When life gives you lemons...

illezabeth @ 2009-12-05T14:21:00

2009-12-05T14:21:57Z

[info]illezabeth
illezabeth

Rain!

2009-07-23T11:03:19Z

After a rather sunny morning the clock hits twelve o'clock and the heavens open. Water crashes to the ground like there's a hidden ocean in the sky, it's thin bottom riddled with leaks.

It's July, you'd think we'd at least manage one day with out torrential downpour; but no, this is England.

Another Quiz ^^ because I have nothing better to do

2009-07-22T10:51:21Z

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	High
Schizoid:	Low
Schizotypal:	Moderate
Antisocial:	Moderate
Borderline:	Low
Histrionic:	High
Narcissistic:	Moderate
Avoidant:	Low
Dependent:	Low
Obsessive-Compulsive:	Low
-- Personality Disorder Test -- -- Personality Disorder Information --

At least there were no "very high"s this time XD

The Difference of Three Years

2009-07-22T10:42:53Z

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Sixth Level of Hell - The City of Dis!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	High
Level 2 (Lustful)	Moderate
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Moderate
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very High
Level 7 (Violent)	High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Low

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

Eyesield 21 fanfic- Dinnertime at Deimon

2009-07-22T10:09:25Z

This was meant to be a Hiruma/Mamori story, needless to say it didn't stay that way once Juumonji and Kuroki got hold of the rice.
Anyway, besides that lack of Hiruma/Mamori, I hope you like this little drabble ^__^

Disclaimer: Eyeshield 21 is very much not mine- if it was it would probably be spelt wrong Oo

Dinnertime

“Ah! Stop it!” Taki yelped, trying and failing to stop a glob of rice from whacking into his forehead as Monta tugged on his hair with his feet.

“That’s disgusting fucking monkey,” Hiruma commented before lazily blowing a green bubble.

“Don’t call Monta-kun a monkey!” Mamori exclaimed, brandishing her broom at the demonic quarterback.

“Ah Mamori-chan! You stuck up for me!”

It had started as a perfectly normal strategy meeting, how it had turned into this Musashi had no idea. It was like watching a large and boisterous family sitting down to their once-a-week family dinner- the kind of once-a-week family dinner that was once-a-week for a reason.

In the corner Doburoku had passed out long ago and was now snoring contently into one of Kurita’s boat-sized football boots. In front of him Suzuna was giggling gleefully at the blushing faces of Sena and Yukimitsu as she sprawled over their rigid laps. Beside her Kurita and Komisuba had been eating since they’d entered the room and showed no signs of giving up anytime soon.

Across the table Ishimaru (forgotten again) watched from the sidelines, clearly wondering how he’d ended up in this position in the first place. Musashi had a pretty good hunch that Hiruma had somehow made him a permanent fixture in the American Football team without Ishimaru even being aware of the process.

Next to the ensnared track-runner Tokageru seemed to have given up on the world around him and had buried head into his newest manga whilst he waited for is friends to revert back from their sudden journey to toddlerhood.

Juumonji and Kuroki snickered as another ball of their rice smacked Taki on the forehead.

Musashi shook his head, suddenly feeling as old as he looked, and picked up a copy of Amefuto from the middle of the table. He buried his head in an article on the pro’s and con’s of kicking team just as a semi-automatic rifle was fired and a broomstick was applied to the back of someone’s head.

“You cannot join in a food fight with bullets!”

Eyeshield 21 Fanfic- Shin/Sena pre-slash

2009-07-22T09:56:29Z

My first attempt at Shin! I've always found the strong, silent types really hard to capture XD Anyway, you don't want to here me ramble so:

Disclaimer: If I could draw like this I wouldn't have failed art...

Sena flexed his hand, trying to coax his blood to start flowing around his swollen fingers again, but the thin plastic straps of his carrier bag were unrelenting. The running back sighed in defeat as he jogged forwards; he wasn’t that far away from home, just another corner...

Sena turned down another brightly-lit road and caught sight of a blue tracksuit standing in front of a drink’s dispenser.

A familiar blue tracksuit.

Sena froze.

A familiar blue tracksuit with its hood up, obscuring everything from view but a few dark tufts of hair.

“Uh Shin-san?” The linebacker’s finger was still pressed against the drinks machine and as Sena edged closer he could see the long crack it had made against the vividly coloured front, “ah…”

“I believe I have broken it.” Shin replied.

“Um, yeah…” Sena wondered why he was so surprised; to this day he couldn’t remember Shin ever being competent in handling technology. “Do- Do you need a drink?” as soon as he had asked the question Sena wanted to whack his head against the nearest concrete post. Of course he wanted a drink, why else would he be trying to use a drinks machine?

“Yes.”

“I-I have some water if you’d like some. I’ve got quite a lot really, I mean, I only need one bottle, you know, but it was half-price for a pack of four so it was only about twice the amount of just one so I thought, you know, I could keep some for practice on other days…” Sena’s ramble drifted off at the end as the boy caught Shin’s gaze.

“That would be acceptable, thank you.”

“Ah right,” Sena quickly wrestled a bottle from its packaging and held it out to the athlete. Shin took it exceedingly carefully and bowed politely.

“Thank you,” he repeated.

Sena laughed and scratched the back of his head, “don’t worry about it. I’ll see you err… around… or something…” Sena shook his head, trying in vain to shake off the red clinging to his cheeks.

“Yes.” Shin bowed again and took off running in the direction Sena had just come from. Sena watched him go with a sigh. Way to make himself look like a blithering idiot in front of his arch-rival. He didn’t even know why he’d been so nervous- its not like he’d been thinking how good Shin looked in blue the entire time or anything.

…

Okay, so maybe he had.

8059 Part III!

2009-07-22T01:45:53Z

The next thing Gokudera knew he was stumbling back into his desk, a hand pressed to an injured cheek. He tried to retaliate but Yamamoto grabbed hold of both of his hands and kicked his knees out from under him. Gokudera slammed onto his back, the wind flying from his lungs as Yamamoto lorded over him. Through his wheezing Gokudera aimed an upper-cut at the left side of the swordsman’s jaw but Yamamoto neatly evaded it by shoving the storm guardian back into the floor.

Gokudera cried out as the pushing hand connected solidly with his still-healing burns and he tried to jerk away only to find the legs on either side of hips keeping him fixed in place.

Trapped, Gokudera squeezed his eyes shut against the dizzying rush of pain. He tried desperately to focus on something else and he vaguely registered the sound of someone talking. It was that idiot, his mind reported, he was apologizing.

“-rry Gokudera, I didn’t mean to!” Gokudera wanted to frown, scowl and tell him that that didn’t help anything, but he was still struggling with his breath. “Was it- did I-?”

Gokudera blindly flung a hand in the air and by a stroke of luck managed to find his mark over the idiot’s mouth. His eyes cracked open to glare and Yamamoto gazed apologetically over Gokudera’s pale hand.

“Arh yhm nmkaym?” The idiot asked and Gokudera threw him a disparaging glower.

“I’m fine idiot, now get off me.”

“Mmtt…”

“No.”

The idiot finally pulled back but, instead of getting off like he should have done, he just sat on his haunches, using Gokudera’s lap as an impromptu seat.

“What part of ‘get off’ did you not understand, idiot?” Gokudera exclaimed angrily but the idiot ignored him as usual. A second later the bastard had shoved Gokudera’s shirt halfway up his chest and was examining the first bandage spread across his abdomen.

“What the hell are you doing you moron?” He yelled in shock, struggling violently against the weight holding down his thighs and the big hands gently exploring the bandaged area like the idiot actually knew what he was looking for.

“Get off me!” Gokudera repeated and he pushed at the hands as the fingers brushed against his sensitive skin. His hands were grabbed roughly and Gokudera froze as they were pressed to the floor on either side of his head. Suddenly Yamamoto’s face was back to being barely inches from his own and Gokudera shuddered as warm air brushed against the side of his mouth.

“I was just trying to help,” the swordsman’s breath tickled as it rushed over Gokudera’s skin but the storm guardian didn’t dare struggle against him with their faces so close together.

“Help do what?” he argued instead, “Since when do you know anything about something that’s not related to baseball?” He asked scathingly.

Yamamoto looked offended, “I did a first aid course last year with the baseball team; all the sports clubs had to do it.”

“Not exactly a doctorate, is it?” Gokudera sneered and Yamamoto’s fingers squeezed a little tighter around his own.

“It’s probably more that you know,” the idiot replied defensively.

“I don’t need a stupid course!” Gokudera spat, “I’ve looking after my own injuries for years without idiots like you sticking your nose in!” He waited for the swordsman’s retort but it never came, the idiot just frowned.

“Yamamoto? Yamamoto? Oi idiot, if all you’re gonna do is stare into space then get off me!”

“Dera…”

“Don’t call me that,” the response was already automatic and was just as automatically ignored.

“I’m just trying to help you,” Yamamoto repeated, emphasising each word as he tried to get the point across.

“Well, I don’t want you to.” Gokudera replied in the same tone.

“Why do you always…” Yamamoto cut himself off with a sigh and looked away as though searching for some divine sign.

“Why do I always what?” Gokudera prompted as he tried unsuccessfully to see what Yamamoto found so interesting behind his head.

The rain guardian glanced down and Gokudera caught his eye before the boy let his head drop back down, “You’re not on your own anymore.”

“Che?” Gokudera asked in bewilderment.

“That wasn’t Japanese, Dera,” Yamamoto pointed out quietly.

“Don’t call me that.”

For a minute neither of them said anything and Gokudera fidgeted uncomfortably as the sweat building up between their joined hands made their skin slide together strangely and Yamamoto’s t-shirt brushed against the uncovered parts of Gokudera’s stomach with every breath.

Yamamoto opened his mouth to say something but what ever it was died before it reached his throat and he closed it again. A tongue darted out to wet dry lips and Gokudera stared at the shine it left behind.

He wished he’d been the one to leave it there.

Gokudera’s eyes widen to almost comic proportions and he violently shook his head, rattling off a mantra of ‘no’ in Italian as he struggled to get as far away as possible.

Yamamoto was saying something, or protesting more likely, but the last thing Gokudera wanted to do was listen to him- he didn’t even want to be with a mile radius of the idiot. Hell he’d settle for the other side of the library door as long as it wasn’t near. Yamamoto shifted, pressing their bodies together in an attempt to make him still, but if anything it made Gokudera double his efforts. “Gokudera calm down!”

All it took was those three words and the struggling teenager froze.

“Dera?” An involuntary shudder ran treacherously down the trapped boy’s spine because somehow Yamamoto’s mouth had managed to find an erogenous in the crook of Gokudera’s neck.

“Dera? You calm yet?” The warm breath from Yamamoto’s question washed over the sensitive spot and Gokudera earnestly bit down on his lower lip to keep the moan from coming out, so hard he almost bled, but he failed anyway. The sound hung obscenely in the air and this time they both froze- Gokudera didn’t even breathe.

Yamamoto let out a shaky exhale that made Gokudera shudder and then slowly, deliberately, he pressed closer, his mouth pushing against the treacherous spot. Gokudera waited for him to say something but he never did, just pressed closer and Gokudera couldn’t pretend that the idiot had no idea what he was doing- not now he wasn’t even talking. Gokudera stared at the yellowing ceiling in shock.

“Che cosa fai?” It was meant to come out as a yell, a roar, a shout, yet somewhere between his brain and his mouth it became nothing but a stunned whisper.

“You’re speaking Italian again, Dera,” Yamamoto murmured against his skin and Gokudera didn’t even notice the nickname because he was too busy trying to keep his vocal cords from acting up again.

“Why haven’t you got the fuck off me already?” Gokudera ground out instead, now shifting his stare to a glare.

The ceiling had never had so much attention.

Yamamoto finally seemed to get the message then because he lifted himself back onto his elbows but Gokudera should have known he was asking too much. He stopped, his eyes searching Gokudera’s face for something other than the scowl it found there.

“I just thought that… well…” Yamamoto gazed a little more intently at a spot just above Gokudera’s eyebrow and his cheeks flushed a disturbingly attractive shade of pink, “…you liked it didn’t you?”

“I…I…what?” he stuttered helplessly, unable to even think of a coherent argument, much less say it and to his shame he felt his cheeks heat up to an even darker shade than the one sported by the boy above him.

“Well… when I… did it… you… you…” the pink across Yamamoto’s cheeks deepened to a cherry red and Gokudera took a certain amount of vindictive satisfaction that the idiot was now in the same situation as him.

“That wasn’t… It wasn’t… I was just surprised!” Gokudera protested vehemently, but even to him the argument sounded hollow and he could only hope that for once the baseball-idiot’s stupidity would come in handy.

“Oh…” Yamamoto breathed as he shifted above him, and for a moment Gokudera felt the hope that he was finally going to get off rush over him for a second time but then suddenly he had a face buried in the side of his neck again. Yamamoto was talking but the words were muffled by skin and the fog resettling in Gokudera’s brain.

Wha…?” Gokudera managed to exhale, and then wanted to hit himself for sounding like such an imbecile

The words came again and, after a few seconds of determined concentration, Gokudera managed to decipher them as “are you sure?” Of course then Gokudera made the fatal mistake of opening his mouth to reply just as Yamamoto decided to say something else. Exactly what the swordsman had decided to say however never made it to Gokudera’s brain; what did was the way the words vibrated over his sensitive skin and, with his mouth so conveniently open, the storm guardian was defenceless against the long, low groan they drew from his throat.

Yamamoto shivered and with their bodies pressed so tightly together Gokudera felt every inch of it, “Dera…” The rain guardian’s voice was dark, husky and made Gokudera think of things he hadn’t even dreamt about.

“Don’t call me that.” Gokudera whispered back even as his blood started to rush it little faster. Yamamoto chuckled against his throat and Gokudera felt the sensation shoot down his spine and pool in his groin. He tried to clench his hands only to find Yamamoto’s still holding onto them.

“Dera…” Yamamoto repeated and sealed the fate of the boy beneath him as he shifted uncomfortably. He shifted over the semi-hard flesh between Gokudera’s legs and the ex-smoker gasped, his eyes wide and glassy as his hips bucked back against the motion.

His cheeks burnt red with embarrassment and he was tried in vain to convince himself that the throbbing between his legs was just circumstantial arousal and nothing to do with Yamamoto at all as he hissed out a reply, “why do you never shut up?”

“But,” Yamamoto mumbled into his skin, “you like it, and that- that- I really like that.” Those hips shifted again and, of course, Gokudera moaned again, but then there was something new pressing down on his lower abdomen. Something new but very identifiable. “Dera, I want to…”

Gokudera never found out exactly what it was Yamamoto wanted because at that point the boy finally gave up on speech and instead swiped his tongue along the spot that had been causing Gokudera so much trouble, which gave him a fair idea. God, it felt good.

“Ngh!” The attention didn’t stop at the humiliating sound it wrenched from Gokudera’s throat- instead it got worse and Gokudera was trapped beneath a warm body pressing him into the ground as a mouth slowly annihilated his pride with nips, licks and barely-there sucks.

Yamamoto bit at the skin one last time before pulling away to engage their mouths in long, pressing, closed-mouthed kisses, and Gokudera froze completely beneath him.
“Dera…” he whispered between kisses, “Dera, come on- please?”

Please? Please what?

It was as though all of Gokudera’s mind processes had gone through a temporary failure and were now trying desperately to get back online only to be thwarted with every rough, coaxing push against his lips.

“It’s not just me right? Cuz…cuz you’re hard Dera… and that only happens if… if you like it right?”

Gokudera didn’t think he’s eyes could get any wider until the rain guardian threw out that sentence. He wanted so badly to say ‘no’; to inform him that at their age it can happen anyway- and he opens his mouth to do it- but then he doesn’t.

He doesn’t because then it would stop and Gokudera’s hard and it’s all that stupid idiot’s fault.

Of course, as usual, that idiot doesn’t understand anything Gokudera wants him to do.

“Shit,” Yamamoto whispered and words ghosted down Gokudera’s nose as the taller boy pressed their foreheads together, “shit I’m sorry but I thought- because…” Yamamoto’s eyes squeezed tight and he shook his head as though trying to shake an unwanted thought from his mind.

Gokudera stared, “why are you stopping?” he hissed with displeasure and Yamamoto’s eyes flew open, wide as dinner plates.

“You mean… but you- you didn’t do anything… do anything back I mean.” Oh. So that’s what he’d been asking for.

“Let me go,” Gokudera commanded unhappily, trying to pull his hands back.

“S-sorry,” Yamamoto replied, releasing them obediently and Gokudera glared at him for a second as he considered all the things that wouldn’t have lead to this predicament if the idiot had been clever enough to do that a quarter of an hour ago.

“Fucking moron,” he cursed and caught two fistfuls of shirt as Yamamoto tried to move away, “now what the hell are you doing?” Gokudera hissed.

“But… you said…” Yamamoto floundered and Gokudera rolled his eyes.

“Idiot,” he growled before yanking the boy down into a crushing kiss.

Three seconds later he had the idiot’s tongue in his mouth and he was being forced into the floor again.

Yamamoto’s hands raced across the uninjured skin of Gokudera’s stomach, taking delight in causing gasps to be captured by the swordsman’s hungry mouth and Gokudera found the fingers of one of his hands twisting themselves into the hair at the back of Yamamoto’s head whilst the other made short work of burying under the idiot’s shirt.

The rough pads of his fingers skirted over perfect muscles as he pitted his tongue against Yamamoto’s in a battle of dominance. He found the swordsman gasped and arched when he danced his fingers along the sides but didn’t pull away as though it tickled; he found he moaned when he rubbed the base of his spine and ground his hips a little harder (Gokudera liked that response especially); but his favourite was the way teasing a nipple to hardness made him quiver all over and return the favour.
Gokudera gasped as two thumbs rubbed over the small nubs again and again even after they were hard, just to tease, and Yamamoto swallowed the sound with his greedy, inexperienced kisses.

This shouldn’t be happening.

This shouldn’t be happening but Gokudera was still slipping his tongue in and out of the idiot’s mouth as he rocked his hips into the body above him. The hand curled in Yamamoto’s hair tightened reflexively as the cloth of his underwear rub against his sensitive skin, but he wasn’t the only one in this situation. Yamamoto was moaning now; long, sweet sounds that made Gokudera realised why the swordsman liked listening to his so much; and he could feel how hard he was even through all their clothes as he ground against Gokudera’s own rigid length.

“Dera,” Yamamoto groaned gratuitously before letting his tongue slip along the lower lip of the boy below him. He kissed the side of his mouth then nipped down the left side of his jaw, following the line down to the neck where he buried his face in the smooth skin and sucked. Gokudera’s hips jerked, driving him harder into the crux of Yamamoto’s thighs and the taller boy groaned around his mouthful.

“Oh shit,” Gokudera squeezed his eyes shut as though it could control the pleasure shooting down his spine but then Yamamoto scarped a nail over a previous forgotten nipple and thrust a little harder. “Nngh!” Gokudera arched up as pain and pleasure merged and he pressed a hand against Yamamoto’s ass, desperate for that harsher, faster pace. Yamamoto was happy to oblige.

The swordsman’s mouth never left Gokudera’s neck as he drove their hips together ruthlessly and Gokudera was helpless against the onslaught. His hands curled tighter around their respective captives, encouraging the other wordlessly as he tried to bite back moans with rare success.

The curious, curling pressure that signalled an orgasm started to build in his abdomen and Gokudera gasped, arching himself closer into Yamamoto’s rocking body. Some small part in the back of his mind calmly informed him that he was about to cum in his pants but it was quickly smothered by the rush of pleasure made by Yamamoto groaning loudly into his neck and keening his name in such an undistinguishable way that Gokudera knew exactly when was happening when the boy’s rocking suddenly turned brutal and chaotic.

Hearing the sounds of Yamamoto coming in his ear sent a jolt of electricity straight to his cock while the rough thrusts forced bliss to blossom through his bewildered brain like an enormous firework and all the will-power in the world couldn’t have saved Gokudera from that combination.

He came so hard he forgot his own name, his head flying backwards as he released a cry that seemed loud enough to wake the dead. (3)

It took approximately 3 minutes for Gokudera’s brain to come back online; and it took approximately 3 seconds after that for his blood to burn through Gokudera’s cheeks. Sprawled on top of him, his head still buried in the smooth column of Gokudera’s neck, Yamamoto panted harshly while his hands curled possessively round Gokudera’s waist in a way he should have been pissed off with but Gokudera was just glad the idiot couldn’t see his blush.

Then, just as Gokudera wondered if this was going to become one of those awkward silences that becomes harder and harder to break as it goes on, Yamamoto spoke
“Ne, Dera?” The words were murmured carefully, almost like a verbal tap on the shoulder and, even though he’d used that stupid nickname, Gokudera couldn’t say anything because the idiot was still hiding in his newly discovered weak spot, “come to bed.”

Yamamoto was very violently shoved into the desk.

“Come to bed?” Gokudera hissed incredulously, now standing on the other side of the room with a very painful leg “just because this happened once does not mean it’s happening again!”

“Dera! I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant to sleep!” In a rare switch of roles it was Yamamoto that sounded exasperated, “I wasn’t expecting anything else…” of course then Gokudera’s keen eyes noticed the pink tinge rush into the tips of his ears, “unless... you know… I wouldn’t say no…” he started to ramble and the exasperation bounced back across to Gokudera with an almost audible ping.

“Shut up idiot,” he glared. He so desperately wanted to tell said idiot exactly how much he didn’t want to go anywhere with him right now but every time he shifted he could feel the sticky aftermath of their… their…the incident starting to dry against his skin. Unfortunately his only real means of fixing this situation lay back in that very room he didn’t want to go to. He growled unhappily and upgraded his glare to a scowl as he resigned himself to the fate. “I’m only going because I need new clothes,” He informed the idiot harshly, “don’t get any stupid ideas.” But of course Yamamoto was as deaf to that command as he was to any that Gokudera gave and a triumphant grin settled itself across his features.

The itch for dynamite returned.

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(3)- And this is where I happened to check my word count only to find I had exactly 8059- to my utter shame; I squealed.
The Italian
Che?- What?
Che cosa fai?- What are you doing?

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I hope you all enjoyed it, even if it was cut halfway through TT_TT

8059 Part II

2009-07-22T01:27:23Z

Maybe it was the black stationary or the small skull motifs on the desk drawers but Gokudera got the feeling that the library had become somewhat of an unofficial office to his older self. He quite liked the arrangement too- it was like his own personal, 6 metre² world where he didn’t have to worry about unwanted visitors such as a certain baseball idiot.

So why the hell was he suddenly being subjected to that never-changing, vapid grin?

“What do you want?” Gokudera demanded in a voice he knew was as scalding as boiling water. He knew that was what it sounded like because he’d spent the last seven years of his life making sure it sounded just like that.

Of course it was wasted on Yamamoto, “I just though I’d come and make sure you were okay. You always seem to come down here when you’re especially angry.”

Gokudera glared at him for knowing something that was so obviously had nothing to do with him, “Great, now piss off.” He replied dismissively before turning back to the puzzle before him. He bit the inside of his lip as set aside the four he knew he could open and frown down at the remaining twelve, maybe it was something to do with order?

“Is that a new bottle?”

Gokudera froze, “What?” he answered with a clipped tone.

“Those pills, are they new?” Yamamoto repeated, he sounded almost as amiable as normal but Gokudera could hear something under-cutting those words that made his eyes narrow. He finally looked up from the box weapons, his eyes glancing to the small brown bottle he’d naively left at the front of the desk, before moving his gaze back up to Yamamoto’s waiting face.

“Didn’t I tell you to piss off?” Gokudera asked warningly.

“So they are.” Yamamoto’s face curled into something that was almost a frown and Gokudera suddenly found his body tense for a fight because that was an expression he’d never seen on Yamamoto out of a battle.

“So what?” He replied guardedly.

“So, we were only given the last one two days ago. There’s enough in one of them to last a week, how many are you taking a day?” Yamamoto’s frown deepened with worry and Gokudera decided he’d had enough of this idiot trying to nose his way into his life.

“How has this got anything to do with you, idiot? Do I look like I want your concern?” Gokudera spat.

“You don’t have to want it, it’s given freely- that’s what friends do.” Gokudera gritted his teeth as he stuck Yamamoto with his sharpest glare. He was tired, in pain and pissed off, he did not deal with the baseball-idiot’s attempts at a friendship.
He swore. Vehemently.

“You just don’t stop trying, do you?” Gokudera declared rhetorically.

“Nope,” a slight shadow of Yamamoto’s dopey smile curved across his lips and Gokudera scowled at it. Yet another dense expression on an equally dense head.

The genius gritted his teeth angrily and briefly entertained the thought of just lighting all 67 pieces of dynamite that he currently had hiding on his person and blowing the damn bastard to pieces there and then. He didn’t. But only because he got the feeling that Tsuna would (as much as he loathed to admit it) be very upset.

Getting no answer from his would-be-murderer, Yamamoto seemed to think it was a good idea to continue talking, “So? Because mine had a least twenty tablets in it so that’s got to be at least ten a day and you’re only meant to take four.” He said conversationally, “Your wounds are worse then you say they are aren’t they? I thought they were, you were even more beat up than me after the fight with Gamma, but you refused to stay in bed once I got up.” Suddenly he grinned, “You know, I think you might be the most stubborn person I’ve ever-”

“Shut up!” Gokudera exclaimed, cutting sharply across the rambling teenager with an annoyed, slightly exasperated, expression. “Yes I take ten a day and yes I know I should only take four. Yes I still have fucking holes in my chest from electricity burns and now I’ve got some nice shiny new ones in my leg because as usual, I am not goddamn good enough! There, are you fucking happy now?” He added with a blazing glare and, despite hissing out every major failure he’d managed since he’d reached the future, he still took some twisted satisfaction in the startled expression he’d pulled across the other’s face.

“Why- why didn’t you say anything?” the idiot asked and Gokudera glowered at him for being so stupid.

“Oh yes, because they’re exactly the kind of things you’d want to admit to.” He replied sarcastically, “very befitting of a right-hand man.”

Yamamoto gave him a look of surprise, “A right-hand man is still just human isn’t he? He makes the same sort of mistakes as everyone else.”

Gokudera’s angry features turned ugly at those words and that feeling; that feeling he always stamped out because it wasn’t acceptable; that feeling that wasn’t acceptable because that stupid, vacant, baseball-obsessed idiot would not make a better right-hand than him; started to rise in his gut like bile and made him want to vomit.

The words came out before he could stop them, “Everyone other than you, you mean,” he replied darkly. The idiot was too stunned to reply and Gokudera found himself surging ahead; angry, bitter words spilling out of his mouth. “Yamamoto Takeshi, the baseball star of the middle-school league; one of the only two people on the planet to know the most ‘flawless’ sword technique in the world and who learnt the whole fucking thing in under a week. Do you know how long it took me to learn how to throw dynamite?”
Oh God, what was he saying? And to him?

“12 goddamn months of practice every goddamn day and I still couldn’t hit the fucking aeroplanes. But you, you just- just… walk straight in and do whatever the fuck you want- you pass the initiation test; you hit a ball from thirty yards away into a bull’s eye at 130 kilometres per hour; you fight a member of Varia and not only get out alive, you fucking win!” Gokudera dug his fist into his temple and snarled viciously at the table, “So now we’ve sorted out exactly who’s really the best fucking right-hand man around here, will you finally just piss off!”

And then suddenly the only noise he could hear was the sound of his own rattling, angered breaths.

The silence stretched across the room as Gokudera relived his humiliating confession in his head and his pride died. He watched it burn and then a thick, dark shame oozed over the smouldering ashes like slime.

“Gokudera…” Yamamoto’s voice was no more than shell-shocked whisper and Gokudera squeezed his eyes shut as though it would make the whole situation disappear.

It didn’t.

Instead there was the sound of a first hesitant step forward, and then a more confident one, and then another and another until suddenly Yamamoto was two foot away from him with only dark, varnished wood between them.

Gokudera panicked, “I said get out! What part of that did you not understand you baseball-freak?” He yelled quickly, pushing his chair away from the desk. Yamamoto said nothing and Gokudera quickly rose to his feet, ignoring the stab of pain from his left leg. “Out!”

“No.” The word was decisive and there was not even the subtlest hint of a smile on Yamamoto’s face now. Gokudera stared at him as walked round the desk, stuck between wanting to fight and wanting to run and wanting to do neither; the first for Tsuna’s sake and the second in the name of his resurrecting pride.

Then suddenly Yamamoto was right in front of him and Gokudera was staring at him like an idiot.

“Gokudera…” Yamamoto repeated but the rest of his sentence seemed to fail him.

“Somigli un idiota, idiota.” Gokudera informed him scathingly and it was only the bemused expression he got in return that made Gokudera realise he’d slipped back into Italian. “You look like an idiot, idiot” he rephrased in Japanese and glared at the boy even harder.

“Hey, that’s a bit harsh isn’t it?” said boy replied, the hints of an old smile twitching up between his lips. Slowly the world started to right itself as Gokudera rebuked and Yamamoto ignored, just like always.

“No,” The scowl was starting to make Gokudera’s head ache just behind the eyes and he squashed the urge to press the heel of his hands against them.

“I was just a bit surprised,” the idiot continued as he shoved his hands into his pockets, “I thought you didn’t like me.”

“I don’t like you,” Gokudera ground out and as that trademark grin started to spread across the baseball idiot’s face he had to hold back a second urge for his dynamite.

“But isn’t jealousy a form of flattery?”

Gokudera gaped speechlessly for a second before his pride finally revived itself and took over, “I’m not jealous!” He objected vainly.

“You sounded jealous.”

“Well I’m not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Gokudera gritted his teeth irately.

“Good,” the idiot smiled, widely and stupidly.

“Tch.” Gokudera crossed his arms defensively and glared off to the side.

The idiot backed off, the first intelligent thing he’d done all evening, and rested himself against Gokudera’s desk, “besides, I think a right-hand man needs to be clever and that’s definitely more you then me,” he laughed stupidly and Gokudera glared at him.

“Of course, because you’re an idiot,” he replied smartly.

“Hmmm, I liked it better in Italian, it sounded nicer,” the baseball-freak told him, smiling lightly.

Gokudera stared at him, “idiot, how can someone insulting you sound ‘nice’?”

The baseball- freak shrugged and continued to smile.

“Deficiente,” Gokudera muttered under his breath darkly.

“What?” the idiot asked but Gokudera wasn’t in the mood to become a translator.

“Move,” he ordered instead, “you’re in the way.”

“In the way?” the idiot asked, but he did push away from the desk, “what are you doing?” he glanced over his shoulder down at the weapons scattered across the table, “that’s a lot of boxes,” he commented curiously.

“None of your business,” Gokudera retorted but the idiot still didn’t get the hint.

“What are these things on the table; are they from the boxes?”

“What part of ‘none of your business’ did you not understand?”

“I was just asking,” the baseball-idiot replied sticking his hands up in the air innocently.

“Yeah ,well don’t.” Gokudera waited for the baseball-idiot to move but yet again he was ignored.

“You should really go to bed; you can work on this in the morning.”

Gokudera bristled, “don’t tell me what I should do! I’ll go to bed when I want to; what do you think I am, a five year old?”

“I didn’t say that,” the idiot replied defensively, “it’s just you’ve been training all day and you’re injured. You fell asleep at dinner as well.”

“I’m fine,” Gokudera spat, “just leave me alone.”

“You’re not going to go back to training with Bianchi-san are you,” the baseball-idiot stated, uncharacteristically insightful.

“I can’t do that unless I do this.” Gokudera made a sweeping gesture towards the objects on his desk. “Unlike some people’s weapons this takes a bit more then waving it around to make it work.”

“Have you told Tsuna?”

“No.”

“He’s going to worry.” Yamamoto warned

“Not if nobody tells him,” Gokudera retorted.

“Bianchi-san will.”

Gokudera pulled a face, “yeah, well there’s no point in telling him if I can’t figure it out.”

A silence followed those muttered words and Yamamoto tilted his head to look at him speculatively, “You know, I heard what Bianchi-san said.” He started slowly, “about your determination.” Gokudera’s hands clenched into fist and he opened his mouth to tell the idiot exactly how little that had anything to do with him but the swordsman had already started talking again. “I reckon she was wrong though. I mean, really, out of all of us, except for maybe Tsuna because sometimes he can-”

“Why do you always feel the need to butt in where you’re not wanted?” Gokudera snarled through the idiot’s ramble, “whatever my sister says about me, it’s got nothing to do with you!” Gokudera glared angrily at him but Yamamoto didn’t smile or joke or give any normal response, instead his face suddenly turned serious and he replied very quietly.

“I think that if someone insults a friend then it’s your business and it doesn’t matter who says it- especially if what they’re saying isn’t true.” Yamamoto fixed him with a serious stare and, to his embarrassment, Gokudera suddenly found himself speechless, “You’ve been looking for a Family to take you in for years and now you’ve finally found one. Ever since I met you all you’ve done is try to find ways to be useful, better. You never think you’re good enough.” Yamamoto shook his head and stepped closer leaving little more that foot’s distance between them. “You’re injured, you need to rest.” He added as though that was the end of the conversation and Gokudera anger sparked again.

“Don’t tell me what I need to do!” he objected vehemently before spitting, “I’m fine!” and storming past the rain guardian to his desk. Angrily he started to shove the useless weapons back in their boxes, “Clearly I can’t even get away from you here so I’m going somewhere else and don’t even think about following me!”

“Goku-”

“Shut up!”

“I’m just-”

“I don’t care!”

“Gokudera!” Yamamoto grabbed hold of one of Gokudera’s arms from behind and swung him around.

Gokudera stared up at him in shock; not so much from the face he found a breadth’s width away or the harsh way he was pressed against the desk, the sharp edge digging painfully into his lower back; but more because it was the first time he’d ever heard Yamamoto shout at him.

“Why do you always have to be so argumentative? I’m just worried about you; you’re trying to push yourself too hard- as usual. You need to rest Gokudera, I’m not saying that just to dent your pride or something, I just don’t want to see you end up back in that hospital bed.”

Yamamoto was frowning again; only this time the expression was barely inches from his face forcing him to count the small wrinkles in his brow (four between the eyebrows and one running faintly across his forehead); to notice the steely glint in dark eyes; and to trace the downturn lines of his lips with his eyes.

The hand still wrapped around his wrist felt hot and heavy, keeping him close, tangible.

Yamamoto’s gaze dropped suddenly and to Gokudera’s horror it seemed to linger on his mouth before flicking back up again, “Gokudera, I…” the idiot’s face dipped lower and Gokudera’s brain got a very violent kick start. He wrenched his hand away from the sweaty palm and shoved the idiot into the chair still standing innocently behind him. Yamamoto slammed against the back and promptly toppled it over before crashing to the ground.

His graceless sprawl stretched him across the chair, one leg spayed over an arm, and onto the carpet where his messy black hair was crushed against the floor. Yamamoto stared up at Gokudera with a stunned expression as though he still hadn’t quite registered what had happened, “Gokudera, wha-?”

“Don’t touch me!” the dynamite-user cut across him loudly, still pressed up against the desk. He watched Yamamoto’s expression swim between astonished and bewildered before finally settling somewhere in the middle of two.

“But I was just...” This time Yamamoto cut himself off and his eyes narrowed into a glare that made Gokudera’s fingers start to itch again. “What is your problem?” the swordsman eventually asked.

“I should be the one asking you that! You’re always so touchy-feely like some kind of girl! Can’t you just keep your hands to yourself?”

What do you think I’m going to do? Give you a disease?”

Gokudera seethed inwardly, his hands clenching as he considered telling the boy he knew exactly what he was about to do before realising he couldn’t even stutter out the whole sentence in his own head. Instead he went for the more scathing, “More like pass on some of your stupidity!”

Yamamoto groaned in frustration and let his head loll back against the rough carpet as though suddenly zapped of energy. “What did I do, ‘Dera?” he asked unhappily and Gokudera blinked just as much at the sudden nickname as he did at the strange question. “You say that for some reason you’re jealous of me...”

“I didn’t say I was jealous!” Gokudera argued hotly but to his chagrin he was neatly ignored.

“But what did I do to make you hate me?” Gokudera froze, caught by the honest, open face gazing up at him. “’Dera-”

“Who said you could call me that?” Gokudera demanded, “Stop it.”

“I like it,” Yamamoto replied stubbornly and finally slid off the chair to climb to his feet.

“Well I don’t and it’s my name.” Gokudera retorted childishly.

“So?”

Gokudera crossed his arms petulantly as he realised he was forced to look up to glare at the idiot, “so that means you can’t use it.”

“Who came up with that rule?”

“I did.”

“Then my rule is to be able to call anybody anything I like, Dera.” Yamamoto stated, mimicking Gokudera’s folded arms.

Gokudera’s lip curled into a sneer, “what is your obsession with acting like we’re such good friends.” He demanded irately.

“Because.”

Gokudera’s hands clenched into angry fists at the finality in the idiot’s voice, “Bastard,” he hissed harshly. (2)

“Maybe.”

Gokudera growled as he physically felt the conversation hurtling downhill, “So your idiocy’s finally reduced you to one word answers then?” He taunted but this time the idiot just shrugged. For some reason that small gesture finally snapped Gokudera’s already strained patience. A fist flew towards the idiot’s stupid face, smashing him smartly in the mouth and sending the idiot stumbling back. Wide eyes stared back at him as Yamamoto pressed a hand to his injured mouth.

“Bastard!” Gokudera reiterated, already feeling the run of adrenaline starting to lace through his blood as Yamamoto very seriously pulled away his cradling palm to take in the flashes of red that had dripped from his bitten tongue.

He hit back.

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(2)- Is it possible to hiss ‘bastard’ in Japanese?
The Italian
Deficiente - Moron- more or less

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Part III, this way!

8059 Part I

2009-07-22T01:09:11Z

Title: Wounded Pride

Summary: All Gokudera wants is to be left alone, but of course Yamamoto has other ideas.

Warnings: Angst, Lime, Gokudera’s Mouth, and Yamamoto’s Dogged Persistence Where Any Normal Human Being Would Have Conceded Defeat. There is also a smidge of Italian in there, it’s not really necessary to understand what it means but it is explained at the bottom ^__^

Disclaimer: Do you really think I’d make someone so resistant to being slashed as Gokudera; you have no idea how long it took me to force him into that final scene- why do you think this fic is really this long?

Gokudera scowled and bit the inside of his mouth unhappily.

He was sitting on the bottom bunk of the bed in the room he was forced to share with the baseball-idiot. On a cabinet beside him was a steaming bowl of water, a small, brown bottle- its contents lying unassumingly in his palm- and a large roll of bandages.

The bottom of his left trouser leg was stiff with blood and where it had dried it had adhered the fabric to the deep cuts left by the mandibles of his sister’s scorpions. Training with Bianchi had become one unacceptable failure after another but Gokudera was too proud to admit it out loud which was why he was now holed up in his room like an injured animal that had retreated to its den to lick its wounds.

Gokudera glared down at his leg and then looked back at the three small, white pills in his hand. He swallowed them dry as he wondered when would be the best to time to sneak into the medical room to steal some more. Usually, considering the base’s lack of an official doctor, it would have been easier than breathing to slip in and take a single bottle of painkillers but recently Gokudera had grown a tail. For some reason Yamamoto had made it his mission to foist his presence onto the displeased genius whenever possible and Gokudera was frighteningly close to just sticking dynamite under his bed in the middle of the night.

Gokudera grit his teeth as he gripped the edge of his black trousers (though not practical in a desert the colour was useful for hiding blood from anyone who wasn’t looking too closely) and, after a few seconds readying himself with deep breaths, he yanked it over his knee.

The recently formed scab was ripped away from his wound and Gokudera found himself muffling an agonised cry behind his tightly pressed lips as a fresh flow of blood splattered over his bare foot and onto the floor where it pooled grotesquely.
He watched it spread, a vivid reminder of yet another failure to the tenth- what use was he as a right-hand man if he couldn’t even advance in his training? He bet the baseball idiot wasn’t having these problems. He was always strolling around with that god-awful grin upon his face, looking for all the world as though he didn’t even understand the meaning of the word ‘problem’.

Gokudera pulled his eyes away from the ugly puddle to study the damage the scorpion had managed to inflict and pulled a face at the messy wound. Dried blood still clung stubbornly round the edge the jagged holes on either side of his calf and the fluid pouring thickly out of them made Gokudera’s stomach roll nauseatingly. With an irritated sigh Gokudera leaned over to grab a rag that had been floating in the steaming water beside him and squeezed out the excess as he lifted his foot onto the edge of bed so he could reach his injury more easily. The blood was already starting to slow as a new delicate membrane started to form over the top but it was growing around small pieces of sand, grit and dust that had managed to stick to the wound.

It was going to have to get worse before it got better.

Gokudera cleaned the outside first, clearing away the macabre stain settling itself on tender skin whilst doggedly avoiding the painful wounds until there was absolutely nothing else left. Gokudera folded the cloth over and resolutely pressed it against the first gash.

It burned. It burned and stung and made Gokudera want to throw the rag to the furthest side of the room without a second thought; but he didn’t.

Gokudera hissed helplessly through his teeth, refusing to admit yet another defeat that day by jerking away. Stubbornly, with Yamamoto’s bed sheets crushed desperately beneath his free hand, he wiped it clean, tearing away the patchy, dirty scab that had been trying to form and releasing new rivers for him to soak up with his already saturated rag.

It didn’t work and Gokudera scowled as the blood, instead of being cleared away, just began to smear across his shin. He unceremoniously dumped his rag back into the bowl of water with a displeased “che”. He swilled it around the warm water with a finger, watching as the water first turned a hazy orange and then deepened until it was almost as though he’d taken the water straight from the Nile during the first plague of Egypt.

“There shall be blood throughout the whole of Egypt, blood even in their wooden bowls and jars of stone,” Gokudera quoted in sarcastic Italian, a rare show of his Christian upbringing. The steam continued to rise from the bowl unperturbed and as he watched its spiralling tendrils Gokudera refused to liken its appearance to cigarette smoke.
Gokudera’s scowl deepened as he felt his hands itch.

He grabbed his rag angrily from the bloody water and applied it very deliberately to his second wound. It hurt. Jesus Christ it fucking hurt. But at least he wasn’t thinking about smoking anymore. Gokudera gritted his teeth as he wiped away the last of the old blood from the hole and took some satisfaction in the wet spot on the bed sheets below him from the surplus water he hadn’t bothered to squeeze from his rag. (1)

He just hoped it had soaked through enough to still be there when the baseball-idiot decided to go to bed.

Gokudera smirked a little, briefly contemplating adding more water beneath the duvet before the trickle of crimson from his sealing wounds reminded him he still had a job to finish. Flopping the rag back into the water he grabbed the dressing from beside the bowl and wrapped a quick first later around his leg to catch the welling blood, tying it off at the top as a makeshift tourniquet. The work was shoddy, but it allowed Gokudera to wrap a proper bandage without having to worry about any telltale stains being left on Yamamoto’s bed cover. The second layer of gauze was more methodically applied, wrapped in a tight spiral until his calf was covered in a thick, snowy binding from knee to ankle.

Gokudera shifted his foot experimentally. The wounds still stung painfully, and they clearly didn’t appreciate movement, but it was endurable. Slowly Gokudera eased himself off the bed, grimacing as his left foot took more weight than he’d planned, and picked up the bowl of now cooled, ruby water before limping over to the sink to pour the contents away.

The rag landed with a squelch in the bottom of the sink and Gokudera squeezed as much of the water out as he could before throwing it in a lidded bin. His trousers followed it as soon as he’d managed to pull them off and he grabbed a spare pair he’d found in the back of the older Gokudera’s closet that he’d laid out earlier on the side. They were too long, of course, but it wasn’t too noticeable in they were rolled up on the inside.

His leg protested vehemently as the new material pressed against his wounds but Gokudera ignored it with gritted teeth. Instead he turned his attention to the cherry red puddle lying so obviously beside the baseball-idiot’s bottom bunk and Gokudera pulled a face as he realised he’d just thrown away his best way to clear it up. He looked down at the bin with a glare, wondering whether to just grab his trousers as quickly as possible and clean up before the idiot got back from training, or whether to risk an excursion outside to find some other old rag.

Unfortunately the sound of someone strolling obtrusively down the hallway outside their room made Gokudera’s decision for him and he had barely thrown his ruined trousers over the puddle when Yamamoto whistled happily into the room.

His wounds screamed their protest at how fast he’d managed to cross the room and Gokudera glared at the intruder because, as usual, it was all his fault.

“Oh you came to get changed too!” The idiot grinned vapidly, “I walked past the kitchen on the way here, the girls are making curry again- I hope it tastes as good as it smelled!”

Gokudera’s glare deepened but of course that idiot paid no attention as he started to strip. His dark skin shimmered with a heavy sheen of sweat and his hair was even messier than usual as it clumped together wetly. The smell made Gokudera’s lip curl and he disdainfully diverted his eyes (and nose) from the source.

“I’m starving too,” the idiot continued, oblivious as always to just how much Gokudera wished he would leave, “I’m going to eat as much as possible so you better get down there quick or there might be nothing left!” He laughed in that stupid way of his as he pulled his trousers over sweat-slicked thighs and grabbed a t-shirt to throw over his head, “I’ll see you in a minute yeah?” he asked standing patiently for an answer and Gokudera grunted a reply only because it was the fastest way he knew to get rid of the idiot. “Alright, see ya!” the idiot chirped before strolling back out of the door to the great relief of the room’s remaining occupant.

Gokudera knelt down beside his trousers and lifted them up to check how much blood they’d managed to soak up. Only the last vestiges of liquid remained and a few quick swipes left the former puddle just looking like every other stain on the dark floor.

The involuntarily-ex-smoker stood back up with a wince and limped across the room to return his old trousers to the bin. He leant back against the sink and staring over at the door unhappily. His stomach growled urgently, demanding that Gokudera show his face in the kitchen and right now that was the last thing he wanted to do. How was he supposed to face the tenth after another day of failure?

The rumble came again and Gokudera scowled at his traitorous body. The smell of dinner was already starting seep into the room and Gokudera could feel his saliva glands go into overdrive as he tried to remember the last time he’d eaten something- this morning? Or had he skipped and gone straight to training? That idiot would know, seeing as he’d suddenly taken such a keen interest in Gokudera’s life.

Gokudera blinked, he’d already gone and told that baseball-idiot he’d be down hadn’t he. Gokudera glared at an innocent patch of wall as he realised that he was going to have to walk all the way down to the kitchen on an injured leg and pretend that absolute nothing was wrong. But for the end it was nothing; he rather spend a night in hell than do something as undeserving of the right-hand man position as falling down on his word in front of that guy

---

.
Voices drifted through his mind, there were… three? Four? They sounded familiar. He could only hear snippets of their conversation but in his hazy daze he didn’t mind.

“…fell asleep before…”

“…3 days…”

“…tired…”

“…Gokudera-san…” he perked up at the sound of his own name, his mind finally deciding to take note of the conversation.

“…I wonder if his wounds are alright.” His wounds? Shit, how did they know? He’d hidden them right? Or were they talking about the bruises and scrapes? He was covered in them after all.

“Leave him be. He’s only ashamed of the results of his training.” Gokudera froze; Bianchi, that was definitely Bianchi.
“It didn’t go well?” that one was Reborn.

“Yeah… in the span of a minute only two of them… I wonder if this kid really has the determination to do this…” Gokudera bristled, what the hell did she know? He slammed his hands down on the table, taking a little satisfaction in the gasps he heard from Haru and Kyoko, before standing angrily. Pain shot through his leg but he ignored it as he walked to the door with a deliberate lack of speed.

“Reborn-san, I’m going to rest for now. Please give the tenth my greetings.”

As he walked out he slammed the door behind him; barely hearing Reborn’s agreement. He had lied of course, he had no intention of going back to the bedroom where he knew that idiot was just going to come bounding in, acting like they were all best mates and expecting Gokudera to actually give a shit.

No, he was going to the medical room first to pick up some more pills- he was going to need them too because the last dose clearly hadn’t been strong enough if the throbbing in his leg was anything to go by- and then he was going to hole himself up in the library until he finally managed to figure out this bloody Sistema C.A.I.

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(1)- Or the surplus water he hadn’t bothered to squeeze from his wig, apparently…

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Unfortunately this is going to have to be in three parts because apparently it's too long for just one post TT__TT

So here's Part II
And here's Part III

DinoHibari ^^

2009-07-22T00:32:46Z

A quick little drabble for one of my favourite pairings. I have got some ideas in my head for some proper stories but I'm not completely comfortable with my characterisation of these two yet. Plus I just know it's going to end up emotionally heavy and I'm just too tired to start anything like that right now XD

The First Time

Kiss- Dino
The first time Hibari dragged him into a vicious kiss Dino felt his heart stop. At the time he had been pretty sure it had something to do with the shock, but now it’s just a sensation he’s come to associate with the press of rough, red lips pressing against his skin.

Noise- Dino
The first time they slept together Hibari never made a noise and Dino was sure he’d done something wrong until Hibari had glared and dragged him back down.
Of course now Dino knows that it’s what Hibari does, not what Hibari says, that he needs to pay attention to.

Love- Dino
The first time Dino said “I love you” to his younger lover all he’d gotten was a cold scowl and an even frostier “I’m trying to sleep,” but his tonfa remained suspiciously hidden and Dino smiled as he watched clouds drift freely across the sky.

Kiss- Hibari
The first time Hibari dragged Dino into a vicious kiss it wasn’t because he couldn’t control his hormones; he knew he could, he’d been doing it for three years; it was because the stupid herbivore couldn’t fight anymore and Hibari was still bored.

Noise- Hibari
The first time they slept together Hibari never made a noise, to be fair he didn’t realise he was meant to. Instead he just scratched and bit and arched and figured Dino would get the message and when he didn’t say anything, he just decided the idiot herbivore clearly needed more education.

Love- Hibari
Hibari never said “I love you” to his older lover, he just allowed Dino’s probing fingers to slip between his thighs and let the moron work it out for himself.

Projects

2009-07-21T23:35:03Z

A list of all the things I want to write but won't ;)

Eyeshield 21
ShinxSena- Ancient Greece one-shot-turned-god-knows-what
TakamixSakuraba- drabbles?

Tsubasa/ XxxHolic/ CCS
KuroFai- (relationship equality)
KuroFai- Meaningful moments- Nihon
KuroFai- Black gloves
TouyaYukito- King and Priest ^^
A Day in the Life of Watanuki

KHR
HibaRyo XD
DinoHiba- drabble, to replace ASL
YamaGoku- 2nd chapter?
TsunaKyoko- Kyoko confesses
ByaShou- Not Fair- Lilly Allen XD
Chikusa/Ken
Chikusa/Chrome/Ken

PoT
Golden Pair- (!)
TakiFuji- Semi-finals
TezuFuji
JinTaichi
AtobeJirou
InuiKaidoh- Clueless, both of them

MARCH MADNESS!!

2009-03-03T16:03:10Z

The bunnies are attacking, you shall be boxed

Lazy

2009-03-03T16:01:57Z

I'm just to lazy to post to my journal :( I've come to this conclusion. It shall now be my excuse form now on

New Things

2009-02-17T18:39:25Z

A new story and a new userpic ^__^ yay!

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4849120/1/Umbrella

I forgot all about this....

2009-01-13T20:03:12Z

Flo's Christmas Present- a little Envy/Wrath ft. Pirates ^^

Ship’s Log, December 24th, Year of Our Fuzzy Lord, 1745

The cabin definitely looks smaller since I had Silvertongue sell that mirror but what moron decided 6 foot was a good size for a mirror anyway? At least we managed to get 30 barrels of rum out of it.

I’m sure the noble girl won’t miss it anyway, she’s probably dining with Davy Jones by now and hallelujah for that, God that girl could whine. Although, her jewellery collection did save me from having to do any Christmas shopping, Dante would not be pleased if I brought her nothing back. Bitch. It’s not like I need her money anymore.

I don’t know why she still expects me to obey her every command, I’ve got plenty of money and I don’t need to go back to her’s if I need to lay low, I have other places. One day that old hag’s going to go just a little too f

“Captain!” Envy looked up from his log with an annoyed, downturned mouth. The sailor on the other side of his door rapped impatiently against its wood.

Envy rolled his eyes, wondering why someone always felt the need to give him an update about something every 5 minutes- especially this someone. “Come in Wrath,” he sighed.

A young man- no older than sixteen summers- strode through the door. He was small for his age, with long jet black hair shorn off in places where knots had gotten large enough to get in the way. Braids randomly intercepted the dark locks; badly frayed and tied off with a piece of dirty string, they made him look like some kind of wild child.

The long sleeves of his shirt, which had probably once been white, were rolled to his elbows whilst his tapered trousers were held up by old suspenders and shoved into a pair of boots that were ready to fall to pieces.

“We’re approaching port- another 5 minutes and we’ll be there.”

“Great, thanks, now piss off. You’re taking up valuable air.”

Wrath glared at him but left without a word. Envy smirked, at home the brat could do what he liked but on board Envy’s ship he had to bite his tongue.

The Captain of the Chrysopoeia stood from his desk and wandered over to his new, smaller mirror and stared at his reflection.

Like Wrath’s, his hair was black, but odd strands of blonde made it look almost green in the sunlight. It was what other’s called ridiculously long and always tied in a high ponytail just below the black triangular hat stolen from a man who had once been an officer of the British Navy. The officer had also had a blue military jacket that Envy had taken a liking to and a rather nice pair of shoes.

Needless to say he hadn’t had them for long.

Envy frowned, straightened his jacket and tightened his ponytail before sighing loudly and leaving the room.

“Captain!” The man at the wheel yelled as he climbed out on deck, “The wind has been really rather good today, wouldn’t you say? Never thought we’d make it back here in time for Christmas.” Even stripped to a thin vest sweat soaked the man’s skin- Kimberley never had gotten used to the Caribbean heat.

“Shut up,” Envy replied as he jogged up the stairs to take the wheel before turning to the crew staring out at the cliff face looming over them. “Listen up you scallywags! This is your captain speaking!”

Kimberley snickered, “If they don’t know who you are by now, there’s some problems.”

Envy ignored him, “I don’t want any of you getting killed! I want to be out of there by Friday morning and I don’t want to have to piss around trying to replace half-a-dozen men. We leave here by ten and I don’t want see any of your faces before then- God knows seeing them every day I’m on board this boat is bad enough!”

The crew didn’t move. The gazed expectantly up at the captain who glared back. “Back to work you maggots! This ain’t no time for laying about- we’ve a ship to dock!”

“Nice,” Kimberley commented as men rushed back to their posts. “I liked the bit with the maggots, very nice.”

“Oh go walk the plank.” Envy replied with a roll of his eyes. Kimberley snickered again and watched Envy manoeuvre the ship through the dangerous rocks of Tortuga Bay.

“You’re being awfully careful today Captain, don’t you know these waters better than any- you did grow up here after all.”

“Is there somewhere you needed to be?” Envy answered sweetly.

“Yes actually.”

Envy laughed, “don’t get your sails in a bunch, you’ll be with your lover soon enough.”

“You’re just jealous I’m getting some and you’re not.”

“Between Greed and my hand I know which one I’d choose.”

“He wouldn’t want you back anyway.”

“The feeling’s mutual. LOWER THE ANCHOR!”

(f)(m)(a)

“If I have to face my family for over 24 hours then I’ll be doing it on rum.” Envy shouted over the din as they walked through the doors into The Little Man. He stepped to the side as a man was thrown head first into the wall and sank to the floor.

Kimberley laughed, “And here I thought you just couldn’t do without my company.”

“No I’m just looking for a drink; unfortunately you seem to have followed me. Didn’t I say I didn’t want to see anyone again until Friday?”

“Then you should have gone somewhere else, I’m meeting Greed and then we’re going back to the Devil’s Nest.”

“You mean that old ship isn’t dead yet?”

“Greed likes it too much to let it die- you know what he’s like about possessions.”

Envy snorted, “Old Pointy-Teeth will never change. Why does he let you sail on my ship anyway?”

“Are you kidding, if I stayed on his ship one of us would be dead within the month.”

Kimberley winced as a bottle flew past his face and smashed over another’s head. “Ouch. Good to see this place is the same as ever.”

“Hmm, unconscious in the corner, dice on any table not missing a leg and a massive brawl straight through the centre, why do you we come here again?”

“They don’t mind too much if we decide we want to make a bonfire on the table.”

“Well what other use do whores’ bloomers have?”

“Ah, good times,” Kimberley laughed.

“Envy, how long are you planning on being here this time?” A bolshie voiced asked from his armpit.

“As long as I like, you little brat. And I’m Captain to you.”

“Only on the ship,” Wrath sneered, “and don’t expect me to carry you home- last time you landed us both head first in a bloody puddle.”

“How was I supposed to know it had rained? It’s the Caribbean, it’s not meant to rain.”

Wrath rolled his eyes, “that wasn’t the point.”

“Oh cheer up! Here, have a mug on me.” Envy finally flagged down a barman.

“What about me?” Kimberley smirked

“Get your boyfriend to do it, that’s what they’re there for. Where is the old bastard anyway?” Envy’s hair whipped round dangerous as he quickly skimmed the room, “oh he’s grinning. Big surprise there.”

“Shut it.” Kimberley growled before ordering.

“Hey that was my turn!” Envy exclaimed.

Kimberley smirked, “you’ll have to be faster than that.” The pirate happily scooped his drink off the table and swaggered in as straight a line as he could through the continuing tavern-brawl to his lover.

Envy glared after him before turning to relieve Wrath of his tankard and order their drinks.

“2 bottles of rum, mate.”

“Start as you mean to go on?”

“Wrath you wound me- it’s to share! Maybe then you’ll finally be brave enough to go off for a roll in the hay with Little Miss Diane. God knows you’ve been keen on her for long enough.”

“I have not!” Wrath replied hotly.

“Four years is a long time, the poor girl is probably as traumatised as you are that you haven’t just whisked her off to a hay stack already. Women just aren’t as good as men at taking sexual tension you know.” Envy informed him readily; taking a fierce enjoyment in watching Wrath’s face turned an unhealthy shade of scarlet.

“Shut up.”

“Seriously, waiting so long is not healthy. Just march up to her and drag away, the girls love all that stuff.”

“I haven’t waited that long! I… We’ve already… oh just shut up.”

Envy coughed on the drink he’d just brought to his mouth, “You’ve done what?”

“None of your business.”

“No, no, no, no, no, you don’t just drop bombshells and walk off- when was this?”

Wrath mumbled something grudgingly.

“You what?” Envy replied, leaning closer to hear over the smashing of another table.

“Last year!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Envy exclaimed.

“It was none of your business.” The young man turned on his heel and stalked across the room where Kimberley had draped himself across Greed’s lap. Envy scowled after him but quickly followed.

“Envy!” Greed exclaimed as he came closer, “ugly as ever I see.”

Envy glared at him, “that’s not what you used to say.” He snapped back smartly

“Yes, well you should know by know never to trust what a man says in bed.”

“Piss off,” Envy grumbled as he flopped onto a chair that neatly fell out from beneath him. Greed and Kimberley howled with laughter. “Why aren’t you two off shagging like bunnies yet?”

“Hmm good question,” Greed grinned as Kimberley whipped away tears from his eyes. “What do you say love? The Nest’s missed ya’.”

“Why did you ask sooner?” Kimberley grinned back.

“I was told it was impolite to proposition a man before he’d had a chance to get drunk enough to agree.”

“Trust me love, after a month at sea I don’t need to drink anything.”

“I’ll remember this for next time.” Greed smirked.

Kimberley opened his mouth to continue the sickening discourse but Envy cut across him, “will you two just go already!”

“Touchy, touchy,” Kimberley sing-songed, “I’ll see you Friday then, Captain. Merry Christmas!”

“Piss off,” Envy repeated with a vulgar gesture as the two slipped out of the seats and weaved back through the never-ending tavern brawl to the door. “Bloody mollies,” Envy muttered.

“Yeah, because you can talk,” Wrath replied, speaking for the first time since they’d sat down, “Looks like I’m not the only one keeping secrets around here.”

“What?” Envy stared over at him.

“Greed?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Nothing.” Wrath crossed his arms and glared across the room.

“Are you pissed off that I didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“You are!”

“So what if I am! You were annoyed I never told you about Diane!” He scowled.

“B-but that’s different!” Envy spluttered.

“Oh so you mean you wouldn’t be annoyed if I told you about Al now as well then?”

“Al? What?”

Wrath ignored him, “I’m going home, thanks for the drink.” He raised his mug to his astonished captain, downed its remaining contents and quickly left.

Envy stared after him with wide, blinking eyes and wondered who this ‘Thomas’ was and why he was feeling a sudden urge to hang his innards over the bow of his ship.

(f)(m)(a)

The bottle was empty. Envy turned it upside down and watched the last drops fall from its stunted neck. The room around him was quiet, the brawl was over leaving the unconscious and the dead in its wake. A heady scent of blood filled the room and the barman slowly cleaned his battered bar.

“Why d’ya do it Jack?” Envy called from his lonely seat.

“Do what, yer drunk?” Jack replied.

“Let everyone fuck up y’ place.”

“”Cuz’ I know they’ll come back and clean it up tomorrow.”

“It’s gotta cost though.”

Jack shrugged, “I spent my life at sea, mate, I’ve got enough to spare. It’s not like I’ve a kid to leave it to.”

“Heh, family’s over-rated anyway.” Envy declared as he stood.

“You say that every time, but your still coming back ain’t y’.” The barkeep replied.

“Only cuz Dante’d kill me if I never.”

“How she gonna kill y’ if y’ never here?”

“Trust me; she’d get a crew,”

Jack laughed, “as y’ say lad. But you know, one day that family of y’rn might not be there when y’ get back.”

Envy frowned. “I’ll see you tomorrow Jack.”

“It’s Christmas tomorrow Envy.”

“Exactly. Not like you ever close.”

Jack shrugged, “as you want. Don’t get mugged on y’r way home.”

Envy snorted, “the only people out there are the ones who can’t afford a room cuz they’ve spent all their money on booze and women!”

Jack laughed, “get out of my pub, y’ pirate, I wanna go to bed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Envy replied as he stumbled to the door, “night Jack!”

“Night, lad.”

The air outside was cool, hardly a British winter, but a refreshing breeze to the stuffy tavern. Envy hummed tunelessly as he stepped this way through the night air to the old manor house you could just see peeking through the trees at the top the hill.

The house was largest on the entire island with five bedrooms, a large kitchen, a decadent lounge, a dinning room large enough for a banquet and a lavish ballroom which hadn’t been used since the town had been considered respectable.

Yet, despite the promise of comfort, Envy was reluctant to reach it for one very specific reason: Dante. Dante Light was possibly the richest widow this side of the Atlantic. Her husband had died years ago, leaving her with two daughters and no heir for her fortune until one of them married.

She was his mother-in-law.

She hated him.

Family reunions were not fun.

Envy sighed as he stopped in front of the door. He gave a small grimace as he studied its dark, familiar features and knocked purposely on the wood. There was silence then muffled footsteps and finally a disgruntled face appeared in a small window. Envy waved cheerfully at Cornelius and waited for him to open the door.

“Good evening sir, Master Wrath informed us you might be late,” the old man bowed.

“Did he? Hurmph, good to see he knows his captain so well.” Envy flounced into the house and straight into the lounge to put his feet up.

“Is there anything I can bring you sir?” Cornelius asked as he followed him through.

“Yeah, what booze have you got in this place?”

“The Lady Dante keeps many wines sir and also the finest whiskey…”

“Never rum. She does it just to spite me I’m sure!” Envy declared, “Hmm, wine then. The old hag would kill me if she knew I’d touched her whiskey.”

“Right away sir.” Envy watched the butler disappear before turning his head to look around the room with a sigh. Dante had redecorated again, with dark red floral print and some expensive ebony tables.

“Envy?” Envy turned to the soft voice which had entranced him only a decade earlier.

“Lust? You’re still up.”

“I was waiting for you. You are my husband after all.”

“Lust, you know as well as I do that you only married me because you had no choice.”

“You had a choice,” the woman replied flippantly as she sat beside him. “Gluttony is well.”

Envy stared at her for a second before turning away, “Has…Is he any better?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“The doctor’s say it’s something to do with his mind- it just won’t develop any further.”

Envy nodded, “so our son’s going to stay four-years-old for the rest of his life?”

“Yes.”

He smiled quirkily, “I always knew you and I were never meant to be.”

Lust laughed, “It’s a good thing we don’t have too see each other very often then isn’t it.”

“A very good thing.”

“So did you and Wrath have some kind of fight?”

“Hmm?”

“Earlier he stormed straight upstairs and we haven’t seen him since. Usually only you manage to put him in such a state for so long.”

Envy shrugged, “it’s a talent. Yeah we had a fight. He wasn’t too impressed to find out I’d been sleeping around.”

Lust frowned, “you mean he’s only just found out? How did he miss it?”

“No, no. I’m not talking in general- I mean Greed.”

Lust’s brow evened and she slowly she smiled, “ahhh.”

“Ahhh? You say that like you know something I don’t.”

“It just makes sense now is all.”

“What makes sense? God, stop talking in riddles, woman!”

Lust smiled, “haven’t you worked it out yet? Wrath’s liked you for quite some time now.”

“Oh yes, all the glares and sarcastic remarks gave that away so well.” Envy replied sardonically, “so what? Just because he doesn’t hate me doesn’t explain why he’s so mad.”

“Hahaha, that’s not what I meant darlin’. I meant, I think Wrath’s a little sweet on you.”

Envy’s head whipped round to stare at her, “what?”

“Well it would make sense why he was so obsessed about joining your ship and why he’s so angry about your relationship with Greed.”

“I don’t think I needed to know that.”

“Sorry, love.” Lust grinned

“Don’t call me love.” Envy replied absent-mindedly as he stared down at his feet. “So… really?”

Lust shrugged, “who knows?”

“I really don’t think I needed to know that.”

Lust laughed, “Sloth would be devastated to know. I think she was hoping that her son might be able to have a semi-normal life.”

“She’d just want the grandkids… do you really think he might?”

“How should I know? I’m not a mind-reader.” Lust paused and looked away, “would it be so bad if he did?” she continued softly.

“I do have to share a room with him tonight you know.” Envy replied.

“Oh because you’ve never done that before.”

Envy sighed, “you just like goading me don’t you.”

“It has its perks,” Lust shrugged, “I’ll see you in the morning.” She stood and started to walk towards the door. “You can come in now Cornelius.”

“O-of course!” the eavesdropping butler ran into the room with a bottle of wine in hand, “Please forgive me, my lady,” he cried with a ridiculous amount of bowing, “I just didn’t wish to interrupt your conversation, my lady.”

Lust waved her hand dismissively, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course, my lady. Thank you, my lady,” Cornelius replied, still bowing.

Envy rolled his eyes, “Oi, my wine Cornelius?”

“Ah forgive me Sir!” Cornelius rushed to finally deliver the bottle as Envy stood.

“Night Cornelius, see you tomorrow no doubt.” Envy nonchalantly grasped the bottle neck in his fingers and swung it back and forth as he left for the room he was supposed to be sharing with Wrath.

(f)(m)(a)

Envy tried to be quiet.

He snuck into the room, gently closing the door behind him, and crept through the dark to his bed.

“Envy.”

Envy cursed.

“Don’t worry, I was already awake,” Wrath replied. A match was struck and used to light the wick of a well-used candle, illuminating its striker’s face. Through the murky night Envy could make out the rest of him, fully clothed and sitting on the edge of his own double bed.

Envy frowned, “don’t you sleep?” he asked as he stepped round to the side of his bed opposite to Wrath.

“Of course I do.”

“Then why aren’t you sleeping now?”

Wrath turned away, “I… I wanted to tell you something.”

Envy eyed warily, thinking this better not be a confession of love or something equally crazy, “what?”

“About Al…”

Envy perked up despite himself, “oh?”

“You wanted to know right?”

“What makes you think that?”

Wrath shrugged but said nothing.

“Well go on then.”

“So I was right?” Wrath grinned.

“If you’re not going to tell me I’m just going to go to bed.” Envy did not appreciate being teased.

“It was a few months ago, I can’t remember where we were but you’d buggered off with a couple of whores and everyone else had disappeared so I was on my own when he approached me.

“He was blond, with a large grin and I remember thinking he probably had his pick of girls. He said I looked lonely and pushed a mug towards me. I almost told him to piss off, but he might have taken the drink away then,” Wrath shrugged and Envy snorted. “I can stop there if you want.” Wrath glared.

“No, no, go on.” Envy urged.

The cabin boy scowled but continued, “He asked me why I was on my own so I told him everyone else had found more pleasurable company. He asked me why I hadn’t joined in, I was pissed off about y…” there was a minor hesitation before Wrath quickly continued, “being left on my own, but I didn’t that was any of his business so I told him I didn’t feel like it. Then he asked me if I was a molly.”

Envy laughed disbelievingly, “I bet you bit his head off!”

“I tried but he just laughed again. Said he didn’t have a problem with mollies. How could he? He was one.”

“Just like that? Envy asked in surprise.

Wrath nodded, “I was pretty shocked too, but he just said when you get as good as him in a fight you don’t worry what people think about you.

“I think I told him to stop bragging and I must have challenged him to a fight because he told him he didn’t want to fight with me, he wanted to sleep with me.”

Envy choked on the expensive wine he had just brought to his mouth, “He…fuck…ing…what!”

“Yeah that was pretty much my reaction and guess what he did.”

“Laughed?”

“Laughed,” Wrath confirmed, “and then he kissed me.”

Envy fought down a shock of jealousy; Wrath was his! He had followed him round like his own personal priest since he was old enough to walk; had demanded to join his ship and nobody else’s; had actually stowed away on his ship when his mother had refused to let him go. It was Envy who saved his ass every time they were attacked; who had sailed the ship 100 miles off course to get the shit some limes when he came down with scurvy; who had bought him his first drink and then held his hair back when he’d thrown it back up several hours later. This Al guy clearly needed to learn a lesson about touch other people’s things.

“Envy?”

“What?” he snapped back, still thinking of ways in which this very valuable lesson could be learned.

“You look a little angry.”

Envy stuttered, “w-well of course I’m angry! I’d be angry if he’d touched any of my crew without m- their permission.”

Wrath grinned, “liar. Well if it makes you feel any better I liked it.”

No, that did not make Envy feel any better.”

“Liked it a lot in fact,” Wrath continued, a small smile playing round his mouth, “so much that we didn’t leave his room until midday.”

“Midday?” how long was that? 12 hours? Over 12 hours? This guy had touched his Wrath for over 12 hours?

“You know, I knew there was a reason you were called Envy, you just keep it well hidden don’t you.”

“Midday?” Envy repeated with a glare.

“He was very… creative,” Wrath blushed.

“And you like creative?” Envy asked, capturing Wrath’s gaze

“Very much so,” Wrath replied, turning even redder.

Envy stood slowly and, like a cat stalking a mouse, stepped closer to his subordinate.

“Creative…” The captain breathed as he leaned closer, “I can do that.”

My studies of Psychology

2009-01-13T19:52:40Z

Medical Approach to Abnormality- Studies
(Szasz)- doesn't take into account social class or environment
Gottesman and Shield- If the first twin has schizophrenia then there is a 50% of the second twin having it in monozygotic twins and only 10% in dizygotic twins

Psychosurgery- Studies
Baer et al- followed 18 people how had cingulotomies for OCD and found better functioning and less depression

Evaluation of the Medical Approach
+ There is a clear treatment for each disorder, doesn't lump it under one term
- Szasz
+ Gottesman and Shield
- Ignores emotional and cognitive factors as well as the influence of traumatic events

Evaluation of Psychosurgery
+ Gives a hope to those where nothing else, e.g drugs or therapy, has worked
+ Modern surgery techniques mean more defined damage and less side effects
- Still a risk of serious side-effects e.g. paralysis, impaired learning and emotional blunting
- There is always the risk that it won't work at all

Scarily Enough I was Thinking About Modern Pirates the Same Day...

2008-11-19T20:00:05Z

Pirates Attack Second Cargo Ship

A Hong Kong cargo ship has been attacked by pirates in the Gulf of Aden near the Yemen coast- the second incident in many days.

The vessel Delight, loaded with 36,000 tonnes of wheat, was bound for Iran's Bandar Abbas port when it was hijacked, said the official Xinhua news agency.

According to China's maritime search and rescue centre, there were 25 crew members on board.

None of them were from Hong Kong or the Chinese mainland.

Hong Kong chief executive Donald Tsang said: "We are aware of a piracy incident and will deal with it".

It comes after pirates in the area hijacked a Saudi supertanker with a $100m oil cargo on Sunday.

The captured Sirius Star, with a full load of two million barrels of oil, is currently anchored off the notorious pirate port of Harardhere on the Somali coast.

The Sirius Star, which is the size of three football fields and 3 times the weight of a US aircraft carrier, is the largest ship ever siezed by pirates.

It was the furthest point out to sea that Somali bandits struck.

This year, Somali pirates have attacked 90 ships, more than double the number in 2007, according to the International Maritime Bureau.

Pirates are still holding 16 ships and more than 250 sailors.

Is it really 5am already???

2008-11-12T05:23:38Z

I just pulled another all-nighter on the computer. I got involved in a story and it was 2 by the time I'd remembered that I was suppose to be going to bed. At this point I decided there was just no point in going to bed because I'd only be late getting out of bed and, consequently, college.
Of course now I don't want the nght to end because that means dragging myself to psychology *sticks out tongue *
On a high note: my gym membership has expired! That's a little more money in my pocket every month ^__^ and it'll be useful now I've reduced my hours at work down to four. On top of that my EMA should start going in in December!! Finally I'll have some money *dance*

Work Troubles

2008-11-04T18:58:26Z

Ok so today is the day my contract at work finishes. That means that I am no longer on their system. They're still expecting me in on Friday though but I don't even know if I'll be paid for the work! However they should be changing my hours soon to Sundays only (hopefully, once they've spoken to whoever decides these things) but if not then I'm going to have to leave but as that's my own source of income at the moment I don't really want to have to do so.
Hopefully EMA shall get itself sorted out sometime soon! Grrrr.....

Blahhh

2008-11-01T00:09:47Z

All Saint's Day isn't nearly as good as Hallowe'en :(

Lancaster on Wednesday was fab ^__^ met a girl called Emma who I got on with really well. the course also looked just as interesting as Bangor's. All that's left now is for me to get the grades *chattering teeth* ....

Sam'hain

2008-10-31T23:32:36Z

It's 32 minutes to midnight so...

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!
May the spirits bring you good luck for the coming year and may magic settle in your homes.

Blessed Be

To Do

2008-10-26T10:40:44Z

I really should be working on Ara.... I really can't be bothered so I'm watching Merlin instead XD

I've got work later so I'm trying to pysche myself up for it. I keep telling myself it'll be fun XD I'm just glad the clocks went back last night- it gives me an extra hour!

I can't believe its half-term already! I've been looking forward to it since school began! It'll give me sometime to catch up on all the work I haven't done. I have a little to do list to go with the holiday- although whether any of it will actually get done is another question all together!
1. English Methodolgy
2. Sociology Aims and Objectives
3. Sociology essay for Phil
4. 4 photos for photography
5. A Plan for My FP photographs and narrative
6. Any outstanding Psychology homework
7. Halloween Sleepover- Monday
8. Lancaster Open Day- Wednesday

Writer's Block: Confidential

2008-10-26T08:55:21Z

Prying eyes are everywhere, from pesky younger siblings to the Patriot Act. What steps do you take to protect your privacy, on or offline?

View 432 Answers

Live in the loft

For Stella

2008-10-25T13:07:20Z

This is for Stella, because she's fab even if she doesn't believe it!
Happy(very belated) Birthday!!
(P.S. this fanfiction is based on the fan-world written by The Magic Rat)

Reflection

He could set his watch by him, if Kadaj owned a watch that is. The man was like clockwork. Everyday he would walk past just as dusk was starting to slip into night. He didn’t know why he’d noticed. The man wasn’t the only human to walk past everyday at the same time, but he was the only one Kadaj really noticed.
Maybe it was the way he held his head up when he walked. The people in the slums never look up when they walk. They keep their eyes on the floor and their heads bowed and bobbing as they scurry by.
The bald man never scurried, he always strode boldly and purposefully through a crowd that parted for him like water. His eyes were shaded with black glasses and he always wore a suit; a black jacket, a white shirt and a black tie.
He went to a bar. Kadaj had followed him a few times to a rundown building full of grizzled older men and voluptuous older women making a raucous noise that always kept the clone at bay.
He was coming back now, but unlike the others Kadaj had seen stumbling out of similar buildings at 11 o’clock, the man was composed and steady as ever. Kadaj slipped out of the shadows as the man stepped quietly by and slowly trailed behind him.
They walked swiftly down dark streets, hedged in by tall, imposing buildings in various states of disrepair and illuminated only by a few streetlamps; the city still hadn’t compensated from the loss of the green, glowing mako-reactors which had lit the enormous metropolis before the collapse of Shinra Corp.
The suited man strode around a corner that Kadaj was sure led to a dead end and disappeared from view. Kadaj chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully and slowed his steps as he followed him round.
The suited man was waiting for him
“Why are you following me?” he demanded calmly. Kadaj blinked in surprise, he hadn’t bothered to mask his footsteps, humans were usually so unobservant they couldn’t hear his light footfalls.
“You are interesting.” Kadaj responded with a shrug that made his double-bladed katana swish gently at his hip.
“Interesting?” The man frowned.
“Yes, you do not walk with your head down, nor dress in unclean clothing. It is odd to see here.”
“I’m a Turk.” The man replied as though the word was supposed to mean something.
“What is a ‘Turk’?” Kadaj asked slowly but he got nothing from the man but a surprised silence. Kadaj pursed his lips unhappily but decided the answer was unimportant and moved onto a different question. “Why is your head reflective?” he probed.
“…It has no hair.” The man replied as though uncertain of something. That a man could be uncertain of the appearance of his own skull seemed a somewhat bizarre concept to the clone. Did other people not find a fascination in how they were reflected in different surfaces?
“Is the rest of you reflective as well?” Kadaj asked aloud.
“No.”
Kadaj’s mouth pouted in disappointment but he said nothing.
“I’m leaving.” The bald man declared, “Do not follow me.” He strode around Kadaj and left the alley without a backwards glance.
“Why?” Kadaj asked, slipping into step with him.
“Because if you don’t leave within the next five minutes the consequences will not be pretty,” He growled back, aggravation starting to slip into his tone.
Kadaj felt his lips curve up into an amused smirk at the threat, “you think you could beat me?”
The Turk finally looked back at his tail and came to a stop, “easily.”
“Prove it.” Kadaj goaded, already feeling the excited rush that pumped through his veins at the prospect of a fight, even with a human.
The Turk slid his weapon from its hiding place and swung it towards Kadaj’s head faster than the human eye could see.
The fight lasted seconds and by the time it was over the electro-rod was crackling ominously in Kadaj’s free hand whilst the man’s ever present glasses were adorning the nearest lamppost. Two blades were pressed warningly against the base of the man’s throat and Kadaj was grinning wickedly, his mako-illuminated eyes shining scarily in the din lighting.
“You’re ex-SOLDIER,” the man panted in surprise, his vision of the eerie glow no longer hindered by his dark shades.
“No. I’m a clone.” Kadaj informed him as he slid his blade back home and dropped the electric baton on the floor beside his competitor.
“A clone?” The man repeated warily, “of who?” his tone suggested he already knew the answer he was going to get.
“Sephiroth.”
“Are you the only one?” the man continued, still not rising from the floor. Kadaj wondered if he’d accidently caused him injury.
“No, there are also my brothers.”
The man said nothing, his astonishment now clearly displayed across his face.
“Are you hurt?” Kadaj finally asked as he still did not move from the dirt.
“No… I think,” the man shifted his foot and then winced, “…I’m fine.” He said regardless.
“You are lying,” Kadaj pointed out. He swooped down and hoisted the man over his shoulder. “I will take you to my bike. There is a doctor there.”
“Put me down!” The man demanded; his voice high with shock, “I don’t need carrying!”
“Are you sure?” Kadaj enquired, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“Yes!” The mako-infused warrior reluctantly deposited his cargo back on the ground, “I don’t need a doctor either,” Said cargo continued him irately; “I’ve just twisted my ankle!”
“Is that good?”
“No but I don’t need a doctor.” The man growled angrily. “And what do you mean your bike has a doctor?” He added; his tone an odd mix of anger and curiosity.
“I will show you,” Kadaj informed him brightly, “it is not far.” The clone strode ahead, leaving his companion to catch up with him.
“Who are you?”
Kadaj frowned, not understanding the wary enquiry, “what do you mean?”
“What are you called?” the man rephrased.
“Mother calls me Kadaj… and you are Turk?” he replied
“No. Rude,” The man replied gruffly.
“Hello Rude.” Kadaj smiled politely like he’d seen others do during his short time in human settlements.
“…Hi.” Rude replied reluctantly.
Kadaj turned his eyes back to the streets and chose the back-alley to his immediate right. “It’s just down here.” He told his new tail.
“This is gang territory.” Rude replied, clearly unsure.
“Don’t worry, it’s just my gang.” Kadaj replied nonchalantly, waving his hand.
“Your gang…” Rude reiterated slowly, “You have a gang?”
“Yes. They’ve been very useful for finding out information. I might have had to stay here a few weeks longer otherwise,” Kadaj grimaced at the prospect of being with humans for so long and looked forward to his departure from the dirty-infested city in a few days.
“How long have you been here for already then?”
“3 weeks.”
“3 weeks! How did you get a gang so quickly?”
Kadaj shrugged, “I think I killed their leader.”
Rude coughed suddenly and Kadaj turned his head to frown at him oddly.
“You ok?”
“Fine.” Rude replied quickly before pulling out a second pair of glasses from inside his jacket.
“We’re here.” Kadaj announced stopping in front of a battered door emblazoned with a crude graffiti snake twisting in profile and staring out with a single huge eye at its visitors. Beneath this, in putrid yellow, the words ‘Snake Eyes’ had been sprayed in the typical stylised font of the many vandals of Midgar.
“Is Snake Eyes you?”
Kadaj shrugged, “I think so, that’s what everyone calls me anyway.”
Kadaj pushed the door open, ignoring the men standing guard and walking straight down the stairs to the basement. He led Rude into a spacious room warmed by the sheer mass of people crowding the many moth-eaten chairs and old tables. They were drinking from a variety of bottles and playing cards with large piles of money in the centre. Laughter spilled out over the shouting voices of both men and women and the people around the pair were yelling various welcomes to their disinterested leader.
Kadaj found a pathway through the gathering to the door on the other side. Past this was his room and nobody dared enter it whether Kadaj was in or not. Once they were inside and the door shut safely behind them Kadaj turned his attention immediately to his bike.
“That’s your bike?” Rude asked disbelievingly.
“Yes.”
“It’s very… big.”
“Yes.”
“Is it fast?”
“Yes.”
“How fast?”
“Up to 150 miles per hour.”
“Fuck.”
Kadaj grinned, “have you eaten?” he asked changing the subject. He had come to learn that humans needed to eat at least three times a day- a rather indulgent amount he thought.
“A while ago,” Rude admitted.
“Wait here.” Kadaj stepped back into the cacophonous common room and silently made his way to the nearest table where a large bag of cheetos and half a box of unopened bottles were lying next to a man holding up a hand of cards and biting his tongue in concentration. Kadaj neatly stole the items and was about to leave again when the man protested loudly only to realised who he was talking to.
“Ah- sorry Boss! Didn’t see it was you,” he laughed nervously, “you just take that Sir, as you do. Ain’t like you’ve ever asked for anything ‘fore, haha. Err… you err... happy drinking Boss.”
Kadaj eyed the man for a second before leaving and allowing himself a smirk as heard the man’s relieved sigh.
Rude was where he left him when he returned, standing warily in the centre of the room with a stoic expression pasted across his face. Kadaj placed his prize on room’s single table and sat down on the lavish couch the room had already been furnished with when he’d ‘moved in’. It was one of the few pieces of furniture from the previous gang leader that Kadaj had bothered to keep after he had discovered it was far more comfortable to sit on than the cold ground.
“Sit.” He told his companion, following his own suggestion. Rude complied, shuffling to the far end of the couch and picking up the bag of crisps. “Will you not drink?” Kadaj asked as he watched the man slowly eat.
“I have nothing to open the bottles with.” Rude replied quietly. Kadaj had not realised that you need something to open the bottles with and picked on up to examine it. It was a simple mechanism, it merely needed a enough force at the rim to bend the thin metal back and release its hold on the glass. Kadaj slipped a thumb beneath the bottle lid edge and flicked off.
“Here.”
“Thanks,” Rude accepted the drink as though expecting Kadaj to bite him. Rude drank slowly and the plastic packet rustled loudly in the silence. “You’re not drinking?” Rude finally asked.
“I neither drink nor eat.” Kadaj replied.
“Oh… have you ever tried it before?”
Kadaj narrowed his eyes suspiciously before shaking his head. Rude held out his half finished bottle and Kadaj reached for it slowly. He eyed its contents with deliberation and then sniffed it experimentally before flinching from the strength of its smell. He glanced up at Rude unsurely but Rude just nodded him on. Kadaj frowned unhappily but gave in. As the drink slipped down his throat his eyes widened.
“This is poison!” he exclaimed as his body identified the liquid’s contents.
“Yes.” Rude replied, taking the bottle back and finishing it off.
“Why do you drink it then?” Kadaj demanded.
“I like the taste,” Rude shrugged, “some people just like the effects.”
“Is it in the human nature to try to kill yourselves?”
A flicker of a smile played at Rude’s lips and the man shook his head, “it takes more than a few bottles to kill someone.” He held out another bottle and Kadaj opened it but instead of giving it back he took another cautious swig.
“It’s bitter.” He stated.
“Yes” Rude replied, taking the bottle from Kadaj’s hand.
“What are the side-effects then?”
Rude paused to think about it, “… it lets you let go of things holding you back. Sometimes that can be a good thing; sometimes it can be very, very bad.”
“There is nothing holding me back.”
“Then you’re a lucky.”
Kadaj watched him drink for a while before stealing it off him to try it again.
“Hey, if you want to drink it just get your own. There are six bottles left in there.” The Turk jabbed his thumb at the beer crate. Kadaj glanced over and neatly finished the bottle in his hand before prying open another two.
Rude took his table and stared at suspiciously, “this probably isn’t a good idea,” he announced.
“Why?”
“Because if you keep plying me with alcohol then I’ll get drunk and do something stupid.”
“What is ‘drunk?”
“Err…well…” Rude took a swig from his bottle as though it would aid his thinking processes. “Well you know I was talking about letting go earlier?” Kadaj nodded, “well its like that. You can give up worrying about life and just be happy.”
“I have never been happy, is it an interesting experience?” Kadaj asked curiously.
Rude stared at him oddly before replying, “Keep drinking and you’ll find out.” Rude took another long sip before changing the subject, “When you were cloned did you come out the way you are now, or did you come out as a baby?”
Kadaj shrugged, “I don’t know, but I do not remember being smaller than I am now.”
“Do you get any older?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well I hope you do, I’d hate to have been a teenager forever.”
“Why?”
“My teenage years were a blur of anger, fighting, drinking and sex.”
“What is ‘sex’?”
“You don’t know what sex is?”
“No.”
“They didn’t give you much of an education did they?” Rude paused as he finished his bottle and Kadaj passed him another one. “It’s complicated.”
“How is it?”
Rude took his drink and sighed. “Have you ever seen a girl that you really liked the look of?”
“No.”
“Then it doesn’t matter.”
“Why?” Kadaj replied, his brow knitting slightly with frustration
“If you never had an interest in anybody then I can’t really explain it.”
“I was interested in you.” Kadaj returned.
Rude stared in surprise, “…Ah… define ‘interested’.”
“I don’t really know,” Kadaj frowned, “but I liked your head.”
“My head…” Rude reiterated slowly, “because it is reflective?” he asked, recalling their earlier conversation.
“Yes.”
“…You like my head because its shiny?”
“Yes.”
“Well I guess that’s better than what I though you meant.”
“What did you think I meant?”
“It doesn’t matter. Do you want some cheetos?” Rude asked holding out the forgotten bag.
“I do not eat.”
“You don’t drink either but that’s technically your second bottle isn’t it?” Rude replied, pointing at the almost empty bottle in front of the clone.
“That’s an experiment.”
“Well this an experiment to find out if you like cheetos then.”
Kadaj narrowed his eyes but slowly reaching inside for the small, orange snack. He stared at it for a second before nibbling at the edge. The remnant blinked and the snack disappeared faster than a human could track.
Rude watched his with raised brows before holding out the pack to be taken, “do you want the rest.” Kadaj grabbed the bag from his grip and had devoured the remaining crisps in under five minutes leaving an orange fuzz around his mouth.
Rude laughed and told him he looked like a five-year-old.
Kadaj glared at him and replied, “It’s stuck to my teeth,” which only furthered Rude’s amusement.
Rude pulled out a tissue for him to wipe his face with as Kadaj picked at his teeth with a fingernail.
“Cute.” Rude laughed.
Kadaj glared at him and changed the subject, “what did you think I meant?”
“What?” Rude stopped with his bottle half way to his mouth to look up at Kadaj in confusion.
“What did you think I meant when I said I was interested in you?”
“Oh, that. It doesn’t matter, it was just me being stupid,” Rude shook his head and continued drinking.
“How so?”
“I just thought you meant it… romantically you know,” Rude laughed and held out another bottle which Kadaj neatly opened.
“Romantically?”
“Yeah you know, kissing and holding and shit.” Rude waved a hand flippantly as he took his bottle and stared at it suspiciously.
“What is wrong?”
“This is my fourth, isn’t it?”
“Fifth.”
“I’m drinking these too quickly.”
“Does that make a difference?”
“Very.”
“Oh.” Kadaj paused before backtracking their conversation, “what is holding hands?”
“Well it’s like this.” Rude leant over and slipped his free hand through Kadaj’s before pulling it up to show him, “see?”
Kadaj flexed his fingers in Rude’s grasp, “it is an odd custom.”
“Yeah I guess, “Rude shrugged and took another drink.
“It is nice though,” Kadaj decided, letting his fingers curl around the back of Rude’s palm and lowering their hands to the couch.
Rude smiled, “it’s warm.”
“So what is kissing?”
“Now that’s completely different.” Rude informed him, his bottle wavering precariously in his hand as he swished it back on forth, “That’s like- like- like holding hands with mouths.” Rude declared.
Kadaj frowned in confusion as he tried to make sense of that picture and Rude took advantage of the silence to polish off half his bottle.
“Show me,” the clone finally demanded.
“Nuh uh. That’s for lovers and… people… and my glasses would get in the way anyway.”
Kadaj leant over and plucked the shades from his companion’s face. Rude watched their theft with a wide, protesting mouth but was cut off before he could say anything.
“Show me.” Kadaj repeated softly.
Rude’s eyes moved slowly back up to Kadaj’s face and he licked his lips nervously. “Shouldn’t…” he muttered to himself but then moved closer anyway.
Kadaj could smell the alcohol on Rude’s breath but for some reason his mind pushed that information to the back of his consciousness and instead focused on the tickling sensations that the short puffs of air across his lips created. He wondered for a moment if this was what kissing was but Rude was tense, anticipatory, as though having a inner debate over whether to continue.
Kadaj moved closer, his hips shifting the leather beneath him with a whisper which suddenly seemed cringe-worthily loud.
Rude’s eyes flicked over his face before landing on his mouth and he licked his lips again.
“Show me.” Kadaj urged.
“Well it’s something like this…” Rude murmured before tilting his head to the side and pushing their mouths together. Kadaj started but Rude just pressed closer and sucked on the bottom of Kadaj’s parted lips.
It was strange, warm and wet. Rude moved their mouths together slowly and had slipped his hand into Kadaj’s hair, cupping his head. His bottle had been forgotten on the floor, its contents saturating the black carpet.
It was nice. Kadaj let Rude lead and tried to follow. His eyes had closed involuntarily and now his other senses were taking control. He could taste the bittersweet combination of beer and cheetos; smell the spicy tint of musk on the air and feel the heat of Rude’s hand in his-
BANG!
Something large smashed into the locked door of the room and the two jumped apart in surprise. Suddenly the world was taken off mute and Kadaj could hear the sounds of heckling and fighting coming from outside.
He growled irately and glared at the door, “they’re fighting.” He stood sharply, picking up the sword he had deposited next to the sofa and strode to the door.
As he stepped outside the shouting fading and soon there was only the two men grappling three feet in front of him like boxers that’s had forgotten the rules to their game.
Kadaj grabbed a handful of each of their shirts and wrenched them apart with a snarl. The two men struggled only until they realised what was keeping them separate. Then they started to whimper.
“Get out.” Kadaj hissed angrily and pushed them away from him. The pair fell to the floor and slide several inches but neither moved. It was only Kadaj reaching for his sword that jolted them from their shock and sent them running.
The sword-wielder glared round at the room’s occupants who watched him fearfully, “the rest of you can get out too! Don’t you dare come back tonight!” The room was suddenly a flurry of movement as people rushed to grab their meagre possessions and flee the room before Kadaj changed his mind about shedding blood. Kadaj waited until every last one had scattered and all that was left in the room was the upended furniture, the personal effects that had been forgotten in the scramble and the lingering stench of fear.
He slipped silently back into the backroom and was met by the sound of harsh breathing interspersed by soft snores. He rounded the couch and found Rude fast asleep, his limps stretched akimbo in what was bound to be an uncomfortable position to wake up in on a couch.
Kadaj sank onto the seat, his eyes still fixed on the unconscious Turk. His legs were twisted over the edge of the sofa and his body had reclined itself against the back, nestled into the small curve it made as it reached its end. His arms were stretched wide, one over the arm and the other along the back, as though inviting Kadaj to move closer.
It was like holding hands with bodies, Kadaj decided as he slipped his back into the nook of Rude’s open side and spread his legs out over the couch, warm and comfortable. The steady breathing behind him threatened to lull him unconscious and Kadaj wondered if this is what it meant to be happy.
Suddenly a jolt of excitement shot through his connection with his brothers and Kadaj was on his feet in a second. Sephiroth had been found.
Kadaj strode to his bike and kicked off the brake. He’d already wheeled the massive machine to the door before he realised he’d forgotten something. He glanced back at the sofa where the bald head was peaking over the top of the back and bit his lip.
A cruel mental stab made him whimper and reminded him of his duties to his family, forcing him to push the human from his mind. He wasn’t important anymore. He pushed his motorcycle from the room without a backward glance and pulled it out into the cool air of first light. A light breeze danced playfully through the tendril of his hair as Kadaj swung a leg over his bike and started the ignition.
By the time Rude awoke Kadaj was already halfway home.

fma part 6

2008-10-21T08:00:51Z

Chapter 6- Tuesday

“Ling where are you going?” Ranfan asked her charge as he stepped round a corner, “school’s to the left not the right.”
“I know” Ling replied with a smile, “but I worked something out last night.”
“Oh and what would that be?”
“Hohenheim Elric is Father.”
Ranfan froze, “what?”
Ling chuckled, “you heard me.”
“Well how do you figure that one?” she asked disbelievingly.
“When I was reading through his notes on the Philosopher’s Stone last night I found this,” Ling drew a folded piece of paper with a ripped edge from his pocket and passed it to her.
“You ripped this out of the book,” Ranfan accused as she obediently took the sheet and unfolded it.
Ling shrugged again and started to walk again, “I need it more than the book did.”
Ranfan frowned after him before following, her head to the paper. “…these are just ramblings,” she said after a moment.
“I know, I think he might have been drunk,” Ling replied deprecatingly, “but still, the whole way through it he describes himself as the ‘leader’ and ‘father’ of his ‘people’.”
“But how can you be sure.”
“I’m not; it’s a hunch.”
Ranfan sighed, “Ling is this about yesterday.”
“What do you mean?” Ling visibly stiffened
“You know what I mean; you’re hoping to find some information to impress him.”
“I am not trying to impress him!” Ling exclaimed whirling round to face her. Ranfan ignored the outburst but stopped beside him, staring back at her boyfriend evenly. They may have been the same age but sometimes Ling reminded her of a twelve-year-old. “I’m not.” He persisted, “I’ve just find a lead and now I’m following it up. It’s not like it would matter to him if I found anything anyway.”
“He’s just frustrated Ling and he wants you to improve- that’s not unusual. He is your father.”
Ling almost snarled, but caught it in time and resorted to glaring sullenly at the concrete slabs of the pavement. “My father,” he chuckled quietly to the wind, “yeah I know.” He looked back up at Ranfan, “come on, let’s get this over with.” He smiled.
Ranfan didn’t smile back.
(F)(U)(L)(L)(M)(E)(T)(A)(L)

Scar’s eyes flickered open slowly, then screwed shut; cringing from the sting of the sunlight streaming in through the exposed window. Groggily he lifted a hand to shield his eyes and reluctantly peeled his eyelids back to gaze round the sparse flat living room he found himself in. His eyes immediately lighted on the uncomfortably familiar figure of Lust resting in a comfortable armchair- he was getting too used to her company.
The seventeen-year-old was dressed in faded pair of flannel pyjamas which Scar reasoned belonged to Sloth. Her long black hair was plaited into a braid which ran over her left shoulder and the end was hidden behind the knees she had tucked towards her body. Her eyes were delicately closed, framed with sooty eyelashes, and one cheek was plumped from where it was resting against the chair arm.
It was disturbing to see such a peaceful expression on the girl.
“You’re awake,” a graceful voice said from the doorway, it was Sloth. “I see my sister is still sleeping, how are your injuries?”
Scar blinked only now realising he hadn’t felt any pain since he’d awoken, “fine.” He replied.
“Good, you can help me with breakfast.” The university student walked towards what Scar presumed to be the kitchen. She didn’t move anywhere near as well as Lust.
Scar glared at the aforementioned the girl- now she was invading his thoughts without even being conscious.
“Are you coming or what?” Sloth called impatiently from the kitchen and, after throwing one last look at the sleeping occupant of the room, Scar heaved himself of the bed and shuffled into the kitchen.
“What did you want me to do?” he asked simply to the woman sitting at a small breakfast table.
“Put the kettle on and make a pot of tea. Can you cook?” Scar nodded, “There’s rice in that cupboard, canned miso soup in the shelf above it to the left and some nattos’s in there too.” She informed him before picking up a magazine boldly declaring that it could make you lose five pounds in five days.
Oh.
So that’s what she’d meant by help.
Well her name was Sloth.
As Scar finished punching in numbers on the steamer for the rice Lust shuffled into the room, rubbing at red-rimmed eyes.
“Good morning Lust, good to see you awake,” Sloth said evenly without looking up from her magazine.
“’Morning,” Lust replied through a yawn. She shot a look at the impromptu cook as he moved to the cupboard Sloth had indicated earlier. He quickly ducked his head as though he hadn’t even noticed her entering and told himself in no uncertain terms that she did not look cute in am over sized t-shirt and a pair of baggy trousers. “Well good morning to you too,” she finally said sarcastically.
“’Morning,” he mumbled into his chest as he hunted for a can opener in one of the few drawers of the small kitchen
“It’s in the drawer to the left,” Sloth’s soft voice informed him. Scar looked up at her but she still hadn’t removed her head from her magazine. He frowned unsurely but took her advice- she’d been correct of course.
“What’s he making?” Lust asked her sister, ignoring the Ishvalan completely. Scar bristled but knew he had no place to say anything.
“Breakfast,” Lust fixed her sister with a deprecating look- not that Scar was watching her, he just noticed out of the corner of his eye of course, “with natto.”
“Ah.” A tense silence settled on the kitchen and every sound Scar produced made him want to wince.
“I’m going to my room; I’ve got some work to do on the laptop- bring my breakfast in when its done won’t you?” Sloth finally said. Scar didn’t know who she was talking to as she didn’t up from her magazine even as she crossed the room and disappeared down the hallway.
“What are you going to do now?” Lust asked quietly, but Scar doubted she was looking at him. He didn’t have an answer so he didn’t reply. “You know,” Lust started slowly, “Dante used to have a house in Drachma...”
“And?” Scar replied mimicking her tone. He had a bad feeling about where this was going.
“I bought it last year.”
Scar blinked and spun round to stare at her, “you bought a house?” He reiterated disbelievingly.
“Yes.”
“With what?” he exclaimed. In the back of his mind he knew her revelation had a little more significance past the fact that she’d bought a house at seventeen- he was just having a little trouble getting to it.
“My pocket money,” Lust replied innocently, “it was just a little house, from the time when Dante only had Pride.”
“You bought a house?” Scar repeated.
“Mmmhmm. I don’t know why she still had. Personally I think she’d forgotten about it because when the estate agent approached her with the deal she was pretty quick to agree.”
“You own a house?” Scar continued, still not quite able to believe the situation.
“Yes I own a house,” Lust answered irritably, “I bought it because I was planning on running away as soon as Dante had paid for my education but I’m perfectly willing to go now if you’ll come with me.” She informed him calmly.
“Go with you?”
“Yes, go, leave, run away. Get out of this place, get away from Dante and the cops, and live free in Drachma on minimal wages. What do you think?” she demanded.
Scar swallowed, staring at his get-out-of-jail card sitting at the table in front of him. Her dark hair was tumbling, mussed and tangled, down her back; her dark, exotic eyes were fixing him with a steady stare and her pale, perfect hands were interlaced on the table.
“I think… it sounds good,” Scar admitted. "But why with me?"
"Believe it or not Scar, you're actually one of the good guys." Lust smiled back.
Scar shook his head, "I'm a murderer."
"You're only a muderer if you consider somebody like Kimberley human." Lust informed him as she reclined back in her chair with a smug smirk. “Will you come?"
Scar shook his head.
(F)(U)(L)(L)(M)(E)(T)(A)(L)