Soft revolution

[One Piece] All the seas in your hands

2011-06-06T07:49:22Z

Nami during timeskip at Weatheria, and shortly after timeskip (slight spoilers, maybe?).

All the seas in your hands
One Piece | Luffy, Nami | G | 1069 words
She believes that he will sail across the oceans, even if he cannot swim.

“There, there, that should be all right.”

Nami winced as cold water ran down her slightly burnt arm. Pain did not arrive—only numbness. Her stiffened body eased at once.

“I’m sorry,” she said, a little embarrassed. “I almost destroyed the entire garden…”

“Now, child,” Haredas said, “at least your life was saved, and no countries were damaged.” He let out a short guffaw before handing her some bandages. She returned a small, reluctant smile.

It had been three months since she arrived at Weatheria, and time was passing both slowly and fast. A part of her longed to see her friends again, so two years—even at her Captain’s command that she knew every single one of them would follow without question—seemed an unbearable time of separation. But two years, she realized, might just be enough for them to get back on their feet again. Three days would barely let them recuperate to their feeble health. Two years could do much more if spent wisely.

What Nami understood was that feeling torn between the two was of no use to her strength. She wrapped the bandage around her arm carefully and lied down on the bed to relax. Ten minutes, and then she would be back to work.

.

Fearless. Reckless. Daring.

She wished to be the words that described her Captain.

“No, you musn’t!” Haredas’s voice echoed from behind her. She restrained the storm cloud’s energy just in time before an uncontrolled lightning bolt could have stricken anything: a plant, a house, herself.

Nami gasped and fell on her knees, barely resisting the urge to rest on the clouds beneath her. She could feel their worried looks on her back, but she managed to turn around and give them a wave with her hand. “I’m all right, grandpas!”

She felt them shaking their heads in her direction, too, as if to say, that’s what she always says. She appreciated their concern—after all, where would she be at this point in time had it not been for their shouts and lectures of “that is far, far too dangerous” or “what were you thinking? You could have gravely injured yourself!”?

She was overdoing it—just like Luffy had done for her. It was her turn to go to great lengths for him and the rest of their crew.

.

The first thing she noticed when she saw Luffy again was, plainly, the scar on his chest. No one said a word and she didn’t either because they all bore scars of their own from the past two years. She could only assume how great their Captain’s were, besides the apparent ‘x’ that crossed his heart.

The crew’s tumultuous journey began in the same way: with Luffy and Zoro not listening to a word she said, Sanji even more dramatic than she remembered, Usopp and Chopper too distracted by Franky’s antics, Brook’s rude and impossible request, and Robin’s bemused smile.

Nami noticed a number of them dozing off as the Thousand Sunny settled more comfortably into deeper waters, and that was when she spotted a familiar sight out of the corner of her eye.

Luffy, after having eaten heartily from the lunchboxes that Boa Hancock had given him, started to snore on the grass floor of the ship. He stretched his arms and legs in odd ways and took in deep breaths that he normally did not.

“This isn’t so new,” said Robin with a chuckle.

Nami glanced at her wrist once more to check the direction, but a hint of a smile was spreading across her lips. “No,” she said, “he’s probably dreaming of swimming again.” A small laugh, and then: “Robin, can you help me wake everyone? We’re approaching deeper water levels soon and we need everyone to adjust.”

“Of course,” Robin answered, and waved to sprout hands on their bodies. The hands began tapping at the shoulders of her crewmates.

“Nap’s over!” Nami yelled, walking around to see who needed an extra hand to wake up. She ended up having to reach over to Luffy and shake him by the shoulders—only then did he open his eyes and reach for her hair.

“Oranges…”

She gave a sigh. “No, Luffy, now please get up.”

Luffy sat up quickly, as though compelled by some force. A grin slowly colored his face, and he barked out before Nami could even start explaining the situation: “I was having a dream about fruits! I was swimming in a sea of them and all of a sudden, our ship turned into a banana. Then I got hungry, so I started eating a part of our ship—”

“All right,” cut in Nami, “you can continue telling us a little later. But I need to tell you guys about the deeper depths.” She first spotted Luffy reluctantly closing his mouth, and then turning around to face her. He nodded in understanding without the slightest hint of disappointment in his eyes and she was somewhat ashamed to feel surprised—after all, he was the Captain who would throw down his life on the line for the rest of them. Had it really been so long that a small, genuine gesture from him would take her aback?

.

“I never let you finish your story,” she said. The Thousand Sunny was 8,000 meters below sea level and still descending.

“Huh?” Luffy managed, between bites of meat. He struggled to swallow his meal. “What are you talking about?”

“The dream of you swimming in a sea of fruits,” she said, casually. “I didn’t know you still dreamt of swimming.”

“I always do,” he said, his eyes filled with a grin, “I always dream of swimming!”

.

He told her that it felt as though he were out of his own skin when he imagined himself in the waters, and that he didn’t know why he dreamed of being in the sea so often—a sea of anything and everything that he could feel at his fingertips.

But she never—not once—thought it odd that a boy who could not swim wanted to conquer the seas one day. She may have questioned it if he were another man born in another time. As he stood now, he was going to travel to the ends of the seas, and she would see to it that he did.

.

“But I’ve never been to an island like that before… It’s like I just made it up!” he said with his arms in the air.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get to an island like that eventually.”

“Made entirely of fruits?! Wow, that’d be incredible.”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

[Fullmetal Alchemist] House of beginnings

2009-07-28T01:35:21Z

House of beginnings
Fullmetal Alchemist | Edward, Winry | PG | 1882 words
They’re older and perhaps a little bit wiser, but there’s only one place that takes them back—and pulls them forward.

The first time they kiss- well, he actually doesn’t remember their first kiss. He can’t recall much, perhaps not at all of how it happened.

.

Ed takes an afternoon train because he grows tired of watching the night rain through a window. Winry knows this by now that she is twenty-two, shaking her umbrella to get the water off and walking toward him in an almost expectant stride. “Ed,” she calls, waving a hand. She folds the umbrella neatly into its bag and faces him, a nostalgic look on her cheeks (it’s about the way she smiles; they’re not quite dimples, but he knows too well those small, endearing creases on her face).

He is all but surprised to see her, though the raindrops on her hair are something new.

“Didn’t you wear an umbrella?”

“It was the wind.”

He nods after a time and eyes the empty railroad. He can hear the locomotive’s pumping engines from a mile away, a distance that would take him ten minutes to walk and six minutes to run. He only knows how to run, not walk, toward and away from goals and truths, traveling around but never on the lit pathways of life’s enjoyment. For him, life is always the back gate, happiness in his reach but never quite in his hands—one human, the other not.

The train’s horn announces its arrival and he blinks rapidly, once, before eying her. She’s distracted for a brief moment as she lets her attention away to the third car, where he will be sitting in a few minutes. Her life is a life of devotion, of a quieter strength; she always wishes she can do more, but he tells her what he has to do is his battle and that she also has her own war to fight. Her grandmother’s passing has left a number of things for her still young shoulders to carry, so when the night is terribly quiet and there is not a soul in sight, she chooses to remember him.

Winry’s head snaps up when she feels his hand on her cheek. “Ed?” His name as a question remains unanswered as he kisses her lips for the first time, a little hurriedly and desperately like a teenager would. She notices, for the first time, how warm his lips are and how hesitant his hand is, his fingers lingering between the side of her face and her hair. His mouth lingers against hers, too, before he drops his hand and pulls away abruptly.

(For those seconds they are just mere lovers at a train station exchanging their goodbyes—young, hopeful, but scared, too, because they now know that falling in love is not as easy as they once imagined.)

Her eyes flicker back and forth between him and the train when she hears the horn again. “The train’s leaving.” She states almost matter-of-factly, her hands now shoved into her coat pockets.

He nods once more. “Yeah.”

Winry waves at the train until she can’t see it anymore and Ed looks out the window until the last speck of her disappears.

.

She remembers almost every detail, and if nothing else, how she felt. The flashbacks arrive in the most inopportune moments- once when she’s cleaning her work station, her knees numb from crawling under the tables and her hands, greased and dirty for having organized her tools. It all starts with finding a scribbled note that she wrote so long ago after hearing an animated advertisement on the radio about ordering northern automail by delivery. She had excitedly pulled out a piece of paper and a pen, jotting down the phone number as the ever happy man on the radio announced it clearly, repeating it two times for good measure.

If only I knew how to fix his arm more quickly, and made the interior stronger but with lighter material—

Winry holds that paper with a feeling of reminiscence now, having successfully built him another northern region automail two years before, much to his surprise. (“You made a whole new one? But it hasn’t been even that long since-” “Are you questioning my skills?” “No, but- ow! I always ask you, tell me when you adjust the arm!”)

Yet she still keeps that note with her tools, putting it aside this time, too, without an intention to throw it away. And that’s when she remembers how they grew up together in that very room—the more they aged, the larger his automail arm became, and she had to do much more work than before. She remembers how they sat (knees touching), her hands brushing against his shoulder as she examined his arm, and how he would look very bothered about something but refused to tell her (it was her hair falling into her eyes; he didn’t dare brush it away).

How he so carefully touched her cheek, leaned down and pressed his lips to hers-

That’s all Winry allows herself to recall before the pile of things behind her collapses onto the floor in a mess, causing her to jump and sigh at her own mistake. She knows she shouldn’t have thrown everything over her shoulders without looking. She should have kept separate piles for items she will keep, or throw away…

When she changes into her pajamas that night, she hears a crinkling sound and checks her pockets to find another note in her work pants that has the most recent address and phone number of the Elrics. She idly wonders, how come they left a number this time? because she’s only used to the occasional phone calls that inquire after her safety (and she asks him about his arm, of course, that is her duty and pride as a mechanic).

So when she picks up the phone to dial first, there’s something else on her mind this time: a question to ask, a voice to gauge, and words to hear.

.

Edward doesn’t remember the details of what happened, but he remembers feeling like the biggest idiot in the entire world, having looked into her face and seeing her surprised expression. Is he supposed to confess in words first? But then he won’t ever get to kiss her because he has no chance with her. Or does he?

(He tells himself that he understands, that he has made her cry too many times to deserve her. She will be with a gentleman who will help her with every need. The imaginary, future husband of hers will make her laugh as heartily as ever, so that she can shed tears of happiness.

He is neither a perfect gentleman, nor can he recall the last time she has not worried herself sick over him and Al.)

The brothers are staying at a two story apartment, narrow but still roomy enough for the both of them. The kitchen is empty of utensils and the trashcans are only full of papers and bags (because unsurprisingly, they take to eating out all the time). There’s a house phone downstairs and the radio sits upstairs in between their rooms, out in the corridor. They leave their room doors open throughout the night, but they lock their small, feeble windows that rattle against the winds.

“There’s a call, brother,” says Al, peeking out from the corner of the room’s entrance. The older boy looks up, folding the newspaper. “It’s for you.” Alphonse shrugs playfully when a suspicious look is shot his way.

“Thanks.” Ed gets up and descends the stairs, watching the city lights dim with every step he takes.

.

Winry blinks when he answers the call so quickly. “It’s me, Ed.”

Oh, hey. (She notices how he doesn’t say, “I thought it was an emergency call,” “You woke me up,” or “Don’t worry, we’re fine.”)

“Well, your voice tells me you’re okay. That’s good.”

Yeah. You, too. A pause. Nothing’s wrong, right?

“Nothing,” she replies. “But it’s been a long time since I called, hasn’t it?”

I don’t usually leave the number of the place-

“Why do you do that?” she asks, now lying on the bed and staring at the smoothness of the ceiling.

.

“…What?” says Ed hastily, his grip on the phone tightening a little.

There are frequent checkups to be made, you know. Calling me only when your arm’s broken really puts me in a bind.

He gives a small sigh. “You worry too much. Things have been fine until now.”

There’s a ringing laughter on her end. As you always say.

After a moment, she asks, Will you take the train again when you come home?

There’s a silence and he swallows, blinking and trying to force his face into a calm expression, as if she were there and can see right through him. “How else will I get home?” he tries casually, but grimaces and shuts his eyes irritably when the words come out strained.

I was just wondering, that’s all.

He thinks he hears a ghost of a smile in her voice, but wonders if that’s his imagination, telling him something he shouldn’t believe, something that he shouldn’t be granted.

.

Edward takes the time to look around more carefully when he gets off the train next. The station is familiar and smells of home (and so does she, of hay in the breeze and the one true place he can call home now). A part of him can hardly believe he’s back again, and another part is glad for his whole being that he’s here again in one piece, alive and able.

Among the crowd, he spots her running toward him- or attempting to, at least, by squeezing past the people to get to him. She puts up an arm and waves; he waves back, uncertain, hopeful.

She approaches him in slow steps when she’s near, her arms behind her back and leaning forward a little in front of him.

“Welcome back.”

Then she takes his hand gently, pulling him out of the station and onto a familiar street.

.

By the time they reach the house, he can already notice the differences.

(The living room is wide and warm, the glass doors letting in a red sunset. The kitchen still has six sets of utensils, the pots and pans neatly organized into the cabinets above and below. There are photo frames scattered about the house, each one filled with a smile, an accomplishment. This is the Rockbell house, a place he has called home for nearly two decades.)

Winry quickly walks over to draw the blinds against the bright sunset. “Al is still with the research team?”

He blinks and fixes his attention on her, away from the sunset’s colors seeping into the neighborhood outside. “He is. He should be back in a week or two, though.”

“That’s good news! I haven’t seen him in so long…”

“I know. He misses you, too.”

She strolls over, an apron already in place over her outfit and handing him another. “Here. You’re helping me again.”

She holds back a laugh as his face scrunches up into a grouchy, but subdued expression. “You’re just going to make fun of me. I’ll mess up in no time, and then-”

“Maybe,” she says, lightly tapping his nose with her thumb. “But we have a lot to talk about, so we might as well start now.”

He grumbles, throwing on the apron in the most careless way he can manage and following her further into the kitchen. The sound of talking grows louder and echoes in the walls as Winry pulls out the first ingredient: milk.

.

This is where it all started, for you and me.

[Countshire] And the days you will have to mend are never enough

2009-07-10T09:51:19Z

I finally finished it. BBL BAAWW-ING IN A CORNER.

And the days you will have to mend are never enough
Countshire | the Liras, Adèle, Laurent | PG-13 | 1496 words
8YL AU, Dan’s passing.

“Dan.”

An 18.5mm bullet through his heart. But Lucas didn’t need to know that, not now. It was for the better he never found out, but Dan knew it would eventually be revealed, written on cold, white paper and read out as an official report.

“Dan. Dan.” He kept saying, his eyes bluer than Danilo could ever remember. He ran a hand through his younger sibling’s hair, ruffling it, a habit of his since childhood. Lucas’s gaze didn’t change: it seemed transfixed, unmoving.

Davi lay some distance across, his skull shattered from when Dan’s telekinesis impact finally overpowered his. Both of them had been beat, brought down by that one piece of family history that they did not share. Two sides to the same story never worked out well. The orphan had brought up his gun and shot his enemy in the heart, just as his own head began to crack against the corner of the fireplace. I would not be able to face Mother without taking you down with me, he had managed to say with his last breath. Dan coughed, blood traveling up his throat. How was it that they had lived so different lives? Were they so different in the first place, sharing the blood of a same father?

“Please,” Lucas was pleading now, “please. Live.” His hand shook as it held onto his older brother’s hand, stained with red. “Stay.”

Dan tried his best to smile, catching his failing heartbeats in his other hand. “I couldn’t keep our promise. I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you safely.”

Lucas shook his head fervently, still holding on, holding onto anything if it meant his brother would live again. “Stay. Stay.”

“I wish I could,” Dan replied, as Matheus burst through the door.

(“I’m- I need to head back.” Lucas looked back and forth between his siblings and at Adele, who stood holding her smallest child in her arms.

“What?” asked Matheus, breaking out of his reverie. It was his newfound habit, discovered in the past few hours, to go back in time when everything was all right, when his family wasn’t falling apart, when his oldest brother wasn’t in danger.

“Just to check. I just need to know if he’s out of the house yet, because-” Lucas paused there. Because Davi could kill him.

Adèle’s concerned frown deepened as she closed her eyes and Diego nodded. Matheus continued to sit, dazed, waiting for some minutes before dashing off to where his little brother had gone.)

.

Amanda was the last one to hear the news. She woke in the hospital bed to an air of sadness, an atmosphere choked with lack of words. She counted her siblings, her relatives, only to realize who was missing.

“Where’s Dani?” she asked, her voice rippling through the quiet room. “Where is he?” She struggled to sit up and not even Lucas stopped her from doing so, his eyes empty and his hands at his sides, still unwashed of blood.

“Tell me where he is!”

“Not here,” Diego told her. “He’s not here.”

She scoffed, though tears welled in her eyes. “What are you talking about? He was right there-” she pointed, recalling when he had stood in front of her to protect her before she collapsed. “Right here- he was right here.”

Soon, she buried her face in her hands. Adèle touched her shoulder briefly before walking outside with the sleeping baby as Amanda’s cries started anew.

“Bring him back!” She shouted. “Bring him back here...”

.

Diego did not smile at Dan’s funeral—neither to the comforting words of guests, nor to the coffin that carried his twin brother. He gazed at the peaceful, sleeping face that almost didn’t look like the Danilo Lira he knew and trusted.

This isn’t you, is it? Get up. Greet us. We’re here for you.

The rose he threw in fell limply against the glass surface of the coffin, any comforting words the guests may have said fading into nothing in his heart as he watched his brother go.

Say something. I’m talking to you.

He would have to attend the magician gatherings as the sole head of the Liras, watching the rest of the households giving a moment of silence to someone they didn’t understand. Hear praises and compliments that weren’t voiced in Dan’s lifetime, much less, far too less than he ever deserved just by being a supportive sibling, Diego’s other half.

He would have to fly out tomorrow to a business meeting, pretending as though he was professional enough to get himself back in gear. Who he would complain to, who he would tell the ridiculous stories that occurred behind corporate buildings, Diego didn’t know.

I miss you, brother. I really do.

.

Fucking useless.

Matheus sat in the middle of the kitchen, huddled against the refrigerator and hugging tightly onto his cookbook. The last page he had looked at was a chocolate chiffon cake. The ingredients were there, everything was ready to treat his nephew and niece to one of the most delicious desserts he had encountered as a cook.

You’re spoiling them more than I am with all that food, Dan had said.

And you couldn’t fucking save him.

You ran and did nothing. Nothing useful. Nothing helpful. He took off his beanie and held it in his hands until it began to rip, the old threads unwilling to stay put.

You didn’t even wear the hat he bought you back then.

Matheus let out a loud cry, throwing the beanie and cookbook across the floor. He let his head fall between his knees, trying not to notice how empty the house felt, trying not to imagine his brother walking in and finding him in bits and pieces crying, the words dying in his throat.

How Dan would tell him with such conviction in his eyes that no, little brother, you’re not a failure. You never were and you won’t be. I believe in you.

“Come back,” Matty whispered, between sobs and wails, “so I can thank you.”

“Please come back.”

.

Adèle started to empty Dan’s closet.

It was three days after the funeral when she began to sort through his items. What could you do when someone was gone? You couldn’t linger forever. You needed to move on, go on with life and try not to look back.

Or that’s what she told herself, anyway, as photos of them in university mysteriously surfaced from boxes, hidden and kept away for all these years in the house. All the silly ones that he had taken of her, he had saved, marking each and every one with comments in his rather poor penmanship. Smile! One of them read. Best morning face, said another. Beautiful in sunlight. She let out a breath and quickly looked away, her hand shaking slightly as she placed the photos back where they belonged.

The sudden, light knock on the bedroom door startled her. “Yes?” She called, her voice sounding raspy and hoarse from hours of silence. To much of her surprise, it was Laurent who entered, gesturing back in the direction of the main gate.

“Oh- hi.”

“The house gates were open.” He swiftly glanced around the room. “What are you doing?”

“I’m cleaning. The kids are still asleep.” She tried not to think about the children—her son, too lost to even cry properly, and her daughter, too young to ever have known her father.

Laurent’s mouth curled into a frown. “Adèle. You don’t have to try so hard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her hands reached for Dan’s shirts next, her body mindlessly going ahead to take them out one by one. She didn’t know how she was going to throw them away. A few of them, he had never worn, the purchases from last week still folded neatly with their attached price tags.

“It’s okay to cry,” said her friend and rival of many years.

She paused, her eyes glancing over the shirt that their son had sloppily painted for them in his art class. My family, the green paint read, the attempted drawings of parents and sister clearly visible. Adèle remembered Dan complimenting their son that day, for trying to depict them as accurately as possible with a brush in his four-year-old hand.

Trying. What was trying?

“Hey,” Laurent called, walking over and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Adèle.”

“Is it?” She said, turning. Is it really okay to cry?

Adèle knew she couldn’t count her tears. She also knew, that for the first time in more than a decade, she would continue to wake in his nonexistence.

.

He tried to hear the voices swimming around him, see clearly through his suddenly darker vision. There were no flashbacks of his life in front of his eyes. There was only the sight of blood, a shattered family history and two of his siblings, shaking him, talking to him, urging him to stay awake.

But he wasn’t going to make it, after all. You couldn’t do it, he told himself. You couldn’t save your own life.

But at least everyone else is safe.

Dan gave his two younger brothers a last smile and squeezed Lucas’s hand with his as hard as he could before letting go.

At least they will remember you.

[Countshire] I'm your villain (1/?)

2009-06-08T08:02:44Z

I'm your villain (1/?)
Countshire | The Four Constellations | PG-13 | 898 words
In which Junbao, Taiwei, Lingling and Yujie are in a noir AU setting.

For introductory purposes: Junbao is a hitman, Taiwei is intelligence, Lingling is an infiltrator and Yujie is an informant.
Also, title is courtesy of Franz Ferdinand's song of the same name!

“Che. The place is empty.”

Junbao kicked around the remains of the store with his feet, cursing when the dust flew onto his new pair of Antonio Zengaras. He reached for his tie and loosened it in a frustrated manner. They had a deal. When you made a deal, you didn’t break it. You just didn’t snap it in half and run away like scoundrels. Fucking bastards. They’re paying for this.

He abruptly turned to face his men, a frown evident in his red eyes and on his mouth that held a newly lit cigarette. Taking his smoke between his fingers, he was about to bark out an order when he heard a gunshot—a rapid, exploding sound of zero mercy from a .22 caliber.

The bullet traveled straight through the window and into the heart of one of his subordinates, who now fell with a dying thump on the ground. (The guy didn’t even have the time to close his eyes. Junbao mumbled out a “huh,” his expression one of slight pity.) The others immediately took shelter behind the broken counters, but he stood still with his hands at his sides, as calm as a predator while strangers’ steps approached the door.

The steel legs of the chairs atop the tables began to turn, squirming, shaking, gathering. His skinny, slouching frame leaned against the old, musty cash register as the heels of his new shoes ground the equally fresh cigarette under them: a sign of his clear displeasure and an impending misfortune.

He cracked his knuckles before receiving the handguns from one of his men, who gave his very own treasured pistols to Junbao without a second thought. “Good,” Junbao mumbled, “at least someone has his goddamn head in a right place around here.”

The doors to the shop opened with a click. He craned his neck and fired.

.

The jazz music welcomed her ears as she entered the bar, slow and soothing unlike her daily routine that consisted of smooth-talking criminals and playing coy. Infiltration was a tiresome business, as was making deals while holding the contractor at gunpoint. So she liked to take it easy once a while, dressing in her whimsy favorite outfit that seemed to change every other week. (Tonight, it was a shimmering halter golden dress that wrapped around her figure, stopping at a good five inches above her knees. She nodded briefly at the men who greeted her with grins on their faces because they were all the same: fun to play with, but you could give a penny for a dozen of them and they’d still act the same, think no different.)

Soon, Lingling settled for a seat at the bartender’s counter, growing tired of exchanging small smiles with strangers that could become her enemies. She called for a cocktail as she put her purse aside and offered a crisp, solid bill across the counter when she received her drink, waving off the large tip.

It wasn’t the taste of the drink in her small cup, or the way nearly everyone in the bar seemed to be paying attention to her, but a familiar figure surrounded by a group of men that she spotted out of the corner of her eye that made Lingling turn.

“Who knew, Lingling Jin?” the voice called, and she grimaced at seeing the sight of the other woman walking toward her. Lingling quickly turned her head away in a slight huff, resisting the urge to leave the bar entirely.

On the other hand, Yujie appeared quite calm, wearing an expression between a grin and a chuckle as she slid onto a seat next to Lingling. Her deep purple dress caught the light in the same way it would on stage, gracing her with an air of supremacy, a performer’s aura that outshined many. “I’m here to sing tonight. You’ll stay, right?”

Lingling took a casual sip of her drink. “Maybe. I can’t stay out that late.” A lie—she had told Taiwei that she would be returning later than midnight.

“Oh, come! I’ve seen you later than that.”

The tiniest hint of a frown refused to leave Lingling’s face. “I’ll try.”

Yujie smiled back. “Of course.”

.

Taiwei returned to his office in the house at 11P.M. sharp, nodding at the men who waited on him. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and left it on the coat hanger before taking a seat, pressing the button on the answering machine.

Motherfuckers… they got us good and ran away clean, Junbao’s voice piped from the call. I’m going to get these bastards. And pick up your damn calls.

[Beep]

Lingling left after my first song, Yujie said. There was a hint of amusement in her voice, but Taiwei dismissed that as nothing new. I was a bit bummed out. Let her know I want to see her again sometime. Oh, and take care of yourself, can’t forget that.

[Beep]

He clicked the button to stop the machine from reciting any more messages and took a sip of the coffee that had arrived at his desk five minutes ago. He glanced to the left and unlocked a drawer, searching through the files of contracts they had made with outsiders. Taiwei meticulously picked a folder out of the bunch, labeled and dated 07.07.07.

A triple seven, their lucky day to have scored a smuggling deal of all things, Junbao had said. ‘Just fucking lucky.’

They would have to prove cruel lady luck wrong, Taiwei guessed, as he heard Lingling’s recognizable footsteps coming from the corridor.

[Katekyo Hitman Reborn!] Bearblasting! (Namimori Police)

2009-02-17T09:13:16Z

Bearblasting! Or why wildlife is afraid of Namimori Police Station
Katekyo Hitman Reborn! | Tsuna and the gang | PG-13 FOR EXTREME BEAR FIGHTING no I kid, G | 556 words
Part of the cops AU. The sport of bearblasting credited to Powerthirst 2.

Sasagawa Ryohei had a habit of announcing himself loudly, Tsuna soon realized, as he burst through the door on a bright Thursday afternoon during their lunch break.

“I have found an EXTREME sport!” He exclaimed, the doorknob now creaking in his hand. “It is called: BEARBLASTING!”

Gokudera grunted and put out his cigarette with the sole of his shoe as Yamamoto threw an arm around his shoulder, laughing. “Tell us more about it!”

“A video told me about it!” Ryohei continued, pumping his fist. “I thought going alone was a shame, so I arrived to invite you guys!”

“Ah,” said Tsuna, his voice sounding even smaller than usual, “w-what would we be doing...?”

“Defeating bears in EXTREME fashion!”

“T-that’s…”

“Hey, Chief Hibari,” Yamamoto called, fearless and smiling as always, “want to join us?”

Tsuna could feel the cold stare from the other end of the room and curled up a little. What were they thinking?!

“No. Fighting with herbivores is a waste of my time.” He turned to face them once more by the door. “If you mingle in front of me again, I will bite you all to death.”

“HIIII…!”

“Hahaha, I guess that means he doesn’t want to go!”

“Come on!” Ryohei urged, now starting to physically drag each and every one of them out of the room. “You’re all done eating, aren’t you!”

“I gotta smoke my last cig, damnit!”

“I finished eating three minutes ago!”

“I… am really not sure if this is legal or not…”

(They did not get back until a minute and twenty eight seconds after their lunch break ended. They spent the large portion of the rest of the afternoon dodging the cutting winds that flew from their Chief’s tonfas and occasional gunshots from his personal subordinates.

“That was a fun game,” concluded Yamamoto, as he ducked once more to escape his Chief’s wrath.)

.

The sun had just begun to set when Hibari walked over with an extra set of papers and slammed them down on Tsuna’s desk.

“Leftover work. Finish it.”

Tsuna nodded quickly and watched the Chief disappear, his coat slung over his shoulder. “I- I guess he’s leaving early today.”

Gokudera drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair. “A good example of a Chief he is,” he muttered.

“Should we have asked him why…?” Tsuna’s body jerked forward when Ryohei punched his shoulder playfully.

“He likely had EXTREME personal business to take care of! Right?” He called to Yamamoto, who grinned back.

“R- right…”

Gokudera lit another cigarette. “You’re all idiots.”

.

“Wow, look at this!”

“Eh?” Tsuna was hurriedly pulled aside by Yamamoto the next morning as soon as he checked into the station. He slowly read, and comprehended the newspaper article’s title and began to follow along as the taller policeman read the first paragraph out loud.

“There suddenly have been a dramatic decrease in the number of wild bears in Namimori City as of the monthly count finalized yesterday…”

Tsuna blinked. “This is a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Someone else must’ve tried it. That guy was probably really strong. Even Ryohei had trouble fighting off wild bears.”

“If you’re done going on about that,” Gokudera chimed in, slapping his roll of papers on his desk, “we got work to do.”

Hibari sat at his desk, again on the other side of the room (where he always appeared to be, apart from the rest of the men), nonchalantly handing his tonfas over to a subordinate. “Fix the dents or get me a new pair.”

[Countshire]

2009-02-13T22:54:15Z

Backdated to end of January, 2009

Countshire | Nerissa, Bailey | G | 360 words
For the prompt: Nerissa+Bailey, garden/whispering/plum

There were once days when Persephone gardened, when not every flower reminded her of the bouquets that her husband used to bring her. During those days, she especially cared for the hyacinths, with all their varying shades of lavender and plum. She woke earlier than most other members of the Pantheon to water them in the morning.

It wasn’t long until a certain member of the Pantheon discovered this habit of hers. One day, she walked into the gardens to find him there, poking the plants and looking bored. She didn’t take a step back like she would have in the present day, because she knew too little then. Instead, she stepped forward.

“Ares?” she called.

She saw him turn his head and the next thing he knew, he was looming over her, wearing that grin of his. She had never seen him up close before. His eyes were almost a painful shade of blue.

“It’s the old man’s surprise birthday party today,” he said. She tilted her head a little. Hades had a tendency to keep her away from most of the prominent Pantheon figures, and this included Zeus. “Don’t spill it,” added Ares, leaning down to whisper into her ear. “The party’s in two hours.”

She ended up watching everyone else, sitting in a corner of the room next to her husband. Iris hovered over for a while before Zephyrus beckoned her over to the main scene again. Persephone took a flower from the vase nearby and idly plucked off a petal. Little did she know of things to come so many years from now—but all started here where everyone gathered.

Ares greeted her at the same place the morning after, pulling off a flower forcefully from the ground and sticking it in her tied up hair. She frowned a little at the way he cut off the stem; now there was an odd, empty spot in the garden where the flower used to be. He laughed at her expression and walked away, leaving her there, who held a watering can in her hands. She didn’t object, but she would learn. She would come to learn many things (rejection, betrayal, bitterness, anger) in time.

[Countshire]

2009-02-13T22:52:27Z

Backdated to end of January, 2009

Countshire | Taiwei, Junbao | PG-13 | 358 words
For the prompt: Taiwei+Junbao, river/balancing/scarlet

The blood around them is nothing new, but Taiwei grimaces at the sight of countless human corpses lying before him. Death is an unpleasant sight. He can see Junbao’s silent disagreement as he kicks over and rummages the dead bodies for any amusing artifacts. When he finds none, he slices open the dead’s throats once more.

They’re both pacted to two of the country’s most capable generals, and the humans are at war, on a conquest. The spirits themselves do not openly engage in battle; they only fight when they know their pactholders’ enemies cannot escape to tell the tale of their abilities. Guaranteed annihilation is what they are allowed to seek. (Junbao clicks his tongue at his limited freedom.) They walk back to camp where their other two companions await them, keeping a distance between themselves like they always have. Taiwei pauses at a nearby stream to wash the red stains from his hands and face. (Junbao doesn’t.)

The country’s next target is across the river, the enemy nation’s merchant town. The capital is only miles away and Taiwei can almost see the outskirts of the city as he stands in front of the rushing waters, looking from the other side. The once clear waters of the river now shows a hint of red and orange, mixed with separated limbs and lifeless bodies. He sometimes wonders what crosses the human mind as a soldier renders another like him hopeless, motionless upon the ground as his breath escapes him. It’s only when he hears Junbao’s distinct footsteps that he snaps out of his thoughts.

“Acting noble by yourself?”

Taiwei grunts as a reply and he can tell the other man is dissatisfied with the answer.

“You didn’t kill enough of those fuckers,” says the White Tiger, kicking around dirt. “I got more than you again.”

Battles disrupt balance. There are those who cheat death and those who sacrifice life. But he has seen countless wars in his time as a spirit and witnessed for himself how civilization bloomed again, only to destroy itself over and over. He’s starting to see the pointlessness, only now.

“Not enough directed their killing intent at me.”

“You’re just scared shitless.”

[Countshire]

2009-02-13T22:50:36Z

Backdated to end of January, 2009

Countshire | Bastien, Nerissa | G | 437 words
For the prompt: Hades/Persephone, umbrella

Persephone sighed as she walked out of the music department building, worriedly eyeing the rain. She glanced backward, the cello put in its case and safely strapped onto her small back. She pulled up the hoodie attached to her jacket to secure her head, at least. She could only hope that the expensive case she had purchased was waterproof.

She strolled at a normal pace, not bothering to run like the other students did around her. Something about the rain was soothing, even if it did ruin her outfit. So when she felt someone tug at her cello case to drag her under a dark blue umbrella, it was only natural for her to look up, and then away.

She tried to march off, but to no avail. Hades kept a hand on the case on her back. “Let go,” she muttered, her hands not moving from inside her coat pockets. “Let go,” she said again, more loudly, when he didn’t listen.

“I don’t want someone who was my wife walking around in the rain with light-colored clothes on,” he said. He chastised himself for being a terrible actor once more, but what could he do? He didn’t want anyone looking at her that way when she was wearing a white blouse, in the rain, of all things… even if it meant watching her walk alone, with no one else to offer her an umbrella. He hated his own selfishness.

Persephone jerked away from him, a frown overtaking her face. “Why do you care?” She spat, trying to think of anything but the word was. She was his wife. He was in love with her.

He said nothing and grabbed her wrist, trying to drag her to Eir, but finally turned to look at her when she pulled away so quickly. Her head was down and her hand—her hands, they were slightly shaking. (They were fragile, but alive.)

“Stop.”

His gaze faltered. He squared his shoulders, nonetheless, and kept his tone cold. “It’s only courtesy, sad Persephone, to—”

She bit her lip so hard she thought it bled. “If you were so glad to walk out of my life, then stay out.”

His grip around the handle of the umbrella tightened and so did his lips. She didn’t know. She couldn’t ever know. He shoved the umbrella into her hand and walked off to his dorm before he could see her cry (before he could see how hurt she really was by the decision he had made).

Persephone stood alone, fighting herself. She fought the incoming tears. So he leaves me again. And so I see his back again, moving farther and farther away from me.

[Countshire]

2009-02-13T22:47:03Z

Backdated to end of January, 2009

Countshire | Dan, Adèle | PG | 360 words
For the prompt: Dan/Adèle, kisses

It is the late afternoon of his birthday when he kisses her on his bed.

(She sits there looking through her phone for missed calls right after finishing a slice of cake that Matheus had made for Dan just a few hours ago. Her eyes narrow a little at seeing her brother’s name on the recent calls list. He called me this morning, she thinks, and decides to call him back later when she feels the dip in the bed. She turns and suddenly his lips are on hers. She blinks and drops the phone on the carpet. It’s a good thing she didn’t hit the green call button.)

He pulls away after a while, letting her catch a breath or two. She blinks at him and before she knows it he’s kissing her again, smiling against her mouth. Her eyes end up closing and her hands shakily hold onto his shirt. I’m still not used to it, I’m still not—

Adèle lets out a squeak when they stumble fully onto the bed with her back against the sheets. She slaps Dan’s shoulder as if to say, what are you doing?! and takes in a sharp breath when his fingers slip under her shirt to touch her bare stomach. It’s when she lands a good punch on the same shoulder of his that he breaks the second kiss, laughing and still not letting her go.

“Where’s my present?” he says, playfully brushing his nose against hers.

“Uh…” It takes a while for her to speak. “I left it in your brother’s room… across the hall, when- I met up with your siblings to… bring over the cake to your r-room.”

“Hmm.” Dan tilts his head and she frowns a little when his blonde hair tickles her face. She makes a move to knee him in the stomach—well, as gently as she can—and he rolls off the bed, still wearing his grin.

She sits up quickly and walks to the door before he can say another word. “I- I’m going to go get it. Right now. Yeah.”

He waves her off with a smile. One day, she thinks, she will be the one to take him aback. ...One day.

[Countshire]

2009-02-13T22:44:30Z

Backdated to mid-January, 2009

Countshire | Taiwei, Adam, Rhea | G | 306 words
For the prompt: Taiwei+Adam+Rhea, Loki court/Watching/Yellow

The three of them were curled up in a sofa with Adam in the middle, his hands gripping onto the blanket on his knees as the heroine flew though the window. Her blonde hair blew dramatically in the wind and Taiwei had to resist the urge to snort. As far as he knew, fights didn’t work like that.

Rhea, on the other hand, kept eating the popcorn, her hands sticky with butter. She attempted to wipe them on a napkin and frowned at the residue of oil left on her fingers, then proceeded to nearly jump out of her seat when Adam grabbed her shoulder and shouted, “SHE CAN’T DIEEEE, RHE-RHE!”

She hurriedly reached out for the DVD remote to pause the movie. “I don’t think she will.”

“BUT SHE JUST CRASHED THROUGH A WINDOW!”

“That will earn her cuts, and some bruises when she falls down,” spat Taiwei. He stood up and managed to walk three steps before Adam addressed him.

“Where are you going? The movie is JUST GETTING GOOD, WEI-WEI!”

Taiwei silently gestured to the water bottle that he had picked up, now in his hand. Rhea eyed him a little warily as he sat back down with her and Adam before playing the movie again, this time letting out a meep as Adam threw an arm around her. She glanced at the other side of the sofa, only to see a rather disgruntled Taiwei, wrapped in a hug as well.

“There’s no need for this,” said Taiwei, jerking his chin toward the arm around his shoulders, “when we’re watching that,” and now to the TV screen, where the main character fought off her enemies.

“MARTHAAA!” Adam called as the heroine barely survived the battle with injuries to boot, ignoring Taiwei’s complaint altogether.

Rhea made a mental note to take Taiwei along, too, the next time Adam and she went to Blockbuster.

[Countshire]

2009-02-13T22:42:21Z

Backdated to mid-January, 2009

Countshire | Zander, Junbao | PG-13 | 299 words
For prompt: Zander+Junbao, rooftop/smoking/orange

“If she bothers you that much, then don’t talk to her,” said Zander, lighting the spirit’s cigarette. He eyed Junbao with a raised eyebrow. The other guy looked like he was going to break down at any moment these days, ever since that strange blonde chick came. Naoko’s pactholder and Junbao’s somewhat lover, but that was all Zander managed to find out.

“Shut the fuck up. You just don’t get it.” Junbao exhaled, letting a puff of smoke travel casually across the air. They sat on Zander’s rooftop—something that his parents hated, but a conversation like this couldn’t really be held anywhere else, or so he thought.

“It’s stupid to torture yourself,” Zander continued regardless, “and it looks like that’s what you’re doing right now.”

Junbao muttered something before smacking Zander’s shoulder roughly.

“…What?”

“You don’t understand, fuck. I already told you.”

Some time passed and they exchanged no words. What am I supposed to say anyway? thought Zander. It was strange to think someone, uh well, a spirit, rather, could have hurt Tiger so much. The half a decade he spent with his pactholder, he hadn’t seen a side of him like this. No, not ever before.

Junbao flicked the cigarette on the roof and put it out with his shoe. That was also something Zander’s parents disapproved of—Zander opened his mouth to protest, but stopped just in time and looked up at Junbao, who was now standing.

“Let’s take a road trip.”

“What?”

The color of the sunset glowed in his eyes. “Just the start of spring break. We got time.”

“…Where—”

“I’ll tell you where to go,” said Junbao, his tone playful, but not a hint of a joke remained in his glance as he looked at his pactholder.

Zander sighed. “Getting off the roof is a start.”

A hand slapped the Korean boy’s back. “Don’t complain, fucker.”

[Countshire]

2009-02-13T22:37:53Z

Backdated to November 8, 2008

Countshire | Danilo, Lucas | PG | 236 words
8YL AU, before the Davi vs. Dan showdown, when the Liras realize they're in danger.

“Lucas.”

His hand gripped his older brother’s arm, his eyes filled with worry and desperation. Please don’t get hurt, Dan, not any more. He watched as one of Dan’s shoulders bled, the color of red soaking his sleeve.

“Lucas, listen to me.”

He nodded, his gaze unwavering and fixed on his sibling’s face, though his body shook every now and then with shock and silent fury.

“Take them and run.” My wife. My kids. “For me.” The oldest Lira said, patting his younger brother on his head.

“What about you, Dan?”

“I’ll be fine.”

But that’s what you always say. “Will you promise to catch up soon?”

He gave a smile—the same smile Lucas had seen when he was six years old and fell over while trying to ride a bike. It’s okay, the eight-year-old Dan had told him, with Diego standing on the side, both of them grinning. You’ll be fine, Lucas. He had then taken his older brother’s hand to stand up, feeling stronger, a sense of security forming in his young, little heart.

Dan gently put a hand to Lucas’s eyes. “No crying,” he said, “and no fortunetelling.” (He saw Dan smiling still, through the space between the older man’s fingers.)

“I understand.”

There was no spoken promise, but Lucas believed (through his childish tears, he told himself) that Dan would join them again, that he would come back unscathed and alive.

He didn’t need to predict it. He knew this part of the future.

[Fullmetal Alchemist] When you thought I'd never

2009-02-13T09:07:03Z

When you thought I’d never
Fullmetal Alchemist | Edward, Winry | G | 529 words
Sleeping and letter-writing: something new.

“She’s asleep?”

Edward has never heard of such a thing, because she’s always up and about when he gets back. She might look tired, exhausted, or even a bit sick, but she has never listened even if he tells her to rest.

(She just says, “What is it this time?” in a worried tone, inspecting him to make sure he has no wounds, or hitting him and Al over the head with something—whichever comes first.)

“She’s sleeping?” He asks again, only to have Granny Pinako smack him on the shoulder. Her hand is sharp, built with discipline and an aged mother’s love.

“Winry can’t wait on you all the time,” the little lady says.

“Grandma’s extra cranky today, isn’t she?” whispers Al. The brothers silently watch as Pinako huffs and walks into the kitchen to oversee the boiling soup.

.

Winry wakes up to an apology the morning after—an unexpected one, she thinks, because Ed is drinking milk. He is doing so with a frown, but he’s drinking the one putrid liquid that he swore not to let touch his mouth.

“You’re feeling bad about something, aren’t you?” she asks him in a half-asleep state, eyes blinking, hands attempting to tie her hair into a neatly brushed ponytail. She catches him off guard and he coughs suddenly, violently, until she is by his side and gently patting his back.

She takes away the cup of milk and hands him water instead, getting a napkin to wipe at his mouth before he sputters and shoves her hand away to do so himself. Among all this, he sees it. He knows—

He can’t remember a time when she wasn’t by his side.

He grunts when she, now wide awake, points to his face. “Be careful, Ed!” she says, his name on her lips an all too familiar sound.

.

She sits next to him as the sun sets. He glances to his left at the sound of grass moving; she hands him a stack of papers—leftover ones from the workroom.

“What are these for?” he asks, looking them over. (He always uses his good hand to receive anything she gives him. He tells himself it’s an unconscious habit.)

She sighs a little and puts her chin in her hands, her elbows meeting her knees. “You never write to me.”

And he thinks, what is there to tell her?

“You’re not going to bore me,” she adds, “so write. Please?” She looks at him fully through the sundown, her hand shielding her eyes, her gaze hopeful.

.

Al stares at the other side of the room where Ed sits at a desk, desperately scribbling and scratching out what looks like papers.

“What are you up to, brother?” he tries asking, but all he hears back are frustrated noises of complaint. “Brother?” asks Al, trying again.

“…Damn it. How do you end a letter (like this)?”

.

~~Dear Winry,~~ Hey.

We’re doing fine. Got us an okay room to stay at. We need to do some more research, so we’re heading off to find any texts or people who know about… more things.

My arm and leg are working well, too, so don’t worry about it.

~~Sincerely~~ ~~Truly~~ Ed.

PS: don’t write back. We might move again soon.

An afterthought:

PPS: don’t fall asleep in the workroom, stupid. It’s cold.

[Honey and Clover] Counting dawns

2008-12-24T21:48:07Z

Counting dawns
Honey and Clover | Nomiya, Ayumi | PG | 886 words
Their fourth morning, four years later. (Written to Death Cab for Cutie’s “Cath…”)

Her voice is the same.

(She’s the kind of girl who calls you three years after she sees you. I don’t know where you live, she says over the phone, without saying anymore. You wonder why your number has stayed the same and try to think if you were somehow expecting her to tell you something else other than I’m getting engaged, Nomiya-san. But you’re not sure what.)

Her voice is still the same (you can hear her heart inside it).

.

He agrees to attend the engagement party, but hangs up only to realize that he has nothing to bring.

Money, he thinks, is way too tacky for such an occasion. It isn’t as if she’s getting married; and even then, such a gift is a stretch in his mind.

He lights a cigarette and opens a window. Flowers? But would that remind her of the times when he gave them to her from time to time? He still remembered the flower shop owner’s distant frown as he walked in each time with a smoke in his hand. He would laugh, put it out under the sole of his shoe, and then ask for a bouquet of tulips. Lilies were good, too, but never roses.

Red roses. Nomiya contemplates for a moment, before letting out a barely audible chuckle and shaking his head once. He isn’t fifteen. He’s neither eighteen nor twenty. He has no right to act so young.

He wonders if anything would have changed had he given her red roses, until his shoe puts out the cigarette that grows smaller and smaller in his hand.

He tries to stop himself from wishing for a turn back in time.

.

She was nothing like you imagined. She was not delicate (on the outside, at least). She appeared strong, happy, and you enjoyed seeing her smiles.

Then you saw her as if she were a crying child. You were witness to her broken mornings.

All you allow yourself to recall now is this: you wanted to save her.

.

He doesn’t drive; instead, he takes a taxi to get there and allows himself to get a bit of sleep on the way. He wears a dress shirt, suit jacket and slacks with his tie draped over his knees. Nomiya figures he will wear it there.

He’s not sure why this trip feels like the last one he’ll ever be on, on his way to her.

.

The whole ceremony is a blur. She looks as though she’s in a borrowed dress that does not quite fit her, and he sees her shift uncomfortably as the other man places a hand on her shoulder. They exchange rings. His tie feels tighter around his throat.

Mayama is there, too, watching with eyes that are almost like a brother’s.

“How’s Rika-san?”

“She’s in France,” Mayama replies. “I’m flying out tonight. To Lyon, that is.”

Nomiya habitually reaches for another cigarette in his pocket. “Oh. Not Paris?”

“Not this time.” Mayama watches him for a while. “…Nomiya-san.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to see you’re doing well.”

His hand stops from pulling out a smoke. He manages a smile. “You, too.”

The one time he catches her glance, he nods and closes his eyes long enough to make her look away. He leaves early without leaving anything behind.

.

“N- Nomiya! You’re leaving Japan?!”

He nonchalantly throws his clothes in a suitcase. “It’s only for a bit.”

“When are you- how are you getting back?” asks Yamazaki.

“I’m flying back, of course,” he answers, grinning at his roommate. “I won’t be gone long.”

His friend hesitates.

“What?”

“It’s not because of Yamada-san, is it?”

He gives a small laugh. “That was years ago, Yamazaki.”

The suitcase is heavier than he thought and he has some trouble hauling it through the apartment. He hands his last pack of cigarettes to Yamazaki as a sign that he’ll come back soon.

.

Nomiya does not come back for half a year. He stays in America and gets a temporary job at an architecture division of a rather large company nearby. His team is full of Japanese workers, thankfully. He is content, or so he tells himself. He does not wonder what her wedding dress will look like.

I’m sorry, she says over the phone.

He blinks. “For what?”

I didn’t know you were out of the country.

She’s crying on the other end. He can tell. “It’s fine,” he says. “I only told Yamazaki I left.”

Yes, I heard.

She doesn’t have the heart to ask him to return. He can see that, too.

He opens his closet and eyes all that he brought from home. “It takes me about half a day to get there.”

Okay. Her voice is small and hesitant, but it is still the same.

“I’ll call you when I arrive.”

.

She says she doesn’t know what she was thinking when she wore that ring. She apologizes without a reason and cries into his pillow as he sits on the edge of the bed, holding in his hands a cup of tea that he made for her. The tea grows cold quickly and he sets it down on the nightstand, settling for patting her head instead.

“I’m sorry,” Ayumi says once more, an eleventh apology.

For once, he doesn’t know how to answer her. He lets her say what she wants.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that this will be their quiet, distant fourth morning. Perhaps there will be more, and he is okay with that, too.

.

Maybe you’ll say, one day, that you did save her.

[Honey and Clover] Art of seconds

2008-08-22T20:45:05Z

Art of seconds
Honey and Clover | Nomiya, Ayumi | G | 853 words
He asks her the unthinkable for the first time, but it’s their second time together, or so she thinks. (Forgive me; this was a work in progress for a while and I honestly don't know how to feel about it. AHH)

The colors on her hands, she thought, were much too common.

Ayumi gazed down at her fingers, smudged with a shade of brown, the dried chips of clay falling down like ember.

(“How about pastel?” Hagu suggested. “Do pastel colored clay exist?”

“I’m using the school’s clay for the most part.”

“Then I can help you paint them if you want,” the girl said, holding up a small bowl that Ayumi had just finished. “These will need good coating.”)

Her lips curved upwards at the brief but endearing memory, only to die down as she remembered the delayed promise. She wondered what kinds of things she needed to bring to the next hospital visit, for the weather had become harsh, and the winds, cold and empty.

“That’s not like you,” he said, suddenly at the doorway with a can of coffee in his hand.

She might have jumped in her chair just a bit, but she didn’t let it show. “What do you mean?” she said, without mouthing his name.

In return, he didn’t stroll in. He leaned against the doorframe and closed his eyes, his one hand in a coat pocket and his expression cool and almost unreadable. “You’re making pottery and you have a frown on your face.”

“You’ve seen me throw my own pottery against the wall, Nomiya-san,” she replied, perhaps a little too dryly (with a smile in her glance, nonetheless).

He gave a small sigh. She knew he was pretending—making small talk, stalling time. “All right. I’ll get to the point.” He walked over to her in long, clicking strides and offered her a can of coffee of her own.

She meticulously wiped her hands on a clean towel and accepted the drink.

.

She waited.

She waited for him to deny the words she had just heard, but when Nomiya had a face like that (his eyebrows firm, his mouth tightly closed and his eyes focused on hers), she knew she was out of luck.

“But I’m—” Something in her throat stopped her from going any further. She took a sip from the can and tried again. “I’m not—” (She couldn’t, could she?)

He sat down, clearly exasperated, his face embarrassed like a thirteen-year-old’s. He regretfully remembered that he had not felt like this since high school and that one crush he had. “Sorry,” he said, not completely understanding his own apology.

I’m not good with dates, was what she wanted to confess, but what could she do when her mouth was shut down like a clam? She shut her eyes, too, from meeting his.

“Never mind that.” He really should have brought up the pottery business first before so childishly asking her out, but what did he know? Years of playful dates without feeling was what brought him to this point, and he wished he could go back and sever each memory of every woman he had met that way.

(He wanted to erase everything before her because she made him seem and feel somewhat old and somewhat young, helpless and stupid, fulfilled and complete all at the same time.)

“No, don’t—don’t ‘never mind’ things. I know which pieces you need from me, so… can we not talk about that for a second?” (All this time you were holding back and that’s all you could say? She asked herself.)

Nomiya dropped his hands that he didn’t know were in the air and let out a breath that he was unknowingly holding in.

“You can’t do that,” she was saying, her eyes now open and wandering about, unsure and insecure and a little hopeful. “You can’t just ask me and pretend like nothing happened.”

He fumbled before managing to light a cigarette. “Then what should I do?”

.

“Yes! I scored another one, Nomiya-san!”

He watched her face bloom and another plushie land its way into her hands. She smiled (and it was like she glowed) and made her way to him, who handed her cotton candy to eat.

“This reminds me of the time when—” (She was still smiling, laughing, and he stared at her in wonder like a kid) “—you got Hagu-chan and me dolls like these. Do you remember?”

Of course he remembered. That day etched into his memory like a wooden carving, so vivid, detailed, and hard to feel—hard to recall with fondness because she was still in love with Mayama. She had asked him, when he introduced himself, how he knew her name; he had fought back the urge to say, I’ve heard him talk about you. He was not there to rekindle her first love, spread it like wildfire. Nomiya had been there to put out the light and just maybe create a new, brighter beam.

So when he smiled back, it was almost unnoticeable. “That was quite a day, wasn’t it?”

(But she knew anyway, his hideaway smiles and seemingly unchanging expressions, the way he lit his smokes when he became nervous and out of words, the way he confessed.)

She looked down, waves in her eyes. She opened her mouth—

“No, don’t tell me.” He said before she could, holding out a hand.

“What?”

“Don’t say ‘thank you.’ You’ll make me feel like an old man cheering up some kid, and that’s not the point.”

“... Okay,” she answered, because she knew that, too.

[Katekyo Hitman Reborn!] Crossing

2008-08-21T03:17:00Z

Crossing
Katekyo Hitman Reborn! | Mukuro, Chrome | PG | 659 words
She sees him outside of her mind. (A purely hypothetical situation, mind, without a detailed plan to back it up. I just kind of wrote it and let it go from there.)

Chrome wants to say that she sees him often in her dreams, but she can count on one hand the times he spoke to her in the last week.

She wonders if it’s the people, the things around her that he doesn’t like (it could be her, too; she just dismisses the thought because she can hear him laugh, and say: but how can I exist without you, dear Chrome?).

There are things in this world that she has already given up and will give up for him. She won’t give him up, though, for her sake (and his, too).

.

His voice travels like the sea and reaches ashore, his tireless, fluid Italian flowing through her mind.

She tries to follow and fails. Mukuro-sama, she calls.

Yes, my cute Chrome?

She asks him what stories he tells her in that language. (She never says she can’t understand, and he doesn’t inquire why she asks.)

I talk about the coming winter and wonder how my poor body is doing down in the cell.

Her grip on the trident tightens; he only chuckles.

Don’t get any ideas, little one. Focus on the Vongola.

.

She wishes for a world where they would not have to coexist. Such a desire has been plaguing her, her loyalty says, from being faithful to Mukuro. She has her duty, her purpose of life, and they are both his.

Are they really, now?

Yes! She insists, her eyes tightly closed and her body trembling. Still, she wishes to touch his hand that she can never hold.

.

What made you change your mind, Chrome?

We’re going to get you out of there, she declares, boldly. Chrome is six years older and no longer in a shell. And when we do, you’ll be free at last, Mukuro-sama.

His deep laugh resonates within her mind’s walls like endless echoes across mountaintops. She bites her lower lip, hard, letting it bleed—for him. She swings the trident round and round before her eyes.

.

My body will be old, dear Chrome.

She walks through the prison, directing the other Vongola followers. She is not under an illusion.

Will you be able to find it?

I will find you, she assures him. (There is blood around them all, painting their skin as though they’re animals in the wild. Mukuro would have smiled proudly if he were in front of her now, she believes.)

His body is, indeed, older when they finally locate it. His ever unchanging expression stays with him even in his seemingly eternal sleep, that half devil smile. At that moment, Chrome feels almost afraid of everything becoming a reality: her Mukuro-sama, a separate entity, drifting far away to keep her from finding him again. As they break open the cage, she pleads with the world to let her touch him, at least once.

.

The first thing he does when he regains consciousness in his own limbs and organs is to touch her hair. He pats her head, almost caressing the now long strands.

“So, I am here in the flesh,” he says, getting up without realizing that he has been out cold for weeks. His body, malnourished and uncared for years, has received the ringer’s solution for quite some time.

She is rather speechless. When she finally musters up the courage to reach out her hand—nineteen and hesitating—he takes it with his own, his eyes clearly amused (and those were his eyes).

He moves her hand to his face, his odd red eye observing her carefully and his blue eye taking in the whole room. Chrome doesn’t know whether to cry, scream, laugh, or—

“Mukuro-sama,” she manages. She breathes out, mouths his name, and voices it out loud.

He answers.

.

Chrome never dreams of him again and she tells him that in an odd tone, like a part of her has been whisked away by the clouds.

“Why, you have no need to, Chrome.” (He has dropped the little’s, dear’s and cute’s since then.)

She is silent as he takes the mist ring off his finger and slips it on hers.

“Now let me see what you can do without me.”

[Bleach] What may seem, and what is

2008-07-18T02:04:37Z

What may seem, and what is
Bleach | Urahara, Yoruichi | G | 161 words
What happens right after Turning Back the Pendulum.

“Stupid,” said she, “is what you are. Foolish.”

They sat in a poorly decorated room. The air smelled of old papers and empty boxes—hollow hearts.

“What else would I have done?” he replied with his eyes half closed and a small, bittersweet grin on his lips (not could, but would have). “You try telling me, Yoruichi-san.”

“You knew too much.”

Urahara pointed to his head. “But, if you recall, one cannot possibly unlearn what he already knows.”

Yoruichi looked away. “Including who was behind the entire scheme?”

“Well, that. That,” he answered, “of course.”

She sighed, her eyebrows furrowing into an expression of irritation. “I suppose we can make do here.”

“An exiled life—what a quirk! It will surely add something to my human world resume.”

“Kisuke.”

“It’s terribly exciting.” He abruptly stood and walked to the shoji screens, opening one to face fresh air.

“Kisuke.” (She couldn’t see his face; it bothered her.)

He turned to her, his gaze twinkling with something like oddity and lament. “So, what shall we do first?”