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 Posted: Sat Mar 06, 2010 6:27 pm
There's....a lot. XD I wont post all of them here, just some of the more recent ones, or ones I'm really proud of. If you'd like to see them all though: My ff.net And My LivejournalCurrently posted: -3 Dabbles: Soulmates; DBZ Trunks/Gohan and Trunks/Goten Honey Lightening; PokeSpe; Red/Yellow Jealous; Pokemon; Paul/Ash, Ash/Gary - Dear Readers; a GellertAlbus Harry Potter fic. (My most recent and favorite actually.) - A memory of Strawberries; a Percy Jackson, Luke/Percy fic - Her Name; a HP Lockhart/Bella fic - 4 Original ramblings; Moments, Sirens, Stardust and Streetlights - Distracting; an HP James II/Scoprius fic
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Posted: Sat Mar 06, 2010 6:32 pm
So my most recent work was a series of Dabbles that I wrote (Through Mules accounts. Hush) for my various Guilds.
I tend to like writing Dabbles, since they are short and quick.
SoulMates
Dragonball Z: Gohan/Trunks, Trunks/Goten
Trunks pushed past Gohan like he was nothing, just background, barely giving the older man a nod, a glance, anything. He rushed over to Goten, grinning, and threw his arm over the boy's shoulder. Trunks was in love with Goten. Well, This Trunks was anyway.
Do you believe in soul mates?
Trunks knew that going back to the other time was a bad idea, but he had to make sure everyone was ok. He regretted it. He had believed in soul mates before. That no matter what happened, some people were destined to be together. But how could he believe now?
Krillin married to the woman who murdered him. Gohan married to a woman who had never lived past her 4th birthday. The younger version of himself in love with a boy who had never been born.
The new him loved Goten, but Goten had never been born in his world.
Had all his love for Gohan been a lie, a trick of the heart, to love the brother of the boy who would never be born?
Or was there no such thing as soul mates after all?
Trunks had assumed, had hoped, had dreamed that by saving this future the new him, the doll like baby who cooed and giggled just like he must have, would fall in love with Gohan all over again, that Gohan wouldn't die, that they would be together.
But the new him dressed differently, talked differently, and acted differently. He didn't love Gohan. The new him loved Goten, looked at Goten with eyes that glazed over, with have a smile tugging at his lips, teasing and taunting and adoring the younger boy. Goten.
Not Gohan.
And Gohan didn't love him.
That's what hurt the most.
Lightening Honey
Red/Yellow
My first ever Pokemon fic! ^-^
Electric.
Red is electric. Electrifying; thrilling; magnetic. Every time he smiles it sends a jolt through Yellow's spine. He is overwhelming and amazing and inspiring. She wants to be just like him. She wants to be around him. She wants....
Red has a hopeful smile, like a light bulb, filling every room he's in.
When he says her name, Yellow feels like ChuChu has sent a thunderbolt right through her heart.
Some day, she will tell him how she feels. Some day...
But Yellow is worried. Is it foolish to try and capture lightening in a bottle? Would it make him less brilliant if he knew? If it was a possibility? Would it make him dim and turn away from her if he knew her heart?
And yet she loved him.
And someday, she will tell him.
Mellifluous.
Yellow is Mellifluous. A sound flowing like honey. Her hair is daisy colored and her smile is like a mid-afternoon. It's hard for Red to explain. He's always been drawn to her, even when he thought she was a boy. It had been a confusing time to feel so....attracted to a boy. But no, she was a girl after all. Sweet and darling, kind and caring.
Red wondered if he could somehow find a way to be special to her. She smiled at everyone, was kind to every living thing.
But he always had something bigger to worry about. Big dreams, enemies, saving the world, and Yellow was always there. Saving him, helping Silver, being there for anyone.
Red wondered if she would ever be there just for him.
Was it selfish to want her for himself?
Together.
Together Red and Yellow are adorable. Blue is jealous of them both. When they are in the same room it feels like everyone else is intruding. They have a special place with each other, even if they dont realize it. Blue is tempted to shake Red, to tell him to realize what's happening, to make him make a move. His rival is an idiot. Can he not see how much Yellow wants him?
Red and Yellow. Like a sunset. Like a flower.
It feels like destiny.
Jealous
Pokemon Anime: Paul/Ash (Comashipping), Gary/Ash (PalletShipping)
Paul was jealous.
Jealous.
Him.
Like he had been robbed of something precious, something he wanted.
Like he had been kicked in the shin, in the chest.
Like it was hard to breath.
THEY had been having a battle, just the two of them, focused on each other, both of them smirking, moving in time to the beat of the battle, thinking, feeling, breathing, proving themselves to each other.
And then THE OTHER walked up, some snotty, brunette in a lab coat, calling HIM by pet names and the battle had stopped. HE stopped, broken out of the battle and ran to THE OTHER, like a puppy, like a dog. HE threw his arms around THE OTHER'S neck, grinning from ear to ear. 'I didn't know you'd be here' he cooed. 'How did you know' He sighed. 'I'm so glad to see you' He teased. Disgusting.
It made Paul sick.
'Who's your friend?' THE OTHER asked, smirking like he knew.
'Paul! Come meet Gary Oak!' HE said, waving, one arm over THE OTHER's shoulder.
No.
No he would not go meet Gary Oak.
Screw Gary Oak.
He scoffed. 'No.', recalled his Weavile and began walking away.
'Paul, come on.' HE said.
'Let him go Ashy-boy. Let's go get lunch'.
When he was out of sight, Paul punched a tree, scratching his knuckles.
Ashy-boy.
Ashy-boy.
Ashy-boy.
Being jealous sucked.
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Posted: Sat Mar 06, 2010 6:35 pm
I read the snippet of a Rowling interview today[Posted below] and I KNEW I had to write a fanfic. I've never written from Gellerts point of view, and so I pray I did well. Enjoy.
Dear Readers.
Albus/Gellert
JKR: [re: Grindelwald] I think he was a user and a narcissist and I think someone like that would use it, would use the infatuation. I don't think that he would reciprocate in that way, although he would be as dazzled by Dumbledore as Dumbledore was by him, because he would see in Dumbledore, 'My God, I never knew there was someone as brilliant as me, as talented as me, as powerful as me. Together, we are unstoppable!' So I think he would take anything from Dumbledore to have him on his side.
"Albus, Albus, Albus" I said softly, letting the vowels linger on my tongue. It was raining; a dreary cold British day. Summers in this wet little country were unpredictable, some days warm and buttery, others dreary and dull. Albus and I had been walking, talking, when the early morning, cool but dry, had shifted slowly into mid-morning, cold and wet. The two of us slipped under a Welsh Oak, ( A Sessile Oak, Quercus petraea,a very pretty tree ) for refuge from the wet. It was poor cover, but far better than having to go home, to Albus's house with his unbearable siblings, or to my Aunt's with her insufferable presence. We would brave the damp and the chill for each others uncontested company.
While we walked, and then as we sat, we had talked of all manner of things; school and family, economics and muggles, politics and food. All the while I had watched him. Never had I known someone like this, like Albus. In all my years on the continent, in all my years of school, I had never known anyone as brilliant, as talented, as powerful, as witty and charming as he was. Three days since we first met and I was captivated by him. We had met at one of my Aunt's ridiculous summer parties, in our dress robes and white gloves with violins in the back ground, and we had chatted, and then talked, and then discussed, each level of conversation deeper and more revealing and more engaging that the last. I knew he was the one. Albus was the one I wanted as my partner, my confidant, my friend. I was dazzled by him, drawn to him like a moth to the flame. I knew he felt the same. We were destined to meet, destined to share our thoughts and dreams.
But I had fears. Albus was, above all else, a moral creature. For him there is right and there is wrong. How much of my plans, my ideas, my views could I divulge before I drove him away? I wanted to tell him everything, show him the bareness of my soul, and yet I needed to know he would not leave me if I did.
Do not be fooled, dear reader, my desires for Albus are purely platonic, intellectual, academic. I burned not to touch him or taste him, only to know him, to speak with him, to hear his mind and have him listen. The sensibilities of modern men are so unimaginative about the bonds we humans can share. As though to be so drawn to another means we must lust for them is ridiculous. But do not think that because I had no sexual desire for him that Albus was anything less that dear to me. I loved him with my soul, and I needed him.
I had to ensure that Albus wouldn't leave me, wouldn't hear my thoughts and think me cruel. It would break me to have him leave, to have him call me a monster as my peers (the fools) at school had. It was much to ask of him, to accept my radical ideas, and I knew there would be a price. I would have to give Albus something to prove to him I was no monster, to make him stay, to keep him loyal and at my side. Albus was all I ever dreamed of and more. He had ideas I had never thought of, views I had never considered, intellect unrivaled by any man, living or dead, save for me. There had to be a price to keep him.
And didn't I know what that was?
I glanced over at him. Albus was wiping his glasses on the edge of his robe, his auburn hair falling over half his face. His back was against the rough bark of the tree, his knees pulled up against his chest. I made a small tick in the back of my throat to make him look up. There it was again, that look. I could feel Albus's stares, the way his gaze lingered on the buttons of my shirt, the absent way in which his jaw would shift as though imagining the salty taste of skin. I knew, oh how I knew what my price would be.
"Albus, if I could give you one thing, do one thing for you, what would you ask of me?" I posed to him, tilting my head to the side and smiling. I knew he loved my smile, knew the way that it made his heart stir. The very first time I smiled at him I saw the flutter in his eyes, as though he was waking from a dream. Yes, dear reader, he inflated my ego, made me feel larger than life. He told me I was brilliant, and a mad man (But in a good way). He made me feel attractive and wonderful, and yet he made me doubt myself too. Albus drew out who I was in my heart of hearts, gave me confidence in my plans and also made me rethink them, refashion them. He made me believe and made me worry. It was that duality, that beautiful give and take he inspired in my heart that made me need him. Have you ever met someone like that, dear reader?
"I do not know Gellert." Albus said automatically, but I could sense the tension rise in his spine. "Why must you offer me anything? We are friends, equals. Friends." He repeated the last word as though to remind himself that friends was all we were.
I laughed and pulled myself up onto my feet, squatting now in front of him. "Come on Albus." I repeated, clicking my tongue against my teeth. "What do you want from me? I would do whatever you asked." He ran one hand through his hair, slowly.
Reader, please remember, I harbor no lust for this man. I never dreamed of him in my bed, in my arms, the taste of him in my mouth, my name on his lips. These were not my dreams. But understand that I needed Albus, needed him with me for my plans. I had great plans, plans to be the greatest wizard in the world, plans to lead my people out of the darkness of myth and fairy tale and into the sun, Muggles at our feet, begging me, their benevolent Lord, not to punish them for all their cruelties they had done upon my kind. Albus' shattered home, my broken childhood. I could not do this alone. I needed Albus. If the price for that was indulging my friend in his unnatural lust, his greedy desires for a love more firm that that of women, then I would indulge. Anything to keep him with me.
"I do not-" Albus began, but I put my hands on the tree on either side of his head, leaning towards him. I could feel Albus's breath against my face. Albus stopped, frozen in a moment of breath stealing time.
I would not simply kiss Albus, though I knew he would let me, that he wanted me to. I wanted to make him ask me to kiss him. I would take my dear friends affections, his love, his lust and fashion them into a jeweled leash and collar and so tether him to me. His love would be the bonds that made him stay. He had to understand that he wanted this and I had given it to him, that I would fulfill the ache in his heart. Once he understood this we would be bound together for ever. I would never loose him. I was desperate not to lose him.
"Albus, all you have to do is ask." I whispered. Albus looked down, unable to keep eye contact. I could see the struggle in his mind. Would he admit his want? Albus was a fool, a lovely, brilliant, inspired fool who believed in love, and so he would believe in me. "Just ask."
"I..." Albus stumbled, his breath ragged. "I want you to kiss me." He breathed and closed his eyes, as though it crushed his ribs to whisper those words, laying open his chest to the cruelties of the world. Albus looked as though I had punched the wind out of him. He seemed shocked, scared even, that he had said it aloud, that he had admitted to this retched lust. He was biting his lip, scared that at any moment I would stand up and walk away from him, mock him, ridicule him, revolt away from him for these feelings he held. (Had it happened before, or was I the first boy he had asked to kiss him? Surely he had kissed another boy before? The way he spoke about the dull little Elphias boy made me suspect it. But I doubt he ever had to ask anything from him. Asking makes us so much more vulnerable.) He feared I would reach into his open chest and tear out his beating heart and mock him for it.
He had no idea how precious he was to me. To find an equal, a mind as clever and sharp as my own, feeding the lust and love of another man was a small price to pay for such a find. Please reader, if you grow bored of my ramblings, my compliment upon compliment for this man, try to suffer it for me. I know I repeat myself. As I think of him, of my Albus, I travel through the winding trails of my mind and memory, and sometimes I stumble off the path of narrative. Such is the nature of my past. You can not understand what it is like to spend your life in the presence of inferior minds only to be confronted, at long last, with the one you know can understand you. You can not understand that euphoria.
"I want you to kiss me."
I kissed him, softly. It was not so different from kissing a woman I recall, save for the subtle hair on his chin and the angles of his face. Three precious seconds and I felt the fear and tension drain from Albus's face.
He threw his arms around my neck, deepening the kiss. I nearly laughed. He ran his fingers through my hair and held on tightly as though he was drowning, kissed me as though the act of kissing was all that stayed his heart from stopping.
We fell upon the ground together, twigs and leafs catching in our hair and our bodies pressed against one another. I do not know how long we kissed like that, the rain falling around us in the mid-morning chill. After a time, we stopped to breath. I lay flat on my back, Albus hovering over me, his hands on either side of my face. He stared down at me, his face flushed. He looked amazed, nervous, scared, as though he would wake up at any moment, as though he had walked into a dream. It was impossibly endearing.
"I told you, you only needed to ask." I said softly.
Albus let out a sharp intake of breath, like half a sob. He seemed so relieved. "Gellert" He whispered. He laid against my chest and I could hear him breathing.
"Albus, together, you and I will save the world." I said happily, smiling up at the leaves above us. "We will stand on top of all creation, Grindelwald and Dumbledore, together." I could see it in my mind, the two of us, always.
"Together." Albus repeated.
I really believed us, too.
- - - - - -
- - - - - -
Have you ever, dear reader, looked out your window in the dead of December and wished with all your heart for the sun to break through the clouds? Perhaps it's been a week, or two weeks, or, Merlin forbid, three weeks since the sun has shown itself, hiding behind the clouds, three weeks since you've felt the sun on your skin? You can remember so clearly how the ribbons of gold warm your skin, but the sun stubbornly stays behind a curtain of gray. They say that in the far reaches of the frozen north that whole months go by without the sun ever rising. What a hellish place, you and I both agree.
Have you ever, dear reader, suffered a drought? Perhaps a month or two or, pity be, a year since you felt rain upon your skin? No cool, clean, refreshing rain to wash the sky, to splash like little bells all across the world?
Surely you can remember the pain, the suffering, the straining wish for a drop of silver rain, a ray of golden sun. Imagine, dearest reader, that your heart is being crushed, like a great rock has been placed on your ribs, with want for nothing more than that; a sliver of light, a trickle of rain. Try to feel the pain in your chest, examine it, how it hurts, how it wiggles and struggles, straining against the dark and dry and try to imagine that there is nothing you can do, no matter how hard to try, to ease the pain.
I had been in my prison for ten years when Albus came to visit me for the first and last time. Ten long years, in one small stone cell without the sun on my face or the rain on my skin. Every day, all day, I would spend in the dark. There was one small window, high against my ceiling, but the buttresses on the castle wall above blocked out any direct sunlight that might have otherwise drifted into my world. I only left my tiny cell once a week, in heavy shackles, to be lead to the weak, dirty showers by impassive guards for fifteen minutes.
Never was I allowed into the yard, never I was allowed a room with a larger window. Ten years and I hadn't felt the warm of the sun or the cool of the rain even once. Remember that pain you conjured up before, dear reader? Think of it again, and imagine it for ten long years. It can drive a man mad.
Yes, there were days in my imprisonment when I would hear the distant rumble of thunder and I would plead, beg the guards to allow me to go outside, sixty seconds to stand with the rain on my skin and then they could kill me, blast me off the highest tower, so at least as I died I could feel the wind in my hair. I welcomed the thought. But these pleas for death would not come for many years yet, until my imprisonment had lasted at least a quarter of a century. When this story takes place I had given up hope of escape, begged instead for time in the sun, or rain, even if I had to remain in chains as I did before going back into the dark of the cells I myself have designed, but I did not yet beg for death.
Ten years in this dark place I helped to build, and Albus finally came to see me. I had been sitting in the corner of my cell, next to the rarely working toilet that, aside from my small hard bed, made up the only furniture I was allowed. I had been staring up at the small window against my ceiling, watching the little square of blue. Maybe if I was lucky, a bird would fly through my window of sight.
It was summer. (Like when we met, remember Albus? The heat of summer, in my Aunt's garden? You had on your best dress robes and white gloves, I in my late father's favorite robe and white gloves of my own. Violins swelling in the back ground, honey mead in crystal glasses. Do you remember, Albus? It was sunny that day.) Dear readers, I knew it was Albus the moment he walked into sight. He had aged in those ten years, sporting more gray in his hair, but it was still my Albus.
"Albus." I said softly, staring at him with no emotion on my face. "You got a new pair of glasses. Half-moon spectacles. They look good on you."
The pain on Albus's face was delicious. Dear reader, do not think ill of me, but I was bitter, I admit. It was Albus, Albus my confidant, my trusted friend, my one and only who understood the bareness of my soul, who locked me up in this terrible place, took my wand and then abandoned me. Yes, I was bitter. I had found him, alone and frustrated, trapped at home with his terrible, beastly siblings and saved him. I had given him what he wanted, fed his lust, filled his heart, kissed the creases around his eyelids. I had done that for him, and he had done this to me. You would be bitter too, my reader.
"Gellert, is that really you?" Albus said softly, standing just outside the bars of the door.
"Are you afraid to come inside my cell?" I laughed. A sob was building in my chest. (Albus, Albus, Albus. Oh My dear Albus, I missed you so much. You couldn't tell it was me, Albus? I know my hair had grayed, my face had sunk, my skin had paled, but it was still me Albus. How can you not know me Albus? )
A long pause. "Yes."
"Are you afraid of what I will do, or of what you will do, Albus? Do you not trust yourself with me? You never did have much self control when it came to me after all." I said as I stood up. Slowly, because my left knee ached, I walked over in front of the door. "Why are you here?" I asked him. It could have been for any number of things. Was he here to curse me, to kill me, to tell me my hearing had been accepted (Could be outside for at least a few minutes between the doors and the courtroom? It would be wonderful), or, dare I even hope, to set me free?
"I....had a question to ask." Albus said slowly.
I snarled. "You want to know if I killed your sister." I felt sick, angry and sick. Ten years I wallow in this horrible miserable place and when Albus finally has a courage to face me, he wishes to talk of his nasty little sister? (Albus, you should have come to make sure I was ok. You should have been there to see me. I wanted to see you so, so badly. Why did you only come here for information? Do you know how much it hurt, to have you there but not there for me?)
"Yes."
"Well I dont know who killed your sister." I said softly, bitterly. (Please, please Albus. Ask me how I'm doing, ask if the guards are treating me ok, ask how the food is, offer to bring me a mason jar full of rain water or cast a spell that imitates the sun. Please Albus? Smile at me, tell me things will be ok. Did you bring me any of those wonderful candies we ate? The little beans? I got one that tasted like watermelon and you got one that tasted like vomit and I kissed you so the tastes mixed together and it wasn't so bad. Remember?)
"You must know." Albus insists. His guilt is heavy in his voice. He fears he killed her, and he has come all this way to see if I can end that fear.
"I dont, and if I did I wouldn't tell you."
Albus and I shared a long look.
"Fine then." He says stiffly. "I'll be going." He began to turn around.
"Albus." My voice cracks as I say his name. My hands are pressed against the metal of my door. "Albus, please. Open the door." (Albus, my love. Please. Can't you see I'm dying in here? I'm loosing my mind in here. Albus. Would you really leave me in here again? I was laughing first time they locked this door and you walked away, but I'm not laughing now.)
"What?" Albus looks at me as though I've lost my mind. (I have, dear Albus. I have)
"Open the door Albus." I repeated. "I know the way out. Just open the door. I'll disappear forever. To India or Yugoslavia, South America, anywhere. You'll never have to see me again, or you can come with me if you like. Please, Albus. No sun, no rain, horrible food. I was a fool to build this place. Please. Open the door."
"I can't do that." He said softly. "Gellert, you hurt so many people. You're a monster." (Albus, dont call me that. I'm not a monster. I thought you understood.)
"Dont be a fool Albus!" I yelled at him, slamming a fist into the door. "Damn you Albus! Open this door!"
"I must go Gellert." Albus said softly, looking away "Elphias is wait-."
"DONT SAY HIS NAME!" I yelled. "Dont you say that pathetic man's name! Open the door Albus! I demand you open this door!" (Albus, please. I can't bear to hear you say his name. To think that after you left me you went to him, told him your secrets, your dreams and not me. I can't understand Albus. I've only ever had you.) I hit the door again. (Did you do to him what I did to you Albus? Did you kiss him, and hold him and bind him to you so that when all else was lost you could go to him? But what about me? You were supposed to be there for me.)
"Good bye Gellert." Albus said, his head bowed.
"I never loved you." I hissed. Tears had sprung up in the corners of my eyes. This couldn't be happening. Albus couldn't just walk away. "I never loved you Albus." (Albus, I'm sorry.) "I knew how you felt, knew your lust, your affection. I used it Albus. I made you think I loved you so you wouldn't leave. But it didn't work, did it? You traitor." I was laughing. Laughing with tears running through the dirt on my face. (I didn't mean it Albus). "Traitor." I repeated.
Albus looked up, his eyes wide. The pain was as clear as day. It was like watching all the lights on a Christmas tree flicker out, the wind howling with snow outside, the fire dead in the hearth. He had still believed, until that moment, that I loved him as he loved me. That I had lusted for him. That we were soul mates. (We were Albus. But I never had those physical desires. If you had stayed I would have tried to explain. Why did I hurt you, Albus? What have I done?)
"You were so easy." I laughed. "A kiss here, a kiss there. But I was lying. I never loved you the way you loved me." (Why couldn't I stop talking? Why couldn't I stop saying those terrible things?)
Albus walked away without another word and I slid to the floor, laughs melting into sobs. (Albus, please come back.) "Albus." I cried, my head in my hands. "My Albus."
- - - - - - -
- - - - - - -
Dear reader, this is the last you'll hear from me. I can feel the darkness moving closer, and I'm not afraid. You see, dearest reader, darkness has come back into the world. The guards tell me Lord Voldemort (A ridiculous name, if you ask me) has revealed himself to the ministry. He is attacking England again. He will come here and demand to know what I know of the Elder wand. But I will not tell him, and I am not afraid. You may think, my readers, that I should be worried for Albus. But alas....no.
You see, Albus is dead.
It's been eight months since I heard the guards talking, whispering back and forth. They didn't want to tell me the news at first, worried it would send me into a rage. Finally they slipped me an English paper. There, in the cruel black and white, was Albus's face. That sneaky little rat Elphias Doge (Who I had never met in person but whom I loathed) had written about Albus. (I noticed I was suspiciously absent from the account. ) It was a eulogy. Albus was dead. He had been blasted off the highest tower, and at least, I consoled myself, he had felt the wind in his hair as he fell. I didn't cry then. I waited, until the dead of night with a thunderstorm tearing over head, to sob, the paper crumbled in my hands.
Albus. Albus my confidant, my soul mate, my one true friend, the one who understood me, my Albus. My Albus. It was like a hold had been opened in my chest and all my tragedy was pouring out onto the stone floor. He was gone. I would never see him again. The last of my hope had faded. Gone, gone, gone. Albus, Albus, Albus.
I had wanted to see him again. I wanted to tell him I was sorry. I wanted to mean it. I wanted to tell him my dreams. Not dreams for the future for I had none of those, but dreams of the past. In my dreams his sister comes from me, Ariana. She comes to me and she tells me that I killed her. I know I did. I've always known. After all, who else but I could have done it? Albus aimed to stun, Aberforth to maim, but I was the only one trying to kill. Yes, I was trying to kill the boy, but that doesn't make the deed any better.
(Albus we have to go, I told him, dear readers. Albus, they will blame me for her death, we have to leave. Come with me, come with me Albus. But he sunk to the floor and watched his brother try to revive a corpse. Albus Please. 'Elphias' He whispered. 'Oh why has this happened, Elphias' He had given up on me right then and there. Given up on us. When things got hard it was not me he went to because it was my fault, or his fault for loving me. Elphias was safer. Elphias never would have let the girl die. He had wished Elphias was there, with him, and not me. He loved me more than he would ever over Elphias, but I had hurt him more than Elphas ever could as well. Damn, damn that wicked Elphias. Albus, my Albus.)
Ariana. I never called her by her name. She was always the sister, the girl, he insufferable sibling, never Ariana. But she comes to me, fragile and tragic, telling me I killed her and I'm sorry. I am sorry.
And then the Muggle children come. A pair of them, the first muggles I ever killed. I was a boy when I did it. The reasons are inconsequential. They do not excuse me. They had killed a puppy I had found, drowned it in the lake. It broke me. I broke them. They were more fragile. They come to me, their eyes misty, and they call me a murderer. I am a murderer. They were just stupid kids. I killed them. I am sorry.
I wanted to tell Albus I was sorry.
Know this readers, when we were boys I never lusted for Albus, but if he were here now, I would kiss him like he used to kiss me. I would twine my fingers in his hair and kiss him because I AM drowning, because his touch would be the only thing to keep my heart beating, because his love is all that could save me. But he is gone, and I will die.
I have never been a religious man, and so I do not know what will happen to me when the darkness comes. But I have been a monster, just as the fools always said, and Albus, above all else, has always been a moral creature. With him there was right an there was wrong. I have been wrong.
Dear readers, do not weep for me.
Voldemort will come, looking for the Elder Wand. I will lie to him, I will not let him go to Albus's tomb. I will mock him, and I will call him a fool. For I may be a monster, but I am no longer fearful of death. He will strike me down, and then I will go to seek the Great Perhaps.
Outside my tiny window there is a Golden sky. When I think back on Albus all I can think of is sorrow at first sight. How sad our lives were, how I ruined us both.
I had such big dreams, such grand dreams. I found my one and my only, the only one who could ever know the bareness of my soul and I made plans for us. We would save the magical world from the terrible, nasty muggles that polluted it and kept us hidden in the dark. All for the Glorious Greater Good. I failed, and I ruined so much. My last hope is that in my death, Voldemort will never find the Elder Wand, and that Albus knows that I was sorry.
And so the darkness comes.
- - - - - - -
There is a golden boy with an elfish grin, sitting in a field of warm grass. "Where am I?" He asks, confused. The sun is high and warm in the sky, but in the distance there is the soft rumble of what may be storm clouds coming.
"Good question." The boy looks over. There is another boy in the grass, slightly taller and thinner than the first, with long red hair and a kind gaze. "I honestly dont know."
"I think...this is the meadow near the house where I grew up." The first boy says, staring at the creek at the edge of the clearing. There are birds in the near by trees, and crickets in the grass. He turns to look at the red haired boy. "Oh Albus. I am sorry. It was me. I'm so sorry."
Albus gives a small nod. "Gellert, my darling Gellert. I forgive you."
Gellert smiles his beautiful, whimsical, magical, hopeful smile and lays back in the grass, feeling the sun on his skin and closes his eyes. Albus kisses him softly on the forehead and lays beside him. And so, they sleep, their hands twined together in the warm grass.
- - - - -
Do not weep for them, dear readers. They found each other in the end.
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Posted: Sat Mar 06, 2010 6:37 pm
A Memory of Strawberries
Luke/Percy
Teen, because Luke is kind of a *****. XD
So....This is my Percy Jackson fanfic. I have another one in the works at the moment, but it's going slowly. You wont believe how the hits on this thing spiked RIGHT AFTER the movie came out.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen. -Edward de Bono
The August heat hummed in the air. It was one of those perfect, hot, humid summer days when time swam slowly through the strawberry fields. One could doze in the shade of a maple tree, surrounded by the fragrance of ripening fruit and the laughter of the dryads for hours and be at peace with the world. It was the kind of peace that Luke never took for granted. It was these moments, these perfect, mellifluous moments, that Luke clung to for his sanity. It helped him keep his resolution, reason with himself, keep out any impure thoughts or desires. It was almost like a meditation. The quiet, the calm, lapping upon him like the waves on the beach soothed him, placated him. If it weren't for these uninterrupted moments of-
"Luke!"
Well damn.
"Hey Luke, I found you!" Luke slowly opened an eye. Percy Jackson smiled down at him. The son of the Sea God was panting slightly, sweat seeping through his camp shirt, his hair fluttering around his face in the warm breeze.
"Yes, Percy, you found me." He said and sat up slowly. "Though to be fair," Luke forced a grin. "I wasn't REALLY hiding. Did you need something?"
Percy shrugged and sat down next to him in the shade. So much for solitude. "I was wondering if you would teach me some more sword moves later." He said innocently.
"Yeah, sure." Luke ran his hand through his hair and across his face, trying to wake up a little more. The smell of strawberries hung thick in the air, clouding his thoughts.
He looked back at Percy. The boy was staring awkwardly at his feet, fidgeting slightly. It wasn't uncommon to see Demigods fidget. ADHD made it hard for any of them to sit still for long, but there was something...off about Percy right now.
"Is there something else Percy?" Luke asked.
Percy crinkled his nose, considering something. Luke felt a pang in his chest. It was...well...it was really cute. It reminded Luke of just how young, how innocent Percy was.
"Not really."
"Come on kid, you can ask me."
Percy fidgeted more. "Well it's...kind of about a Myth. I was just...wondering about...see I know we read something about it in school but I dont really remember...Luke, what was the story about Ganymede?"
Luke looked back over the strawberry fields. Ganymede. Well great. Just great. Of course Luke knew about Ganymede. How many times had he gone and looked up that story, reading it to himself, telling himself that this was the proof that he wasn't a freak, at least not any more of a freak than being a demigod made him. But why was Percy asking about Ganymede? Could it be...
"Why do you ask Percy?"
"No reason. Sorry I asked." Percy muttered. Luke looked to the side. The kid was blushing. Fantastic.
Thoughts began stirring in Luke's head. Percy was only 12 but he seemed...older, more mature than most 12 year olds. Being a Demigod does that to a person. The color of his eyes, the curve of his face, the blush on his cheeks, the way his shirt hung on his shoulders. Luke's gut tugged at him, warning him, it was time to stop those thoughts. Time to stop. Stop now.
Percy stood up quickly, pulling Luke out of his thoughts. "Well...I...uh...I'll see you." Percy looked confused, almost hurt. Luke knew that feeling. Feeling so unsure of yourself. You started to second guess your own identity. Maybe your thoughts were toying with you, or you were broken, or sick . Because maybe...maybe just because Zeus had fallen in love with Ganymede it was still wrong for you to love, to want another guy as well. Maybe Gods lived by different rules.
"Percy wait." Luke grabbed Percy's arm, pulling him down. Percy spun down, rather clumsily, landing on his knees in front of Luke. "Sorry." Luke smiled, almost laughing. "I'm sorry. Don't go."
Percy stared back at him, a look of uncertainty in his eyes that unsettled Luke. Too young, too young. His brain repeated to him. Too young. Only 12. But, Luke's brain argued back, by the time he was 12 he had kissed Jason from the Apollo cabin, hadn't he? There was nothing wrong with kissing. But kissing Percy? Son of Poseidon? He was the kid of the prophecy, child of the Big 3, just little 12 year old Percy. How could he even be thinking of kissing Percy?
Finally Luke's brain paused. He was still holding Percy's arm. How long had he been staring at him? Percy's face was flushed an even deeper red now.
He cleared his throat. "R-right. What were you saying Percy?"
Percy reached out with his free hand and traced his fingers down the scar on Luke's cheek. It was a soft, intimate gesture. Luke could feel his brain go fuzzy. "I...uh...forgot." Percy said. "What I was...saying."
Silence hung in the air between them. Dryads sung softly in the wind, watching over the hot strawberry fields. Dappled sunlight danced across Percy's face. There was no fighting this.
Luke pulled him closer and lightly, very, very lightly kissed Percy. Their lips barely touched, just a soft ghost of a kiss. Luke could feel a shudder run through Percy's body. Slowly the kiss became deeper, Percy pushing himself closer to Luke. Luke's arms slowly wrapped around the younger boys waist as Percy's hands found their way around his neck.
It was the simplest, sweetest kiss Luke had ever had, and it would haunt him for ever.
Later, when he had been revealed as the traitor he was, he looked back on that afternoon. How, after they had kissed for what felt like hours, he had stammered some kind of excuse to bolt, afraid of how far things could go if he stayed. He tried to forget the look in Percy's eyes, a mix of surprise and disappointment and...love.
A 'what if' hung in the air. He didn't have to choose this. He could have backed out, could have stayed at Camp, waited until Percy had grown older, could have...could have so many things.
But he didn't. It was too late for regrets and second guessing.
All he had now was a memory, blessing or curse, Luke didn't know.
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Posted: Sat Mar 06, 2010 6:39 pm
..So...I was watching the 1994 Frankenstein movie the other day right? And Helena B. Carter was Frankenstein's wife right? Well, them I realize that Frankenstein is being played by the same actor who played Lockheart!
So....I wrote a fanfic.
--------
He never asked her for her name.
The first time she met him, he was ordering her a drink. She was only 19, already branded by her lord, already engaged to that terrible boring Lestrange boy, already drinking more than a Scottish widow. He was...well...he was naive, and stupid with her perfect blond curls and his boy-ish honest face and his nerve grating amicability and good faith.
A week after the first time he smiled at her, he was sliding into the dirty bar stool beside her. He smiled. "Ah, Ma Bella Amour" He said sweetly, in the worst French she had ever heard.
"Oh, it's you Gilderoy." She said darkly, already through her 2nd glass of port. She could feel his eyes on her. She tried not to smirk at it.
"You remembered my name!" He said cheerfully. "But then, you would." He chuckled in a self-satisfied way.
"Who could forget a migraine like you, Lockhart?" She said and she let him buy her another drink.
And the next week, she let him buy her another.
And the next week. Each week the drinks would be longer, with more half hearted conversation and more self satisfied chuckling.
Until one week, after he bought her a drink, she allowed Gilderoy to walk her home.
He had never asked her for her name.
And the next week he walked her home again.
And the next week. She could feel him watching her, and she enjoyed the way his eyes shone when her looked at him.
And the next week. He had his arm slung carelessly over her shoulder, and she very nearly told him that she was getting married tomorrow. Nearly.
And the next week. She was a married woman, and she drank more than ever, and Gilderoy bought her more drinks than ever and he never asked her a single question about herself. She liked that. All he did was talk about himself and smile at her like she was damn beautiful or something.
Until one week, Gilderoy made it inside the house, half way through a drunken story about how when he was a boy he fought off a werewolf on Halloween than she was sure he was making up as he went along.
The next week they sat in her living room and drank an extra glass of whiskey.
The next week again.
And then they were in her hallway, and he was kissing her in his clumsy unrefined, honest way and she had drunk too many glasses of port and wine and whiskey to stop him. She nearly let herself really enjoy it. His curls against her neck, his smile in her mind, nearly really enjoying it.
Years later as she sat in her cell, staring at the walls, she wondered why she stopped seeing him. She wondered what possessed her to stop drinking and start avoiding him, to tell her horrible Pedestrian husband that she wanted to move, to get some fresh air and never see him again. Some nights, as she sat in Azkaban, Bellatrix very nearly missed Gilderoy Lockhart. Nearly.
She wondered...if maybe...just maybe...he missed her too.
But then, he didn't even know her name.
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Posted: Sat Mar 06, 2010 6:43 pm
As a break from Fanfics, here are a few ramblings that may be incorporated into my original novel as a whole. (Though maybe not)
Moments:
There are moments in my life, everyday, boring, perfect, peaceful moments that I fear will slip away from me with time. Hours spent laying on a trampoline, books of short stories next to me, bad music playing on my computer, the rabbits chasing each other in circles around their pen, homework waiting to be done, minutes slipping by, clouds passing, the subtle change in the sun as the shadows inch across my feet (cold, and going numb, sockless in the late November afternoon). My cell phone vibrates, I ignore it. Hit refresh on Facebook. Read another short story. Think about homework, but not start it. I look over at the rabbits. They're still fine. The backyard feels safe, familiar and yet new and novel and wonderful and unknown, grown up, adult, full of life waiting to happen and quiet minutes and possibilities and memories waiting to be made. Please stop time. No dinner tonight. I could sit out here for hours more. Hours and hours until it's dark and then fight with the moody back yard light and try to stay out after dark, unwilling to go back in the house, away from the wind and sun. I would rather write this than a critical reading of Brave New World. I'd rather sleep out here, in the shady afternoon, with the sounds of alternative rock and city wildlife humming in my ears, being slowly eaten alive by mosquitoes.
Sirens:
The most worrisome thing about living in the city- the one thing I havent been able to really get used to- was how every night, and every day there are the sound of sirens in the back ground. Laying in bed at 3 am while the phosphorescent street light illuminates the far wall of my bed room with it's lifeless horror film light, a lonely siren will begin to wail in the distance. Then an answer will come- loud and piercing, full of anguish and panic and authority, and then another, and then a chorus of howling wails, roaring through the streets of Austin Texas, lights flashing, adrenaline pumping, over and over for minutes at a time before the silence comes again. And I wonder, laying in bed, what's happened. Where are they going? If it a fire? A Car chase? A murder? A heart attack? And it comes to me, that someone may be dying. Someone may be burning, or watching their house burn to the ground. Someone, out there, someone I may have passed on the street today, or yesterday, someone I have class with, or who sat next to me at a red light last week, could be dead, right now, a victim of a horrible car accident or a drug over dose or a fire. Fire would be the worst. Would I ever know? Would I ever be able to look back and notice the absence of another human life and be able to pin point the moment that the sirens started and I knew? And then I wonder why I still lay in bed. Someone could be dying out there, hurt and cold and in need of help. Will the sirens get there in time? Why am I just laying in bed, worrying about home work or a test, or replaying my favorite scenes from Robin Hood and Harry Potter in my head again and again- when someone not 10 or 20 blocks from me could be laying in the pavement, dying in their own blood? I wonder if I'm the only one who's bothered by this. I wonder if anyone else cares, or if everyone else around me, raised in the city, used to its noises, no longer makes the connection between the wailing sirens and the call of death. I wonder if they ever did.
Star Dust:
When stars are first formed they are nearly all hydrogen, with some helium, with traces of other elements. In their cores, the stars turn Hydrogen into Helium. If they are big enough and hot enough, stars turn helium into carbon, and carbon into oxygen and iron and other elements. And then the cores get too dense, the stars explode, showering the universe with these newly created heavy elements that didn't exist before.
Those elements go on to form new stars, and new planets, and everything on those planets, all the time.
Don't you see that that means?
Our world, and everything on it, including us, was born in the hearts of stars. All the carbon, and iron and oxygen in our blood and bones came from the hearts of Supernovae
We are stardust.
We are all literally made of star dust.
Once there must have been a massive star, it's radius larger than Jupiter's orbit, or maybe it was several stars, all glowing and burning and fusing atoms deep in their centers and then, one by one they died. And in their deaths, their hearts became the foundation of our world, and ourselves.
They created us.
It's as though all the old mythologies are true. The stars are the souls of Gods, living high above us, forever out of reach, and giving us the very building blocks of existence.
Without the stars, we never would have existed. It is from their hearts that we are born, and we spend out lives staring up at them, as though it is to their hearts we yearn to return.
And every century, every decade, every year, every day new stars are born, they age, they grow and they die. Over and over, until the end of time.
Street Lights:
Streetlights speed past like shooting stars, sizzling into the rearview mirror. The speedometer is pointing at 90; it inches further and further to the right. Faster, the engine whispers, so much faster, so fast that your fingers go numb and your eyes turn to tears and you go fast forever.
The girl at the wheel stares straight in front of her. The only sound in her head is the spinning of the tires on the smooth endless road and the sizzle of street lights. Nothing can slow her down; not the promise of cigarettes and a cold coke; not the hungry need for sleep, not the allure of a cheap hotel room and the rush of a hot shower. There are no cops on this cold stretch of road, no flashing burning lights to chase her down and anchor her. One of the many meaningless needles on her dashboard proudly proclaims that the gas tank is half full. She can drive until morning. She can drive forever.
The spirit of America, despite whatever popular patriotic songs have said, is not freedom, or hope, or honor or pride. It is not greed or money, coffee or sex, rock and roll or the blues. The spirit of America is speed, racing West into the sunset and into the night. She is an American. Her soul burns with the need to feel like flying.
The tires of her car hit gravel and she hits the breaks. The shoulder of the road spins into place. The door opens. The dust settles. Still gripping the steering wheel, a 19 year old American girl stares up at the Moon that couldn’t be left behind.
“I loved him you know.” She whispers. “And you took him from me. Now what do I do?”
Crickets fill her ears now. The sound reminds her of home.
Slowly the car grinds along the shoulder of the road to the next exit and into the parking lot of a cheap all night gas station. She is exhausted, red rimmed all the way through, in a dirty Rolling Stones T-Shirt and ill fitting jeans. The clerk doesn’t find this odd. She pays for her Marlboro Lights, a 58 cent cup of hot chocolate, a pad of paper, a pen and a chocolate bar.
The table, shoved awkwardly into the corner of the store, is a cheap orange thing, peeling with age and scattered with graffiti. She stares at it disdainfully, letting her hot chocolate get cold, as she ponders how to start her story.
It starts, she decides, the way that many stories do: with a smile.
I always meant to finish this, but I never knew how.
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Posted: Sat Mar 06, 2010 6:48 pm
So this is the last of my already written work I feel like sharing now. There s LOTS more at my ff.net and livejournal, but Meh.
So, this is a James Potter (II) and Scorpius Malfoy one shot. Enjoy.
-----
There was a heavy sigh. Outside the day was bright and cheerful. Students milled around the ground, laughing, joking, sleeping on the banks of the lake. Not Scorpius. No, Scorpius was trapped; trapped in the terrible oppressive dark dank, lonely, miserable, bleak, gaunt Library under a pile of smelly old books.
For a minute Scorpius didn't think he could handle all this. This stupid essay, and this stupid school. His social life was in constant shambles. Rumors spread about him easily (after all he was the son of a, gasp former death eater gasp. What a scandal) and he ways always falling behind on his work because of those damn Potters.
He slumped back in his chair, cursing under his breath. There was this stupid nine-page essay over the properties of Goblin teeth due TOMORROW and Scorpius had yet to put a period on a page. This was all damn James Sirius Potter's fault.
He picked up one of the molding texts (Impractical Potions: Ingredients and Procedures for the Inquisitive Volume 2) and opened it to the index. He scanned the page for Gs. Gargoyle Claws, Gabion, Galactophagist, Galatea, Gaur Hooves, Gelid preparation, Goblin snout, Goblin t-
"Scorp!" Whispered. There was a laugh. That damn laugh. Oh, how he hated, no loathed that stupid, ignorant, arrogant, playful, mellifluous, charming, stupid laugh. Scorpius looked up slowly.
James Potter had both elbows on the table and was sitting on his knees on the opposite chair, leaning right over the table, a mere inch from Scorpius' face. He looked as jubilant as ever, his hair a total mess as always, his tie undone all lop-sided and everything. "'Ello Scorpy." He teased. "Whatcha' doing all locked up in here? It's a bloody beautiful Sunday. Al's been lookin all over fer ya'. So am I actually. I wanna to go swimmin' with the squid with ya but you weren't around."
Scorpius glared. "James," He said in a cold warning tone. "I am trying to work. I have a very important, very long essay due TOMORROW. I have my OWLS this year you know. It's your fault I didn't do this yesterday. You convinced Albus and I to stop all our bloody homework to sneak off to the kitchens with you. It was distracting, unethical and down right embarrassing for me as a Student and a member of the Slytherin house." He said sharply.
"You and your Slytherin-iness." James laughed. "Yeah, yeah, you an Al are little grass snakes. That doesn't mean you can have a go-round of fun like a good old G-Dor every now and then."
Scorpius sighed AGAIN. This was hopeless. "Please, let me work." He said shortly, and looked back at the index. He had lost his place. He gave a deep sigh and began scanning the page for Goblin Teeth again. Gargoyle Claws, Gabion, Galactophagist, Galatea, Gaur Hoo-
" ScoooOOOooooorp " James said musically. "Please come play? Can't you do this tonight?" James asked.
"NO." The younger boy said firmly, brushing a stand of his fairy blond hair out of his face. "Now leave me alone." He looked back at the page. Gargoyle Claws, Gabion, Galactophagi-
"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy." James said sternly, mocking Draco Malfoy as he pushed his hair as far back on his scalp as he could. "I demand that you stop wasting a perfectly good Sunday and go swimming right away."
Scorpuis didn't even lower his book. "No." Damn he lost his spot again. Gargoyle Claws, Gabi-
"Scorpy." He sounded defeated. He sounded….sad. It drove Scorpius crazy. That stupid, empty tone of voice that made HIM feel like HE was a bad person drove him absolutely nutters. "Fine I'll leave," He sounded like a damn child. "On one condition."
Scorpius lowered the book. "What is it James?" He said softly.
James grinned like a mad man. Before Scorpius could think or breathe or put two and two together, the older boy- his best friend's older brother- had grabbed him by the neck tie and kissed him right across the table. It was a thing that they had done many times before- in the bathroom between classes, in empty class rooms, even in the cellar of Honey duke's last trip to Hogsmead. They never let anyone, especially Albus (Especially Albus), know. It was their secret, and it turned Scorpius to mush every time.
When the older boy pulled away, he had his trade mark stupid grin on his face. "Tell me you love me."
Scorpius scowled, trying to fix his hair. "Fine." He muttered and looked back at the page. Gargoyle Claws.
"I love you."
James laughed, "Good. If ya' finish yer paper, meet me in the room of requirement tonight around 10, ok?" He whispered and ruffled his hair. James straightened up and walked away, chuckling to himself in that damn conceited way that he did. Scorpius sighed. Damn Potter.
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Posted: Wed Mar 10, 2010 9:50 am
My Fizzle: When does freedom become tyranny and when does tyranny become freedom?
Sooo....I kind of deviated a bit. Here's what I got though.
---- ---- ----
They said things would be better this way.
They said that freedom was what we all aspired to, that freedom was our goal.
They said that freedom would make things better.
They were fools.
We have to ask ourselves why we weren't free to begin with. Why did we, for thousands of years, build walls and rules and morals? Why did we enslave our actions for all of humanity if the ultimate freedom would make us ultimately happy?
But then there was revolution, and we were free from government and taxes. We could do as we pleased.
There is a figure silhouetted against the sun, his hair unwashed and his knees bruised.
“Adam!” He turns. “Adam, I found some mushrooms! I think they are the good kind.”
The world is dark now, Adam thinks. There are no lights at night, save for the stars.
He could barely remember what life was like before the revolution anymore. People were so angry at the end, angry at the corruption and the taxes, the mass consumerism and the corporations. So many things burned; buildings and CDs, cell phones and people... Yes, even people.
Adam looked at the young girl holding handfuls of innocent looking fungi.
“Good job Evelyn.” She smiled at the compliment.
“With the squirrel we caught and those old cans of spam that you found last week, we'll have a really great dinner tonight.” She said happily.
Adam nodded. Evelyn had been born after the Revolution. For her a few mushrooms, a leg of squirrel and old spam was a good meal.
Free at last.
Free at last.
Thank the Lord, we're Free at Last.
And so free we are, we have no choices left. We ripped down the walls, and the palace of our privileged lives crumbled around us.
We are trapped.
And this time...
There is no one we can rebel against.
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Posted: Fri Mar 12, 2010 7:51 am
My Fizzle: Quote: "Do you know why they call this place 'No More Heroes'?" the fallen hero asked Asuka. Asuka told him, "No. I don't." "Because they all died a long time ago." Asuka told the man, "I have faith in your fate. Because true heroes never die." -- - -- - -- - - - - - - - - - Hero
The Victory Arch of the Great Days of Fire had stood for half a millennium, it's engraved buttresses weathered by the wind, sun and rain. It loomed over the dead city, it's shadow long and dark across the abandoned market squares and decaying bath house.
Two dark figures talked in hushed tones under the Arch. The smaller figure was sitting on the ground, her back against the old stones. She stared out at the sunset, the light reflecting in her eyes. Only a week had passed since she had first left her village to go on her quest to find the last of the great Heroes and have him save their people, and here she was.
The other figure was a man, his skin a deep chocolate, his eyes an ever darker black standing with his arms crossed. He was watching the girl. He was the one she had come to find. The last hero was a tired man, worn out from great battles of old, granted long life by the Elder Gods themselves for rescuing the once great, now crumbling city 500 years ago. For nearly 300 years he had sat and watched as the world changed.
“Do you know why they call this place the land of no more heroes?” He asked her.
“No.” She said softly.
“Because they all died. Dragons and monsters and armies rose against us, child. We rose against each other. There are no heroes left. I am but a watcher now.”
“I have faith in your fate.” The girl said and looked at him, her dark hair falling over half her face. “True heroes never die.”
“True heroes go to the stars, but they are dead there to.” The man replied and pointed up at the first stars of the night as the sun finally dipped below the horizon. “Orion was a mighty hero and he too died. You disturb my days of rest to fight another war, but I will not. You speak of never dying, but I will. Go home, child, and be your own hero.”
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Posted: Fri Mar 12, 2010 8:17 am
A DBZ Dabble. I actually had to cut it shorter than I wanted to...things were getting a little too hot.
Dominance
-the state that exists when one person or group has power over another;
-In game theory, dominance (also called strategic dominance) occurs when one strategy is better than another strategy for one player, no matter how that player's opponents may play. Many simple games can be solved using dominance. ...
If we think of it like a game, then it's a much simpler matter without the question of morality.
You go left, I go right. You go down, I go up. You twine your fingers in my hair, I slip my knee between your tights. You whisper my name through your grunts as though you need to keep saying it or else, I hear my name pass your lips and it spurs me on, hardening my desire to make you scream.
Nothing else matters now, not our past or our futures, our wives or sons, our rivalry or friendship.
It's just a game.
And I'm winning.
You pant my name again as the last of our clothing falls to the floor. I smirk. Yes.
You may be a better fighter, a better father, a better man.
But I know how this game is played.
“Vegeta” You pant once more.
“Shut up Kakarrot.” My hand slips down, and you shudder, hips arching forward.
This is one game I can win.
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