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kellygreen is seven kinds of love for finding it.
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anime_flash this month is 'love'. Leave it to me to turn it into an angst fest!
...
It was by degrees that he worked on her, that lunkhead with the fuzzy hair. He had a talent for making her feel blind rage, even on the days when she couldn’t remember what rage felt like, or that such an emotion ever existed. He had a talent for coaxing the emotions back into her memory. One empty, black, blistering bullet hole at a time.
Sometimes he would laugh at her coldly. Others he would just tilt his head and light his cigarette without taking his appraising eyes off her, as if trying to decide if she was worth anything. Every time she smelled the remnants of those cigarettes she was forced to think about him and the way he made her look at herself. She was suspicious that it was all a conscious effort made on his part. That he was trying to tell if she was, in fact, alive.
It was by degrees that she missed him too, when she pointed the gun at his retreating back. When she cocked her wrist two inches above the horizon instead, and sent bullets tearing through the metal of the ship to create new holes that Jet would just complain about later. Like he used to complain about the holes they would tear into each other. The ones he could see and the ones he could only sense.
There was nothing left in her when he flew away. No rage, no bullet holes, not even the blackness. There was nothing left but the degrees, and the five angry reports that echoed through the ship. One for each of the reasons she knew she cared more about his well being than hers, and for each reason she would never get to tell him about.
...
Fics!
With excerpts, because these were all awesome.
God is Dead bysublimeparadigm. Aizen/Ulquiorra, NC17 for violent sex.
The tiny quip of breath seemed to bounce endlessly off the tall stone walls, magnifying it to untold proportions; the sound of his shame reverberating through his ears. But not just his ears; Aizen’s and Gin’s and Tousen’s, every one of the Espada, and the lesser ones, the trash, the humans on earth and the shinigami in soul society, and the God, untouchable in his domain, the domain Aizen sought above all else.
Shoes, Rachmaninov, and Unresolved Sexual Tension bylittleteeth. Kyouya/Tamaki, NC17.
It was like a disease, seeping into every capillary, every infinitesimal cell of his body. He thought about it sometimes to calm himself, when during lunch Tamaki sauntered over and perched on the edge of his desk, smiling all over his face and prattling on about some idiot thing or another. Kyouya would cross his legs discreetly (please don’t let him notice please don’t let him look down and see) and think, my bones want to fuck Tamaki. My eyelashes want to fuck Tamaki. My ankles want to fuck Tamaki. My scalp wants to fuck Tamaki.
Twice Upon a Time byvorpal_quill. Gen, vaguely Tamaki/Haruhi, PG.
“Bravely stepping forward, the girl approached the unfortunate prince. 'Excuse me,' she asked him, indicating his fallen coach. 'You seem to have lost a bearing somewhere along the way.'”
“You can say that again,” murmured the twins in unison.
What? You mean not EVERYONE comes home after work and eats cereal and reads porn? Pffft...don't know what they're missing.
The Sickness bybakasamu. Raito angst, PG. So very, perfectly Raito.
-on days like those, Raito doubted his control, feared that he had reached his limits and that taking another breath of air with that mask on would spell the end of him. On days like those, Raito felt numb and dead, no more than a thinking machine, a centralizer for bits of information and dead leads, and his sole purpose was to merge together all the data and shape it into something that made sense.
I feel decidedly not clever enough to write the Ouran fic I wanted to. It's like I always feel decidedly clever enough not to write James/Sirius. Which is downright silly, because the reason I love boys is that I love to write banter, and honest sillyness, and hidden feelings, and people who don't beat around the bush. People who run into the bush head on, not worried about the consequences in a fit of passion. Sometimes pantsless, sometimes with ties around their heads.
It's a disease. But at least Jess seems to be enjoying Ouran greatly, if the giggling is any indication.
I was thinking today, while reading some Mustang/Havoc doujins, about how I love to write smokers. (As a side note, one of the covers had Roy holding Jean's cigarette and Jean with Roy's glove in his mouth. Damned sexy.) Smoking can convey a lot about a person, mentally and physically, and it can add to the atmosphere. And then I started cataloguing all of the other weird ticks I like writing.
[Poll #921627]
OMG! I neeeeeed my Old Navy W2 so I can file my taxes because I need my refund to move in April. I wonder if I should call corporate.
kellygreen is seven kinds of love for finding it.The A theme at
anime_flash this month is 'love'. Leave it to me to turn it into an angst fest!...
It was by degrees that he worked on her, that lunkhead with the fuzzy hair. He had a talent for making her feel blind rage, even on the days when she couldn’t remember what rage felt like, or that such an emotion ever existed. He had a talent for coaxing the emotions back into her memory. One empty, black, blistering bullet hole at a time.
Sometimes he would laugh at her coldly. Others he would just tilt his head and light his cigarette without taking his appraising eyes off her, as if trying to decide if she was worth anything. Every time she smelled the remnants of those cigarettes she was forced to think about him and the way he made her look at herself. She was suspicious that it was all a conscious effort made on his part. That he was trying to tell if she was, in fact, alive.
It was by degrees that she missed him too, when she pointed the gun at his retreating back. When she cocked her wrist two inches above the horizon instead, and sent bullets tearing through the metal of the ship to create new holes that Jet would just complain about later. Like he used to complain about the holes they would tear into each other. The ones he could see and the ones he could only sense.
There was nothing left in her when he flew away. No rage, no bullet holes, not even the blackness. There was nothing left but the degrees, and the five angry reports that echoed through the ship. One for each of the reasons she knew she cared more about his well being than hers, and for each reason she would never get to tell him about.
...
Fics!
With excerpts, because these were all awesome.
God is Dead by
sublimeparadigm. Aizen/Ulquiorra, NC17 for violent sex.The tiny quip of breath seemed to bounce endlessly off the tall stone walls, magnifying it to untold proportions; the sound of his shame reverberating through his ears. But not just his ears; Aizen’s and Gin’s and Tousen’s, every one of the Espada, and the lesser ones, the trash, the humans on earth and the shinigami in soul society, and the God, untouchable in his domain, the domain Aizen sought above all else.
Shoes, Rachmaninov, and Unresolved Sexual Tension by
littleteeth. Kyouya/Tamaki, NC17. It was like a disease, seeping into every capillary, every infinitesimal cell of his body. He thought about it sometimes to calm himself, when during lunch Tamaki sauntered over and perched on the edge of his desk, smiling all over his face and prattling on about some idiot thing or another. Kyouya would cross his legs discreetly (please don’t let him notice please don’t let him look down and see) and think, my bones want to fuck Tamaki. My eyelashes want to fuck Tamaki. My ankles want to fuck Tamaki. My scalp wants to fuck Tamaki.
Twice Upon a Time by
vorpal_quill. Gen, vaguely Tamaki/Haruhi, PG.“Bravely stepping forward, the girl approached the unfortunate prince. 'Excuse me,' she asked him, indicating his fallen coach. 'You seem to have lost a bearing somewhere along the way.'”
“You can say that again,” murmured the twins in unison.
What? You mean not EVERYONE comes home after work and eats cereal and reads porn? Pffft...don't know what they're missing.
The Sickness by
bakasamu. Raito angst, PG. So very, perfectly Raito.-on days like those, Raito doubted his control, feared that he had reached his limits and that taking another breath of air with that mask on would spell the end of him. On days like those, Raito felt numb and dead, no more than a thinking machine, a centralizer for bits of information and dead leads, and his sole purpose was to merge together all the data and shape it into something that made sense.
I feel decidedly not clever enough to write the Ouran fic I wanted to. It's like I always feel decidedly clever enough not to write James/Sirius. Which is downright silly, because the reason I love boys is that I love to write banter, and honest sillyness, and hidden feelings, and people who don't beat around the bush. People who run into the bush head on, not worried about the consequences in a fit of passion. Sometimes pantsless, sometimes with ties around their heads.
It's a disease. But at least Jess seems to be enjoying Ouran greatly, if the giggling is any indication.
I was thinking today, while reading some Mustang/Havoc doujins, about how I love to write smokers. (As a side note, one of the covers had Roy holding Jean's cigarette and Jean with Roy's glove in his mouth. Damned sexy.) Smoking can convey a lot about a person, mentally and physically, and it can add to the atmosphere. And then I started cataloguing all of the other weird ticks I like writing.
[Poll #921627]
OMG! I neeeeeed my Old Navy W2 so I can file my taxes because I need my refund to move in April. I wonder if I should call corporate.
Tags:
- bleach,
- cowboy bebop,
- death note,
- drabbles,
- faye,
- fic recs,
- ouran,
- polls,
- spike
