Hopefully these will still count...
Title: Whore
Theme: #29 - Promiscuous
Genre: General
Version: Manga/AU
Rating: PG-13
Whore. Slut. Skank. I get it a lot, babe. It's not really original or insightful, and I have to say, I was expecting worlds' more from someone as smart as you.
I don't know. Maybe something along the lines of libertine? Wanton? Reprobate? Lascivious? I mean, it's not like I expect you to have a fucking thesaurus in your brain, but come on-
I wasn't the Literature major, dear. I'm not the one who got a fucking B.A. in words.
I'm a journalist, not a linguist. But you're missing the point, Sayuri-chan. I don't need to take this shit from you.
Oh, please. You were with three guys at once. Dating them. I'm just having fun, you know.
What? Hotaru and I aren't... we're... we're not dating.
Well, maybe we've fucked, but fucking and relationships aren't mutually exclusive. No, no they're not.
Look, Sayu-chan. I appreciate that you care, but really. Hotaru-chan knows who I am. She knows who we are. And really, I shouldn't say we. There's no we. Not right now, at least. And don't act all holier-than-thou, because you're no vision of purity.
Fine. Whatever. I don't need to take this. We have a princess in distress to find. A base-level of professionalism will be satisfactory, alright?
Inappropriate fuck buddies, my ass. Don't make me bring up Prince Mamo.
Title: Mistress
Theme: #28 - Hunt
Genre: Dark
Version: Manga/AU
Rating: PG
It's all she can do to contain her nerves as a firm hand feels around her bloodied chest and abdomen and legs and face, searching hurriedly for something that she doesn't want to give up. It's possible that the gun jabbing at a spot high on her inner thigh is a clue as to the price she'll have to pay for her disobedience. It's possible that her heart, beating furiously, and her sweat, beading at her forehead and skimming down to where it pools in the indent in her collar.
The rain smacks against her body and she sighs as the hand ceases its hunt and runs gently down her wet cheek. "You just weren't fast enough, love." The huntress pulls out a rusting metal box and presses a key into the lock while pressing the revolver to the tight flight suit trousers protecting the hunted from the winter chill. "This won't hurt too much, Mnemosyne. In fact, I think it might be just what you've always needed."
The forest freezes over as a prickling sensation tingles inside of Mnemosyne's chest, and she feels as though she is crumbling to pieces and dissolving into the ground and the darkness suffocates and she hears herself cry out for Lethe, but it's so far away and she's not even sure if it's real.
And then she opens her eyes and she's able to breathe. And for the first time in what seems like her whole life, the dull pain that had always been throbbing in her breast is completely gone. She sits up and presses her hand to her heart.
"What... why did you... who...?"
Metallic eyes glitter underneath a metallic helmet. "I am your mistress, Sailor Mnemosyne. I've planted a robotic valve in your heart, and now you can live until a normal age for a senshi."
"Mistress? What...?"
Crimson lips twitch into what seems to be a smile, but it nearly curdles Mnemosyne's blood. "I've given you health, my dear. Now you can show me your gratitude by telling me where Sailor Lethe is."
Brows furrrow. "I... I can't."
The smile-like expression falls into a scowl. "Sure you can. If I can give you life, than you can tell me where I can find Lethe."
"Who are you?"
"I am a senshi like you."
"I don't believe you."
She feels a hand clasp around her neck and gasps as the air slips out of her lungs. "I don't have time to deal with a little lightweight like you. Lethe has the power I need." The huntress smiles thoughtfully. "Of course, I do have some powers. I can quicken or slow the speed in which that heart of yours pumps, now that a bit of myself is inside of it." She rests a hand on Mnemosyne's breast and a stinging pain strikes at the spot. She hears her heart thumping madly in her ear and gasps as it overwhelms her brain and she feels lightheaded, and it's almost too much.
It's the spark of a light that appears in her breast that startles the huntress enough to interrupt the torture. "What the..." It shudders into a shining bead of light and lights up the wrinkled, fouled face of an old hag.
The hand, which in the dark of twilight hadn't seemed out of the ordinary but in the light is haggard and worn, reaches up and grasps the crystal, putting out much of the glow. "This is your star seed, is it not?"
Mnemosyne feels herself nod with the little consciousness she retains from having her soul's physical manifestation dragged from her body. "And if I were to destroy this, you would... disappear. But if I were to swallow this little diamond, I would inherit your power. And your body would be mine to control or dispose of."
Before falling into a cold slumber, the last thing she can recall, years later when she is awakened by the glow of another star, is the bell-like laughter and tears running down her cheeks and the sensation of being swallowed. And it's almost pleasant.
Title: Over Coffee
Theme: #23 - "I love the idea that I am the voice of woman. Look at me... I look like a dude." - Rachel Maddow
Genre: Humor/Romance
Version: Manga
Rating: PG
"Do you want sugar in that?" the waitress asked with a heavy English accent.
Haruka barely looked away from the glittering aqua eyes of her lover when she replied. "No, thanks. I like it straight."
Michiru snickered and sipped on her own black coffee. When the waitress left the table, she leaned forward. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that."
Haruka simply cocked her head and dipped her finger into Michiru's cooling cup before licking the coffee off of her skin and sighing contentedly. "Caffeine, you'll always be my first love."
"Addict."
"No," the blond woman corrected with a yawn. "Connoisseur."
When the waitress returned with the fresh cup of coffee, Haruka was far too intrigued with a news story playing on the cafe's small television to thank her with much more than a soft grunt. Michiru frowned and expressed her gratitude with a little more... grace.
"What's going on?"
Haruka turned back from the television after a moment and shook her head. "Some feminist in America got shot at a rally in the capitol. I didn't get too much of it, mostly 'cause the broadcast is in English, but apparently there was some sort of white supremacy event on the Mall, and I guess there was a counter protest and one of the women in it got a little too close to the dick with the gun who got her in the head."
Michiru shook her head. "How horrible. I guess even the most progressive societies have their crazies."
Haruka snorted. "Progressive? Michiru, I don't consider a country that still won't give what it defines as fundamental rights to a significant portion of its population because they make the old coots in Congress feel icky. And that's just a gay thing. They've never had a woman in office, and then there's all of that health care bullshit, and there are children starving... and they're not a fucking third world country. They're not a theocracy, at least in theory. They're a democratic republic with a hell of a lot of global power, and they're still less up to date than Canada..."
A thin blue eyebrow rose. "Wow, you've been really paying attention to the States. And yet, you won't watch the news with me and Setsuna after dinner."
"Well, I like her," she pointed to the pretty, short-haired woman on the small television at the counter. "I have no need for the bombshells on the news. I'd rather watch you watching the news."
Michiru smiled and blushed. "Maddow-sensei? She's the American version of you, Haruka."
"We're both... tall."
"And like doing it with girls," the blue-haired woman added with a smirk. "And work that androgynous thing pretty well."
"I think that's where the comparison ends."
"Well, I doubt she's as good a driver as you."
Haruka leaned back in her seat and finished off her coffee, seemingly lost in thought. "Michiru, why don't I have my own show? I mean, I'd fit in with the men on TV. I look more like a man than most of them, anyway."
"Maybe because the bombshells on the news are pissed off at you for thinking they're bombshells."
"If a person is sexy and doesn't have an intellectual thought in her head but acts as if she does, she's a bombshell."
"Drink your coffee. We're already running late to Hotaru-chan's recital."
Title: Morning Blues
Theme: #20 - Documentary
Genre: Humor
Version: Manga
Rating: PG
She doesn't have to say anything, which is a good thing considering how hungover she is. Damn Michiru knows how to knock them back. And considering that Haruka's expected to be the sturdy man who can take a little booze. It's not like she's a lightweight or anything, but Michiru is just really talented.
When they go to clubs, they start slowly... and after shots and cocktails and champagne and more shots, they're not going slowly.
The thing is, Michiru has a way of staying pretty collected. Haruka... is another story altogether.
And on the morning after Usagi's wedding, Haruka wakes up naked and on the floor. And tied to her wrist, with dainty blue ribbon, is a videotape with a small note that simply reads, Watch this.
She slips it into the VCR and immediately feels her blood rush from her head when she sees herself... doing something that sort of resembles dance. And then she's arguing with Mamoru about something that she can't even understand, and he apparently can't either, because he's just sort of sitting there, shaking his head and sipping his champagne. And the scene changes, and she's hanging on to Michiru, who is laughing about something the photographer (Minako) is saying to Haruka. And Haruka is really, really out of it.
She turns it off just as her TV counterpart begins to strip out of her suit in the middle of the road while Minako sings begins that song about not wanting to go to rehab.
So Haruka doesn't seem to have much of a tolerance for any sort of alcohol in any amount. But she's not a lightweight.
Title: Four Scents
Theme: #13 - Cologne
Genre: Romance
Version: Manga
Rating: PG-13
The first is the soft whisper of morning. It is a smile, a kiss, a salutation. And it is sunshine, and it is warmth. It is a spring dew, and a newborn bird freshly hatched from a blue speckled egg. It is innocence, which is why it's so surprising to Masuyo that Hotaru, who seems so jaded by war and thousands of years of misery, wears this perfume. And it's natural, and it fits as well as their bodies fit with each other. So she learns to associate the mist of a cool morning with her lover.
The second is snow and a crackling fireplace and cinnamon. It is spiced wine and warm sweaters and musk, masculine and heated. When Usa tastes it on Masuyo's skin, she thinks of married life and how much she wants that simple pleasure, and how much she wants to share it with a snowy-haired man she'll always love but never have. It's a murky sort of cologne, but it is a natural match for Masuyo, who does tend to define the windy chill of January.
The third is foreign, and it's not particularly pleasant. It's something Masuyo can't describe, because she doesn't know the words to describe a scent so unearthly. Hotaru says it is something called a Mingma flower, and she explains that yes, while it's a bit of a change from casablancas and jasmine, it's really a lovely scent when you get to know it. And Masuyo can't agree, because she's too much in awe of the dynamic change she smells in her lover. This a woman who is not the girl she was when she left, and part of Masuyo is utterly enthralled by the maturation. And part of her feels really, really obsolete.
The fourth is something Usa is surprised to detect. Considering how much Hotaru loves Masuyo, she's still a little shocked, even in the throes of passion. It's a scent of desperation, of need and ache. It is flowery and more than a little overwhelming, and it really doesn't suit the wise and mature woman she's undressing. And she asks Hotaru about her lover, and Hotaru just breaks down and says that she's losing her. And all Usa can do is drive her wild for a good hour and a half before holding her while she sobs in her arms.
Theme: #29 - Promiscuous
Genre: General
Version: Manga/AU
Rating: PG-13
Whore. Slut. Skank. I get it a lot, babe. It's not really original or insightful, and I have to say, I was expecting worlds' more from someone as smart as you.
I don't know. Maybe something along the lines of libertine? Wanton? Reprobate? Lascivious? I mean, it's not like I expect you to have a fucking thesaurus in your brain, but come on-
I wasn't the Literature major, dear. I'm not the one who got a fucking B.A. in words.
I'm a journalist, not a linguist. But you're missing the point, Sayuri-chan. I don't need to take this shit from you.
Oh, please. You were with three guys at once. Dating them. I'm just having fun, you know.
What? Hotaru and I aren't... we're... we're not dating.
Well, maybe we've fucked, but fucking and relationships aren't mutually exclusive. No, no they're not.
Look, Sayu-chan. I appreciate that you care, but really. Hotaru-chan knows who I am. She knows who we are. And really, I shouldn't say we. There's no we. Not right now, at least. And don't act all holier-than-thou, because you're no vision of purity.
Fine. Whatever. I don't need to take this. We have a princess in distress to find. A base-level of professionalism will be satisfactory, alright?
Inappropriate fuck buddies, my ass. Don't make me bring up Prince Mamo.
Title: Mistress
Theme: #28 - Hunt
Genre: Dark
Version: Manga/AU
Rating: PG
It's all she can do to contain her nerves as a firm hand feels around her bloodied chest and abdomen and legs and face, searching hurriedly for something that she doesn't want to give up. It's possible that the gun jabbing at a spot high on her inner thigh is a clue as to the price she'll have to pay for her disobedience. It's possible that her heart, beating furiously, and her sweat, beading at her forehead and skimming down to where it pools in the indent in her collar.
The rain smacks against her body and she sighs as the hand ceases its hunt and runs gently down her wet cheek. "You just weren't fast enough, love." The huntress pulls out a rusting metal box and presses a key into the lock while pressing the revolver to the tight flight suit trousers protecting the hunted from the winter chill. "This won't hurt too much, Mnemosyne. In fact, I think it might be just what you've always needed."
The forest freezes over as a prickling sensation tingles inside of Mnemosyne's chest, and she feels as though she is crumbling to pieces and dissolving into the ground and the darkness suffocates and she hears herself cry out for Lethe, but it's so far away and she's not even sure if it's real.
And then she opens her eyes and she's able to breathe. And for the first time in what seems like her whole life, the dull pain that had always been throbbing in her breast is completely gone. She sits up and presses her hand to her heart.
"What... why did you... who...?"
Metallic eyes glitter underneath a metallic helmet. "I am your mistress, Sailor Mnemosyne. I've planted a robotic valve in your heart, and now you can live until a normal age for a senshi."
"Mistress? What...?"
Crimson lips twitch into what seems to be a smile, but it nearly curdles Mnemosyne's blood. "I've given you health, my dear. Now you can show me your gratitude by telling me where Sailor Lethe is."
Brows furrrow. "I... I can't."
The smile-like expression falls into a scowl. "Sure you can. If I can give you life, than you can tell me where I can find Lethe."
"Who are you?"
"I am a senshi like you."
"I don't believe you."
She feels a hand clasp around her neck and gasps as the air slips out of her lungs. "I don't have time to deal with a little lightweight like you. Lethe has the power I need." The huntress smiles thoughtfully. "Of course, I do have some powers. I can quicken or slow the speed in which that heart of yours pumps, now that a bit of myself is inside of it." She rests a hand on Mnemosyne's breast and a stinging pain strikes at the spot. She hears her heart thumping madly in her ear and gasps as it overwhelms her brain and she feels lightheaded, and it's almost too much.
It's the spark of a light that appears in her breast that startles the huntress enough to interrupt the torture. "What the..." It shudders into a shining bead of light and lights up the wrinkled, fouled face of an old hag.
The hand, which in the dark of twilight hadn't seemed out of the ordinary but in the light is haggard and worn, reaches up and grasps the crystal, putting out much of the glow. "This is your star seed, is it not?"
Mnemosyne feels herself nod with the little consciousness she retains from having her soul's physical manifestation dragged from her body. "And if I were to destroy this, you would... disappear. But if I were to swallow this little diamond, I would inherit your power. And your body would be mine to control or dispose of."
Before falling into a cold slumber, the last thing she can recall, years later when she is awakened by the glow of another star, is the bell-like laughter and tears running down her cheeks and the sensation of being swallowed. And it's almost pleasant.
Title: Over Coffee
Theme: #23 - "I love the idea that I am the voice of woman. Look at me... I look like a dude." - Rachel Maddow
Genre: Humor/Romance
Version: Manga
Rating: PG
"Do you want sugar in that?" the waitress asked with a heavy English accent.
Haruka barely looked away from the glittering aqua eyes of her lover when she replied. "No, thanks. I like it straight."
Michiru snickered and sipped on her own black coffee. When the waitress left the table, she leaned forward. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that."
Haruka simply cocked her head and dipped her finger into Michiru's cooling cup before licking the coffee off of her skin and sighing contentedly. "Caffeine, you'll always be my first love."
"Addict."
"No," the blond woman corrected with a yawn. "Connoisseur."
When the waitress returned with the fresh cup of coffee, Haruka was far too intrigued with a news story playing on the cafe's small television to thank her with much more than a soft grunt. Michiru frowned and expressed her gratitude with a little more... grace.
"What's going on?"
Haruka turned back from the television after a moment and shook her head. "Some feminist in America got shot at a rally in the capitol. I didn't get too much of it, mostly 'cause the broadcast is in English, but apparently there was some sort of white supremacy event on the Mall, and I guess there was a counter protest and one of the women in it got a little too close to the dick with the gun who got her in the head."
Michiru shook her head. "How horrible. I guess even the most progressive societies have their crazies."
Haruka snorted. "Progressive? Michiru, I don't consider a country that still won't give what it defines as fundamental rights to a significant portion of its population because they make the old coots in Congress feel icky. And that's just a gay thing. They've never had a woman in office, and then there's all of that health care bullshit, and there are children starving... and they're not a fucking third world country. They're not a theocracy, at least in theory. They're a democratic republic with a hell of a lot of global power, and they're still less up to date than Canada..."
A thin blue eyebrow rose. "Wow, you've been really paying attention to the States. And yet, you won't watch the news with me and Setsuna after dinner."
"Well, I like her," she pointed to the pretty, short-haired woman on the small television at the counter. "I have no need for the bombshells on the news. I'd rather watch you watching the news."
Michiru smiled and blushed. "Maddow-sensei? She's the American version of you, Haruka."
"We're both... tall."
"And like doing it with girls," the blue-haired woman added with a smirk. "And work that androgynous thing pretty well."
"I think that's where the comparison ends."
"Well, I doubt she's as good a driver as you."
Haruka leaned back in her seat and finished off her coffee, seemingly lost in thought. "Michiru, why don't I have my own show? I mean, I'd fit in with the men on TV. I look more like a man than most of them, anyway."
"Maybe because the bombshells on the news are pissed off at you for thinking they're bombshells."
"If a person is sexy and doesn't have an intellectual thought in her head but acts as if she does, she's a bombshell."
"Drink your coffee. We're already running late to Hotaru-chan's recital."
Title: Morning Blues
Theme: #20 - Documentary
Genre: Humor
Version: Manga
Rating: PG
She doesn't have to say anything, which is a good thing considering how hungover she is. Damn Michiru knows how to knock them back. And considering that Haruka's expected to be the sturdy man who can take a little booze. It's not like she's a lightweight or anything, but Michiru is just really talented.
When they go to clubs, they start slowly... and after shots and cocktails and champagne and more shots, they're not going slowly.
The thing is, Michiru has a way of staying pretty collected. Haruka... is another story altogether.
And on the morning after Usagi's wedding, Haruka wakes up naked and on the floor. And tied to her wrist, with dainty blue ribbon, is a videotape with a small note that simply reads, Watch this.
She slips it into the VCR and immediately feels her blood rush from her head when she sees herself... doing something that sort of resembles dance. And then she's arguing with Mamoru about something that she can't even understand, and he apparently can't either, because he's just sort of sitting there, shaking his head and sipping his champagne. And the scene changes, and she's hanging on to Michiru, who is laughing about something the photographer (Minako) is saying to Haruka. And Haruka is really, really out of it.
She turns it off just as her TV counterpart begins to strip out of her suit in the middle of the road while Minako sings begins that song about not wanting to go to rehab.
So Haruka doesn't seem to have much of a tolerance for any sort of alcohol in any amount. But she's not a lightweight.
Title: Four Scents
Theme: #13 - Cologne
Genre: Romance
Version: Manga
Rating: PG-13
The first is the soft whisper of morning. It is a smile, a kiss, a salutation. And it is sunshine, and it is warmth. It is a spring dew, and a newborn bird freshly hatched from a blue speckled egg. It is innocence, which is why it's so surprising to Masuyo that Hotaru, who seems so jaded by war and thousands of years of misery, wears this perfume. And it's natural, and it fits as well as their bodies fit with each other. So she learns to associate the mist of a cool morning with her lover.
The second is snow and a crackling fireplace and cinnamon. It is spiced wine and warm sweaters and musk, masculine and heated. When Usa tastes it on Masuyo's skin, she thinks of married life and how much she wants that simple pleasure, and how much she wants to share it with a snowy-haired man she'll always love but never have. It's a murky sort of cologne, but it is a natural match for Masuyo, who does tend to define the windy chill of January.
The third is foreign, and it's not particularly pleasant. It's something Masuyo can't describe, because she doesn't know the words to describe a scent so unearthly. Hotaru says it is something called a Mingma flower, and she explains that yes, while it's a bit of a change from casablancas and jasmine, it's really a lovely scent when you get to know it. And Masuyo can't agree, because she's too much in awe of the dynamic change she smells in her lover. This a woman who is not the girl she was when she left, and part of Masuyo is utterly enthralled by the maturation. And part of her feels really, really obsolete.
The fourth is something Usa is surprised to detect. Considering how much Hotaru loves Masuyo, she's still a little shocked, even in the throes of passion. It's a scent of desperation, of need and ache. It is flowery and more than a little overwhelming, and it really doesn't suit the wise and mature woman she's undressing. And she asks Hotaru about her lover, and Hotaru just breaks down and says that she's losing her. And all Usa can do is drive her wild for a good hour and a half before holding her while she sobs in her arms.