Meme of fail.
When you see this, post an excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y
D.Gray-man.
I end up falling asleep against a corner by the beginnings of the third day (end of the second day?), as guarded as I can possibly be. It can't be more than an hour before cold water hits me: it's freezing and I gasp, wide awake, trying to move away of it but the pressure it's too hard and I can't find any leverage with my hands chained, can barely breathe as I try to duck against the wall. The water feels like bruising and I can't do much to protect myself, and it feels as if the injuries that I got from the battle are opening again.
Just as suddenly, it's gone. I suck in a deep breath as I hear steps over the poodles, as I hear the water flowing down the drain.
Fucking Tyki Mikk in person stands above me, his uniform unwrinkled, boots having a shiny black gloss. I glare even as I grin, watching his smile as he takes off his gloves, putting them back inside his jacket.
How I wish I had my gun with me. Hell, I could do with just my hands free: I've wanted to feel this bastard's neck between my hands since that mission where he killed Suman and left Allen a bloody, fractured mess, and I find it highly amusing that my wish of five minutes with him in an empty room has come true.
You were never one to read the tiny letters, were you, God?
***
“I should've realized that something was wrong!” Miranda wailed, trying - unsuccessfully - to pull the covers higher up her face.
It was unsuccessful because Mari was sitting on her bed, and he was there because in less than a month since the last time she had been there, she was back in the infirmary. Even the knowledge that she wasn't the only one who had ended up more than exhausted wasn't much comfort: since her Innocence depended so much about her own energies and about time, she had reacted so much worse to the Komurin D than the rest of the HQ.
Which made her, a week after Bak had managed, thanks to Fou, to heal everyone, one of the few people that remained in bed. Even Crowley had been released already, even though he came to check up on her enough.
“None of us could have known about it,” Mari said, gentle as ever. Then, he amended. “Other than Komui, of course. But still.”
***
The day started far too early by Marian's standards, and it started in the worse way possible: the side of the bed empty and already cold, so he groaned.
“About time you woke up,” he heard Maria's voice, her accent stronger now that they were directly in her country. “I was about to go and ask for a bucket of water to pour on you.”
Somehow, Marian managed to open his eye, getting an eyeful of Maria's chest as she wrapped bandages around her torso, smiling smugly at the bruises and hickeys that were upon her body, following the line of her long legs and of her dark hair.
“Are you sure it's time to wake up?” Cross asked, standing up. The room they were given was small - cheap bastards - so it meant that in less than five steps he was behind Maria and, kneeling down, he moved her hair so that he could kiss her neck, watch her over the mirror. “I'm sure it's still early. We still have time to catch a bit more of sleep.”
Maria laughed, a clear, bright sound that was like bells, even as she rolled her eyes.
“Sleep is the least thing on your mind,” she answered, her lips curved upwards, finishing with the bandages. “And you only think it's early because if you could, you wouldn't wake up until noon.”
“Is there a problem with that?”
Maria laughed again, shaking her head before she stood up. Without her boots she barely reached his chin, but she still put her hands on her hips, half glaring at him.
“Go get a bath, then get dressed and then bring me coffee. Cream, no sugar. I won't say no if you decide to bring some biscotti with you”
Cross shook his head, standing up and lifting his mask, putting it on place before he reached for his uniform.
“Yes, boss.”
“You weren't complaining about me giving orders last night,” Maria called, picking up a brush.
Cross snorted. “Of course I will never complain about orders that involve things like 'more, harder, don't stop'!”
He could still hear Maria when he reached the stairs, which was a much preferred sound than the Christmas carols that seemed to be everywhere.
***
“I think,” Rabi says. “That we're kinda screwed.”
That might be the understatement of the year. Of the decade. Allen just snorts, trying not to cause anymore pain to his ribs. Or his arm. Or anywhere, actually, because most of his body is trying to win the competition of which hurts the most.
Allen breathes as slowly as he can, tries to focus on anything that it's not a) pain and b) how much trapped they are. His left hand, also aching but at least complete, brushes against something.
“Oi, no tickling,” Rabi mutters and Allen stops trying to move his hand, just keeps it pressed against Rabi's wrist. Rabi sounds as tired as Allen feels and in as much pain as he does. Allen barely dares to turn his face a little even though it's so dark that he doesn't get to see anything. “I can't kick you if you do and I'm very ticklish.”
“Can't?”
“Broke my leg. Tibia for sure, possibly the femur, too,” Rabi says. “And I'm pretty certain my shoulder is dislocated. And that motherfucker Noah punches like a son of a bitch, I think I lost a tooth.”
“Ugh, yeah.” Allen can't quite be sure if that punch is what makes his ribs hurt as if they were on fire or being thrown against a wall was. Not that it matters very much. Allen sighs. Rabi does the same.
“You?”
“My arm. Not broken, though.” Allen says, all to aware of the way his right arm is aching everywhere. “And my ribs, probably. And my head hurts.”
“It's not a concussion, is it?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
“Do you feel sleepy?”
“We fought for hours. Of course I'm sleepy.”
***
Six months of taking care of Tom and Elisa, and Rabi wonders how the hell did Bookman took care of him for almost two decades without actually drowning him. He even thinks that he'd apologize if he could because damn, do taking care of brats is exhausting. That, plus maxing his job as an Exorcist and as a Bookman, and Rabi would pretty much give his right arm and possibly his two legs for a break.
If he had to be honest to himself, it had been because of the way that Elisa had been glaring, at the way Tom had clung to her and Rabi had thought about Komui and Linali and then... well. His weaknesses had shown themselves and reared their ugly head into making him say that there were really few Bookmen, he could take them both and have Elisa learn what was going to be her job anyway.
At least being the Bookman did mean that he wasn't questioned. He knew that the old coots had probably seen right through it, but that was the good thing about being the boss of people older than you. Not only where you respected, very few times they were going to feel like saying what they really thought, which worked just wonders for Rabi.
***
They weren't supposed to get caught in the dispute. Bookman mutters a soft curse as he an his apprentice seek shelter in an alley, hearing gunshots and screams and damn it all to hell, the reports he got had said that things were, probably, going to blow over soon, but not so soon.
But that's humans for you, after all.
It wouldn't be such a trouble if he was alone, but David hasn't learned enough to deal with something like this. He's still slow, doesn't quite know how to duck or avoid being targeted. The boy's wide eye looks at him, holding tightly to his bag.
Screams, gunshots and explosions still manage to upset him, still manage to make him wince in sympathy and fear.
Loveless.
Ritsuka's tail moves slowly from side to side, betraying that he's not really annoyed. Soubi manages not to take Ritsuka's hand and kiss his fingers, but only barely. He does, however, tut a little when he notices the length doesn't quite fit, almost dragging by the heel. Ritsuka shrugs.
"I _told you_ that Youji's taller than me," the boy mutters.
Soubi humms softly before he moves a knee up, offering it to Ritsuka with a smile.
Leaning against the desk for balance, Ritsuka puts his foot on his thigh, the shoes new enough that they won't even dirty his own trousers and Soubi resists, barely, the urge to move his fingers down the length of Ritsuka's leg, simply folding the pantleg and folding it inside to use some pins for it, then doing the same with the other leg. Ritsuka's breathing, however, is a little faster than before and, when he looks at him, hands curled over his ankle, he seems a bit flushed. Curious - and perhaps a little amused - Soubi letts his fingers touch a little inside Ritsuka's calf, just on top of where his sock has pooled, feeling the way Ritsuka shivers, his gasp _almost_ unheard.
Then, because he can, Soubi bends forward, enough that he can brush his lips against the still new leather of Ritsuka's shoes.
***
This is one of those days in which Ritsuka really, really, really isn't sure why he even bothers with being a Fighter. Sure, it's part of the project and Ritsuka knows that, if he was to actually disobey Soubi, he'd feel hurt and sick for pretty much forever. But he's also sure that perhaps, Seimei might have already found something for that?
Okay, perhaps not. But still, as he looks towards Soubi and does damn Zero brats, he really wishes that he'd be stupid enough to disobey. Even sickness would be better than those three, for all that they already seem fast friends, the three of them busy mock-wrestling each other, pushing and pulling hair and.
“HEY!” He calls when he sees Youji bite at Soubi's neck, Soubi sort of nuzzling really high over Natsuo's lap. “Stop that!”
Kingdom Hearts
Roxas remains silent inside him, and Sora prods at him and talks to him, asks him what's wrong, tries to push him forth, but Roxas seems elusive, quiet. Sora shrugs a little, figures that Roxas just needs some quiet and decides to go and get some food before trying something else in this Festival, jumps to his feet and the flare of fire draws his - and Roxas' - attention in a snap of their heart tightening.
Sora moves through the throng of people, muttering excuse-me's and I'm-sorry's as he elbows his way, finally crawling between the laughter of people towards the front, where a pair of gypsies are twirling around each other, probably mimicking a fight, both holding double lit torches that they twirl around and up, dressed in vibrant reds and yellows, make up over their faces.
One of the two gypsies get the flames close to his face and blows over them, a pyre of fire rising to the sky to the shock of the audience, and the other one is almost dancing, twirling the torches up and down through his fingers as if they didn't exist, the sharp cut of his grin mixing with the fire and Sora feels Roxas perched on the edge of his conscience, and he puts a hand over his own heart to try and sooth him.
He thinks that, were Roxas outside of him at the moment, he wouldn't be breathing.
“Let's go,” he mutters, but doesn't move away because Roxas hasn't stopped watching the gypsies, especially the one that keeps on twirling the fire around his body. He asks again and then he feels Roxas saying no. When the gypsies finish, bowing towards them and munny flies towards them, a pair of gypsy kids picking it up, Roxas makes him follow the two gypsies, fast and certain.
There's no way to knock over a tent, so he clears his throat and pushes a side of it open a little.
“Um. I'm sorry, but...”
One of the gypsies has dark skin under the make-up he is taking off and he grins towards him, strikes of white still over his skin. The other one has already wiped away the make up, auburn hair messy over his shoulders, cat-like green eyes watching him, small gold hoops dangling from his ears and he rises an eyebrow when the silence carries on, obviously expecting him to finish.
Sora feels his eyes open wide, and he's not sure if it's an answer of Roxas' shock or his own. Probably both.
“Well?” The dark-skinned gypsy says, a hand over his hip. “You wanted something, kid?”
The other one doesn't look much older than him, though he is much taller. Two or three years older, probably, and familiar green eyes show amusement that it's also awfully, painfully familiar.
Inside him, Sora thinks he feels Roxas panicking. Hoping. Afraid to hope. Wanting so much, so bad it aches, just like their heart feels, raw and open and -
“Axel...” he murmurs, and it's Roxas voice that comes out. The man in front of him blinks and then grins.
“Actually, it's Alex,” the man drawls, leaning towards him, winking. “Got it memorized?”
Kyou Kara Maou
She shook her head, glaring a moment at her own mindfulness because she ought to know not to be so distracted, not when Soushi's spies could hide in the shadows of their own thoughts, and instead she picked her slack once more, working to sharpen her sword.
Sudden steps made her stand up and turn sharply, her fire at her fingertips, ready for her to call.
“Ruffas, I am not averse to my men sleeping, I hope you realize that,” Spitzburg's smile was mostly teasing, his good mood well known to every mazoku that served him as their liege. It still made her blush, a little, even as she bowed her head.
“I was just finishing with my word, my lord,” she answers, masking some of the softness of her voice in the way Ruffas' voice used to sound.
***
The thing was, Ken was already half in love with Yuuri before he met him.
Or well, perhaps not exactly in love with him. Not exactly that. It was more like relief at the fact that four thousand years of waiting were finally going to be over. It was hope for this to work, and anxiety because he was finally short of a few single years to go back to Shin Makoku. He had fallen in love with the idea of this new future Maou, the one hope that had made it all worthy.
So perhaps it was understandable - considering that he was, technically, a thirteen years old boy - that the first few days of Junior High School, he didn't dare get close. He had seen him, of course: Shibuya Yuuri was already a force of nature, smiling, part of the baseball team as soon as he could get in, well liked among their classmates as a goof, but popular enough that he got to be known, well liked. He didn't look like the Original King at all, no golden hair and fair eyes (the Original King had so often commented about Daikenja's dark hair and dark eyes, long fingers threading through the Sage's then long hair), but there was something in the curve of his smile that made Ken stare as if he was, actually, just a thirteen years old and not a thirteen-years-old who remembered more or less four thousand years of history, give or take a few decades.
Shibuya Yuuri was, also, very easy to get to like just for being him, and he was easy to talk to. They weren't in the same class so during those three years there were just a handful of occasions they got to talk, but even those made Ken realize that perhaps, things would actually work out. They also made him realize that the part of him that was actually a thirteen years old boy was feeling lonely, and needing a friend.
***
When he comes out from hiding, Yuuri seems like a horse dealing with unexpected fire, frozen and with eyes wide open, just about to bolt. That at least is more familiar and less painful than having him awkward and not knowing how to talk to him since he told him the engagement was over. It makes Wolfram smile a little as he gets closer. When he dares to look towards his brother he's also smiling and he gives a small nod.
“Wolfram, I-I mean, you were and... ohman... Wolfram, I-”
He rolls his eyes, placing his hands on Yuuri's waist. “Wimp, in case you didn't notice - I heard.”
That at least makes Yuuri freeze up, stop stuttering excuses for what he had said (“I never knew I wanted him before... and now it's too late”) mouth still partly open, still looking... surprised? Scared? Worried? Wolfram clicks his tongue against his teeth, feeling himself blush, his heartbeat still erratically beating inside him before he leans forward, takes advantage of Yuuri's open mouth to kiss him deeply from the beginning, coaxing his tongue with his.
It's been years since he last kissed anyone but it feels longer how much he has waited for the chance to kiss Yuuri like this. He feels Conrad's gaze on them, on him and remembers other expectations he long ago learned to put aside. Yuuri relaxes into the kiss by degrees and Wolfram feels himself shiver when Yuuri starts kissing him back, moving his own arms around his neck and pressing close.
Crossovers
Fakir frowned. That there was chemistry between Mytho and the stranger was a fact, but there was something there that was off.
Surprise made Fakir's eyes widen when he finally caught upon the fact as Mytho lifted the girl, holding her upon her waist, as the girl's arms seemed to stretch as if they were wings before they embraced: and after that embrace it was Mytho's this time who was the wings, Mytho who seemed to scatter around as he twirled away, as the girl did the same, her adagio as if her thread was being torn apart.
And then, suddenly, it was: the girl's eyes went truly blank and Mytho stopped just as suddenly, a hand upon his heart. Both the girl and his prince fell down, and his scream was matched by another voice, but the name was not.
“Mytho!”
“Sakura!”
It wasn't chemistry per se: it was simply that Mytho and the girl were reflecting each other, as if dancing in front of a mirror.
***
“You've gotten better,” Tamaki congratulated Kyouya, loud enough to be heard but still low enough that it could be considered that it had been said just for Kyouya.
Kyouya, however, just shook his head a little, a smile on his lips.
“You're just too busy making sure the princesses we serve remain safe.”
As the girls swooned, Haruhi realized she had been almost holding in her breath; the whole Host Club had known about Tamaki and Kyouya's idea for the afternoon of a romantic duel, but somehow she hadn't expected this.
As Tamaki plucked out a rose from a vase and offered it to one his regulars, the rest of them quickly surrounding him and Kyouya stepped aside, picking up a towel to wipe his face, Haruhi went to him.
“I didn't know Kyouya-senpai could fence,” she said, still odly impressed.
Kyouya looked at her and then at the sword. Then, she shrugged.
“Once upon a time, I thought it was something that I would need.”
“What for, senpai?”
“But I'm not really the prince-type, am I?”
Haruhi frowned a little, not really understanding what he was talking about.
“Kyouya-senpai?”
He smiled. “Go to your costumers, Haruhi.”
CLAMP.
Then Clow smiled, sweet and kind and had Yuuko been less of a woman she would have ran back inside her bedroom and asked Moro and Maru never to allow the man to set a foot inside the store ever again, silent wish that he was never going to make or not be damned. But. The sake.
“These aren't mine, Yuuko dearest. I'm just here to deliver them and to be your escort,” Clow said, pointing towards the dress, still smiling like that. He was almost beaming, eyes closed. He was also wearing his nice set of robes, and he had around fifteen more spells surrounding him than usual. “The sake is. Part of my apologies.”
“You bastard,” Yuuko started, almost feeling chills run down her back. “What country did you destroy?”
Before he could say another thing, however, one of her candles lit up, it's flame forming a perfect sphere that floated to her reach and then the fire disappeared, just leaving a sealed parchment with the Li's family seal for her to reach.
“And even though I promised Mother that I would tell you about the reunion,” Clow sighed as Yuuko broke the wax (magical and spiritual) seal of the parchment before he smiled again. Yuuko thought she could almost see him sparkling. “Oh, ignore the 'You are cordially ' part. I've always thought that they put it there because it makes a much better sight if you leave the 'or else' just implied, don't you agree?”
***
"How many more, grandson?" lady Ko asks, her voice of polite interest and nothing else.
Eagle thinks about it again and, because she's looking at him, he voices his thoughts out loud. "Too many would be too notorious. If it's to press an advantage, these hands would have to be hidden, or at least, something that would make people underestimate you. More than two extra hands would be really too much."
It happens in a flurry of his grandmother's skirts. Eagle barely avoids gasping as lady Ko presses the long, thin knife she always keeps hidden underneath her sleeve against his neck, close enough that he can feel the blade almost cutting his skin.
He, however, can't stop his gasp as two safeties are withdrawn and two guns are focused against lady Ko, Bishamonten's own gun withdrawn. Eagle glances to his sides, shocked when he discovers Geo and Lantis standing each one to his side; Lantis has one gun - and it's even Karura's own weapon - pointed against her, his other gun focused on lady Ko, and Geo's hand is pressing against his stomach, ready to push him away, was there a need for that.
His grandmother, however, just smiles sweet and fiercely proud, retreating her knife.
"A hand to protect your past, two hands to build your present, and a hand to fight for your future," lady Ko says, her smile ever so sweet that Eagle barely remembers to be confused when he realizes he has passed whatever test his grandmother laid to him. "It's okay, Bishamonten, you can drop your weapon. Eagle, I give you an extra right and left hand. "
***
"Crying won't fix anything," Subaru tells the boy. He knows he is, perhaps, being too cruel. Kamui is barely ten years old and he has already had to let go of his mother and beloved friends, but sometimes Subaru thinks that's for the best. That way, even if he'll miss them, they won't become as dear to him that they'll be his world.
Kamui looks at him, eyes still full of tears and looking so sad and broken that something inside Subaru aches, something that he thought long gone. He looks away, and he ignores the way his hand trembles as he lights up a cigarette. He hears Kamui shuffle and stand up, and a few sniffles. He doesn't look up.
"I'm sorry," the boy mutters, getting close to him.
Subaru sighs, blows away some smoke. "You don't need to apologize."
"But I made you sad, Subaru," the boy tells him, shifting until he's kneeling by his side, touching a small hand to his face. Subaru almost flinches as Kamui seems to pet him, as if to sooth any ache he could have. "I'm sorry about whatever I said that made you sad."
Others.
"The Lord is my shepherd," Gabriel mutters faithfully, eyes raised to the cross over his bed. He's shaking, still cold, still hungry, still human, so weak and frail and dirty. He licks his lips and does his best not to think of spit and the fluids inside him.
He needs to be pure and he needs not to think of that. God will answer him soon, he knows, and realize he meant well, that he never meant to defy His will.
"I shall not want;"
"I should hope not," a smokey voice says. Gabriel shivers and turns, thinks for a moment that it's John that came just to mock him, to see in which state one of God's most faithful servants is. The hair is the same, the clothes, even the sharp red-light his smoke brings into the semi darkness of his room, but his grin is too wide for him to be Constantine. The stranger walks in, drops his cigarette and steps on it as he gets closer, with smoke coming out from his mouth as he speaks. "Considering I'm here to pick you up and all."
He hasn't seen him and he doesn't know him but still Gabriel shivers and cluthes to the crucify around his neck as if it had the power most humans believe it has, the power he wants it to have.
"Mammon," he murmurs, hating that his voice trembles, the way his body shivers.
The demon laughs and it's a sound tha Gabriel would have liked never to hear in this body, never to hear as a human who can and will have nightmares of this laugh that promises blood and murder. The demon leans close and breathes in against the stench of his humanity and Gabriel shudders, closing his eyes. He can almost smell the sulfor of his body as Mammon presses close to him, a hand clenched over the nape of his neck, the other one over his waist.
"Just thought that I'd come and say 'hi'."
... and all that's without counting SPK and kinkfest, or originals! *s-sobs*
D.Gray-man.
I end up falling asleep against a corner by the beginnings of the third day (end of the second day?), as guarded as I can possibly be. It can't be more than an hour before cold water hits me: it's freezing and I gasp, wide awake, trying to move away of it but the pressure it's too hard and I can't find any leverage with my hands chained, can barely breathe as I try to duck against the wall. The water feels like bruising and I can't do much to protect myself, and it feels as if the injuries that I got from the battle are opening again.
Just as suddenly, it's gone. I suck in a deep breath as I hear steps over the poodles, as I hear the water flowing down the drain.
Fucking Tyki Mikk in person stands above me, his uniform unwrinkled, boots having a shiny black gloss. I glare even as I grin, watching his smile as he takes off his gloves, putting them back inside his jacket.
How I wish I had my gun with me. Hell, I could do with just my hands free: I've wanted to feel this bastard's neck between my hands since that mission where he killed Suman and left Allen a bloody, fractured mess, and I find it highly amusing that my wish of five minutes with him in an empty room has come true.
You were never one to read the tiny letters, were you, God?
***
“I should've realized that something was wrong!” Miranda wailed, trying - unsuccessfully - to pull the covers higher up her face.
It was unsuccessful because Mari was sitting on her bed, and he was there because in less than a month since the last time she had been there, she was back in the infirmary. Even the knowledge that she wasn't the only one who had ended up more than exhausted wasn't much comfort: since her Innocence depended so much about her own energies and about time, she had reacted so much worse to the Komurin D than the rest of the HQ.
Which made her, a week after Bak had managed, thanks to Fou, to heal everyone, one of the few people that remained in bed. Even Crowley had been released already, even though he came to check up on her enough.
“None of us could have known about it,” Mari said, gentle as ever. Then, he amended. “Other than Komui, of course. But still.”
***
The day started far too early by Marian's standards, and it started in the worse way possible: the side of the bed empty and already cold, so he groaned.
“About time you woke up,” he heard Maria's voice, her accent stronger now that they were directly in her country. “I was about to go and ask for a bucket of water to pour on you.”
Somehow, Marian managed to open his eye, getting an eyeful of Maria's chest as she wrapped bandages around her torso, smiling smugly at the bruises and hickeys that were upon her body, following the line of her long legs and of her dark hair.
“Are you sure it's time to wake up?” Cross asked, standing up. The room they were given was small - cheap bastards - so it meant that in less than five steps he was behind Maria and, kneeling down, he moved her hair so that he could kiss her neck, watch her over the mirror. “I'm sure it's still early. We still have time to catch a bit more of sleep.”
Maria laughed, a clear, bright sound that was like bells, even as she rolled her eyes.
“Sleep is the least thing on your mind,” she answered, her lips curved upwards, finishing with the bandages. “And you only think it's early because if you could, you wouldn't wake up until noon.”
“Is there a problem with that?”
Maria laughed again, shaking her head before she stood up. Without her boots she barely reached his chin, but she still put her hands on her hips, half glaring at him.
“Go get a bath, then get dressed and then bring me coffee. Cream, no sugar. I won't say no if you decide to bring some biscotti with you”
Cross shook his head, standing up and lifting his mask, putting it on place before he reached for his uniform.
“Yes, boss.”
“You weren't complaining about me giving orders last night,” Maria called, picking up a brush.
Cross snorted. “Of course I will never complain about orders that involve things like 'more, harder, don't stop'!”
He could still hear Maria when he reached the stairs, which was a much preferred sound than the Christmas carols that seemed to be everywhere.
***
“I think,” Rabi says. “That we're kinda screwed.”
That might be the understatement of the year. Of the decade. Allen just snorts, trying not to cause anymore pain to his ribs. Or his arm. Or anywhere, actually, because most of his body is trying to win the competition of which hurts the most.
Allen breathes as slowly as he can, tries to focus on anything that it's not a) pain and b) how much trapped they are. His left hand, also aching but at least complete, brushes against something.
“Oi, no tickling,” Rabi mutters and Allen stops trying to move his hand, just keeps it pressed against Rabi's wrist. Rabi sounds as tired as Allen feels and in as much pain as he does. Allen barely dares to turn his face a little even though it's so dark that he doesn't get to see anything. “I can't kick you if you do and I'm very ticklish.”
“Can't?”
“Broke my leg. Tibia for sure, possibly the femur, too,” Rabi says. “And I'm pretty certain my shoulder is dislocated. And that motherfucker Noah punches like a son of a bitch, I think I lost a tooth.”
“Ugh, yeah.” Allen can't quite be sure if that punch is what makes his ribs hurt as if they were on fire or being thrown against a wall was. Not that it matters very much. Allen sighs. Rabi does the same.
“You?”
“My arm. Not broken, though.” Allen says, all to aware of the way his right arm is aching everywhere. “And my ribs, probably. And my head hurts.”
“It's not a concussion, is it?”
“How am I supposed to know?”
“Do you feel sleepy?”
“We fought for hours. Of course I'm sleepy.”
***
Six months of taking care of Tom and Elisa, and Rabi wonders how the hell did Bookman took care of him for almost two decades without actually drowning him. He even thinks that he'd apologize if he could because damn, do taking care of brats is exhausting. That, plus maxing his job as an Exorcist and as a Bookman, and Rabi would pretty much give his right arm and possibly his two legs for a break.
If he had to be honest to himself, it had been because of the way that Elisa had been glaring, at the way Tom had clung to her and Rabi had thought about Komui and Linali and then... well. His weaknesses had shown themselves and reared their ugly head into making him say that there were really few Bookmen, he could take them both and have Elisa learn what was going to be her job anyway.
At least being the Bookman did mean that he wasn't questioned. He knew that the old coots had probably seen right through it, but that was the good thing about being the boss of people older than you. Not only where you respected, very few times they were going to feel like saying what they really thought, which worked just wonders for Rabi.
***
They weren't supposed to get caught in the dispute. Bookman mutters a soft curse as he an his apprentice seek shelter in an alley, hearing gunshots and screams and damn it all to hell, the reports he got had said that things were, probably, going to blow over soon, but not so soon.
But that's humans for you, after all.
It wouldn't be such a trouble if he was alone, but David hasn't learned enough to deal with something like this. He's still slow, doesn't quite know how to duck or avoid being targeted. The boy's wide eye looks at him, holding tightly to his bag.
Screams, gunshots and explosions still manage to upset him, still manage to make him wince in sympathy and fear.
Loveless.
Ritsuka's tail moves slowly from side to side, betraying that he's not really annoyed. Soubi manages not to take Ritsuka's hand and kiss his fingers, but only barely. He does, however, tut a little when he notices the length doesn't quite fit, almost dragging by the heel. Ritsuka shrugs.
"I _told you_ that Youji's taller than me," the boy mutters.
Soubi humms softly before he moves a knee up, offering it to Ritsuka with a smile.
Leaning against the desk for balance, Ritsuka puts his foot on his thigh, the shoes new enough that they won't even dirty his own trousers and Soubi resists, barely, the urge to move his fingers down the length of Ritsuka's leg, simply folding the pantleg and folding it inside to use some pins for it, then doing the same with the other leg. Ritsuka's breathing, however, is a little faster than before and, when he looks at him, hands curled over his ankle, he seems a bit flushed. Curious - and perhaps a little amused - Soubi letts his fingers touch a little inside Ritsuka's calf, just on top of where his sock has pooled, feeling the way Ritsuka shivers, his gasp _almost_ unheard.
Then, because he can, Soubi bends forward, enough that he can brush his lips against the still new leather of Ritsuka's shoes.
***
This is one of those days in which Ritsuka really, really, really isn't sure why he even bothers with being a Fighter. Sure, it's part of the project and Ritsuka knows that, if he was to actually disobey Soubi, he'd feel hurt and sick for pretty much forever. But he's also sure that perhaps, Seimei might have already found something for that?
Okay, perhaps not. But still, as he looks towards Soubi and does damn Zero brats, he really wishes that he'd be stupid enough to disobey. Even sickness would be better than those three, for all that they already seem fast friends, the three of them busy mock-wrestling each other, pushing and pulling hair and.
“HEY!” He calls when he sees Youji bite at Soubi's neck, Soubi sort of nuzzling really high over Natsuo's lap. “Stop that!”
Kingdom Hearts
Roxas remains silent inside him, and Sora prods at him and talks to him, asks him what's wrong, tries to push him forth, but Roxas seems elusive, quiet. Sora shrugs a little, figures that Roxas just needs some quiet and decides to go and get some food before trying something else in this Festival, jumps to his feet and the flare of fire draws his - and Roxas' - attention in a snap of their heart tightening.
Sora moves through the throng of people, muttering excuse-me's and I'm-sorry's as he elbows his way, finally crawling between the laughter of people towards the front, where a pair of gypsies are twirling around each other, probably mimicking a fight, both holding double lit torches that they twirl around and up, dressed in vibrant reds and yellows, make up over their faces.
One of the two gypsies get the flames close to his face and blows over them, a pyre of fire rising to the sky to the shock of the audience, and the other one is almost dancing, twirling the torches up and down through his fingers as if they didn't exist, the sharp cut of his grin mixing with the fire and Sora feels Roxas perched on the edge of his conscience, and he puts a hand over his own heart to try and sooth him.
He thinks that, were Roxas outside of him at the moment, he wouldn't be breathing.
“Let's go,” he mutters, but doesn't move away because Roxas hasn't stopped watching the gypsies, especially the one that keeps on twirling the fire around his body. He asks again and then he feels Roxas saying no. When the gypsies finish, bowing towards them and munny flies towards them, a pair of gypsy kids picking it up, Roxas makes him follow the two gypsies, fast and certain.
There's no way to knock over a tent, so he clears his throat and pushes a side of it open a little.
“Um. I'm sorry, but...”
One of the gypsies has dark skin under the make-up he is taking off and he grins towards him, strikes of white still over his skin. The other one has already wiped away the make up, auburn hair messy over his shoulders, cat-like green eyes watching him, small gold hoops dangling from his ears and he rises an eyebrow when the silence carries on, obviously expecting him to finish.
Sora feels his eyes open wide, and he's not sure if it's an answer of Roxas' shock or his own. Probably both.
“Well?” The dark-skinned gypsy says, a hand over his hip. “You wanted something, kid?”
The other one doesn't look much older than him, though he is much taller. Two or three years older, probably, and familiar green eyes show amusement that it's also awfully, painfully familiar.
Inside him, Sora thinks he feels Roxas panicking. Hoping. Afraid to hope. Wanting so much, so bad it aches, just like their heart feels, raw and open and -
“Axel...” he murmurs, and it's Roxas voice that comes out. The man in front of him blinks and then grins.
“Actually, it's Alex,” the man drawls, leaning towards him, winking. “Got it memorized?”
Kyou Kara Maou
She shook her head, glaring a moment at her own mindfulness because she ought to know not to be so distracted, not when Soushi's spies could hide in the shadows of their own thoughts, and instead she picked her slack once more, working to sharpen her sword.
Sudden steps made her stand up and turn sharply, her fire at her fingertips, ready for her to call.
“Ruffas, I am not averse to my men sleeping, I hope you realize that,” Spitzburg's smile was mostly teasing, his good mood well known to every mazoku that served him as their liege. It still made her blush, a little, even as she bowed her head.
“I was just finishing with my word, my lord,” she answers, masking some of the softness of her voice in the way Ruffas' voice used to sound.
***
The thing was, Ken was already half in love with Yuuri before he met him.
Or well, perhaps not exactly in love with him. Not exactly that. It was more like relief at the fact that four thousand years of waiting were finally going to be over. It was hope for this to work, and anxiety because he was finally short of a few single years to go back to Shin Makoku. He had fallen in love with the idea of this new future Maou, the one hope that had made it all worthy.
So perhaps it was understandable - considering that he was, technically, a thirteen years old boy - that the first few days of Junior High School, he didn't dare get close. He had seen him, of course: Shibuya Yuuri was already a force of nature, smiling, part of the baseball team as soon as he could get in, well liked among their classmates as a goof, but popular enough that he got to be known, well liked. He didn't look like the Original King at all, no golden hair and fair eyes (the Original King had so often commented about Daikenja's dark hair and dark eyes, long fingers threading through the Sage's then long hair), but there was something in the curve of his smile that made Ken stare as if he was, actually, just a thirteen years old and not a thirteen-years-old who remembered more or less four thousand years of history, give or take a few decades.
Shibuya Yuuri was, also, very easy to get to like just for being him, and he was easy to talk to. They weren't in the same class so during those three years there were just a handful of occasions they got to talk, but even those made Ken realize that perhaps, things would actually work out. They also made him realize that the part of him that was actually a thirteen years old boy was feeling lonely, and needing a friend.
***
When he comes out from hiding, Yuuri seems like a horse dealing with unexpected fire, frozen and with eyes wide open, just about to bolt. That at least is more familiar and less painful than having him awkward and not knowing how to talk to him since he told him the engagement was over. It makes Wolfram smile a little as he gets closer. When he dares to look towards his brother he's also smiling and he gives a small nod.
“Wolfram, I-I mean, you were and... ohman... Wolfram, I-”
He rolls his eyes, placing his hands on Yuuri's waist. “Wimp, in case you didn't notice - I heard.”
That at least makes Yuuri freeze up, stop stuttering excuses for what he had said (“I never knew I wanted him before... and now it's too late”) mouth still partly open, still looking... surprised? Scared? Worried? Wolfram clicks his tongue against his teeth, feeling himself blush, his heartbeat still erratically beating inside him before he leans forward, takes advantage of Yuuri's open mouth to kiss him deeply from the beginning, coaxing his tongue with his.
It's been years since he last kissed anyone but it feels longer how much he has waited for the chance to kiss Yuuri like this. He feels Conrad's gaze on them, on him and remembers other expectations he long ago learned to put aside. Yuuri relaxes into the kiss by degrees and Wolfram feels himself shiver when Yuuri starts kissing him back, moving his own arms around his neck and pressing close.
Crossovers
Fakir frowned. That there was chemistry between Mytho and the stranger was a fact, but there was something there that was off.
Surprise made Fakir's eyes widen when he finally caught upon the fact as Mytho lifted the girl, holding her upon her waist, as the girl's arms seemed to stretch as if they were wings before they embraced: and after that embrace it was Mytho's this time who was the wings, Mytho who seemed to scatter around as he twirled away, as the girl did the same, her adagio as if her thread was being torn apart.
And then, suddenly, it was: the girl's eyes went truly blank and Mytho stopped just as suddenly, a hand upon his heart. Both the girl and his prince fell down, and his scream was matched by another voice, but the name was not.
“Mytho!”
“Sakura!”
It wasn't chemistry per se: it was simply that Mytho and the girl were reflecting each other, as if dancing in front of a mirror.
***
“You've gotten better,” Tamaki congratulated Kyouya, loud enough to be heard but still low enough that it could be considered that it had been said just for Kyouya.
Kyouya, however, just shook his head a little, a smile on his lips.
“You're just too busy making sure the princesses we serve remain safe.”
As the girls swooned, Haruhi realized she had been almost holding in her breath; the whole Host Club had known about Tamaki and Kyouya's idea for the afternoon of a romantic duel, but somehow she hadn't expected this.
As Tamaki plucked out a rose from a vase and offered it to one his regulars, the rest of them quickly surrounding him and Kyouya stepped aside, picking up a towel to wipe his face, Haruhi went to him.
“I didn't know Kyouya-senpai could fence,” she said, still odly impressed.
Kyouya looked at her and then at the sword. Then, she shrugged.
“Once upon a time, I thought it was something that I would need.”
“What for, senpai?”
“But I'm not really the prince-type, am I?”
Haruhi frowned a little, not really understanding what he was talking about.
“Kyouya-senpai?”
He smiled. “Go to your costumers, Haruhi.”
CLAMP.
Then Clow smiled, sweet and kind and had Yuuko been less of a woman she would have ran back inside her bedroom and asked Moro and Maru never to allow the man to set a foot inside the store ever again, silent wish that he was never going to make or not be damned. But. The sake.
“These aren't mine, Yuuko dearest. I'm just here to deliver them and to be your escort,” Clow said, pointing towards the dress, still smiling like that. He was almost beaming, eyes closed. He was also wearing his nice set of robes, and he had around fifteen more spells surrounding him than usual. “The sake is. Part of my apologies.”
“You bastard,” Yuuko started, almost feeling chills run down her back. “What country did you destroy?”
Before he could say another thing, however, one of her candles lit up, it's flame forming a perfect sphere that floated to her reach and then the fire disappeared, just leaving a sealed parchment with the Li's family seal for her to reach.
“And even though I promised Mother that I would tell you about the reunion,” Clow sighed as Yuuko broke the wax (magical and spiritual) seal of the parchment before he smiled again. Yuuko thought she could almost see him sparkling. “Oh, ignore the 'You are cordially ' part. I've always thought that they put it there because it makes a much better sight if you leave the 'or else' just implied, don't you agree?”
***
"How many more, grandson?" lady Ko asks, her voice of polite interest and nothing else.
Eagle thinks about it again and, because she's looking at him, he voices his thoughts out loud. "Too many would be too notorious. If it's to press an advantage, these hands would have to be hidden, or at least, something that would make people underestimate you. More than two extra hands would be really too much."
It happens in a flurry of his grandmother's skirts. Eagle barely avoids gasping as lady Ko presses the long, thin knife she always keeps hidden underneath her sleeve against his neck, close enough that he can feel the blade almost cutting his skin.
He, however, can't stop his gasp as two safeties are withdrawn and two guns are focused against lady Ko, Bishamonten's own gun withdrawn. Eagle glances to his sides, shocked when he discovers Geo and Lantis standing each one to his side; Lantis has one gun - and it's even Karura's own weapon - pointed against her, his other gun focused on lady Ko, and Geo's hand is pressing against his stomach, ready to push him away, was there a need for that.
His grandmother, however, just smiles sweet and fiercely proud, retreating her knife.
"A hand to protect your past, two hands to build your present, and a hand to fight for your future," lady Ko says, her smile ever so sweet that Eagle barely remembers to be confused when he realizes he has passed whatever test his grandmother laid to him. "It's okay, Bishamonten, you can drop your weapon. Eagle, I give you an extra right and left hand. "
***
"Crying won't fix anything," Subaru tells the boy. He knows he is, perhaps, being too cruel. Kamui is barely ten years old and he has already had to let go of his mother and beloved friends, but sometimes Subaru thinks that's for the best. That way, even if he'll miss them, they won't become as dear to him that they'll be his world.
Kamui looks at him, eyes still full of tears and looking so sad and broken that something inside Subaru aches, something that he thought long gone. He looks away, and he ignores the way his hand trembles as he lights up a cigarette. He hears Kamui shuffle and stand up, and a few sniffles. He doesn't look up.
"I'm sorry," the boy mutters, getting close to him.
Subaru sighs, blows away some smoke. "You don't need to apologize."
"But I made you sad, Subaru," the boy tells him, shifting until he's kneeling by his side, touching a small hand to his face. Subaru almost flinches as Kamui seems to pet him, as if to sooth any ache he could have. "I'm sorry about whatever I said that made you sad."
Others.
"The Lord is my shepherd," Gabriel mutters faithfully, eyes raised to the cross over his bed. He's shaking, still cold, still hungry, still human, so weak and frail and dirty. He licks his lips and does his best not to think of spit and the fluids inside him.
He needs to be pure and he needs not to think of that. God will answer him soon, he knows, and realize he meant well, that he never meant to defy His will.
"I shall not want;"
"I should hope not," a smokey voice says. Gabriel shivers and turns, thinks for a moment that it's John that came just to mock him, to see in which state one of God's most faithful servants is. The hair is the same, the clothes, even the sharp red-light his smoke brings into the semi darkness of his room, but his grin is too wide for him to be Constantine. The stranger walks in, drops his cigarette and steps on it as he gets closer, with smoke coming out from his mouth as he speaks. "Considering I'm here to pick you up and all."
He hasn't seen him and he doesn't know him but still Gabriel shivers and cluthes to the crucify around his neck as if it had the power most humans believe it has, the power he wants it to have.
"Mammon," he murmurs, hating that his voice trembles, the way his body shivers.
The demon laughs and it's a sound tha Gabriel would have liked never to hear in this body, never to hear as a human who can and will have nightmares of this laugh that promises blood and murder. The demon leans close and breathes in against the stench of his humanity and Gabriel shudders, closing his eyes. He can almost smell the sulfor of his body as Mammon presses close to him, a hand clenched over the nape of his neck, the other one over his waist.
"Just thought that I'd come and say 'hi'."
... and all that's without counting SPK and kinkfest, or originals! *s-sobs*