Third Period: Fraction, Product. Fourth Period: Brush
Quick post because I'm in the process of making an epic HAPPY-BIRTHDAY-DANIEL-RADCLIFFE-WOAH-YOU'RE-FINALLY-LEGAL post. XDDD
Period: Three, Math
Theme: Product
Words: 418
He knew he shouldn't follow her, that the act might scare her away (and the last thing he wanted for her to think was that he was some sort of low-life creep stalker), but he couldn't help it. Maybe it was the fact that he was certain she was the pretty warrior who kept saving his life, or the fact that he couldn't get the way she had gazed at him, eyes so blue that it had felt like he was drowning, out of his mind. Her body had been warm against his, molded to his form so well that he swore they had been made for each other, and he could still feel her golden hair, like silk beneath his fingertips, upon his skin.
Whoever she is, Princess or just that spirited, insane, gorgeous girl, I have to see her again...
So he did, watching as she made her way to the other end of the corridor, still dressed as the heroine who would probably perpetually haunt his dreams, oblivious to the boy just a few feet away. Tired, she reached for a drink, something alcoholic and probably forbidden to minors, and as he rushed to her side, eager to stop her (she might become ill!), she downed the thing in a single gulp.
Maybe it was the way she closed her eyes, as if dreaming the most sensational dream, or the way the palest pink color grazed her cheeks, but he found himself halting, heart racing, to admire the sight. Not knowing what he was doing, or this rush of emotion suddenly surging inside of him, his legs carried him to her, just in time for her head to fall against his chest.
There was something about her so compelling, so alluring, that he didn't even think, or consider the fact that this would probably be the product of a post-battle high (and some alcohol on both their parts, though he was sure she had drunk more than he had). His arms wrapped around her frame, body molding to hers once again, capturing her lips in a single, soul-searching kiss.
When her lips began to move beneath his, her mouth releasing the softest of moans, he couldn't help but increase his ministrations.
'So gentle... So warm... Why does this feel so right?'
Whatever this was-a fantasy, a dream, or a forgotten memory-he didn't care. All that existed right now was this girl, this night, and this moment, just two souls finally finding their way home.
Period: Four, Art
Theme: Brush
Words: 254
Fingers brush, the softest of touches, as she races past him as she does every morning, their daily routine. A strand of gold briefly flutters against his face, and as his eyes close, two seconds before he can feel the force of the collision, she's everywhere--bare legs grazing his, hand resting upon his shoulder, head against his chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks he should do something, tease her as usual, lift her petite form off of his own, just... anything, but her weight, her touch, that damn alluring strawberries and cream scent renders him immobile and mute and utterly stupid.
Seconds turn to minutes and as he feels her stirring, groaning and apologizing profusely, he can't help but wonder what it would feel like for her lips to brush against him as well, like a butterfly fluttering its wings upon his skin or a car crash (much like the force of her collisions-he still wonders how such a petite person can possibly knock anyone over as often and as aggressively as she does) against his mouth. He leans in, fingers inches away from cradling her head, and-
She leaps off of him abruptly, uttering another, "Gomen ne!" without looking back, and Mamoru can't help but stare, utterly dazed, the feel of her body against his own engraved in his memory.
On the other side of the street, a flustered blonde grins, blushing madly. Just another collision or two, and perhaps he'll finally take the plunge and just kiss her...
Period: Three, Math
Theme: Fraction
Words: 209
She watches his body fall, as if in slow-motion, and everything surrounding her just seems to stop moving. She knows the buildings around her are crumbling, that there is fire and bloodshed, massacre and despair, but none of that seems to register. Her friends are fighting, her mother is somewhere in the fray, and all she can focus upon is the fact that she is suddenly finding it impossible to breathe, like a piece of her is lost and there is no way for her to feel complete again.
Beryl cackles, desiring to attack the princess the way she had intended to, but Serenity doesn't let her. In the blink of an eye, before anyone realizes what she is doing, her fingers grasp his fallen sword, plunging the thing into her body with as much strength as she can muster.
Perhaps it is the coward's way, selfish and irrational, but it doesn't matter. Something inside her had broken the second she had seen his eyes close for the final time, and she refuses to go on without him (especially not in this flaming hell). So as metal meets flesh, Serenity feels her body descend-slowly, slowly, slowly-until the fragments of her heart find Endymion's and she is whole once more.
Period: Three, Math
Theme: Product
Words: 418
He knew he shouldn't follow her, that the act might scare her away (and the last thing he wanted for her to think was that he was some sort of low-life creep stalker), but he couldn't help it. Maybe it was the fact that he was certain she was the pretty warrior who kept saving his life, or the fact that he couldn't get the way she had gazed at him, eyes so blue that it had felt like he was drowning, out of his mind. Her body had been warm against his, molded to his form so well that he swore they had been made for each other, and he could still feel her golden hair, like silk beneath his fingertips, upon his skin.
Whoever she is, Princess or just that spirited, insane, gorgeous girl, I have to see her again...
So he did, watching as she made her way to the other end of the corridor, still dressed as the heroine who would probably perpetually haunt his dreams, oblivious to the boy just a few feet away. Tired, she reached for a drink, something alcoholic and probably forbidden to minors, and as he rushed to her side, eager to stop her (she might become ill!), she downed the thing in a single gulp.
Maybe it was the way she closed her eyes, as if dreaming the most sensational dream, or the way the palest pink color grazed her cheeks, but he found himself halting, heart racing, to admire the sight. Not knowing what he was doing, or this rush of emotion suddenly surging inside of him, his legs carried him to her, just in time for her head to fall against his chest.
There was something about her so compelling, so alluring, that he didn't even think, or consider the fact that this would probably be the product of a post-battle high (and some alcohol on both their parts, though he was sure she had drunk more than he had). His arms wrapped around her frame, body molding to hers once again, capturing her lips in a single, soul-searching kiss.
When her lips began to move beneath his, her mouth releasing the softest of moans, he couldn't help but increase his ministrations.
'So gentle... So warm... Why does this feel so right?'
Whatever this was-a fantasy, a dream, or a forgotten memory-he didn't care. All that existed right now was this girl, this night, and this moment, just two souls finally finding their way home.
Period: Four, Art
Theme: Brush
Words: 254
Fingers brush, the softest of touches, as she races past him as she does every morning, their daily routine. A strand of gold briefly flutters against his face, and as his eyes close, two seconds before he can feel the force of the collision, she's everywhere--bare legs grazing his, hand resting upon his shoulder, head against his chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks he should do something, tease her as usual, lift her petite form off of his own, just... anything, but her weight, her touch, that damn alluring strawberries and cream scent renders him immobile and mute and utterly stupid.
Seconds turn to minutes and as he feels her stirring, groaning and apologizing profusely, he can't help but wonder what it would feel like for her lips to brush against him as well, like a butterfly fluttering its wings upon his skin or a car crash (much like the force of her collisions-he still wonders how such a petite person can possibly knock anyone over as often and as aggressively as she does) against his mouth. He leans in, fingers inches away from cradling her head, and-
She leaps off of him abruptly, uttering another, "Gomen ne!" without looking back, and Mamoru can't help but stare, utterly dazed, the feel of her body against his own engraved in his memory.
On the other side of the street, a flustered blonde grins, blushing madly. Just another collision or two, and perhaps he'll finally take the plunge and just kiss her...
Period: Three, Math
Theme: Fraction
Words: 209
She watches his body fall, as if in slow-motion, and everything surrounding her just seems to stop moving. She knows the buildings around her are crumbling, that there is fire and bloodshed, massacre and despair, but none of that seems to register. Her friends are fighting, her mother is somewhere in the fray, and all she can focus upon is the fact that she is suddenly finding it impossible to breathe, like a piece of her is lost and there is no way for her to feel complete again.
Beryl cackles, desiring to attack the princess the way she had intended to, but Serenity doesn't let her. In the blink of an eye, before anyone realizes what she is doing, her fingers grasp his fallen sword, plunging the thing into her body with as much strength as she can muster.
Perhaps it is the coward's way, selfish and irrational, but it doesn't matter. Something inside her had broken the second she had seen his eyes close for the final time, and she refuses to go on without him (especially not in this flaming hell). So as metal meets flesh, Serenity feels her body descend-slowly, slowly, slowly-until the fragments of her heart find Endymion's and she is whole once more.