use, playing casual, unstructured games while passing, dribbling, and feinting with no distinction of positions or teams. Jialang has to stretch his arm awkwardly or stand a couple steps higher than Wei to toss an arm over the taller boy’s shoulders, and he laughs about how Wei used to be a midget who couldn’t pass a ball straight, and about how he was right about basketball and height as they head to 7-Eleven to pick up drinks and maybe a popsicle or two if the weather’s warm.

In the summer before he starts secondary school, Wei’s mother receives a transfer to Japan- Tokyo of all places. His father is a doctor and can easily find work there. Wei’s grandparents are vehemently against the idea, but they move anyways. Jialang masks his disappointment and tells Wei to buy some Gundam figures for him while he’s there. They had planned to go to the same secondary school and join the basketball team together, but even Wei knows not to put much stock in primary school promises. Many of their classmates are scattering into the wind, and Wei is really just concerned about how he’s going to learn Japanese on such short notice. But then, half of the characters are Chinese anyways, so it should be fine, right?

When his family arrives in Japan, Wei spends most of his time trying to memorise hiragana and katakana and obsessing over why ロhas completely separate meanings as katakana and kanji. He does, however, hunt down a few special edition Gundam models to give to Jialang the next time he heads back to Hong Kong. Even after extensive drilling and immersion, Japanese proves to be Wei’s worst subject when he finally attends a Japanese middle school, because even the Chinese characters have radically different meanings when applied. Wei does, however, join the basketball team after all, because he’s practically ambushed by club recruiters once he walks through the school gates. It would be a waste not to play basketball, what with his height, the classmate says, and Wei agrees.

The next summer, when Wei returns to Hong Kong to visit his grandparents, his grandfather launches into a long spiel about the evils of the Japanese people, recounting the injustices and terrors that he had suffered at the hands of the Japanese invaders of Hong Kong in the WWII. Wei doesn’t listen very attentively, but the story about mahjong players being given the choice of either swallowing their pieces and choking or being shot is particularly striking. He tries calling up Jialang, only to find that his friend must have changed his number sometime during the year, or is simply busy. The Gundams sit safely packaged in their boxes on the corner of Wei’s cupboard.

Wei stops by the Wan Chai street court, but finds it populated by a completely unfamiliar band of strangers now. But an older takes one look at him, taking in Wei’s impressive stature, and invites him to join the game. Wei shrugs, and consents.

project k, fanfiction. kushina anna, drabble. word count: 500 warning(s): meta?? incoherence??? bad...

Sun, 17 Mar 2013 17:48:00 +0800

project k, fanfiction.

kushina anna, drabble.

word count: 500

warning(s): meta?? incoherence??? bad writing????

au in which anna grows up and becomes a scientist who studies the dresden slate and sword of damocles

It takes Anna a long time to understand her childhood. It’s said that retrospect provides clarity, but for her, it takes decidedly too long. Natural developments of the frontal cortex and vertical growth aren’t enough to make sense of the events that shaped her, and she fears that by the time her knowledge is sufficient, she will have forgotten the beauty of the color that she had once known so well. It is seared into her mind, deeper than any brand that could be placed on the skin, but with every fleeting second that piles on in hundreds and thousands like snowflakes in a blizzard, she knows that her memory is beginning to erode at the edges, becoming fuzzy and conjured at places where it used to be sharp and distinct.

She encounters locked doors and broken hearts when she looks into the thoughts of others for answers, and it soon isn’t worth it anymore to sift through the countless jumbled images that she never wished to know or see. Often, they don’t know much more than she does, and she finds herself irked at their undying faith towards their king, before sorely regretting those thoughts and sending a silent apology to the skies. She only once tries procuring answers to her burning questions from the blue king, but all she finds is the memory of a very stoic boy standing before a grave in the snow who grows up to be a very stoic man who does the exact same thing many years later. She extracts herself from that realm to find tears rolling steadily down her cheeks, cold and mechanical like the jets of a fountain, and her chest aches with distinct familiarity.

Books are a bigger help than any of the people around her, and she burns through them with determined fury. Philosophy in particular angers her while the classics fascinate her; however, it is ultimately the scientific writings that she consumes with the most fervor. She compartmentalises her world of colors and her world of monochromes into emotion and logic, and it’s in these divisions and discoveries that Anna learns to cheat time by growing faster than anyone could have expected.

These days, she spends most of her time sitting at streetside tables outside of chic french-styled cafes with her nose in a book and a warm thermos of tea beside her. The atmosphere is different, quieter, than the stench of smoke and alcohol that permeates a bar, but it’s comfortable nonetheless, and a change of scenery facilitates thinking, they say. As her eyes scan over the words of research reports that she’s read and reread hundreds of times penned in the neat handwriting of professor Adolf K. Weismann, her thoughts slide into place like the remnants of the Dresden Slate. Slowly, her memories begin to come into perspective, and she feels as though the ghost of Mikoto’s warmth is whispering over her shoulder, the collapsing ruins of an expired Sword, are just almost within reach.

the first time i met him, i think he tried to kill me

Mon, 11 Mar 2013 18:28:00 +0800

kuroko no basuke, fanfiction.

kiyoshi teppei x hanamiya makoto, prologue.

word count: 1342

warning(s):fantasy au, hanamiya is a really scary kid ok, tbh nothing really happens here

happy (belated??) birthday, jess (afrozaki). uvu sorry no smut oops

There used to be a creek outside a derelict corner of the city walls. It was a clear stream that bubbled shallowly over smooth, rounded pebbles, and if you were lucky, you would be able to catch a fish or two. It was situated at the edge of the woods that Kiyoshi’s grandmother always warn him never to venture too deep into, and as a child, Kiyoshi would always go there to play and relax; especially during the summertime, when the cover of the trees and the cool splashes of water provided relief from the punishing heat.Sometimes there would be frogs hopping along the banks that he could chase, or dragonflies that he could watch hover along the surface.

If you followed the creek far up enough, then you would come to section of the city wall that the guards had neglected to repair for a long time. There were mossy gaps and holes in the ruined barrier, large enough for a child to crawl through. In retrospect, it was stark indication of how peaceful that era had been, that such a gap in the city’s first line of defense had never been noticed.

Kiyoshi now finds it odd that even after playing around there for so many years, he never possessed the curiosity or adventurous spirit to even attempt clambering across the ruins and into the fortified capital city that had always been such a mystery to him. Perhaps he had been frightened by the tall spires of the towers and the stories of the thieves and orphans that eked out wretched existences in the alleyways and slums; or perhaps at the time, he had been so contently wrapped up in his idyllic countryside childhood that he hadn’t been able to look past the walls.

Kiyoshi knows that the wall is fully repaired now, otherwise the gap in the capital’s defenses surely would have been found and exploited. When the revolution took a violent turn and turmoil filled the land, Kiyoshi and his grandparents were herded into the walls of the capital city, and he had no longer had any opportunities for playing among reeds and bushes. He does not know whether the creek still runs, or whether it has disappeared along with the ravaged acres of woodland that had once surrounded the city walls. He has not cared to return to that place for a long time.

Kiyoshi clearly remembers the first time he saw the other boy at the creek. His grandparents had allowed him to take a break from tending to the livestock, and Kiyoshi had looked forward to dipping his feet into the water after the short walk along the dusty dirt path towards the woods. A few soft splashing noises alerted him to a presence other than his own.

Kiyoshi stalked through the undergrowth towards the source of sound, as quietly as his stealthy thirteen year old frame permitted. Peering out from behind a tree trunk, he spotted another boy crouching on a rock at the edge of the creek. The boy was thin and pale, a sign of either destitution or luxury. He showed a distinct contrast to Kiyoshi’s sturdy physique, a product of long days working beneath the sun instead of hidden away in the shadowy eaves of mansions, or curled up in filthy sewer tunnels. Immediately, Kiyoshi could tell that the boy was not from the countryside, but it was difficult to tell whether he was a prisoner of the city who’d crawled his way to freedom through the cracks in the wall, or a wild child denizen of the forest depths.

The boy’s eyebrows swam like tadpoles above the dark pools of his eyes, knitting into a bestial snarl as he caught sight of Kiyoshi. Before either of them could even say a word, the boy had already launched himself at Kiyoshi with a cry. He catapulted into the larger boy, and Kiyoshi was knocked back with surprising force, the both of them tumbling across the ground. Kiyoshi felt a pebble scrape past his cheek and squeezed his eyes shut out of instinct in an attempt to protect himself as the boy scratched at his face with sharp, raggedly-bitten nails.

However, despite the boy’s fearsome attempts, Kiyoshi was much larger and stronger; therefore, the boy ended up pinned to the ground by Kiyoshi’s larger frame. The boy hissed and struggled but to no avail, and finally snarls bitterly as he stilled.

Only when he was certain that his throat wasn’t going to be ripped out by the boy’s teeth did Kiyshi release his grip, and the smaller boy scrambled out from under him, glaring venomously all the while. “What was that for?” Kiyoshi asked, bewildered by the boy’s violent greeting. The boy directed his sullen eyes towards the ground, and although he didn’t speak, the corner of his lips twisted upwards suddenly and violently to reveal a smirk as thin as the edge of a knife.

Up till this point, Kiyoshi had thought that the boy, whether he be a street orphan or savage, may not have been able to speak. However, the boy stretched his hunched, narrow shoulders and cleared his throat before responding in a raspy voice. “State your name and intent,” He ordered imperiously, black eyes casting a piercing stare right at Kiyoshi.

“I’m Kiyoshi Teppei. I’ve come here to play,” Kiyoshi remembers responding blankly, the boy’s words reminding him of the city guards who came to collect tax. The boy looked Kiyoshi up and down, and sniffed the air, although Kiyoshi didn’t know whether it was to detect a smell or to show haughty disdain. With that, the boy turned heel and bounded back towards the cracks in the city wall, presumably to slither back into the crevasses he had emerged from.

It was several days before Kiyoshi returned to the creek, but when he did, the boy was there again. Dark bruises from their previous encounter had blossomed across the boy’s skin, and he seemed to looking at the flowers as he sat on the bank of the stream. As soon as he spotted Kiyoshi approaching, the boy sprang up into a defensive stance, baring his teeth like fangs. He seemed to relax slightly when Kiyoshi waved amiably at him, but still regarded Kiyoshi with a guarded expression when the larger boy took a seat next to him on the ground.

“What’re you looking at?” Kiyoshi asked, and although the boy shuffled away, slightly, he responded calmly.

“These berries,” he croaked, pointing at a few brightly colored berries nearly hidden among the grass along the riverbank. The boy had pressed his lips together contemplatively and trailed a finger gently along the stem of the plant, eyes wide with a sense of wonder. “They’re poisonous. I watched a cat eat some, and it died an hour later.”

Kiyoshi now wonders if the cat simply had the misfortune of choosing the wrong snack, or if the boy had fed the poison to some poor stray using it as a test subject. However, even then. just the tone of apathy with which the boy had commented on the plant’s poisonous properties had already signaled that something was off. The boy hadn’t been giving a warning, nor had he been scared.

“Do you intend to poison me?” Kiyoshi asked with a laugh, not entirely sure whether the boy would take his question seriously or not. Dark eyes narrowed slightly as they swept over Kiyoshi’s person, and the boy’s expression took a teasing quality.

“No, no I won’t,” The boy had said to both himself and Kiyoshi. He ripped the poisonous plant up by the roots instead of plucking each individual berry like Kiyoshi would have, and promptly stuffed it into his pocket.

For the rest of that day, the two boys had chatted, caught insects together, and chased frogs. There were many more of these days together at the stream, and Kiyoshi wondered if the boy had left the stream with poison in his pocket every single time.

(a/n) sorry nothing really happens here, it’s just really an intro ;; hopefully i’ll be able to write more of this au. also- happy belated birthday jess! it’s not much but i hope you had a good birthday and here’s a bit of (not quite?? sob) kiyohana (or pre-kiyohana i suppose) dedicated to you. uvu

love letter prompt

Mon, 04 Mar 2013 15:56:00 +0800

thewritershelpers:

the cat shit on my bed. i hope you’re happy now.

it’s a little terror. the other day he mangled one of my couch cushions and trailed the stuffing from the living room to the balcony to the toilet, and i had to spend a few hours cleaning up the mess. i already had to spend an entire day and a couple thousand yen compensating the neighbours whose cat got into a fight with the feline monster. this has been the fifth time this month. he is rampant and destructive and delights in making the other neighbourhood cats suffer.

he hates me as well. i can’t remember the last time i used so many band-aids at the same time, and the scratches all over my hands are interfering with my work. i’m pretty certain that he would have clawed my eyes out as well if not for my glasses. he stares at me like he wants to kill me in my sleep, but can’t. it’s almost flattering that he hasn’t implemented his plan yet.

i really shouldn’t have bought him. the dealer swore that his breed was relatively tame and harmless but i could already see he was lying. or maybe i overestimated my capacity.

i’ve always hated cats, you know.

i guess it makes sense that i would name him after you. maybe he’ll get hit by a bus as well.

oc catalogue: taeris fidel

Sat, 02 Mar 2013 16:12:54 +0800

basics

name meaning: fidel - loyalty
gender: male
age: 19
origin: RPC - Struggle for Starfall

special abilities: soul knight - has the ability to suppress and nullify abilities of others

interests: cooking, self-preservation, business (merchant)

Taeris is a self-admitted coward who hates combat and danger, and would much rather stay in a kitchen and cook or be selling wares in a caravan than on the brink of a battlefield. He isn’t a very trusting individual, and is highly selfish, always prioritizing self-preservation over others. This manifests in the way that he’s more than willing to sell out his team (whom he fondly refers to as ‘the prodigy circle’) if it’ll help save his own skin. He’s done this in court by testifying (falsely) against them to get a lighter sentence for himself, and also by running away in the middle of battle when things started to get dangerous, even turning against his own allies when they tried to stop his escape. He’s simple and illiterate, and not one for high concepts of honor and morals; to be honest, he just wants to stay alive in a country at war.

background

born into a lower middle-class in the capital city. was raised by a widowed single mother who worked as a seamstress, washerwoman, and tavern waitress. taeris would do the chores, cleaning, cooking etc. eventually managed to be apprenticed to a small-time merchant (friend of the family) when he turned 15.

family:

father - a soldier who was sent to the front before Taeris was born. died on the battlefield when Taeris was three. Taeris never knew him.

mother - widowed seamstress, raised Taeris as a single mother. took on multiple jobs in addition to running her own business in order to provide for her and her son. Taeris adores her and looks up to her immensely.

kelsse vinday - Taeris’ strict and spartan soul knight mentor. otherwise known as “The Tiger”, a renown field commander in the war against the Delsarene. Taeris is close to her and respects her despite his dislike of her due to her hellish training regimes.

noe vinday - Kelsse’s 6 year old daughter whom Taeris occasionally babysits for her. he adores her as well and cares for her like a younger sister.

relationships

kaiden skyheart - adept, leader of the prodigy circle. He and Taeris have a fierce dislike and possible rivalry towards one another. Taeris sees him as a mindlessly idealistic ‘hero’ type, while he sees Taeris as a spineless traitor, both not without good reason. they can work together if it’s a life and death situation, but neither would enjoy it.

evelyn - angel, healer of the prodigy circle and possibly its bravest member. no matter how many times Taeris has betrayed her and the team, she always heals him whenever he gets beat up, no strings attached. Taeris can’t seem to understand this kindness at all, and doesn’t know why she’d do this for him. he’s closest to her in the prodigy circle.

my cause is pure

Thu, 14 Feb 2013 02:17:28 +0800

project k, fanfiction.

munakata reishi, drabble, meta?

word count: 373

warning(s): mentions of character death. headcanon

reishi does not believe in heroics. as a child with choppy blue hair cut by his mother’s scissors and glasses with too-large frames that hung crookedly off his face, he watched his father come back home at odd hours of the night. upon his return at night, the man clad in the blue uniform, wearing the shiny badge on his chest never seemed as proud or as noble as he did when setting out for work in the mornings, his gloves never as pure and white as they used to be. “daddy is a policeman,” his mother would tell him with a smile. “and as a policeman, it’s his job to do the right thing, no matter how hard it is.”

reishi knows that the greatest people never have their praises sung, nor are they ever as noble and shiny as one would expect. doing the right thing never garners any favor, and the most noble human that reishi ever knew was not a king or a hero, but merely a man who passed away from a heart attack while on patrol. it was not an illustrious or glorious death; the man was 77 and long due for retirement. good men don’t always go out with a bang.

many years later when reishi wears a blue uniform, shiny badge, and white gloves of his own, he decides that he will not be a hero. he will merely dispense justice and order where it is needed, all else be damned. as the blue king, it’s simply his job to do the right thing no matter how hard it is. he tries his best to help those he loves, he really does, but in the end, he often has to toss away personal sentiments in favor of what he’s always thought of as the greater good.

at the end of the day, reishi is as far from a hero as he can be, although he’s certain that he’s done nothing but what he’s thought to be right the entire way through. he knows doing the right thing never brings about happy endings. reishi’s cause is pure, so it doesn’t matter how many people hate him for the things he’s done (or how much he hates himself).

あの夏の向日葵、懐かしい (that summer's sunflowers, nostalgia)

Sun, 03 Feb 2013 21:35:19 +0800

starry sky, fanfiction.

amaha tsubasa & kinose azusa ft. amaha eisuke and shino, oneshot.

word count: 1845

warning(s): none, for once!! omfg it’s a miracle!!! (nobody dies!)

3/2/2013, happy birthday tsubasa~

(a/n) i’ve been meaning to write this for a long time, so i finally cracked down and did it for this occasion. for extra emotional effect, listen to this while reading.

Not too far from Grandpa Eisuke’s old house in the countryside, there is a field of sunflowers. They grew over a meter tall, and although Tsubasa is much taller than them now, he remembers what giants they seemed to be when he was a child. Their leafy stalks were like green stilts, the bright yellow heads raising their heads towards the sun; Tsubasa would stand there in the middle of the field, lifting his chin and watching the sky with inquisitive eyes as if waiting for something miraculous to happen until Grandpa Eisuke told him that if he stared at the sun any longer, his eyes would burn out. Tsubasa would ask Grandpa Eisuke where the sunflowers came from, and who planted them, and Grandpa would just shrug, telling him that he didn’t know either- they’d been there as far as anyone could remember. Tsubasa always wondered that if he kept the flowers in Grandma Shino’s garden watered, would they grow to that height as well?

There’s a spot on the front porch of Grandpa Eisuke’s house that Tsubasa would sit at while tinkering at his inventions during the hot summer afternoons. For several hours, the shadows were cast at a perfect angle so that Tsubasa could hang his feet off the edge of the porch and feel the warm breeze tickle at his toes without having the searing rays of sunlight beating down on his head. He would sit there with an invention on his lap, a toolbox set down beside him, swinging his legs to the rhythm of an inaudible tune as he worked away. Maybe it was the sound of his hammer tapping against the metal, or the swiveling of his screwdriver; or maybe he had hummed a song in his head as he worked. Tsubasa doesn’t quite remember, but many years later, when he’s older, he sits at the same spot again, and finds it amazing that his feet touch the ground beneath him.

Tsubasa is sitting at this spot on the porch when he hears the purr of a motor in the distance. He remembers looking up and spotting a very dusty car bouncing down the bumpy dirt road, small clouds of sand and grit trailing behind it and staining the grey metal exterior of the vehicle. He remembers hopping off the porch and landing on the ground, not caring if Grandma Shino scolds him later for trailing dirt inside the house with his bare feet, and stepping closer to where the car will pass. The car stops right before him, and Tsubasa sees a round six-year old face peer back at him from the window, only it’s not his reflection; it’s a boy named Azusa with badly-cut black hair and sparkling purple eyes. And it appears that Azusa is here to stay for the summer while his parents go out of the country for a month-long business venture.

That night, Tsubasa insists that Azusa share his room although there’s many many spare rooms in the old house built for a large family but now inhabited only by an elderly couple and their grandson. He also insists that he sleep on a futon on the floor next to his cousin. Grandpa Eisuke complains that he’s going to break his back as he carries two futons up the stairs, squeezes them through the door frame, and manages to fit them on the floor of the room, but Tsubasa knows that it’s all in jest because the crows’ feet in the corner of his eyes are wrinkled with unspoken smiles. Tsubasa remembers staying up past midnight- which is commonplace for him these days, but had seemed a most delinquent and sacred act back then- whispering and making pinkie promises with Azusa, talking about the city, tv shows, stars, ghosts, and everything in between.

The next morning, Grandma Shino can tell by the rings around their eyes that they’ve stayed up late and reprimands them for it, calling them a pair of rambunctious tanuki. When she turns her back, Grandpa Eisuke’s chuckles and tells them the story of the tanuki who disguised his testicles as a house in hushed tones; Grandma Shion is somehow able to hear this despite their best attempts at discretion, and whips around with a scandalised gasp, only to fix Grandpa Eisuke with a dour glare that he duly ignores. The boys dissolve into giggles when Grandpa Eisuke mimics the yelping retreat of the burnt tanuki when Grandma Shino threatens to beat him over the head with a broom. This time, the crows’ eyes on her face are crinkled with laughter.

One evening when the setting sun casts a dye of yellow, orange, and pink gradients across the canvas of the sky, and the field of sunflowers vaguely looks like it’s on fire from the distance, Grandma Shino tells the boys to go out to the forest with her. It’s a bit of a walk, and Azusa nearly falls in a ditch trying to chase a grasshopper, so by the time they arrive on the edge of the woods, the sky is nearly dark. Grandma Shino lights her paper lantern carefully so the sides won’t burn, and shushes them with a skinny finger held to her lips as she leads them deep into the trees.

They tread softly as instructed, until Tsubasa can hear the babbling of a brook in the background. Grandma Shino sets her lantern down on a rock, and tells the boys to wait. As the sun is slowly swallowed by the horizon and the forest becomes more and more foreboding, Tsubasa scratches at the moss on the ground as Azusa clings to his sleeve muttering something about ghost parades. Azusa nearly shrieks when the first light appears, tiny and hovering in the distance, but Grandma Shino cups a hand over his mouth and tells him just to watch.

Stars are appearing one by one beneath the thick cover of trees, small hovering, buzzing lights that look like Christmas decorations. Grandma Shino produces a pair of nets and glass jars from her sleeve, as if by magic (for a period of childhood, Tsubasa was quite convinced that she was a kitsune, at least in her past life), and hands them to the boys.

That night, Tsubasa finds out that patience and subtlety, not gung-ho bursts of energy and screams, are the key to catching fireflies. He and Azusa end up with a combined bounty of two fireflies, while Grandma Shino nearly fills up an entire jar with so many of them that none of them can count the numbers properly. Grandma Shino doesn’t let them keep the fireflies, because they’ll die in a matter of days and she doesn’t want to clean up jar after jar of dead bugs from the house. When she finally releases the fireflies back into the air, it’s like river of stars flowing up into the air before dispersing, and Tsubasa thinks of the milky way river separating the lovers in the Tanabata story. The glow of the fireflies lights up Grandma Shino’s face, and Tsubasa remembers that she looks a lot like Orihime in that moment.

Over the next few weeks, Tsubasa and Azusa become Grandma Shino’s disciples in the art of firefly hunting. She teaches them to use the blue lantern to lure them close, how to scoop them up when they’re unaware. They both improve significantly by the end of the month, but there’s surely some sort of secret technique that she refuses to divulge to her pupils, because Grandma Shino consistently catches the largest number out of the three of them every time. When Grandpa Eisuke complains that they never bring him along on their firefly hunting excursions, Grandma Shino primly replies that he wouldn’t be able to catch an elephant in the dark if he wanted to, let alone a firely.

Tsubasa has a bicycle that he rides from home to school, and Azusa takes the school bus, so he has no use for that. This means that he can’t ride a bicycle with two wheels, which is utterly confounding in Tsubasa’s eyes. It takes nearly a week for Azusa to get the hang of balancing and maintaining equilibrium on the bike, and the both of them earn many scraped knees and elbows as a result of such efforts, but Tsubasa eventually teaches Azusa how to ride. Afterwards, they take turns sitting in the front as they ride down the slope on the path to the convenience store, hands off the brakes and up in the air. The first time they try (Azusa’s suggestion, strangely enough), it’s the most exhilarating thing that Tsubasa has ever done. He remembers the wind in his face, the shrillness of their screams and hoots, and the bump bump bump of the pebbles and dirt beneath his wheels.

The second time they try speeding down that hill, they crash into a fence and while they come out unscathed, the bike is quite mutilated. Grandma Shino spanks them both with a bamboo stick, and neither of them can sit comfortably for the next few days, but both of them are convinced that it was very much worth it.

Tsubasa also takes Azusa to his first matsuri, because apparently he’s never been to one in the city. Grandma Shino still has a picture of the both of them wrapped up in colorful patterned kimonos, wearing plastic masks of a red sentai ranger and a kitsune respectively, as Azusa grasps a plastic bag holding a bewildered looking goldfish inside, shaking it in victory. The fish dies a few days later, but neither of the boys are particularly distraught about it, truth be told.

Grandpa Eisuke sometimes brings watermelons home, and he’ll let the boys try to chop through the skin with the heavy kitchen cleaver, although they barely even manages to lift it. Tsubasa remembers the dull sound of the metal against the watermelon, and the neat triangular slices that Grandpa Eisuke would cut it into. Tsubasa, Azusa, and Grandpa Eisuke would sit with their legs hanging off the porch and the field of sunflowers in the background as Grandpa Eisuke pointed out the stars in the sky and told them stories about Orihime and Hikoboshi.

When Tsubasa wanders through the jungle of sunflowers near Grandpa Eisuke’s home, he remembers the sound of Azusa’s laughter, the tickle of summer breeze against his toes, the warmth of Grandma Shino’s smile in the glow of the fireflies , and Grandpa Eisuke’s jocular storytelling. Tsubasa remembers how reluctant Azusa was to go when his parents finally came back to pick him up at the end of the summer, and the way that they’d pinkie-promised to stay friends forever, as well as to see each other again.

Tsubasa stands in the field of sunflowers, the leafy stalks brushing at his legs and the vibrant saffron petals flanking his shoulders. Tsubasa lifts his head to the sky, closing his eyes and spreading his arms out wide as if waiting for something miraculous to happen. It feels nostalgic, and he laughs.

#au where ampli realised how much of a bastard gabe actually is #and ride isn’t a brainwashed...

Tue, 29 Jan 2013 22:52:00 +0800

#au where ampli realised how much of a bastard gabe actually is #and ride isn’t a brainwashed zombie #and gabe actually has his own body #i’m not completely certain about amp’s gender tbh #i swear i don’t ship this #warning: half assed writing

The yellow carrier wails plaintively as he sobs into Ride’s shoulder, dirtying Ride’s grey turtleneck with salty tears and runny snot. There’s a panicked voice in the back of Ride’s mind bemoaning how utterly unhygenic the entire situation is, and screaming about how disgusting and troublesome it’s going to be to wash off the mucus afterwards. However, Ride’s far too timid to voice these opinions that he knows are unfit for the current atmosphere, and are very rude and inconsiderate in any case- shyness or not. Ride likes to think he’s more sympathetic to the plights of others than that, and he certainly doesn’t take delight in crushing the emotions of his friends like certain other callous bastards he knows.

“I thought he was the one,” Amplifier whimpers, blowing his nose on Ride’s sleeve, and Ride does his best to ignore the wetness while patting his friend on the back in an awkward attempt at comfort, despite how cliched these words are. Ride’s figured out by now that at times like these, what Amplifier needs isn’t advice or criticism or even humor to cheer him up, but just someone who’s willing to be a sounding board and listen to what he has to say. It just so happens that as someone who’s reluctant to speak even when spoken to, Ride makes a very good agony aunt.

Amplifier’s pried himself off of Ride, and is beginning to wipe his tear-swollen eyes, which is usually a good sign that he’s recovering from his emotional trauma. With a sigh, Ride raises a paw to ruffle the younger carrier’s hair, half out of fondness and the other part out of exasperation. Despite his quiet disposition, Ride is a surprisingly candid individual when willing to open up and express his sometimes rather cutting remarks and observations. “You have terrible taste in men,” he sighs to Amplifier in the most sympathetic way possible. Of course, he’s considerate enough to soften the blow with, “Not that I’m any better.”

It’s only all too easy to see why Amplifier would have fallen for Gabrael’s honey-sweet words and charming looks; as a former victim and ex-boyfriend of the very same asshole, Ride is only all too aware of Gabrael’s charismatic qualities. Nevertheless, in retrospect, he can’t help but feel as if he may have been drunk for the entirety of the relationship- drunk on Gabrael’s flattery and manipulation, or maybe suffering the after effects of a lobotomy. But Ride supposes that it’s thanks to this mutual acquaintance through Gabrael that he and Amplifier were able to meet, despite how dismal the initial circumstances where. Ride knows that he wouldn’t be able to befriend this emotionally volatile, outspoken romantic sap of a carrier otherwise, and now it only makes him even happier that Amplifier’s been able to break free of Gabrael’s spell as well. Good riddance to that.

The dramatic pout on Amplifier’s face is indication enough that he picks up on the teasing undertones of Ride’s cutting words. “Tch, it just means we have the same bad taste then,” he replies with a tone that allows no argument. Ride rolls his eyes and smiles. “But don’t worry, such unworthy suitors are not worth shedding that many tears over,” Amplifier proclaims with an overly florid gesture. This too is a rather eccentric part of Amplifier’s behavior, but Ride can’t help but find it more endearing than tiresome. At least it means that the yellow carrier is able to bounce back easily.

Running a paw through his hair, Ride stands from his seat and starts off in the direction of the book shop. “My shift at work starts soon,” he tells Amplifier simply, a plain statement in contrast to the other’s flamboyant announcements. Luckily, Amplifier is rather adept at detecting the underlying invitations and subtexts beneath Ride’s words.

“Alright then, I’ll come along and mess up all the books in the romance section for you to clean up,” He decides in a prim voice. “That’ll teach you to critique my taste in men.” Ride can’t help but roll his eyes again, but laughs as he walks, and Amplifier tags along.

a/n: for the record, Ride is only Gabe’s ex for the purposes of this fic, which is by no means related to canon. although i did once toy with the idea of gabe having seduced ride into submission lol. long story. but yes, ride isn’t actually gabe’s ex. uvu

also just kind of my “i’m alive” message to soca

idk

i want to need you

Mon, 28 Jan 2013 23:31:00 +0800

fanfiction, project k.

oneshot, akagi shouhei x chitose you.

word count: 1114

warning(s): alcohol, heartbreak, non-explicit sex, tons of headcanon

dedicated to ayse

It’s a friday night, and Dewa is out on a recon mission for Kusanagi-san. That means that Chitose is going bar-hopping again, and past folly has proven that he cannot be left unsupervised. Somehow, the duty of ensuring that Chitose sees his liver to a slow painful death instead of a quick instantaneous one is left to Shouhei, although he’s not entirely sure how exactly this fate befell him.

Chitose starts out the night as cheery as always, and Shouhei finds himself in a loud but lively bar, filled with flashily dressed girls and drunk men. Shouhei’s been to his share of bars and parties, and feels surprisingly at home among all the merriment, music, and laughter- even if this bar’s particular selection of dubstep is beginning to make his head hurt. A wide grin on his face, Chitose offers to treat Shouhei to the first round of drinks, which Shouhei of course attempts to respectfully decline (his job here is to make sure Chitose doesn’t get too drunk, not get drunk himself after all), but Chitose ignores any and all opposition and orders Shouhei a beer anyways.

Chitose is all smiles, winks, and flirtatious lines as he reels in girls to their side like a skilled fisherman, and Shouhei’s pretty certain that a wingman of any sort isn’t necessary. It’s strange though, no matter how many women giggle at his pick-up lines or blow him kisses from across the room, Chitose doesn’t seem to react much to any of them. It’s rather contrary from the way that Dewa normally describes him to be- picking up girls and sleeping with them left and right. If Shouhei looks closely, he almost imagines to see a flash of emotion- something disappointed and resigned- in Chitose’s eyes as he looks each girl up and down, as if discerning or searching for something.

By the third bar, it’s impossible for Shouhei not to notice the tiredness and weariness present on Chitose’s face, and true to his nature, he expresses his concern. Chitose appears a bit startled at Shouhei’s minding, and a smile lights up his face again. “Ah, it’s nothing. Guess tonight’s not a lucky night, that’s all. None of those girls were my type,” he laughs, brushing it off. Later, when Chitose doesn’t think anyone’s watching, Shouhei spots that sad look on his face again, and it hurts Shouhei to see it.

It’s in the shaded corner of a bar with a tacky disco ball hanging from the ceiling and colored lights bouncing off it and splashing patterns onto the walls that Chitose stares at Shouhei with the most unguardedly pitiful look that Shouhei’s seen all night, and it makes Shouhei just want to pick up the pieces and make it all okay. Chitose hesitates only for a moment, before cupping Shouhei’s cheek and murmuring a soft “I’m sorry” against Shouhei’s lips, and proceeds to kiss him. Chitose smells and tastes of alcohol, but he’s also so desperate that Shouhei can only accept what he has to give.

Shouhei knows what Chitose wants from him, and while he’s not sure he can love Chitose, Shouhei wants to be able to comfort him, at least so he won’t have that lost look in his eyes ever again. The way that Chitose stiffens and nearly breaks into tears when Shouhei actually responds to his kiss is heartbreaking.

They end up in tangle of limbs and connected lips as they make their way back to Chitose’s apartment, which is predictably close to the bar district. Chitose kisses Shouhei over and over again, on the lips and nose and forehead and eyelids and anywhere he can get access to, and he keeps running his hands through Shouhei’s hair, as if he can’t believe what’s going on and wants to hold on to this. Shouhei muses that he never took Chitose for such a romantic, and somehow that’s more sad than amusing.

Chitose lowers Shouhei onto the bed slowly and gently, like a lover instead of a drunken one night stand, and Shouhei thinks that it’s no surprise that he’s so popular with the women if this is how he treats all of his bedmates. Chitose is delicate and considerate, not as wildly passionate as Shouhei thought he’d be, and there’s a measure of comfort in that. Shouhei wraps his arms around Chitose and just lays there on the bed with him for several moments, and Chitose practically sobs. Shouhei kisses the salty trails of tears from his cheeks.

Chitose is surprisingly receptive to Shouhei’s touches, although Shouhei’s certain that Chitose has an infinitely larger wealth of experience this department. Chitose gives soft moans of Shouhei’s name, expressive sounds, and breathy sighs to indicate his pleasure, when Shouhei looks into his eyes, Chitose seems so delicate that he might break. The way that Chitose arches his back to meet Shouhei’s thrusts, or the way he trails kisses down from Shouhei’s neck to his naval are all beautiful, and Shouhei murmurs comforts and lovely words into Chitose’s skin, driven by an urge to destroy but also to heal.

Chitose eventually falls asleep with an expression as innocent and unguarded as an angel, and Shouhei just watches the rise and fall of his chest, wondering where all that longing and sadness must come from.

The next morning, Chitose opens his eyes, and nearly screams when he sees Shouhei in bed next to him. His eyes widen in terror and guilt, and he opens his mouth wide no doubt about to spill with a flood of “i’m so sorry”s and “i don’t know what happened”s, when Shouhei silences him with a deep kiss, telling him that it’s alright. Chitose looks so confused but even more thankful in that moment, and he just wraps his arms around Shouhei’s neck as if he’ll never let go.

Shouhei doesn’t want to tell Chitose that sex means even less to him than it does to Chitose, and Shouhei doesn’t think that he’s in love with Chitose the way that Chitose wants to be loved either. But for now, supporting Chitose and loving him in what ways that he can is what puts a smile to his face, so Shouhei will do his best to keep doing so.

From that morning on, Shouhei learns that Chitose is a great cook, and every night they manage to fall into each others’ arms and beds. There’s something very, very wrong with this and Shouhei feels it deeply and acutely as a cutting knife, even if Chitose can’t, but he doesn’t know how to put his finger on it. After all, nothing bad could be born out of such good intentions, right?

thought i needed this

Sat, 26 Jan 2013 12:22:00 +0800

Project K, fanfiction.

Suoh Mikoto x Akagi Shouhei, oneshot.

word count: 1938 wow

warning(s): porn without plot, sexual content, kinks, bdsm, violence, violence kink in fact, rough sex, blood, guns being in places they shouldn’t, this is just really messed up ok be warned

dedicated to ayse because it was written in her ask box

a/n: i don’t know how this happened i actually haven’t written porn in ages and all of a sudden this happens. i am so sorry. basically my headcanon shouhei has a huge violence and masochism kink, and is a huge slut so

The metal collar is cold and tight around his throat, and Shouhei knows that it’s going to leave a ring of dark bruises tomorrow morning. Totsuka and Kusanagi-san have already picked up on his recent habit of hiding the bruises, and Shouhei is glad that San-chan is a bit dense at times. The chain is jerked on sharply, and the edges of the collar cut into his skin, making him hiss, thought it’s not an entirely unpleasant sensation. “Yes?” Shouhei rasps, looking up with a wry smile.

Mikoto glances down at the boy kneeling subserviently between his legs, and raises an eyebrow with an exasperated sigh. Why Akagi even tries to act innocent at times like these is utterly beyond Mikoto, but a good king takes care of his clansmens’ needs, and this is a particular need that Mikoto is more than happy to humor. Winding the chain leash tighter around his hand, Mikoto pulls Shouhei closer to him, and the boy obliges, approaching on his hands and knees. Shouhei is so needy, a bulge already present in his pants before Mikoto’s even touched him, and the boy lays his cheek against his king’s thigh, an unwarranted display of tenderness. This action earns Shouhei a rough backhand across the face that is sure to leave a mark, and the boy gasps. Mikoto’s expression is indifferent.

Shouhei lifts a hand to cradle his injured cheek, but the smile on his face never fades for even a moment. Normally, Mikoto wouldn’t even consider hurting one of hi own clansmen, but it’s hard to turn Shouhei down when he wants it so desperately. Better for him to do it than some random men in the alleyway, like the first time he saw Shouhei like this. That time, Shouhei had been sprawled on the ground bruised and bleeding and unbelievably wanton. Mikoto is at least considerate and careful enough not to leave any scars.

Keeping a careful grip on the leash, Mikoto casually reaches over and takes his pistol before pointing it at Shouhei. It’s only got one bullet loaded, and Shouhei knows this- if anything, it gets the younger man off even more, the knowledge that if Mikoto so much as twitched his finger, then he could send a bullet through Shouhei’s brain. Shouhei loves the adrenaline rush. By now, the boy has done this enough times to know exactly what Mikoto wants from him, or rather what he wants from Mikoto, without either of them having to say a single word.

He runs his cheek along the side of the gun, feeling the tickle of cold steel against his skin; his eyes slide close and his mouth falls open as his expression transforms into one of absolute bliss. This time, Mikoto slaps him with the pistol, and it draws a bit of blood where the metal has cut into Shouhei’s skin. Shouhei slowly runs his tongue along the cut on his bleeding lip, and nods complacently. “Yes king,” he rasps, voice husky from arousal, and places a kiss against the muzzle of the gun. It feels like ice on his lips.

Still holding the leash in his hand, Mikoto grabs a fistful of Shouhei’s hair and tugs him roughly closer, forcing the boy to actually part his lips and take the head of the pistol into his mouth. It’s an absolutely lewd motion, especially with the sounds that Shouhei makes as he wraps his tongue around the metal, swallowing as much of the gun as he can; it’s not secret what it’s supposed to represent, judging by the position of the gun between Mikoto’s legs, and Shouhei’s whorish expression. The bulge in Shouhei’s pants becomes almost unbearable, and he wonders if it would be alright to use his teeth- after all, the gun doesn’t feel anything. He also knows that Mikoto would not appreciate bite marks or scratches on his gun, but getting Mikoto angry would only lead to further punishment, and Shouhei knows that could turn out either very well or very badly. He decides that it’s probably best not to test his luck, at least not this time. He doesn’t think he’d be able to stand it if Mikoto just upped and left him now.

An involuntary whimper leaves Shouhei’s lips as Mikoto withdraws the gun, and the boy leans forward, chasing for it. He’s reprimanded this time with a kick to the stomach that knocks all the wind out of him and causes him to keel over in pain. His smile falters for a moment as he winces, but it returns once again, despite the instinctive welling of tears in his eyes. “King…” he groans, arms wrapped around his stomach as he looks up, lips parted with wanting. “Please. Anything.” This earns him a blow to the face to forceful that it knocks him onto his back, and Mikoto stands before stomping a boot-clad foot onto Shouhei’s chest. Shouhei gasps and chokes, expression twisting into one of acute pain, and Mikoto pulls hard on the leash, constricting Shouhei’s windpipe. Fighting for oxygen in short, panicked half-breaths, Shouhei receives the message loud and clear: Know your place.

Tears run down Shouhei’s cheeks and he nods frantically, whispered pleads of “I’m sorry, please, it hurts, King, please,” spilling from his lips, Mikoto appears unsympathetic to his begging, and it isn’t until Shouhei’s lips are pale and his head has begun to spin that the king lowers himself to kneel on Shouhei’s chest, which increases the pressure on his abdomen, but slackens the leash and allows Shouhei to breathe. As the boy gasps for air in attempt to regain his bearings, Mikoto trails his gaze along Shouhei’s body. The boy is still hard as a rock- how lewd. In an almost mockingly gentle motion, Mikoto slides the barrel of the gun down from Shouhei’s chest, along his hips, and points it against the boy’s clothed erection in a dangerous parody of a caressing hand. Shouhei still bucks against the pressure, moaning softly, desperate for touch.

Mikoto shifts himself down to sit between Shouhei’s parted thighs, but keeps a hand on the boy’s waist to keep him from moving. He sets the gun aside, and unzips Shouhei’s pants, which draws a hiss of breath from the boy. Mikoto pushes Shouhei onto his belly and tugs on the leash until the boy crawls onto his hands and knees, and Mikoto pulls down Shouhei’s pants and underwear in the same motion, leaving the boy exposed. Taking the pistol again, he traces it along the length of Shouhei’s erection, and Mikoto sees the boy visibly shudder as he tries to hold himself up. Mikoto presses the muzzle of the gun behind Shouhei’s balls, and the boy lets out a sharp cry, his arms giving out and his torso collapsing to the floor with his backside pushed out for Mikoto to abuse. Shouhei presses his cheek against the floor, saliva beginning to drip and pool around his chin, and winces as Mikoto places the head of the pistol against the pucker of his ass. The gun is thick and ridged, and Shouhei knows that without preparation, without lube, if Mikoto just shoves it in like this, he’ll tear. Shouhei trembles in fear and suspense, unsure of whether Mikoto will actually do it or not, and his sigh of relief is audible when Mikoto places the gun on the floor and reaches for the bottle of lubricant instead.

Mikoto starts by pushing two thick fingers into Shouhei at once, and Shouhei sobs at the fullness of it, finally. He tries to buck backwards and take it in deeper, but Mikoto’s hold on his hips is firm, forcing him to allow the king to work at his own pace. Mikoto works his fingers in and out of Shouhei slowly, scissoring them and stretching him wide. When Mikoto inserts a third finger, Shouhei lets out of a deep groan, and Mikoto responds by landing a broad-handed slap on the boy’s ass cheek.

“Agh!” Shouhei grits his teeth and curls his hands into fists, but his erection twitches, and Mikoto notices this. Shouhei squeezes his eyes shut, taking deep breaths from the mouth, but all of a sudden, a hand grips onto the back of his neck, and Mikoto slams the side of his head into the hard floor. “Look at me,” the king orders, and Shouhei has no option to oblige, arching his back and bending his neck painfully to catch meager glimpses of Mikoto rolling on a condom and slicking himself in preparation for entry. It’s a painful position and Shouhei can’t actually look behind himself like that, but he suspects that was the king’s intention all along.

Finally, Mikoto lines up his cock with Shouhei’s entrance, and without waiting, he thrusts himself into Shouhei as deep as he can in one go. The sound that Shouhei makes is a strangled cry, and he claws against the floor, tears coming to his eyes from the burning, stretching sensation. The edges of the collar are digging into his throat again, and he can barely breathe, though he can’t tell whether it’s from the amazing feeling of fullness or Mikoto’s tugging on the leash.

Mikoto has one hand on Shouhei’s hip, gripping tightly enough to leave bruises, and another hand grabbing onto Shouhei’s hair, pulling on it as he rocks the boy’s frame with deep, powerful thrusts. A stream of intelligible noises come from Shouhei’s lips, and it hurts so much and he loves it. This is the kind of sensation that he can’t get from anywhere else, because San-chan isn’t a cruel person and Chitose is too much a romantic, but his king is brutal and rough, and big enough to make Shouhei feel like he’s ripping apart from the inside just the way he likes it. Shouhei feels the pleasure spiking up and down his spine, and he only wishes that he could taste the metal of the pistol, or the heavy scent of Mikoto’s cock in his mouth at the same time.

Shouhei can feel his king’s rhythm becoming more and more erratic, and knows that the both of them are close. In a momentary display of tenderness, Mikoto reaches up to carress the boy’s bicep, where his Homra brand is. Shouhei feels a tingling warmth spread through him, as well as a shock of pleasure searing through his nervous system, and before he can even think, a soft moan leaves his lips. “King.” Shouhei gives a groan and spurts his release across the floor and his stomach. His ass spasms and clenches around Mikoto, and Mikoto keeps thrusting into him, sending waves after wave of pleaure through Shouhei as he rides out his orgasm. Mikoto pulls out, and Shouhei scrambles to turn around. Rolling the condom off, all it takes is one lathe of a warm tongue against Mikoto’s cock, and Shouhei’s king comes all over the boy’s face.

Mikoto glances down at the boy prostrated before him on the floor, with Mikoto’s mark burnt into his arm and a mark of ownership splattered across his face. Shouhei’s smile is wider, wider than before, and despite the blood, cuts and bruises on his face, he looks content. Mikoto reaches over to unbuckle the collar, and as it falls to the floor, Shouhei closes his eyes with a sigh. “Thank you, King.”

Shouhei has a visible limp as he walks off to the showers to clean himself off. Mikoto lights a cigarette and takes a drag of tobacco before really wondering how such a seemingly normal boy turned out to have such fucked up kinks

Project K, fanfiction. Eric Sutr (SURT?? SUTR?? SOMEBODY CLARIFY PLEASE SOBBING), drabble. word...

Wed, 02 Jan 2013 17:30:13 +0800

Project K, fanfiction.

Eric Sutr (SURT?? SUTR?? SOMEBODY CLARIFY PLEASE SOBBING), drabble.

word count: 250

warning(s): mentions of former abuse, mentions of major character death, suoh mikoto, spoilers

just putting this formally on my writing blog since this is one longass headcanon. for my lovely kusanagi-san.

Eric stares at the empty seat, and thinks about the death of the man that he by all means should have killed. That was two years ago, and it isn’t till now that the mission that he was originally sent on has finally been completed. But not by him, of course. Definitely not by him.

If this same event had happened two years ago, then Eric probably would have considered it a victory; job done, and he wouldn’t have even had to do anything. And it’s strange how much two years can change things, because Eric knows that Suoh Mikoto’s death would not have affected him like this. Eric raises a hand to rub his neck; the bruises have disappeared. They’ve healed.

“Rest in peace,” he whispers to his glass. In English, or else the damn chihuahua who’s a sobbing wreck right next to him might hear it, and the last thing Eric wants to do is break down and cry with Yata. He downs the contents in one gulp, and winces at the burning sensation in his throat. It’s the alcohol that brings tears to his eyes. He’s never drank before, but this isn’t a bad time to start.

Eric thinks where he might still be if Mikoto had died two years earlier, and he remembers the feeling he’d experienced when he hearing that the Hikawa gang headquarters had been burnt to ashes. He runs a thumb over the flat of his knife, before asking Kusanagi-san for another drink.

wish i didn't love you

Wed, 02 Jan 2013 13:14:00 +0800

kuroko no basuke, fanfiction.

furuhashi kojirou x hara kazuya, oneshot.

wordcount: 779

warning(s): derogatory usage of the word ‘gay’, Kazuya illogic, fuck buddy zoned (??), sexual themes, inexplicit sex, tons of headcanon, hara’s gorgeous eyes (this deserves a warning ok)

dedicated to alyssa (invisibear) because she hears me out when i rant about headcanons, and is the ultimate catalyst for fic. and smut.

It’s a friday night, and Kojirou’s parents are out on business trip, so naturally that means that Kazuya can come stay the night. Unsurprisingly, this leads to sex, and Kojirou is mid-thrust when he leans over to tilt Kazuya’s head into position for a kiss, and is rudely met with a palm to the face. Pushing Kojirou’s head aside, Kazuya is wearing a wide, somewhat incredulous smile, as if Kojirou had just told a really raunchy joke, and says, “Dude, Koji, that’s gay.”

Kojirou freezes, looks at Kazuya’s face unbelievingly only to find that he’s genuinely serious about this, and immediately pulls out. Ignoring his friend’s dismayed complaints of “why the hell did you stop”, Kojirou blinks several times, trying and failing to understand Kazuya’s thought process. “Kazuya, I hope you realise that you’re having sex with another man,” Kojirou explains very slowly, not completely sure if he wants to hear the blond’s response. “And that isn’t gay?”

Kazuya gives a snort of laughter that ultimately baffles Kojirou, and shakes his head. “Nah, it’s not like we’re into each other so it’s just fucking around, y’know? But kissing, that’s pretty gay.” At this point, if Kojirou isn’t sure whether Kazuya is being serious or not.

“Kazuya,” Kojirou groans in a labored tone, resisting the urge to massage his temples. “You’ve been kissing me since we were in middle school. That’s the only reason we started fucking in the first place.” There’s been times when he’d wondered whether Kazuya was on the same wavelength as the rest of the world or not, and this is one of the times when he’s certain that his blond friend is just completely insane.

Kazuya sighs before pulling himself into a sitting position, and Kojirou can tell that he’s rolling his eyes behind those long bangs. “Yeah, but not during sex. Kissing during sex is gay, but otherwise it’s just kinda’ like teasing. Get it?” The blond even has the audacity to use an exasperated tone, as if Kojirou’s just forgotten that 1+1 equals 2.

To be frank, Kojirou does not ‘get it’ in the least, and he’s very tempted to just get up and leave because Kazuya is not making any sense. Unfortunately, after this many years of friendship, Kojirou knows that what makes sense to Kazuya often doesn’t to anyone else; in addition, they’re in his house, so Kojirou has nowhere else to go. So Kojirou just gives a grunt, pushes Kazuya back onto the bed, and fucks him until neither of them can speak anymore.

Later, when they’ve both finished, Kazuya chooses to bring up the subject again as he stretches himself out on the bed while Kojirou picks up the clothes strewn on the bedroom floor. “Look, Koji, no need to get so worked up or confused about it,” he yawns. “Fucking around is just physical, right? You’re horny, I’m horny, no girls around, so we fuck. That’s not gay. But when there’s things like feelings and love and that gushy stuff, like calling out each others names during orgasm, looking into each others’ eyes, or kissing while having sex?” Kazuya gives a little snicker. “That’s gay.”

Kojirou pauses while bending to pick up a t-shirt, and looks at Kazuya. The blond’s hair is mussed up from sex, and his neck is covered with hickies. His bangs have accidentally parted, and Kojirou can see one of those gorgeous baby blue eyes that Kazuya hides all the time, and he can also see the scar beneath it from that fight in middle school. There’s a trail of marks that Kojirou sucked into Kazuya’s skin earlier, trailing from his shoulder and beneath the blanket that Kazuya’s loosely covered his waist with as he sits on the bed. His smile is loose and casual with a hint of satisfaction and mischief, displaying a set of pearly whites that Kojirou can testify have never needed any braces; it’s not the fake grin that he uses to lure girls into bed or pick fights with pissed off thugs, but the kind that he wears whenever buying a new pack of gum, or beating the boss level in a video game.

Kojirou questions how on earth Kazuya expects Kojirou not to want to kiss him when he looks like that.

Drawing upon long-honed self-control, Kojirou clamps down on all the emotions and things he wants to say, before nodding in agreement. “Yeah,” he replies in deadpan. “That’s pretty gay.”

Kazuya seems placated by this answer before diving under the covers. “Now turn off the lights will ya’?” he asks. “I wanna sleep.”

midorima x kuroko, as little kids. for iyoten. in which takao and the GOM die of nosebleed at the...

Tue, 01 Jan 2013 00:35:45 +0800

midorima x kuroko, as little kids.

for iyoten.

in which takao and the GOM die of nosebleed at the moe

Shintarou and Tetsuya do not start off on good terms. They’re assigned as reading buddies in first grade, and there is an immediate conflict over whether to choose “My Friend Nigou” or “The Little Carrot”. Both children are equally stubborn, and this results in them giving each other hard stares for the rest of the reading session and not accomplishing anything at all.

When Shintarou finds out that Tetsuya is an Aquarius, he avoids the other boy for an entire week; this proves to be a difficult feat considering that Tetsuya in the same table group as Shintarou, and they are frequently required to participate in group activities, or even pass in papers together in a pile. Tetsuya can’t help but start getting irritated when Shintarou refuses to look him in the eye or make any sort of bodily contact with him, as if avoiding the plague. This is particularly concerning when Shintarou’s abnormal behavior is starting to affect the effectiveness of group operations as a whole, and Tetsuya if anything, is a team player. It takes a while to pry the reason for this avoidance from Shintarou, and in the end it appears that the source of his apprehension towards Tetsuya is because Cancers are certainly Not Compatible with Aquariuses, so Shintarou firmly believes that they cannot work together. It takes an entire recess of explanation, coercion, and bribery before Shintarou can be convinced that making eye contact with Tetsuya is not a hazard to his wellbeing.

The tension between the two parties reaches its climax when Shintarou brings a vanilla shake- his lucky item of the day- to class, and Tetsuya commits a heinous act of theft in taking an unwarranted sip from the beverage. Shintarou is already six years old, and a Big Boy in primary school at that, no longer a kindergarten child; however, this does not keep him from bursting into tears in the middle of the classroom, much to the teachers’ and Tetsuya’s shock. Not having meant to cause his classmate such distress, Tetsuya ends up with tears of apology rolling down his cheeks, and the teachers are left to mediate the situation between to crying children.

In the end, their teacher decides to come up with a simple solution in order to repair the damaged relations between her two students. After being put in charge of taking care of the class hamsters, Shintarou is very much the doting mama of the critters while Tetsuya is the silent papa that watches from the distance. Not only has the number of classroom arguments and tantrums drastically decreased, but the sight of the two boys sharing the same carrot pillow during nap time is surely nothing short of precious.

wakamatsu x sakurai, supernatural beings au. for flightlesscrow. in which sakurai has PMS and...

Sun, 30 Dec 2012 02:10:27 +0800

wakamatsu x sakurai, supernatural beings au.

for flightlesscrow.

in which sakurai has PMS and Wakamatsu is a horny bastard

Sakurai always gets moody during the full moons, almost as if he’s a woman going through a monthly cycle. Most of the time, he’s timid and shy, apologising for the least of things and even at times when he shouldn’t, to the point where it gets irritating at times and Kousuke almost has an urge to slap a muzzle on him. However, during this time of the month, Kousuke always feels like the zebra being stalked by a lion in those Discovery Channel documentaries, and the thought of Sakurai’s claws and teeth sinking into his haunches always makes Kousuke feel skittish.

Centaurs are far from defenseless herbivores and have no natural predators, but the way that Sakurai eyes Kousuke is definitely a cause for concerns. Wolves are powerful creatures, and werewolves even moreso, especially when the moon is waxing like this. Kousuke’s read in newspapers that this month’s full moon might be the brightest in the past decade, and he isn’t sure whether to dread or anticipate the coming events.

Sakurai’s moon phases usually aren’t as violent as some other weres’, but they tend to go either very well or very badly. At their best, the brunet is just a bit more on edge than usual; at their worst, Sakurai becomes highly competitive and highly possessive, usually causing him to piss off people in ways that he regrets later. However, either way results in Sakurai taking charge in bed and that’s always great, so Kousuke can’t find it in him to complain. It’s just rather unnerving when Kousuke trots around the house shirtless (as centaurs are prone to do because why wear a shirt if you’re not wearing pants anyways), and he can practically feel Sakurai’s gaze trailed on his every move.

It’s also quite distracting when Kousuke gives Sakurai lifts from place to place on his back, and of course Sakurai has to hang on for dear life because Kousuke is fast and trying to saddle or bridle a centaur is a massive deathwish. But somewhere in between the grocery store and their apartment, Sakurai goes from clinging to Kousuke’s shoulders to nibbling on them, and Kousuke can’t tell if it feels arousing or threatening because he isn’t sure if Sakurai wants to eat him up figuratively or literally. It’s probably better for him to focus on the latter, because there is no way he can gallop with a raging boner.

But in the end, Sakurai puts up with the way that Kousuke acts during mating season and centaur stamina really is something to contend with, so Kousuke decides that letting Sakurai have what he wants for a few days a month is the least that he can do.

kise x midorima, idol au for lynn (sicacorium) in which kise is an idol and midorima just wants to...

Sun, 30 Dec 2012 01:08:36 +0800

kise x midorima, idol au

for lynn (sicacorium)

in which kise is an idol and midorima just wants to play his piano

Shintarou’s three-room apartment is too small for a piano; as meticulous as his cleaning is, there’s already barely any space for his bed as it is. His kitchenette is composed only of a stove, a sink, and a toaster oven, while his clothing can only take up half of his closet; the other half is filled with previous lucky items. His text books take up a copious amount of space, and despite all attempts to keep them stored in an organised fashion, they remain stewn in haphazard piles on one side of his bedroom. Even the bathroom is occasionally used as a storage area, and several clothes hangers are kept near the shower curtain. To even think of putting a piano in this already-cramped apartment would be absolutely absurd.

Luckily for him, there is a public recreation centre near where Shintarou lives, and for a small fee, he books one of the practice rooms on the basement floor for several hours once a week. There, he can have some time away from noisily arguing neighbours and the wind rattling through plastic curtains while he practices his art.

It appears that fate wishes to deny Shintarou serenity on this particular afternoon, because although the basement level is supposedly soundproof, he can still hear the racket coming from the mob outside. He’d had trouble getting into the recreation centre at all, and had to be let in through the back door by a custodian who’d recognised him after pushing through the crowds of adolescent teenaged girls holding neon signs who had surrounded the venue. Apparently, some celebrity or another was holding a small concert for his fanclub. Shintarou has never been very engaged in pop culture, but he can’t help but hold a none too small measure of disdain and annoyance towards the performer in question for disrupting his weekly practice.

Shintarou’s indignance only increases tenfold when he reaches the practice room, and finds it already in use when he clearly remembers making a reservation. He enters the room without knocking, a gesture that he hopes will effectively convey the level of his displeasure, ready to announce that he’s booked the piano. But before he can politely ask the intruder to leave immediately, Shintarou realises that the man sitting at the piano is, in fact, the idol whose face is plastered on the many posters hanging outside. More importantly, the idol is currently in the middle of playing a piece by Bach which Shintarou recognises. This convinces Shintarou that he isn’t some imbecile who can’t tell Bieber from Beethoven.

As it appears, Kise Ryouta is not only a talented pianist, but also knows how to play the guitar, drums, violin, saxaphone, and clarinet; as Shintarou understands it, his selling point is more the breadth rather than the depth of his abilities. However, the blonde’s capacity for visual comprehension and reproducing the actions of others is unparalleled, and even Shintarou is grudgingly impressed when the blond manages to mimic his playing of Chopin’s Nocturne almost perfectly. However, that is not his only talent.

By the time that Kise leaves for his concert, he’s somehow managed to coerce Shintarou into exchanging phone numbers with a promise that he’ll come and listen to Shintarou play again sometime. Shintarou is quite sure that the blond’s charismatic smile isn’t the only reason for that.