This Post Is Not a Lie
A sort of fail a capella rendition of Hyaku Renka by Takasugi Satomi born of stress and.... stress. ::quits life::
Lyrics here.
And now with that out of the way--a few thoughts about how my life is going right now. Or, more precisely, how RL has finally caught up to me and how I think I'm going to have to make some Choices. I have:
- Two [2] exams tomorrow
- Two [2] papers (totaling to 8 pages) due next Friday
- Hetalia WFC Round 3 entry due Tuesday
- One [1] fifteen paged (minimum) CAPSTONE research paper due the Friday after that.
- To update my resume ASAP so I can get back to my lab person and he can hire me for a year beginning Fall of 2009.
So this has been on my mind for the past... well, whenever was the last time I wrote fic (that wasn't for the Hetalia kink meme =P). Seriously? I think I'm going to have to make some cuts in what I do in fandom. It was nice, being able to both fic and draw and do all sorts of things to spread the fandom lulz. Unfortunately, I don't think I can keep it up anymore. I haven't felt any urge to fic for a while and looking at my folder of WIPs just makes me cringe with shame. I hate leaving things unfinished, but seriously, NO INSPIRATION. Not to mention I've written so many academic papers this last year that I honestly think any remaining crack reserve in me has been bled dry. And if I can't write humor, then there's really no point in me writing, is there?
I know I promised a few people fics. But. I'm sorry guys. Drawing has become shockingly easier than writing, and up until this point this has never happened before. I don't think I really feel anything for ficcing anymore--besides constant guilt and the stress that comes with. I have one pressing obligation that I will complete, because runesque might hunt me down with a nail-bat if I don't, but otherwise I think I'm done.
And on that note, here are all the WIPs that have accumulated and deserve some sort of aeration, because even if I can't tie up loose ends, I might as well provide some closure to all these ideas.
KHR
[6918-ish Aftermath to the Vongola Ring Arc]
He feels like a deadman walking, mental tally of injuries long and debilitating. Blood loss makes his vision hazy, alternating between warm and dark and bright and fuzzy. That doesn't stop him from walking off on his own though, away from the baby's group before the urge to bury them all under the foundations of the school overwhelms him. An attribution to the bloodloss, perhaps--it's not often he feels so charitable.
The blank-eyed women were making good their word. The third floor's windows looked new; the charred equipment gone. He expects the grounds to be in pristine condition in the morning.
"U-um, excuse me, Mr. Namimori Head Prefect...?"
Hibari ignored the stuttered call and the female herbivore who'd issued it. The girl was lucky, all things considered; he was too preoccupied with staying upright in order to make it to the Reception Room, and she was not in actuality, Rokudou.
___________________________________________
[OLD OLD OLD idea. You notice that after Chapter 05, the Disciplinary Members no longer have unique hairstyles and instead share Kusakabe's glorious 'do.]
"So, let me clarify this a bit--you were all punished by Hibari--"
"Except for the Vice-president."
"--and that's why you all share--?"
"That's correct."
"... but... that--!"
"SO LAME."
___________________________________________
[Was supposed to be a part of my Building A Legacy Alternate Future--Ienobu's first fight with some other kids over something or other. Probably the fact that he has like, 2 fathers, 3 mothers, and a bajillion other "relatives."]
"You're getting blood on my tatami," Hibari observed and eyed the waterfall running from the cut on Nobu's brow with something akin to distaste. The implicit you're scrubbing it off with a toothbrush wavered ominously in the airspace between them.
And it was in that moment, when the edges of Hibari's lips lifted up and curved his mouth into a small, approving smile, that Ienobu thought he might understand why Uncle Dino and Papa Nappo constantly brave the Cloud Guardian's ire.
When Tsuna learned of the fight the next day (and solely by virtue of receiving a bill from the Foundation for floor-related stain treatment), the heartbreak he experienced wasn't so much from the fact that his son was picking fights already, but rather from the fact that he went to Hibari first.
___________________________________________
ARES
[That threesome, MikaelBarunaAres thing I was SO HYPED UP FOR up until I got hit with... something else? The premise was supposed to involve the boys using Baruna's weapon so much during sex (that steel rope could be useful, ;D) that Ares and Mikael develop Pavlov's Dog reactions to it during battles. And. UST-hijinks would somehow ensue.]
They're in the midst of battle when that happens. It was a minor skirmish anyway, so Ares stops in mid-swing. Looks down. Stares.
Huh.
And almost gets his head taken off by his half-dead opponent in his moment of shock.
"Ares!"
He ducks reflexively in response to Baruna's shout and feels, more than hears, the swing that clips the hairs at the back of his head a few centimeters shorter. A heartbeat later and suddenly there's a spray of blood raining from behind, his conspicuously throatless opponent crumbling in on himself. Ares straightens up again when he hears, more than feels, the telltale whistle and rush of air displaced by a sharp blade traveling at high angular speeds. From the periphery, he could see the dagger snake back to its owner via the long coil of steel it was attached to.
His dick twitches.
Huh.
Oh. Oh.
_______________
"There you are Baruna! I've been looking all over for you. Didn't expect to find you in here of all--hey, why're you practicing sword repetitions? Did your funky weapon break? Is it in for maintenance? Hey, Baruna? Baruna?"
___________________________________________
[Was supposed to be an attempt at writing Baruna back-story--by fabricating him a family history and shit. Complete with a sister]
Her name was Varuni--a tribute to the rolling winefields of their ancestors their father never harvested--just as his was a reflection of the sea their mother never saw. Both were tributes to things their parents could only dream of--and yearn for them they did.
___________________________________________
GINTAMA
[Random Okita/Hijikata thing. Involved Katsura expanding his terrorist activities into the realm of doujin, and Okita getting his hands on an anthology. So what if I found Hijikata bottoming utterly hilarious and exploitable for lulzy situations. =P ]
Okita frowns up from the book. "You're not doing it right Hijikata-san. You're suppose to like it when I shove my bazooka up your--"
"YOU'RE DEAD DO YOU UNDERSTAND? DEAD. AND THERE WON'T BE ENOUGH OF YOU TO FILL A SOUP SPOON WHEN I'M DO--"
"See, it says so here on page 28." Okita flips a page. "Oh," he muses aloud, "I see. 'Not to be performed without warm-up stretches.' Is that why it won't fit?"
Hijikata tenses against his bindings as Okita's placid-eyed gaze alternates between him and the terrorist's manual.
Somewhere down south, something puckers in sensory horror.
"A spoon," he hisses with as much conviction as he can muster. Which isn't a lot, giving his position strapped to a--just what the hell was he strapped to anyway?? The floor is cold against his lower back and his shoulder aches. Hijikata twists his head for a painful glance over his shoulder.
A heating unit. Perfect.
___________________________________________
[Gintoki and Hijikata get handcuffed together.]
"Sorry Hijikata-san," Okita says, not sounding sorry at all, "it would seem that I've lost the keys."
He shades his eyes against the sunless sky, and makes a show of peering ineffectually into the horizon.
Hijikata grinds straight through of what remained of his cigarette. "You're not sorry at all you little bastard!!" he rages, trying his goddamn best to reach his unruffled subordinate with Gintoki in tow. Needless to say, his unwilling cuffmate isn't too pleased.
"Hey," Gintoki protests, yanking the livid vice-captain to heel. "Hey!"
With a startled choke, having almost swallowed a mouthful of ash and filter paper, Hijikata is forced to stumble back in a sprawl of flailing limbs and unpleasant oaths. From his rather compromising vantage point between Gintoki's legs, Hijikata glares up. "What."
The freelancer scratches behind one ear. "You know, it's because of people like you that there isn't a better tomorrow for today's youths," he says after a while.
"The. Fuck."
"He's right you know, Hijikata-san." Okita looks as earnest as a rabid weasel. "Stop ruining my childhood."
___________________________________________
SLAM DUNK
[Some random post-series thing that had Sakuragi and Rukawa as co-captains and a the newly developed team chore of having to wake up Rukawa before practices.]
Sakuragi stormed through the second years' hallways with as much grace and single-minded drive as a runaway semi.
The rest of the members of the Shohoku Basketball team trailed behind at a much more leisurely pace, peering warily from around the last corner. They all drew together, as it on instinct when the tall redhead disappeared up the stairwell leading to the third-year's floor.
"Vice-captain fell asleep?"
"Yeah. And still MIA from the looks of it."
"Break ends in five."
"Four, actually."
_______________
"... I'm too young to be beaten within an inch of my life for doing the right thing."
"Well, I was too young to have seen my life and the bleachers flash in front of my eyes last week--so stop being such a pussy and go wake him up already. It's your turn anyway."
The small gathering in front of the not-quite empty classroom jostled, forcing a lone figure out of its protective folds and closer to the subject of their collective trepidations.
"Go on," urged the majority, "wake him up."
___________________________________________
FF7:AC
[Was titled: Part of the Job Description--was supposed to make fun of Reno's wall-scaling abilities.]
It wasn't often that Reno found himself the only one on Wednesday without any real work to do. The unnatural lack of things that required reassembling through violent and flashy means was finally getting to him. That and maybe also the rubix cube he was attempting to wrangle into an octahedron.
Stupid fucking piece of standard fucking ShinRa brain-rape.
With a grimace that waxed wordless poetic on what exactly he thought of the supposed "toy," Reno threw the not-quite-octahedron-but-getting-there over his shoulder.
The sickening thunk of crumbling plaster was, dissappointingly, not as satisfying as he would have liked.
Wednesdays were so dull.
Never mind that they'd just managed to retrieve an alien's head-in-a-box and suffered two presumed casualties only to have said presumed-dead show up to save the boss from smearing onto the asphalt.
Wednesdays had been dull, were dull, and would forever be dull. Holiday seasons, or no.
_______________
AND SINCE'S IT'S CHRISTMAS SOMEHOW JENOVA'S HEADBOX GETS STUCK IN A TREE. RENO'S THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN CLIMB PROPERLY. THEREFORE HE MUST BE THE ONE TO RETRIEVE IT.
___________________________________________
ZOMBIE POWDER
[Way back when cubicle_days and I first met and we spent an entire night talking about ZP and theorizing how the story would have continued, how the characters would have developed... This was supposed to be some C.T. Smith character-speculation.]
-- there has to be some things you just don't say to Smith.
_______________
Unfazed and, Gamma suspected, just the slightest bit insane, deLullo sneered. It was an amazing feat actually, how the sweating blob of degenerate human sitting in his own puddle could still pull back his upper lip as far as he did with the barrel of a gun planted sideways between his nose and mouth.
"You souped-up your Oakley didn't you? I can tell."
From where he was taking a breather on his perch atop a pile of dismembered bodies to the right, Gamma blinked, an unpleasant sense of deja-vu creeping up his spine; blood and features pinioned to a wall flashed before his eyes.
"I've heard things about people who enhance their firearms. Few of my boys even--"
Gamma watched on, armored arm rising on its own volition.
"You sure--"
Oh.
"--that you aren't--"
Oh fuck.
"--trying to compensate--"
The little bastard should have SOME shred of self-preservation left, right? RIGHT?? Gamma let out a resigned "goddamn" as Smith, without so much a twitch to his pleasant smile, tilted his gun, up sixty degrees, and shot a hole the size of a dime through deLullo's nose.
Gamma buried his face in his hand. Those bloodstains were bitches to get out and Smith knew that. He dragged his hand down his face and peered through the fan of his splayed fingers.
"I'm not washing that out for you," he called out indignantly.
"But it's your turn to do laundry."
"You're missing the point!"
___________________________________________
--> This entire post has been a lie. :D
... except for the list. I really am dying for the next month or so.
Lyrics here.
And now with that out of the way--a few thoughts about how my life is going right now. Or, more precisely, how RL has finally caught up to me and how I think I'm going to have to make some Choices. I have:
- Two [2] exams tomorrow
- Two [2] papers (totaling to 8 pages) due next Friday
- Hetalia WFC Round 3 entry due Tuesday
- One [1] fifteen paged (minimum) CAPSTONE research paper due the Friday after that.
- To update my resume ASAP so I can get back to my lab person and he can hire me for a year beginning Fall of 2009.
So this has been on my mind for the past... well, whenever was the last time I wrote fic (that wasn't for the Hetalia kink meme =P). Seriously? I think I'm going to have to make some cuts in what I do in fandom. It was nice, being able to both fic and draw and do all sorts of things to spread the fandom lulz. Unfortunately, I don't think I can keep it up anymore. I haven't felt any urge to fic for a while and looking at my folder of WIPs just makes me cringe with shame. I hate leaving things unfinished, but seriously, NO INSPIRATION. Not to mention I've written so many academic papers this last year that I honestly think any remaining crack reserve in me has been bled dry. And if I can't write humor, then there's really no point in me writing, is there?
I know I promised a few people fics. But. I'm sorry guys. Drawing has become shockingly easier than writing, and up until this point this has never happened before. I don't think I really feel anything for ficcing anymore--besides constant guilt and the stress that comes with. I have one pressing obligation that I will complete, because runesque might hunt me down with a nail-bat if I don't, but otherwise I think I'm done.
And on that note, here are all the WIPs that have accumulated and deserve some sort of aeration, because even if I can't tie up loose ends, I might as well provide some closure to all these ideas.
KHR
[6918-ish Aftermath to the Vongola Ring Arc]
He feels like a deadman walking, mental tally of injuries long and debilitating. Blood loss makes his vision hazy, alternating between warm and dark and bright and fuzzy. That doesn't stop him from walking off on his own though, away from the baby's group before the urge to bury them all under the foundations of the school overwhelms him. An attribution to the bloodloss, perhaps--it's not often he feels so charitable.
The blank-eyed women were making good their word. The third floor's windows looked new; the charred equipment gone. He expects the grounds to be in pristine condition in the morning.
"U-um, excuse me, Mr. Namimori Head Prefect...?"
Hibari ignored the stuttered call and the female herbivore who'd issued it. The girl was lucky, all things considered; he was too preoccupied with staying upright in order to make it to the Reception Room, and she was not in actuality, Rokudou.
___________________________________________
[OLD OLD OLD idea. You notice that after Chapter 05, the Disciplinary Members no longer have unique hairstyles and instead share Kusakabe's glorious 'do.]
"So, let me clarify this a bit--you were all punished by Hibari--"
"Except for the Vice-president."
"--and that's why you all share--?"
"That's correct."
"... but... that--!"
"SO LAME."
___________________________________________
[Was supposed to be a part of my Building A Legacy Alternate Future--Ienobu's first fight with some other kids over something or other. Probably the fact that he has like, 2 fathers, 3 mothers, and a bajillion other "relatives."]
"You're getting blood on my tatami," Hibari observed and eyed the waterfall running from the cut on Nobu's brow with something akin to distaste. The implicit you're scrubbing it off with a toothbrush wavered ominously in the airspace between them.
And it was in that moment, when the edges of Hibari's lips lifted up and curved his mouth into a small, approving smile, that Ienobu thought he might understand why Uncle Dino and Papa Nappo constantly brave the Cloud Guardian's ire.
When Tsuna learned of the fight the next day (and solely by virtue of receiving a bill from the Foundation for floor-related stain treatment), the heartbreak he experienced wasn't so much from the fact that his son was picking fights already, but rather from the fact that he went to Hibari first.
___________________________________________
ARES
[That threesome, MikaelBarunaAres thing I was SO HYPED UP FOR up until I got hit with... something else? The premise was supposed to involve the boys using Baruna's weapon so much during sex (that steel rope could be useful, ;D) that Ares and Mikael develop Pavlov's Dog reactions to it during battles. And. UST-hijinks would somehow ensue.]
They're in the midst of battle when that happens. It was a minor skirmish anyway, so Ares stops in mid-swing. Looks down. Stares.
Huh.
And almost gets his head taken off by his half-dead opponent in his moment of shock.
"Ares!"
He ducks reflexively in response to Baruna's shout and feels, more than hears, the swing that clips the hairs at the back of his head a few centimeters shorter. A heartbeat later and suddenly there's a spray of blood raining from behind, his conspicuously throatless opponent crumbling in on himself. Ares straightens up again when he hears, more than feels, the telltale whistle and rush of air displaced by a sharp blade traveling at high angular speeds. From the periphery, he could see the dagger snake back to its owner via the long coil of steel it was attached to.
His dick twitches.
Huh.
Oh. Oh.
_______________
"There you are Baruna! I've been looking all over for you. Didn't expect to find you in here of all--hey, why're you practicing sword repetitions? Did your funky weapon break? Is it in for maintenance? Hey, Baruna? Baruna?"
___________________________________________
[Was supposed to be an attempt at writing Baruna back-story--by fabricating him a family history and shit. Complete with a sister]
Her name was Varuni--a tribute to the rolling winefields of their ancestors their father never harvested--just as his was a reflection of the sea their mother never saw. Both were tributes to things their parents could only dream of--and yearn for them they did.
___________________________________________
GINTAMA
[Random Okita/Hijikata thing. Involved Katsura expanding his terrorist activities into the realm of doujin, and Okita getting his hands on an anthology. So what if I found Hijikata bottoming utterly hilarious and exploitable for lulzy situations. =P ]
Okita frowns up from the book. "You're not doing it right Hijikata-san. You're suppose to like it when I shove my bazooka up your--"
"YOU'RE DEAD DO YOU UNDERSTAND? DEAD. AND THERE WON'T BE ENOUGH OF YOU TO FILL A SOUP SPOON WHEN I'M DO--"
"See, it says so here on page 28." Okita flips a page. "Oh," he muses aloud, "I see. 'Not to be performed without warm-up stretches.' Is that why it won't fit?"
Hijikata tenses against his bindings as Okita's placid-eyed gaze alternates between him and the terrorist's manual.
Somewhere down south, something puckers in sensory horror.
"A spoon," he hisses with as much conviction as he can muster. Which isn't a lot, giving his position strapped to a--just what the hell was he strapped to anyway?? The floor is cold against his lower back and his shoulder aches. Hijikata twists his head for a painful glance over his shoulder.
A heating unit. Perfect.
___________________________________________
[Gintoki and Hijikata get handcuffed together.]
"Sorry Hijikata-san," Okita says, not sounding sorry at all, "it would seem that I've lost the keys."
He shades his eyes against the sunless sky, and makes a show of peering ineffectually into the horizon.
Hijikata grinds straight through of what remained of his cigarette. "You're not sorry at all you little bastard!!" he rages, trying his goddamn best to reach his unruffled subordinate with Gintoki in tow. Needless to say, his unwilling cuffmate isn't too pleased.
"Hey," Gintoki protests, yanking the livid vice-captain to heel. "Hey!"
With a startled choke, having almost swallowed a mouthful of ash and filter paper, Hijikata is forced to stumble back in a sprawl of flailing limbs and unpleasant oaths. From his rather compromising vantage point between Gintoki's legs, Hijikata glares up. "What."
The freelancer scratches behind one ear. "You know, it's because of people like you that there isn't a better tomorrow for today's youths," he says after a while.
"The. Fuck."
"He's right you know, Hijikata-san." Okita looks as earnest as a rabid weasel. "Stop ruining my childhood."
___________________________________________
SLAM DUNK
[Some random post-series thing that had Sakuragi and Rukawa as co-captains and a the newly developed team chore of having to wake up Rukawa before practices.]
Sakuragi stormed through the second years' hallways with as much grace and single-minded drive as a runaway semi.
The rest of the members of the Shohoku Basketball team trailed behind at a much more leisurely pace, peering warily from around the last corner. They all drew together, as it on instinct when the tall redhead disappeared up the stairwell leading to the third-year's floor.
"Vice-captain fell asleep?"
"Yeah. And still MIA from the looks of it."
"Break ends in five."
"Four, actually."
_______________
"... I'm too young to be beaten within an inch of my life for doing the right thing."
"Well, I was too young to have seen my life and the bleachers flash in front of my eyes last week--so stop being such a pussy and go wake him up already. It's your turn anyway."
The small gathering in front of the not-quite empty classroom jostled, forcing a lone figure out of its protective folds and closer to the subject of their collective trepidations.
"Go on," urged the majority, "wake him up."
___________________________________________
FF7:AC
[Was titled: Part of the Job Description--was supposed to make fun of Reno's wall-scaling abilities.]
It wasn't often that Reno found himself the only one on Wednesday without any real work to do. The unnatural lack of things that required reassembling through violent and flashy means was finally getting to him. That and maybe also the rubix cube he was attempting to wrangle into an octahedron.
Stupid fucking piece of standard fucking ShinRa brain-rape.
With a grimace that waxed wordless poetic on what exactly he thought of the supposed "toy," Reno threw the not-quite-octahedron-but-getting-there over his shoulder.
The sickening thunk of crumbling plaster was, dissappointingly, not as satisfying as he would have liked.
Wednesdays were so dull.
Never mind that they'd just managed to retrieve an alien's head-in-a-box and suffered two presumed casualties only to have said presumed-dead show up to save the boss from smearing onto the asphalt.
Wednesdays had been dull, were dull, and would forever be dull. Holiday seasons, or no.
_______________
AND SINCE'S IT'S CHRISTMAS SOMEHOW JENOVA'S HEADBOX GETS STUCK IN A TREE. RENO'S THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN CLIMB PROPERLY. THEREFORE HE MUST BE THE ONE TO RETRIEVE IT.
___________________________________________
ZOMBIE POWDER
[Way back when cubicle_days and I first met and we spent an entire night talking about ZP and theorizing how the story would have continued, how the characters would have developed... This was supposed to be some C.T. Smith character-speculation.]
-- there has to be some things you just don't say to Smith.
_______________
Unfazed and, Gamma suspected, just the slightest bit insane, deLullo sneered. It was an amazing feat actually, how the sweating blob of degenerate human sitting in his own puddle could still pull back his upper lip as far as he did with the barrel of a gun planted sideways between his nose and mouth.
"You souped-up your Oakley didn't you? I can tell."
From where he was taking a breather on his perch atop a pile of dismembered bodies to the right, Gamma blinked, an unpleasant sense of deja-vu creeping up his spine; blood and features pinioned to a wall flashed before his eyes.
"I've heard things about people who enhance their firearms. Few of my boys even--"
Gamma watched on, armored arm rising on its own volition.
"You sure--"
Oh.
"--that you aren't--"
Oh fuck.
"--trying to compensate--"
The little bastard should have SOME shred of self-preservation left, right? RIGHT?? Gamma let out a resigned "goddamn" as Smith, without so much a twitch to his pleasant smile, tilted his gun, up sixty degrees, and shot a hole the size of a dime through deLullo's nose.
Gamma buried his face in his hand. Those bloodstains were bitches to get out and Smith knew that. He dragged his hand down his face and peered through the fan of his splayed fingers.
"I'm not washing that out for you," he called out indignantly.
"But it's your turn to do laundry."
"You're missing the point!"
___________________________________________
--> This entire post has been a lie. :D
... except for the list. I really am dying for the next month or so.