idek, one of those old fic dump posts I guess.

[lunacrescent]

Incomplete fic I don't hate but don't care enough to finish:


Title: Wayfinder
Category: JE/12 Kingdoms mash-up
Notes: MAGICAL UNICORNS AND BABIES GROWING ON TREES--12 Kingdoms is my favorite fantasy anime ever, ever, ever.
Chances of being finished: Let's be honest, it's probably not happening.

Fourth Moon of the Second Year of Yugao
Seiha, capital city of Shun

"What?" Jin choked on his tea, fumbling the cup down with a clink on the lacquered table. The amber liquid inside lapped up at the delicately painted rim, but didn't spill over. "Is that true?" he demanded.

The tea hostess knew him well enough to not bat an eye at his manners while she collected empty dishes onto a tray. "I trust the word of my own sister," she said with a worried frown. "If she says the springs are drying up, it must be true. Such a shame, I was planning to visit for the solstice..."

"Why, gods?" The plaintive appeal was muffled as Jin buried his face in his hands and groaned.

"It will be rough for a while yet," the hostess admitted. "But the weather's normal at least, thanks to the new king."

Another patron sitting nearby commented, "All the more strange, isn't it? The springs in Miran are as much the lifeblood of Shun as the pond we're sitting in right now. They lasted throughout the Hidden King's reign and the twenty-five years after, but once this new king is enthroned there's suddenly trouble? Suspicious, if you ask me."

"Nobody asked you." Jin scowled and turned to stare out the window. The White Heron was a popular tea house that sat on a pier extending across Shadowlake, named for its position at the base of Mt. Seiha. He could see the sheer cliff walls jutting up out of the water, and at the end of a long bridge, the first of the five gates that led all the way up to the royal palace.

"You shouldn't say such things!" the hostess fretfully admonished the other patron. "It's been two decades of disaster and demons freely roaming the countryside. Things will get better."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

"Here," Jin interrupted, slapping a square, silver sen piece on the table with a smaller round one for tip. He was slightly overpaying, but he liked the White Heron, the occasional irksome customer aside. He couldn't help but pause when he passed the skeptical man's table. "Wait a bit and you'll see plenty of good come from the new king. Unless you doubt the kirin's choice?"

To question the kirin's choice of king was to question the Will of Heaven, and no sane man would dare think such a thing. The complainer mumbled something inconclusive and took a hasty swallow of his drink. No doubt if he knew who stood before him, his answer would have been much more emphatic.

"Thank you, come again!" the hostess called to Jin's back.

The sun was still high in the sky when he stepped out into the street, but soon the long shadow of the mountain would creep over the city and the horizon would deepen into the same burnt red of Jin's hair. The color wasn't unheard of among the wildly varied inhabitants of the twelve kingdoms, and he was well-dressed besides, so no one thought to look twice at him as he made his way through the wealthier district of Seiha. At least, no one looked twice because of his hair color. If the people of Shun knew their kirin walked among them, the admiring gazes would turn to awe. There had not been a red kirin in any of the kingdoms for at least a thousand years.

Jin had always been told on Mt. Hou that surely his birth was an auspicious sign for Shun, and when the citizens of the first pilgrimage laid joyous eyes on him it was as if his existence was enough to save the fallen kingdom. But year after year passed, and countless faces-young, old, male, female-they all paraded before him, yet the revelation never came. Finally, he'd left the safe haven of Mt. Hou to search the demon-infested kingdom itself. He'd spent most of the journey being ill from the ceaseless violence that occurred wherever people converged, and when at last he did find the king, it felt more like a happy accident than divine will. Perhaps if he'd found Kame sooner, there wouldn't be such cynicism now.

True, the weather had started to behave with a rightful ruler on the throne and they were coming up on the rainy season, all things normal. It would take years, decades even, for the land to completely revive, but it was on its way. The demon attacks would abate and sea routes would open up again, safe at last for travel between Shun and the middle kingdoms. Time was, back before the Hidden King closed the country off, Shun had seen plenty of travelers and commerce, famous for its mineral springs. Many of which were, apparently, drying up.

Natural calamities were supposed to be rare during a king's reign. This was the last thing any of them needed, but especially Kame.

Jin didn't bother heading towards the Main Gate. The seemingly endless stairs may have been enchanted for quicker travel, but nothing could get him to the mountain summit faster than his own legs.

He was just mindful enough to not metamorphose in the middle of the street and cause a commotion, but finding an open, secluded area wasn't easy. Jin settled for the semi-privacy of a narrow side street, shadowed between buildings, and transformed mid-stride. His feathered fore hoof made no sound as it came down, light as air, and by the time passerbys turned their heads to look for the source of the sudden gust of gentle breeze, the alley was empty.

A flash of gold and red reflected briefly upon the lake's surface, followed by a path of ripples as if someone had skipped a rock, but no rock could have sped so far. With a kick that didn't leave even the slightest splash, he leapt up and the air welcomed him. The sheer, vertical walls of Mt. Seiha rushed beneath his feet. Up or down, left or right, they meant nothing. Here and there were spouts of water that trickled down from the mountain in lacey waterfalls, wayward streams from the Spring of Life that lay within the heart of the palace.

It was a clear day, but the closer he got to the top he could make out the faint shimmering of sunlight bouncing off the bottom of the translucent Cloud Sea. He neared the flat ledge carved out of the mountainside and landed soundlessly upon the polished white stone. To the side of the open area was a stable reserved solely for the royal flying mounts, and ahead, a pair of ornate doors flanked by guards. The Forbidden Gate, accessible only to the king and kirin, and quickest direct route to Brightwater Palace.

"Keep up the good work, guys," Jin said to the guards who opened the doors as he trotted past them, and it took no time at all to ascend the remaining stairs. Court would be over by now, and Kame would be within the Inner Hall. Jin went directly there without bothering to change back into his human form, a choice that earned him no shortage of stares as servants and officials alike took in the sight of the holiest creature of the kingdom gliding effortlessly to a higher building.

Jin found Kame in a room that overlooked the Cloud Sea, shutters and doors wide open to let in the breeze. The briny ocean scent mingled with the floral perfume of brightly flowering vines that framed the terrace. Kame sat behind a black lacquered desk, documents piled high and neat in one corner with a lone sheaf singled out in the middle for reading. When his eyes reached the end of the text the heavy royal seal came down, approval stamped in red ink.

He wasn't alone. "My answer is still no," Kame said to Junno, the recently appointed Master of Ceremonies. The position had been previously filled by an uptight old lady who resigned when Kame ascended the throne. Fortunately, the other ministers who followed her lead had been few and Kame took it in stride.

"I understand you're busy," Junno placated, and for all that he appeared fidgety in the formal robes of office he didn't wither under Kame's peeved stare. "But I believe it would do much to assure your people if you participated in the Midsummer Festival."

"Yeah," Jin added, diverting Kame's attention to himself. "Come on, you skipped out last year."

"Why are you like that?" Kame demanded instead of answering. "We talked about this. Last time you ran around the palace in that form, someone thought it meant we were in a state of emergency."

"Er." Jin shifted from hoof to hoof on the tiled floor and tossed his russet mane sheepishly. "I forgot?"

"You forgot," Kame repeated, tone flat as a board. Then he snapped back at Junno, "Fine, just a brief appearance, but don't plan anything extravagant and stay within the budget. You're dismissed."

"I think it's a good idea," Jin said once they were alone. "The solstice is also the anniversary, after all."

"The anniversary of your grand idiocy, you mean?"

"Better late than never!" Almost two years ago, whether by accident or design, Jin had kneeled in front of Kame and pledged his loyalty. He transformed back to human remembering the tingling shock from when his forehead had touched Kame's immaculately painted toe.

"For Heaven's sake, put something on!" Kame hissed, impeccable in his royal attire. He never showed it in public, or said a word alluding to the fact, but Jin knew the smothering layers made him uncomfortable. Only within his private chambers where no one else but Jin was allowed did he relax in carelessly draped silk, at ease with baring generous amounts of skin that people had once paid handsomely to appreciate.

So Jin forgave Kame's prudishness. "Kuri," he spoke, and the floor beneath his shadow rippled as a female figure rose out of it. An unusual nyokai for an unusual kirin, Kuri was bronze where her brethren were marble. She stood upright on tawny cat legs and rustled the mottled feathers of her wings.

"Taiho," she greeted with warm affection, holding out a folded pile of clothes fetched from his own chambers. Physical distance meant nothing to a kirin's shirei.

"You're the best, Kuri." Jin grinned and stepped into the trousers as she sunk back into his shadow. The plain under robe was next, and the outer robe, he noted with approval, was also simple (though the fabric of course was highest quality silk).

"Don't you have duties to be attending to?" Kame asked with an arch of his brows. "A province to govern?"

Jin was technically Governor of Roku Province, but that hardly meant anything. He rolled his eyes while fastening the last closure of his robe. "I have better things to do."

"So do I," Kame said, giving the pile of documents on his desk a pointed look. "Especially now that the water levels of our most famous springs are steadily decreasing for no apparent reason."

"You already heard about that?" Jin wilted a little. He'd hoped the news hadn't reached Kame yet.

"It was all we talked about this morning-which you'd know if you'd been at court."

"Well, the ministers are always getting on my case when I fall asleep, so I thought I'd, er, remove the problem?"

Kame had always excelled at controlling his expressions and mannerisms. His ability to maintain grace and poise in front of an audience was one thing that served him well whether he was a courtesan or a king. Even so, Jin made him quirk a begrudging smile, closer to a smirk that should have been accompanied by the snap and flutter of a sandalwood fan. "The lesser of two evils is still evil. Be there tomorrow morning, I don't have time for news I've already heard."

"Tell you what," Jin began, eyeing the neat stack of papers as if he could will them away. "I'll attend court if you eat three regular meals a day."

Kame gave a slight roll of his eyes, recognizing the opening of a familiar argument. "I'm immortal now. Starvation won't kill me-it won't even make me sick."

"Not really sick, but energy has to come from somewhere, and it's not like you're getting much sleep, either."

"I'm fine, Jin. You're too sensitive."

"I am not!" Laughter echoed from the unidentifiable subspace occupied by his shirei and Jin's face fell, undermined by his own nature. "Maybe I am. But I'm also your advisor and I'm telling you for your own good and the good of the kingdom!"

"I'll consider it," Kame demurred, and that was all Jin could get out of him.

* * * * *

The waves of the Cloud Sea rolled and crashed outside, every pound a boom of thunder to the earthbound inhabitants below as water rained down in torrents. Above the clouds, the sun continued to shine. The palace frequently saw a shroud of mist in the early morning, but never proper rain. Kame supposed it was like this for all the cloud-piercing mountain peaks, and even surrounded by an abundance of flowering greenery and unimaginable wealth, he found that he still missed the overcast skies and drumming beat of summer thunderstorms.

When he'd been young, sudden downpours meant extra work as people sought shelter, and sometimes company, until the storm passed. Later, when he'd become too expensive for most folk to afford as a casual companion, the rain was a brief reprieve from business. He'd open a shutter and not have to worry about appearances because no one lingered to ogle in such weather. Afterward, when the rain stopped and the sun sank below the horizon, the white flowers that were the brothel's namesake leisurely unfurled with a scatter of glistening water drops. The evening blossoms signaled the real business hours of the Moonflower, and Kame would have to entertain long throughout the night.

Some things he missed: the comfortable snatches of time alone, the earthy freshwater scent of a tempestuous shower, the ease of gossip and meaningless conversation. Other things he was glad to be rid of: the customers that were either too pushy or too boring, the petty competition and dirty tricks throughout the ranks, the mornings spent wine-sick and bone-tired until he had to do it all over again.

Kame had traded it all, the good and the bad, for a throne that had sat empty for too long and been misused for longer than that. He now had a kingdom that didn't know what to make of him-a kingdom that needed help getting back on its feet but hesitated to accept the aid of a former whore. The name of the new calendar had been selected and spread by word of mouth before he ever got around to officially declaring it: Yugao, the era of the Evening Face. Jin complained loudly about the choice, but Kame had more important things to do than debate the appropriateness of the name.

"...And the reports from Sui Province-Your Majesty?"

The Cloud Sea rumbled and broke upon Kame's awareness, bringing him to full attention. "Yes. Continue." He managed to stay focused throughout court that morning, but it had been a mistake to use a room in the afternoon that featured one of the best views found in the palace. He thought the nearness of the water and the storms brewing in its underbelly would calm his restlessness, but it was proving distracting instead.

Kame gathered himself and listened intently to the Chief Clerk's report from Sui Province, allowing a nod of satisfaction when he heard that the new levees were holding up. Flooding had been a problem before his reign, and a severe drought before that, but this would be the second good harvest under his rule. That had to count for something, didn't it?

"One last thing, Your Majesty. About the springs in Miran..."

"Yes?"

If the man detected the note of trepidation in Kame's tone, he showed no response. "It seems that we have nothing to fear. The problem is taking care of itself."

For a brief instant Kame floated on relief. One less disaster to fix, one less stain on his name. "I see. I'm glad to hear it."

"Your Majesty!" A shadow moved behind the screen that shielded the room from the main entrance. The figure that stepped around it was flanked by Koki, head of the king's personal guard. "I-I bear a message from the Taiho."

"Oh?" Kame drew the sound out in surprise. He was even slightly impressed. Perhaps Jin had finally learned a modicum of patience and etiquette, even if his choice of messenger was obviously lacking. "And what does he have to say?"

Koki brought a note forward rather than let the messenger recite it aloud; his unusually silent demeanor was the first warning, and the way he caught Kame's eye was the second. There was no seal, and the note was extremely brief, Jin's careless scrawl unmistakable. As soon as Kame finished reading the short message once he didn't bother reading it again before pushing away from his desk with a sharp jerk, startling the Chief Clerk and splashing a lick of ink over the lip of the inkstone. Koki knew him well enough to clear out of his way, dragging the unfortunate messenger while he was at it.

Kame all but hiked up the cumbersome royal attire and ran. Everyone he passed stopped to stare before remembering to prostrate themselves, and if they muttered behind his back, so be it. The roar of the sea filled his ears, heavenly waters radiant under the sun and nearly as blinding as the first time he'd laid eyes upon them, borne on the immense back of Genbu with Jin at his side.

On the day of his coronation, stifled in the extravagant sable and crimson of his ceremonial robes and the crown already heavy on his head, Kame had discreetly peeked to find Jin hovering closer than what propriety dictated. He made no attempt at solemnity either, face shining and exuberantly proud. There was no tint of smugness in the flash of his grin or the crinkle of the corners of his eyes, just a fountain of pride and joy overflowing for Kame's sake. One furtive glance, and it was that more than the rows upon rows of prostrated men and women that made Kame decide there would be no regret. He was the one Jin had chosen.

But most kings might have thought that, newly instated and come into power, backed by the Mandate of Heaven. As history had proved, again and again, the Way could be lost. Laws became too strict or too lenient, governments corrupted within, the kingdom crumbled-and the kirin fell ill.

The door to Jin's chambers snapped open with a crack. It was dim inside, the window shutters drawn closed, and the air was smoky with an unfamiliar scent, sharp and bitter, not at all like the spiced incense Jin preferred. Something medicinal, Kame determined past the twisting in his gut. It wasn't much of a comforting thought. Kame's head was crammed full of the rules and terminology of court, plus the workings of the kingdom, he didn't have the time to cover history. But he knew what everyone else knew; the stories performed by the wandering troupes of players, the ancient lore even children could recite, the common knowledge that there was no earthly cure for shitsudou, the Losing of the Way.

Kame stopped at the base of the vast sleeping dais, shrouded in the gauzy shadow of a curtain. "Jin," he forced himself to say, heavy with the regret he'd sworn off those many months ago. "It's me. I heard."

"Kame? Good." Movement fluttered behind the curtain. Kame's hands darted out to push it aside and kneel on the soft cushions.

He was in complete disarray thanks to his haste, hair falling out of place and clothes rumpled, but he didn't mind when Jin smiled a little at the sight. Kame smoothed his palms over either side of Jin's face, thumbs sweeping across cheekbones. Did he feel too warm? Clammy? His voice, had there been a rasp? What sort of illness was shitsudou, anyway? "I'm sorry," he murmured through the racing questions and snatches of memories. Few kings had ever saved their kirin from shitsudou, and fewer still lived through the ordeal. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I've done wrong..."

Jin's hands were just a bit bigger than Kame's as they overlapped. He did feel warm, but in contrast Kame felt chilled through his layers. Maybe Jin had chosen wrong after all-no, Kame immediately rejected the notion. It couldn't be the kirin's fault, his kneeling at Kame's feet was no fluke. Jin had done his duty, it was Kame who had erred and now the other half of his soul was suffering for it.

"What do I need to do? How do I fix this?" There were still demons on the loose, though the attacks were not quite as bold as before. The Void Sea was still too dangerous to cross, keeping Shun isolated. Many areas were still greatly damaged from flood and war. His own court was still a mess of corruption and conspirers, with too many positions empty and not nearly enough trustworthy people to fill them. Kame thought that in time the attacks would abate, the sea routes would be reestablished once the kingdom had settled, the land would grow wealthier after healing, and he'd clean up the ranks gradually with painstaking care.

But what did he know of governing, really? Too much waiting, that had to be it, he hadn't done enough for the kingdom because he'd had to stop and learn things even the lowliest official would scoff at.

"Stay," Jin said, hands closing around Kame's wrists with surprising steadiness. "Just stay for a while."

For a moment Kame couldn't breathe, it felt like all the air had left his lungs and was never coming back in. Too late pounded like the thudding of a door in his head. "I'll resign," he gasped quickly, trying to tug out of Jin's hold so he could leave right away for Mt. Hou and abdicate the throne. It meant death for him, but Jin at least would recover.

"Wait, no!" Jin matched Kame's tug with a yank, and Kame's balance tipped to land him in an undignified heap amid cushions and pillows.

"It's the only way," Kame growled, pushing himself stiffly upright. Then he found himself gathered in a full-body hug, surrounded suddenly by Jin's warmth. He hadn't been embraced since becoming king and untouchable, too busy and too conscious of his reputation to seek physical companionship. The previous king had kept concubines. None remained, but Kame had their lavish quarters converted into austere guest halls trying to make a point.

He hadn't thought this was one of the things he missed; the feel of another body so close, the sound of soft breathing rolling in and out as waves do upon the shore, someone else's unique scent, familiar in this case, and comfortable. Indulgent. Stalling.

Kame's eyes flew open-he hadn't even known they were closed-and he pushed at Jin. "What are you-"

"Kame," Jin said, tone straining more towards exasperation than pleading, and a knot uncurled in Kame's gut.

He put his hands to Jin's face again, sweeping under the fringe of his hair to feel his forehead. Jin flinched at the touch to the horn area, but his skin was dry and warm-as most living bodies tend to be. His eyes were bright, though wary, and his shoulders seemed to droop in resignation with each passing second.

Kame sat back and folded his hands in his lap, poised save for the telltale clench of his fingers. "Jin. Are you really sick?"

"Well..."

"Answer me."

Jin tried to look everywhere but Kame. "I did feel kinda off this morning..."

"Enough to send me a note saying you were dying?" Kame hissed.

"I'm sorry." He did look sorry, all big eyes and miserable apology, but Kame had been ready to forfeit his life for this charlatan bastard. He couldn't even come up with words, and Jin added hurriedly, "You just don't listen, though! You shut me out and work yourself half to death-"

Kame barked a humorless laugh. "And my kirin contracting shitsudou wouldn't add to my worries, no."

"My approach was flawed," Jin admitted, just like that. Like it was nothing important. Like Kame hadn't felt the world wink out of existence the moment he received the message.

It happened again, a passing moment of nothing; Jin might have said something else and next thing Kame knew there was a blur of his sleeve and Jin cutting off. Kame lowered his arm, knuckles smarting.

Jin looked dazed. "Did you just...?" He raised a hesitant hand and brushed the corner of his mouth. His fingertip came away with a small dab of blood and his eyes went wide, showing the whites all around. "You hit me! I'm bleeding!"

So was Kame, with a matching drop of crimson welling on the knuckle of his middle finger. Probably scraped a tooth. "Bastard like you deserved it." He glowered like he was a scrappy kid again who tussled often with his brothers, before the Moonflower cultivated him into a mockery of refinement. He licked at his injury and it barely stung, already healing over.

Meanwhile, Jin was practically swooning. "It's in my mouth! I can taste it, I'm feeling faint. You asshole, now I really am going to get sick."

"And you'd still deserve it," Kame said, but this time with less vitriol. He sighed and wet his thumb, wiping away the red smear from Jin's pouting lips.

Jin raised a fuss until Kame summoned the palace physician. Maru stated that the slight weakness would pass with a few hours of rest, silencing Jin's dramatic complaints. He found something new to take issue with when Kame made to leave.

"Jin," Kame warned, straightening his clothes.

"Kame," Jin mimicked. He grabbed a fistful of Kame's trailing sleeve like a petulant five-year-old.

All it took was a firm order to free himself, and Kame exited the room without looking back. Jin wouldn't sulk for long. When he checked later, as the moon climbed the starry heavens and washed the sea in silver, he found Jin sound asleep with an enviable lack of care in his relaxed sprawl.

"Why do I ever worry about this idiot?" Kame muttered under his breath with an ineffective glare. He shook his head and let the curtain fall back into place. It had been a harrowing day, reason enough to retire early for once.


Title: Fear
Category: Gokusen 2
Notes: My greatest weakness: delinquent schoolboys with hearts of gold who have awkward adolescent feelings for each other!
Chances of being finished: Eeeh, the urge might sneak up on me. I actually can't really remember what I was going to do with it.

"Are you sure this is the place?"

"Of course it is, look at it! Besides, it's the right address."

One of Ryu's hands was curled loosely around the plastic handles of a conbini bag. He held the other one out, palm up. Hayato stared at it for a moment before the light bulb went on and he reached into his pocket, grumbling, "I'm not lying." He slapped a crumpled sheet of notebook paper into Ryu's waiting hand.

It wasn't that Ryu thought Hayato would lie, but sometimes Hayato couldn't read his own handwriting. Reaching to unfold the paper, he let the bag slide down his wrist where the handles bunched with the cuff of his sleeve, and smoothed out the deepest crinkles of the page to see the address copied there in Hayato's lazy strokes, recognizable if incomprehensible. Staring at the words now, Ryu wasn't sure how he made sense of them, either. But whatever intuitive understanding was at work, the street name and house number matched.

The building was four stories high with a wrap-around balcony embracing the second tier, and from there filmy curtains were visible through the windows. Rust deteriorated the railing of the balcony, and overflowing flower pots spilled between the balusters, but that was nothing compared to the veiny branches webbing across the walls, brown and brittle save for a cluster of leafy vines sprouting mysteriously from a portion of the third floor. The front door was boarded shut, but it was said that the door to the balcony could be opened.

Ryu tilted his head, considering. "It looks the part, I guess."

"Fuck," Hayato said, staring at the haunted house they were supposed to spend the night in. "Look at-fuck."

"Your idea."

"Was not," Hayato hissed, and that was fair enough. He'd only accepted the idea-well, more of a challenge-when it was posed to them (thrown down at their feet like a gauntlet) by the Kurogin seniors. Typical hazing. Actually rather harmless compared to what Ryu imagined having to go through, but he was far from relieved. Knowing Hayato, there was still a likely possibility of the night erupting in fists, blood, and bruises. Dumb luck had prevented a fight breaking out from the onset; Hayato bought the "test of courage" spiel and didn't see the "messing with the freshmen" part.

Or maybe he simply didn't acknowledge it. Most of the time Hayato wasn't stupid so much as willfully ignorant, and Ryu was in no hurry to disabuse people of their misconception. For one thing, underestimating Hayato gave him an edge.

"Let's get this over with," Hayato said at last, taking a few bold steps closer to the building and angling his face up to examine the balcony. It looked like it would hold if someone grabbed onto it. Maybe. "Okay." He suddenly crouched down. "Ryu, get on."

And for another thing... Ryu walked up behind Hayato and placed his hands on his shoulders. There was more muscle there than there used to be, slightly broadening his frame with still plenty more room to grow. His hair was getting long, tanned nape barely visible above the collar of his t-shirt. Ryu's fingers flexed but did not skate anywhere near the hints of bare skin within reach. "And what will you do once I'm stuck up there?"

Hayato surged up, throwing Ryu's hands off as he whirled only to grab them again before Ryu could take a wary step back. "I wouldn't leave you anywhere!"

He was actually angry. Ryu blinked. To say he prided himself in knowing Hayato best would be conceited, but facts were facts. Even so, sometimes there was no following Hayato's thought process. "I know. I know you wouldn't."

"Well. Well, yeah. I mean." He dropped Ryu's hands and irritably scrubbed fingers through his hair. "Whatever. So how do you think we should get in?"

Belligerent Hayato was nothing new, although more and more common lately. Ryu tried not to feel too paranoid about it. "Your way is fine," he said, placating, "but I won't be able to reach you to pull you up."

"I can jump and you can grab me."

Ryu merely looked at Hayato until the latter turned sheepish, bad mood leaking out to make room for a grin.

"Guess your arms don't stretch that much."

"Don't make this about me, you can't jump that high."

"If your arms were longer-"

"Like two meters long."

"I'd still love you if you were a freak!"

Ryu felt his face burn, from neck to hairline and the tips of his ears. "Don't be ridiculous," he snapped, turning away. The plastic handles of the bag were twisted tight enough around his fingers now to make them throb. Hayato had gone silent behind him. Suspicious, Ryu thought, swallowing. This looked way suspicious, and he cast about for something to say. "Ah," he said, gaze landing upon just what he needed. "Do you think you could shimmy up the lamppost? I could grab you if you pushed off from there."

"Oh-hey, yeah!" It could have been Ryu's imagination but Hayato sounded relieved. "Perfect. You're a genius~"

"Let's go then. It's going to get dark soon." This time when Hayato crouched Ryu swung a leg over each shoulder. "Care-"

But Hayato never did anything slow and careful. He clutched Ryu's bony knees on either side of his head and shot upwards, grunting with the effort of taking all of Ryu's weight on his shoulders at once. If Ryu didn't know Hayato well enough to be prepared it could have ended in disaster, being thrown forwards or backwards and falling despite the grip on his legs. He found the right balance, though, just long enough to reach up and catch hold of the ledge of the balcony, steadying himself.

"You okay?" Hayato's concern floated up from between Ryu's thighs, and Ryu forced himself to freeze rather than fidget. This couldn't have been more awkward.

"Fine," he gritted out. He swung the plastic bag through the bars of the railing and slid his hand free of the handles. "I'm going to climb up now."

Ryu wrapped his fingers around the bars and hoped they were sturdy enough for this. The grit of corrosion scratched sandpaper-rough against his palms as he hauled himself up high enough to get a foot braced on Hayato's shoulder. A hand clamped over his shoe, reassuring in presence if not in purpose, and Ryu pushed until he was standing with his elbows slung over the top of the rail, taking some weight off Hayato.

The aged structure creaked a little, but thankfully didn't wobble. Ryu allowed himself to breathe again, and pulled the rest of his lanky body up and over while trying not to kick Hayato in the head. Then the soles of his shoes finally hit the solid metal platform.

He brushed flakes of rust from his hands and looked down. Hayato was rolling his shoulders a bit and he gave a wave when he caught Ryu's stare. "How's the door?"

Ryu scooped up the bag again and made his way along the balcony, brushing through a shallow pool of leaves and ferns that frothed around his ankles. The network of spindly branches clinging to the walls was just as creepy up close. He came to the door, and already knew what to expect when he saw the weeds torn up around the frame. It took a good, hard yank, but the door opened as they'd been told.

He returned to the ledge where Hayato waited impatiently below. "Got it. Maybe I can go downstairs and see if I can get the front door opened."

"No way!" Hayato crossed his arms in an X above his head. "Don't you dare go in there without me!"

Ryu debated internally for a moment. He was half-certain the seniors were waiting inside to scare them, and the other half didn't think there was anything at all in there except a lot of dust. But no matter what he might have decided, Hayato was already squirming up the lamppost. He had to climb almost all the way to the top to get even with the second floor, and slipped once when the sweat on his palms made his skin squeak along smooth metal. Ryu picked up on a string of muttered curses as Hayato locked his legs more tightly around the pole and gained back the progress he'd lost with furious determination.

"Now what?" Hayato panted, twisting his head around to see Ryu behind him.

Ryu dropped the bag again, reminded himself this had been his brilliant idea, and got into position. The distance wasn't far; he could have touched Hayato's back from here. This was probably how most people got in. "Push off and grab the railing. I'll help."

Hayato swiveled around trying find an angle where he could see where he was going. Ryu knew the instant when he got fed up, recognizing the way his scowl turned into a manic grin and his eyes shone almost feverishly as he decided, screw it, and made the jump.

The structure rattled as Hayato's weight collided into it, clinging to the railing. Ryu snatched up a fistful of t-shirt but that wasn't going to really help much, so he leaned over to hook his fingers on Hayato's belt and pulled.

"Ow," Hayato groaned when he landed in a heap at Ryu's feet, knocking over a potted plant. Soil spilled out around his splayed fingers and he shook off the fern that draped across his arm.


Title: Waltz for the Moon (SO CLEVER, I KNOW)
Category: FF8
Notes: Every couple of years I apparently have the urge to write vampire AU.
Chances of being finished: Finished? Never lol. But I might work on it some more. I have a lot of background floating around in my head. There are no sorceresses. The Lunar Cry 80 years ago that destroyed Centra awoke a lot of slumbering demons. Garden was formed to specialize in fighting them. Squall is a dhampir in the service of Balamb Garden.

"I know this isn't your normal type of job, but orders are orders. I trust you'll follow them just as you always do."

Not his "normal type"-hell, the higher ups must be bored again. Every once in a while they liked to make him jump through hoops just to see if he would. He had yet to disappoint them, or so he assumed given that he was still alive and breathing.

In a relative sense.

Squall accepted a glass of champagne from a passing server, more for the sake of having something to do than out of any desire to drink, and waited out the rest of the president of Galbadia's overblown speech. The occasion was to celebrate fifteen prosperous years of military success and technological advancement under President Deling's rule, never mind the bodies behind the curtain. Figuratively, one would hope, but in fifteen years Galbadia had experienced many things, few of them pleasant.

The true occasion for celebration-what nobody said but everybody read between the lines-was that Vinzer Deling had finally stamped out the last guttering fires of rebellion found in the surrounding neutral or resistant territories. There had been a front page headline earlier that week announcing the appointment of a new Galbadia Garden headmaster, approved by the president himself. A couple pages back was small, furtive article noting the untimely demise of the previous headmaster. Cause of death: suicide.

No one was really surprised; it had seemed only a matter of time before Galbadia Garden came to be directly under Deling's thumb. Some even considered it a good thing. Garden's specialized resources combined with the army's might gave the citizens little to fear from Esthar or the other, darker forces, that had plummeted the world into chaos eighty years ago.

The president's speech finally ended with thunderous applause and hearty toasts. Squally sipped his champagne from where he stood at the very back, for the most part unnoticed. He wasn't the only attendee in a Garden uniform, and Galbadia's uniforms were very much like Balamb's. The formalwear wasn't the most comfortable, but it was familiar, even if the setting was not.

Sending him of all people to an extravagant party-whoever came up with the idea had poor taste in jokes.

At least he didn't have to socialize. An undercover info-gathering job would have been beyond poor taste. Squall's only concern, his only target, was Deling. He tracked the man's movement up on the VIP second floor, knowing there was no way the president would descend to the lower level among the masses. Deling was too paranoid; he made scarce public appearances these days and was always well guarded. Even Balamb's resources couldn't guarantee the accuracy of the private compound layout Squall had memorized before his deployment.

Deling wouldn't stay out in the open for the entire party, good manners be damned. When he disappeared, Squall would move. His orders hadn't been very detailed, another sign that someone was testing him and his judgment. If he made a wrong move Balamb could wash its hands of him easily enough. He wasn't officially enrolled after all.

For now, Deling and his bodyguards drifted among his closest supporters and most honored guests. There were a number of his people hidden within the crowd on both floors, watchful and armed. There were even people stationed on the roof, barely visible outlines through a glass dome filled with a starry sky. A light twinkled in the heavens and streaked faintly before winking out.

Squall lowered his gaze and it landed on a girl, her face tilted up. She looked to be in her mid-teens, with loose raven hair that fell past her shoulders, a brush of dark that offset her short ivory dress. To his dismay she caught him looking before his attention could shift elsewhere. Her finger pointed up and her lips curved in a conspiratorial smile. Squall's brow wrinkled. Then in a flash he understood; she'd seen the shooting star, not the guards. Of course. But by then she was making her way towards him, and Squall schooled the grimace off his face.

The girl planted herself directly in front of him. "You're the best guy here. Dance with me?"

You're kidding, Squall thought, but said nothing. He ignored her and sipped again at his champagne. Disinterest often served him best-in retrospect, he had no room to criticize Deling's manners.

"Let me guess…" The girl continued, putting on a thoughtful expression. "You'll only dance with someone you like. Okay then… Look into my eyes…" She stepped forward with a bold finger pointed at his face, twirling it whimsically. "You're-going-to-like-me… You're-going-to-like-me… Did it work?"

Squall looked away from her teasing brown eyes and the wall at his back suddenly felt uncomfortably solid. "…I can't dance," he said flatly, tone implying it was more a matter of, I don't dance.

Still undeterred, the girl insisted, "You'll be fine." She grabbed his arm. She actually grabbed his arm. Squall almost spilled what was left of his drink, and for a moment thought about spilling it on her to make her go away. "Come on. I'm looking for someone. I can't be on the dance floor alone."

He couldn't afford to cause a scene for a whole host of reasons, and a nearby couple-one of them in a Garden uniform-had paused in amusement. Squall had taken pains to avoid the other Garden members in case they wondered who he was since the party's attendance list was naturally quite limited. Any stray notice could simmer into suspicion later on.

Before he knew it he was letting her lead him onto the dance floor, the lesser of two evils. He ditched his glass on a table and checked the upper level to mark Deling's location. Fortunately, she stopped at a place where he still had a good view of his target.

The girl, perhaps feeling that he wasn't paying enough attention to her, took his hand and placed it on her waist. Hers went up to rest on his shoulder. She beamed at him like she dragged unwilling guys off to dance all the time. Maybe she did. But probably, she didn't have to. She was pretty, most men would have been glad to dance with her.

The "best guy"-it was almost funny. She had the worst taste.

The live orchestra started up a cheery waltz, and if Squall could have gotten away with it he'd have made a face. He'd taken a crash course in ballroom dancing before the mission just in case a need like this arose, but it was an experience he could have happily lived without. The girl nudged his uncertain steps in the right direction, smiling away, and he caught himself wondering if she was honestly enjoying herself. Or was she oblivious? She unfurled from him and he was stupidly distracted, unprepared for the tug that brought them crashing together.

Squall glanced furtively around, noting the looks in their direction. Amusement, mostly, a few disdainful scoffs. Nothing threatening.

The girl situated their positions again and Squall turned his attention on her, almost but not quite incredulous. "No need to be embarrassed," she said with what was probably a reassuring smile. It would be nice if embarrassment in front of a pretty girl was the extent of his problems.

They started again, but with no more success than the first attempt. The fixed dance steps weren't difficult to remember, but she flowed through them with an ease and exuberance that threw off his rigid movements. She touched him carelessly-that probably unsettled him the most. Her fingers were very delicate and slender curling around his own, and the shock of warmth where his hand touched her waist was impossibly distracting. He tried to handle her gingerly but she wasn't having any of that.

When they blundered into another couple he thought that would be the blessed end of the whole ordeal. The girl pulled a face at the other pair (as if it was their fault) and latched onto Squall's arm to prevent him from walking away. If she could, she'd have dug her heels into the marble floor, and Squall had to stop short of either dragging her behind him or shaking her off.

"Come on," she said, laughing. Her smile wasn't as vapid anymore, transforming into a narrow smirk, her eyes narrowed in challenge. "You didn't look like the type to be run off the dance floor."

Squall didn't think he was the type to be on the dance floor in the first place. He also wasn't easily goaded, habitually ignoring gauntlets thrown at his feet and gloves slapped in his face. This girl needed neither. Her hand was bare where it curled around his elbow, but her simple touch may as well have burned right through the cloth of his sleeve. That was the extent to which he could not ignore it.

He pried her hand loose only to clutch at it with purpose. She betrayed no surprise at the strength of his hold, only squeezed back a confirmation. Then they slipped into the pattern of the dance as if it'd never been interrupted. The girl pulled at him and he went along with it, gauging the way she moved rather than the steps alone. She took the regimented motions and poured energy into them, made them into something new and uniquely her, demanding that he pay attention. Squall gave that to her undivided.

It was similar to how he'd watch an opponent in battle. That way he could meet her, match her, and when he spun her with more force than the choreography called for she came whirling delightedly back to him, warm and alive in his arms.

The ballroom lights dimmed and a crackle of thunder and sparks exploded above them in the night sky. Colored lights burst and faded as they showered down. Red, green, and gold glowed in brief turns on the girl's pale skin, but she wasn't looking at the fireworks. Her gaze was fixed somewhere over his shoulder. Then her eyes met his, and she smiled a lopsided apology before disentangling herself.

Despite himself, Squall's gaze was drawn to her retreating form, soon lost like a ghost among the crowd of bodies gathered under the skylight. His fingers closed empty on themselves. There was a trace of lingering warmth on the rough skin of his palm, but it wasn't the memory of her softness he tried to ingrain there. Rather, it was the complete lack of censure in her touch that was worth keeping.


Title: First Impressions
Category: Animorphs
Notes: Rachel/Tobias was baby's first OTP. ♥
Chances of being finished: Idk, I could maybe call it finished as is?

It's not that I hate gym. I mean, nobody really loves it but it's usually considered better than sitting in a normal class. Some people hate it because gym means locker rooms and locker rooms mean, well, locker room protocol. Whether or not you're going to change in front of other girls who might be prettier than you, or if you're going to hide in a toilet stall so no one can make fun of your training bra. Everything smells like B.O. and some girls will get uppity about it, demanding to know who isn't using deodorant just for the sake of complaining. Like that will magically make the locker rooms smell better. Sweaty kids are going to stink no matter what.

For the record, I do use deodorant. Lady Speed Stick Invisible Dry if you really have to know. And I don't change in a toilet stall. I mean, really? Going out of your way to hide makes you more of a target.

But as much as the locker rooms suck, it's nothing I can't handle. It takes, what, like a minute to change into the blue shorts and white t-shirt with the school logo printed cheaply on front? Big deal. You might be thinking, so what's your point, Rachel?

My point is, we're doing a gymnastics unit this week. Hey, cool, you might say. You like gymnastics.

But this is gym. This is dumbed-down kiddie gymnastics for people who don't even know what gymnastics is. It's taught by a woman with hot pink nails and too much makeup who looks very, very out of place in drab sweats. There are big, flat mats laid out on the floor for stretching and cartwheels, and one scuffed mat pushed next to a wall for headstands or handstands. A low balance beam sits by itself-for walking only, no tumbling for beginners. That's fine by me, I'm not too good on the balance beam anyway. The school doesn't have any bars, but there's a battered-looking vaulting horse and a springboard that's seen better days set up at the far end of the gymnasium.

And, a couple yards in front of me, there's a cheese mat. A cheese mat, if you're wondering about the name, is shaped like a wedge so the surface on top is at an incline. The teacher is telling us to do forward rolls on it.

"I need a volunteer to help give a demonstration."

"Is she kidding?" I mutter under my breath, just low enough for Melissa to hear and she looks startled for a brief second before smiling back with amused understanding. Forward rolls are pretty self-explanatory. You roll forward.

"She's probably worried about damaging her manicure," Melissa whispers back, and I look again at the shockingly-pink claws the woman is sporting.

"Those nails deserve to be broken."

Someone nearby giggles and the teacher zeroes in on the sound like some sort of tracking hound. I'm kind of tall so I guess I stand out because her gaze lands on me.

"Rachel, can you show everyone how to do a forward roll?"

Don't you hate it when a teacher poses a question but it's actually an order? And I'm not the sort of class clown that argues with teachers because being contrary isn't funny, it's obnoxious. There's another snigger in the crowd and I try to pin whoever it is with a glare, but the only eyes that meet mine are Melissa's sympathetic ones and my cousin Jake's bored ones.

Fine, whatever. I separate from my classmates so there's nothing but empty space between me and the cheese mat. The teacher is repeating her instructions, not like I need them. Can I do a dinky little forward roll? Please. Can Shannon Miller do a back flip full twist?

Not that I'm comparable to Shannon Miller. At all. A growth spurt keep shot me up for one thing, and I can barely do a back handspring, let alone a flip with any kind of twist.

The teacher has stopped talking. She's waiting for me, and so is the rest of the class. The back of my neck prickles but I force myself to keep staring ahead.

One step forward, two steps, smooth and quick. A little too quick, maybe, not that I care about getting it right, I just want to get it over with. I don't bother to stop; I push off from the floor and my hands smack against the top of the cheese mat, my too-tall body tucking as my curved back meets and rolls down the incline. It's more of a dive roll than a forward roll and my momentum adds unexpected spring to spoil the landing. My arms go up when I straighten out of habit.

Okay, so I messed that up. Stupid cheese mat. And stupid me for going too fast. It wasn't a well-executed roll, I mean technically, but it probably looked like I was showing off.

"Very nice, Rachel."

Yeah, right. I lower my arms and slowly turn around to see if anyone else shares that opinion. Melissa would know better, but she wouldn't think anything of it.

But there's neither disdain nor awe on the faces of my classmates. Actually, they look bored. Jake sort of nods to me in offhand acknowledgement when he catches me looking, and Melissa is just totally zoning out. I don't think half of the class was even watching, and maybe that would bother someone else but it made me a little bit happier. I'm stepping off the floor mat when I notice the one gaze that's definitely trained on me.

I don't falter, exactly, but it catches me a bit off guard. That not-so-safe-after-all feeling. It's an admiring look, but not a bad one. That is, not in a sleazy way. I've gotten those looks before, the sleazy and non-sleazy kind, and trust me, I'm not bragging. Any sane girl who's been subject to the sleazy look doesn't want to brag about it.

The pair of eyes belongs to a boy who's sort of hanging back behind Jake. I can't recall if I've seen him around, but then he's not exactly exuding "look at me!" vibes. As soon as he notices me staring back at him he turns red and looks away. If I was the type to blush, I might have done the same. Not because someone looked at me, but because someone saw me screw up.

I try not to think about it. Later, though, I ask Melissa, "Hey, see that guy over there? ...Melissa?"

"...Hm, what?" She suddenly snaps to attention, like I'm a teacher who caught her daydreaming during class. She's been weird like that recently.

"That guy hanging out with Jake." I jerk my thumb in their direction where there's a loose cluster of guys just standing around, occasionally making a token effort to look like they're doing something when the gym teacher glances their way. "Brown hair, average height, by the bleachers. Do you know him?"

Melissa shakes her head. "Not familiar, sorry. Why?" Then she starts to give me this half-smile. "He's kind of cute."

He kind of is, I guess. Definitely not bad-looking, but he seems shy. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Something like that. "Never mind. I was just wondering."

Melissa shrugs, lifts her arms and swings into a handstand-without the support of the wall of course. Her toes point to the ceiling. "You could ask your cousin, they seem to be friends."

I feel like this is getting out of hand. "It doesn't matter. And if it did, I wouldn't bother going to Jake first. This isn't elementary school."

"I forgot." She sounded strained from concentrating. "The Miss Independent Rachel would never be so subtle." Then she bends her back and her feet hit the mat, going from handstand to bridge like it was nothing.

I kick my feet up into the air in a handstand of my own. The world turns upside-down as I balance, and the boy might be looking my way again but it's hard to tell like this. I wobble a little, and when I come down I stand up instead of going into a bridge.

Melissa, at least, would never look stupid doing a roll.