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Little bits and pieces of fanfics that I've started and haven't continued. Tell me what you think so far, and I'll prolly get around to writing more later.
Play Poker Much?
Story 1: Aces
Take it from me, guys. You don’t want to pretend to be someone you aren’t, because it just triples the heartache and pain for everyone involved, especially including yourself. But I’m getting ahead of myself, here. Isn’t good manners to tell the end of the story before the beginning, after all. Who makes manners “good”, anyway? Our society? It’s not like culture is a living, breathing monarch over humanity that lays down random rules in stone, and calls them “good”. How did so many people come to consider one thing, or one mannerism “good”? The odds of it are so low, that’s like saying that one day the sun won’t rise in the east, that one day technology won’t exist, and that one day a girl won’t be able to stomach life.
That didn’t make much sense. Blame the medication. It might really be the only reason I’m still even capable of speech, but that doesn’t mean it’s a lifesaver.
It’s a life-destroyer.
Oh, but that’s not very important. Merely a side issue. What’s really important is the genesis of it all, the start of this entire epic soap opera. Such an innocuous start to anguish and desperation that it makes me alternatively cringe and laugh, laugh until I cringe.
---
“The sun’ll come out, tomorrow!”
Little orphan Annie, singing her song of hope and optimism during a time of desperate poverty. How anyone can be that cheerful, that hopeful, that loving in the midst of so much misery astounds me. Despite all notions to the contrary, Annie sings, hopes, prays to be adopted by someone new, someone who would love a little girl like her. Tomorrow is as good a chance as any for this to happen, and she knows that even if nothing happens, even if things get worse, there is always tomorrow to lighten your sorrow.
I envy that youthful buoyancy with my entire soul. I envy it, I admire it, I idolize it, I desire it. If only Annie were real, I would ask her how such an attitude could be possible. How such brightness can exist in a dreary, outdated fantasy world, even in the magic of Hollywood.
So I imitate her. I embody sunshine; if I didn’t have so much proof that my blood was red, I would think glowing, warm sunbeams pulsed through my veins, just waiting to be spilled out upon some deserving, unhappy soul. The light would gleam onto any dark thoughts that might pop up, from time to time, and reveal them to be wonderful objects instead of the threatening shadows they had once appeared. I was happy... or so I convinced everyone else. Hell, my imitation was even good enough to fool myself. Eventually, it became habit, and I even enjoyed it: smiling, laughing, being everyone’s little flittering social butterfly.
Annie never cried, she always laughed and moved onto the next dirty challenge in life, and I vowed to do the same, song on my lips and dominating my thoughts. There is joy in every little thing, no matter how soiled it might first appear, and for me, there was never more joy than in the throb of life. With every muscle twinge, every labored step, every gasping breath, every painful struggle... life and joy are reaffirmed.
This was never truer than on the battlefield, or in the midst of a game.
((end transmission))
White Hate
There are several reasons any competent, sane person would make it a point to never, ever take the train home.
New ones are revealing themselves to me every couple of seconds, often in especially painful or annoying ways. You would have thought that riding in a top-heavy electrically charged metal contraption was something of a smooth journey, considering said contraption must run on completely even tracks. But apparently, subway designers dabble in roller coaster physics, only without the foam body constraints.
((end transmission))
Yea, I know its kind of early to be posting these, but hey... I figured I might as well prove I'm still alive and kicking.
Anyway, I've got another treat for y'all. The last part to probably ever be written on my very first fanfiction, Hope for Immortals.
“When will you accept that I won’t take your money, Hotaru? I bought you those shirts as a present! Just take them; they weren’t that expensive anyway.” Minako sighed heavily and flopped onto her couch. They had been arguing like this the entire way back to Minako’s apartment. Hotaru just wouldn’t give up; even the small ways she was helping to pay back apparently weren’t enough for her. Now she was planning to cook dinner for Minako... which actually didn’t sound like a bad thing to let slide, just this once. Minako was dead tired of ramen and macaroni and cheese, and too lazy to get up and go out to eat again.
“Oh, but I’m not planning on paying you back with money. Just with a decent, home-cooked meal that you don’t have to pay for or wait in line for.”
It was the principle of the thing. Minako wouldn’t accept ‘favors’ because of some misplaced sense of guilt about only accepting help and not giving it. “I told you that--“
“And I’ll bet that lunch we just had was your first decent meal in weeks. It’s been so long since I came to your apartment that I’d forgotten what your pantry was like.” Hotaru paused, walked over to the aforementioned pantry, and started rummaging through it. “Ramen, ramen, cardboard boxes, ramen, and a whole lot of dust; that’s all that lives here.” Minako watched her avidly, a repressed smirk shadowing her face. This Hotaru was so lively; very different from the girl that had shown up on her doorstep this morning, saying she had been ‘in the neighborhood’ and needed a place to sleep. What really fascinated Minako, though, was that they were one and the same creature. One was merely less self-assured. Hotaru’s pause in her search caught Minako’s eye, and then she leaned into the shelves. Her voice, when she spoke, was so quiet and frightened that it wiped any trace of the smirk from Minako. “Just... come home with me, please? I-I can feed you and we could stay up late watching old romance movies or-or whatever you want to. I don’t want to be alone, when the dream comes back.”
Shocked into silence, Minako could only do what her instincts told her too; luckily, her instincts were usually right on the mark. Minako jumped up from the couch, strode quickly over to where Hotaru was hiding in the pantry, and gently pulled her out. Soft pressure from Minako’s fingers raised Hotaru’s head up. She wasn’t crying. Oh no, Hotaru had gotten all of her crying over and done with when she had broken down earlier. That glitter in her violet eyes was not sadness. Minako realized that look only too well; after all, she had seen it in the mirror everyday for the longest time. Fear. Absolute and over-riding fear of loneliness. “Of course I’ll let you cook for me, Taru.”
The soft words didn’t register with Hotaru at first; she was too embarrassed to have let something she hadn’t even been thinking about past her lips. Here they were, having a good time and teasing each other, and she just had to go and break down for the... what? Second time today? “No, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. Your couch is much more comfortable anyway!” Even to Hotaru’s ears that last part sounded rather forced. But it worked. Minako laughed and let her hand fall from its place under Hotaru’s chin. Her friend was happy again, and that was all that mattered.
“Yea, my couch is the best there is; but my television is sorely lacking. Who would want to watch Titanic on a dinky little screen like mine?!” Minako gestured at the wall that supported a huge flatscreen television.
Hotaru giggled a bit, realizing that this was as close to a direct ‘yes’ that she would ever get out of Minako, and relieved that she hadn’t taken her breakdown literally as evidenced by the sarcasm.
“Just let me grab some stuff and I’ll be right out. Wait for me in the lobby, kay? I need to take care of some stuff first.” With that, Minako shooed a grateful Hotaru out of her apartment, clutching their shopping bags. She leaned against the doorway, exhausted from the thought of the emotional outbursts she would probably encounter later, and appreciative of the fact that she had managed to bluff Hotaru into leaving for a bit so that she could... take care of some business.
“Man... I hope Rei is answering her phone...”
The plush leather chairs in the apartment building’s lobby were rather more uncomfortable than their appearance led one to believe. The leather stuck to Hotaru’s skin, and she couldn’t sit comfortably for the feeling that she was glued in place. Or perhaps it was all just her imagination, and the seats really were just as comfortable as Minako’s couch-she didn’t really know or care right then. Minako was taking an incredibly long time to “grab some stuff” and Hotaru was beginning to feel embarrassed. She could feel the doorman staring at her in curiosity, and since she really didn’t feel like meeting his gaze and smiling demurely again, she just stared off through a side window and down the corner of the street.
The women loitering around on the corner were dressed gaudily in clothes that should never see the light of day. Like that one woman with the stiletto heels as long as the boot itself and a bright green pleather skirt; what was she thinking, appearing in public-outside of a club and in the daytime, no less-in that sort of getup?! True, Hotaru had seen other girls wearing such clothes lately, and she was pretty sure that Minako had some similar outfits in her closet... but what was up with that style? Were women single-handedly trying to completely destroy all equal rights gained in the past century by objectifying themselves? …Or were they being smart and making men their slaves?
Hotaru was reasonably sure that it was neither of these by the time Minako hopped out of the elevator, pack slung over her shoulder. “Hey! Hotaru! Hope you weren’t too bored. Sorry I took so long; I couldn’t find my bag.”
The lie slipped easily off of Minako’s tongue as she led Hotaru out into the open air, nodding at the doorman who nicely held the door open for her, even if it was his job. She turned around, joke on her lips to distract each of them-Hotaru from discovering the lie and herself from thinking about it-but the funny words were banished from her mind as curiosity crowded it out. What was Hotaru staring so intensely at?
Oh... a transaction was taking place. That made sense; after all, Hotaru was still a great deal younger than Minako and hadn’t seen much in the way of the perverse pleasures made available in the world. Not that Minako had, mind you. She was just... much more aware of the world she lived and worked in. Minako watched with a curious bemusement as Hotaru continued to be spellbound by the vaguely familiar, but really hot, blonde man pulling a wad of bills out of his pocket and handing a few to a woman in a green miniskirt with long hair. Then the couple walked off down the opposite side of the street together, not displaying any signs of affection, or that they really knew the other existed.
“He’s probably some rich businessman with a solid marriage away on a fact-finding mission.” Minako grinned at the shocked look on Hotaru’s face, and then waved at a passing taxi. “Yo! Cabbie!”
“So she’s a-“ An empty cab screeched up to the curb, narrowly missing another parked car, and Hotaru reached for the door handle.
Minako batted Hotaru’s hand away and reached for the door herself. “Yes, she probably is. They like to work these streets because of all the expensive hotels within walking distance.”
“But don’t they-“
“Get arrested? No, not really. They attract a lot of tourists, so the police leave them alone. Mostly.” Minako climbed into the cab, scooting over so that Hotaru could get in.
“Would you please stop interrupting-“ Hotaru clambered into the cab and shut the door behind her.
“Your sentences? No.” Minako grinned cheekily at the play-angry face turned her way, and then turned to give directions to the driver, who was grinning rather scarily at her. Great, another random male in the city who had fantasies about kidnapping her and tying her to a bed.
((end transmission))
Play Poker Much?
Story 1: Aces
Take it from me, guys. You don’t want to pretend to be someone you aren’t, because it just triples the heartache and pain for everyone involved, especially including yourself. But I’m getting ahead of myself, here. Isn’t good manners to tell the end of the story before the beginning, after all. Who makes manners “good”, anyway? Our society? It’s not like culture is a living, breathing monarch over humanity that lays down random rules in stone, and calls them “good”. How did so many people come to consider one thing, or one mannerism “good”? The odds of it are so low, that’s like saying that one day the sun won’t rise in the east, that one day technology won’t exist, and that one day a girl won’t be able to stomach life.
That didn’t make much sense. Blame the medication. It might really be the only reason I’m still even capable of speech, but that doesn’t mean it’s a lifesaver.
It’s a life-destroyer.
Oh, but that’s not very important. Merely a side issue. What’s really important is the genesis of it all, the start of this entire epic soap opera. Such an innocuous start to anguish and desperation that it makes me alternatively cringe and laugh, laugh until I cringe.
---
“The sun’ll come out, tomorrow!”
Little orphan Annie, singing her song of hope and optimism during a time of desperate poverty. How anyone can be that cheerful, that hopeful, that loving in the midst of so much misery astounds me. Despite all notions to the contrary, Annie sings, hopes, prays to be adopted by someone new, someone who would love a little girl like her. Tomorrow is as good a chance as any for this to happen, and she knows that even if nothing happens, even if things get worse, there is always tomorrow to lighten your sorrow.
I envy that youthful buoyancy with my entire soul. I envy it, I admire it, I idolize it, I desire it. If only Annie were real, I would ask her how such an attitude could be possible. How such brightness can exist in a dreary, outdated fantasy world, even in the magic of Hollywood.
So I imitate her. I embody sunshine; if I didn’t have so much proof that my blood was red, I would think glowing, warm sunbeams pulsed through my veins, just waiting to be spilled out upon some deserving, unhappy soul. The light would gleam onto any dark thoughts that might pop up, from time to time, and reveal them to be wonderful objects instead of the threatening shadows they had once appeared. I was happy... or so I convinced everyone else. Hell, my imitation was even good enough to fool myself. Eventually, it became habit, and I even enjoyed it: smiling, laughing, being everyone’s little flittering social butterfly.
Annie never cried, she always laughed and moved onto the next dirty challenge in life, and I vowed to do the same, song on my lips and dominating my thoughts. There is joy in every little thing, no matter how soiled it might first appear, and for me, there was never more joy than in the throb of life. With every muscle twinge, every labored step, every gasping breath, every painful struggle... life and joy are reaffirmed.
This was never truer than on the battlefield, or in the midst of a game.
((end transmission))
White Hate
There are several reasons any competent, sane person would make it a point to never, ever take the train home.
New ones are revealing themselves to me every couple of seconds, often in especially painful or annoying ways. You would have thought that riding in a top-heavy electrically charged metal contraption was something of a smooth journey, considering said contraption must run on completely even tracks. But apparently, subway designers dabble in roller coaster physics, only without the foam body constraints.
((end transmission))
Yea, I know its kind of early to be posting these, but hey... I figured I might as well prove I'm still alive and kicking.
Anyway, I've got another treat for y'all. The last part to probably ever be written on my very first fanfiction, Hope for Immortals.
“When will you accept that I won’t take your money, Hotaru? I bought you those shirts as a present! Just take them; they weren’t that expensive anyway.” Minako sighed heavily and flopped onto her couch. They had been arguing like this the entire way back to Minako’s apartment. Hotaru just wouldn’t give up; even the small ways she was helping to pay back apparently weren’t enough for her. Now she was planning to cook dinner for Minako... which actually didn’t sound like a bad thing to let slide, just this once. Minako was dead tired of ramen and macaroni and cheese, and too lazy to get up and go out to eat again.
“Oh, but I’m not planning on paying you back with money. Just with a decent, home-cooked meal that you don’t have to pay for or wait in line for.”
It was the principle of the thing. Minako wouldn’t accept ‘favors’ because of some misplaced sense of guilt about only accepting help and not giving it. “I told you that--“
“And I’ll bet that lunch we just had was your first decent meal in weeks. It’s been so long since I came to your apartment that I’d forgotten what your pantry was like.” Hotaru paused, walked over to the aforementioned pantry, and started rummaging through it. “Ramen, ramen, cardboard boxes, ramen, and a whole lot of dust; that’s all that lives here.” Minako watched her avidly, a repressed smirk shadowing her face. This Hotaru was so lively; very different from the girl that had shown up on her doorstep this morning, saying she had been ‘in the neighborhood’ and needed a place to sleep. What really fascinated Minako, though, was that they were one and the same creature. One was merely less self-assured. Hotaru’s pause in her search caught Minako’s eye, and then she leaned into the shelves. Her voice, when she spoke, was so quiet and frightened that it wiped any trace of the smirk from Minako. “Just... come home with me, please? I-I can feed you and we could stay up late watching old romance movies or-or whatever you want to. I don’t want to be alone, when the dream comes back.”
Shocked into silence, Minako could only do what her instincts told her too; luckily, her instincts were usually right on the mark. Minako jumped up from the couch, strode quickly over to where Hotaru was hiding in the pantry, and gently pulled her out. Soft pressure from Minako’s fingers raised Hotaru’s head up. She wasn’t crying. Oh no, Hotaru had gotten all of her crying over and done with when she had broken down earlier. That glitter in her violet eyes was not sadness. Minako realized that look only too well; after all, she had seen it in the mirror everyday for the longest time. Fear. Absolute and over-riding fear of loneliness. “Of course I’ll let you cook for me, Taru.”
The soft words didn’t register with Hotaru at first; she was too embarrassed to have let something she hadn’t even been thinking about past her lips. Here they were, having a good time and teasing each other, and she just had to go and break down for the... what? Second time today? “No, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. Your couch is much more comfortable anyway!” Even to Hotaru’s ears that last part sounded rather forced. But it worked. Minako laughed and let her hand fall from its place under Hotaru’s chin. Her friend was happy again, and that was all that mattered.
“Yea, my couch is the best there is; but my television is sorely lacking. Who would want to watch Titanic on a dinky little screen like mine?!” Minako gestured at the wall that supported a huge flatscreen television.
Hotaru giggled a bit, realizing that this was as close to a direct ‘yes’ that she would ever get out of Minako, and relieved that she hadn’t taken her breakdown literally as evidenced by the sarcasm.
“Just let me grab some stuff and I’ll be right out. Wait for me in the lobby, kay? I need to take care of some stuff first.” With that, Minako shooed a grateful Hotaru out of her apartment, clutching their shopping bags. She leaned against the doorway, exhausted from the thought of the emotional outbursts she would probably encounter later, and appreciative of the fact that she had managed to bluff Hotaru into leaving for a bit so that she could... take care of some business.
“Man... I hope Rei is answering her phone...”
The plush leather chairs in the apartment building’s lobby were rather more uncomfortable than their appearance led one to believe. The leather stuck to Hotaru’s skin, and she couldn’t sit comfortably for the feeling that she was glued in place. Or perhaps it was all just her imagination, and the seats really were just as comfortable as Minako’s couch-she didn’t really know or care right then. Minako was taking an incredibly long time to “grab some stuff” and Hotaru was beginning to feel embarrassed. She could feel the doorman staring at her in curiosity, and since she really didn’t feel like meeting his gaze and smiling demurely again, she just stared off through a side window and down the corner of the street.
The women loitering around on the corner were dressed gaudily in clothes that should never see the light of day. Like that one woman with the stiletto heels as long as the boot itself and a bright green pleather skirt; what was she thinking, appearing in public-outside of a club and in the daytime, no less-in that sort of getup?! True, Hotaru had seen other girls wearing such clothes lately, and she was pretty sure that Minako had some similar outfits in her closet... but what was up with that style? Were women single-handedly trying to completely destroy all equal rights gained in the past century by objectifying themselves? …Or were they being smart and making men their slaves?
Hotaru was reasonably sure that it was neither of these by the time Minako hopped out of the elevator, pack slung over her shoulder. “Hey! Hotaru! Hope you weren’t too bored. Sorry I took so long; I couldn’t find my bag.”
The lie slipped easily off of Minako’s tongue as she led Hotaru out into the open air, nodding at the doorman who nicely held the door open for her, even if it was his job. She turned around, joke on her lips to distract each of them-Hotaru from discovering the lie and herself from thinking about it-but the funny words were banished from her mind as curiosity crowded it out. What was Hotaru staring so intensely at?
Oh... a transaction was taking place. That made sense; after all, Hotaru was still a great deal younger than Minako and hadn’t seen much in the way of the perverse pleasures made available in the world. Not that Minako had, mind you. She was just... much more aware of the world she lived and worked in. Minako watched with a curious bemusement as Hotaru continued to be spellbound by the vaguely familiar, but really hot, blonde man pulling a wad of bills out of his pocket and handing a few to a woman in a green miniskirt with long hair. Then the couple walked off down the opposite side of the street together, not displaying any signs of affection, or that they really knew the other existed.
“He’s probably some rich businessman with a solid marriage away on a fact-finding mission.” Minako grinned at the shocked look on Hotaru’s face, and then waved at a passing taxi. “Yo! Cabbie!”
“So she’s a-“ An empty cab screeched up to the curb, narrowly missing another parked car, and Hotaru reached for the door handle.
Minako batted Hotaru’s hand away and reached for the door herself. “Yes, she probably is. They like to work these streets because of all the expensive hotels within walking distance.”
“But don’t they-“
“Get arrested? No, not really. They attract a lot of tourists, so the police leave them alone. Mostly.” Minako climbed into the cab, scooting over so that Hotaru could get in.
“Would you please stop interrupting-“ Hotaru clambered into the cab and shut the door behind her.
“Your sentences? No.” Minako grinned cheekily at the play-angry face turned her way, and then turned to give directions to the driver, who was grinning rather scarily at her. Great, another random male in the city who had fantasies about kidnapping her and tying her to a bed.
((end transmission))