Taking Up the Challenge

Dreams Over Apples - Bleach

2008-05-11T11:17:02Z

Title: Dreams Over Apples
Fandom: Bleach
Theme: 8 (the other side)
Characters: Rukia, Rukongai children
Genre: gen
Bleach © Kubo Tite, et al.

Dreams Over Apples

A Natural Disaster - Dragon Knights - PG

2006-10-10T16:29:00Z

This is for the Dragon Knights challenge.

Author: Vuirneen
Fandom: Dragon Knights
Theme: 19 A Natural Disaster
Rating: PG
Pairings: Kai-Stern/everyone
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Knights. It was created by Mineko Okhami.
Warnings:It's another Tetheus fic
Size: 5.96 kb

It only took a few words this time, not even a quick smile and it was already too late. A brief "Good morning", a young girl's cheeks flushed and another heart was lost to the man-monster. Whether it was the artless sensuality or his easy-going manner Tetheus didn't know, but whatever it was that made Kai-Stern so good at his job had a number of downsides. He moved through the crowd, leaving minor ripples that turned into devastating waves at certain points. Warm, accessible, the damage was doubled when they realised that it was just a face he showed, that he didn't really mean that they were special to him when he flashed a smile

Two words, a simple greeting, a flushed smile and another soul was lost. He didn't do it on purpose, but those talents caused untold trouble. Tetheus sighed as Kai-Stern walked past. Love-sickness was worse than measles: sure people died from measles, but some recovered. This week alone three fighters had injured themselves pulling flashy tricks to draw his attention, another avoided Kai-Stern so avidly that he was in constant motion around the castle, and Lady Raseleane now had a full complement of Ladies-in-staring-at-the-ceiling-and-playing-with-their-hair.

If only Lykouleon could send him to Nadil on a diplomatic mission, where he'd really do some damage... although every time he left, the castle pined. Sex gods - can't live with them, can't live without them.

Kai-Stern stopped just before he rounded the corner and turned back to wave at an exasperated maid, who'd a bundle of laundry to manoeuvre through the bulky crowd. She caught the gesture and her knees buckled. Tetheus grimaced and pushed his way through the crowd, a little more roughly than required.

The worst thing about the love-sickness was the sudden relapses. Tetheus's right-hand man had turned to jelly the previous night after Kai-Stern spent too long chatting to one of the new recruits. They'd already spent three tear-stained nights working through this, eating ice-cream and sharing feelings only to have that that tortuous time thrown aside for new weeping.

Was there so little to do that Kai-Stern obsessed them all?

Fighters who can't fight, cooks who can't cook, maids who can't wait, even the darnas seemed to cower in their stables and sulk.

Tetheus had seen too many people ruined, lives destroyed by unthought smiles and unconscious flirts. Kai-Stern practised on them, he was sure - the castle was a tempering ground for his alluring arts, the laboratory where he perfected his virus and tested it out.

And when all was said and done, after the sickness left the system, somehow the person was never the same again - the passion, the zest, the oomph was gone.

Shaking his head, Tetheus stalked off towards the stables. The darnas were restless - how unusual - and he took his time choosing a mount. By the time it was saddled and ready to go, an honour guard had formed: loyal officers, or wounded fools escaping the object of their torment? He said nothing and led them out for a small jaunt through the country, a patrol and nothing more. They went further than he'd thought, parading through a few of the villages that dotted the plains.

It was in the very centre of one of these that the beast struck. It lashed out, toppling Tetheus from his darna and scattering the guard. Tetheus rolled to his feet, displaying none of the embarrassment he felt, sure that it'd disappear when he drew his sword and paid back the filthy beast.

His guard, those that were not occupied reassuring the darnas, darted in and out, drawing welts on the beast's hide, but little more, before Tetheus waded in for his pound of flesh. The guards' attacks kept it off balance and it discounted Tetheus as a force to be reckoned with, even turning its back on him to claw at a fleeing fighter. One sweep of Tetheus's sword proved its folly and it turned on him, rearing onto its hind legs and towering over the dignified dragon with a bellowing roar. The Black Officer jumped back, avoiding a claw and lashing out as it retreated. The beast snarled and charged, taking Tetheus down, but leaving its back exposed to the scratches and bruises inflicted by his guard.

Tetheus - pinned by the mighty animal - blocked the beast's bite by lodging his sword in its mouth. The sharp edges bit into the soft corners of its mouth and Tetheus gritted his teeth and began to push the blade further. As it pulled its head back, the blade followed and any attempt to push it aside with a paw merely caused further injury. Tetheus ignored the many bleeding wounds from the animal's frantic batterings and it slowly retreated. The further it went, the more reach that gave Tetheus and eventually he was able to regain his feet, while still threatening the creature.

He finally pulled his sword back, slicing the tender mouth further and the beast snarled with rage. It charged at its tormentor who dropped into a braced stance, his sword held like a lance. The creature impaled itself on Tetheus's sword without realising and fell confused to the ground. It wheezed and spluttered, dark blood flowering on its fur and framing the upright blade. Tetheus grabbed the hilt and pulled the sword free, before putting the beast out of its misery.

He remounted the darna handed to him by a cowed follower, far more slowly than he'd left it and led the way home without a word. In the days before Kai-Stern had arrived at the castle, he would have eaten ten of those for breakfast and had room for more.

Lessons | GetBackers | R

2006-07-18T16:22:48Z

Title: Lessons
Author/Artist: anathema (trollopfop)
Fandom: GetBackers
Themes: #13 - Snakes and Spiders
Rating: R
Pairings: Hints of Ban/Yamato and Ban/Ginji in the future.
Disclaimer: I don't own GetBackers. I'm not making money doing this. If you sue, I'll cry.
X-posted: getbackers and 20answers. The story itself lives in trollopfic.
Summary: The Witch Queen teaches Ban about fear, and shows him his future.

( Fake cut! )

Transparent Feelings - Dragon Knights - PG13

2006-04-22T15:19:16Z

This is for the Dragon Knights challenge.

Author: Vuirneen
Fandom: Dragon Knights
Theme: 10 Transparent Feelings
Rating: PG13
Pairings: Raseleane/Lykouleon
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Knights. It was created by Mineko Okhami.
Warnings: Nudity, false hope
Size: 8.81 kb

The sun's rays slowly creeped into their hideaway, its fingers tickling her toes and then crawling up her leg as she dozed on. He stirred. A breeze following the heat of the sun trickled up his back and raised goosebumps on his bare flesh. He squeezed her closer and nestled his face into her long, dark hair. Drool soon matted his springy pillow.

Restless as always, she turned in her sleep, her head remaining behind as her naked body moved, trapped by her lover. She twitched and jerked her head several times, the motions growing stronger. He snorted and lifted his head. "Sum'tin up, Ras'leen?"

Her eyes flashed open. "We did it again," she moaned, before grabbing her hair and pulling it out from under him. He rolled over while she blinked outside, into the light. "We fell asleep!" she said. He grabbed her and buried his face in her lap.

"Oh well," he muttered, "might as well enjoy the lie-in."

She tensed her muscles, turning her comfortable lap into thighs of rock. "Again, Lykouleon!" she groaned. "Again! Do you remember what happened last time? Do you remember the trouble it caused?" She cast her eyes about, scanning the ground surrounding the soft, white blanket they'd spent the night on. "Do you know where my clothes are?"

"Clothes!" He jerked bolt upright and banged his head on the root ceiling that kept them from view. A rough edge opened a cut on his forehead although he ignored it as he lifted up the blanket and checked under it, as though the flat pile could have hidden his evening suit. Three drops of blood dripped down from his head and spotted the blanket.

They had slept under a tree whose roots had formed a Traveller's Rest: a hollow away from rain and prying eyes, where weary travellers or courting couples could attend to their needs in safety and privacy. Lykouleon crawled through to the edge of the root mass and looked through the gaps in their wooden wall to scan the area outside. "I don't see..." he muttered, before tensing suddenly. "There's something white over there. It could be clothing!"

"Quick," urged Raseleane, pushing him out of their hole. "Before someone comes."

Lykouleon ducked, checking left and right before running out to grab the mystery, white, possible clothing. Raseleane watched him, blood rising with her lover's every naked step. She winced as he started to hop and limp alternatively; the ground had many sharp rocks and twigs. She fidgeted, running her fingers through her hair, wincing again as they got stuck in the tangled mess of knots and fuzz.

"Crap," she said, working her fingers from the bottom, pulling and teasing the hair apart.

As she fought with a stubborn knot, Lykouleon hit the dirt and rolled under a bush, feet away from the unknown garment. Raseleane hunkered down, unable to see what had startled him, even as his hand crept out from under the bush and inched toward the clothing.

The low buzz of conversation drifted over the plants and through the branches of the trees to Lykeouleon's ears. He squeezed his eyes shut and stretched further, raising furrows in the rough dirt as it scraped his skin. His fingertips brushed sodden cotton as the voices grew clearer.

He cursed into the dirt with Alfeegi's laugh. Fingers spasmed and released the cotton as his body exhaled every last drop of energy. He lapsed, breathing in fungus spores and the heady smell of earth, awaiting the inevitable 'Your Highness!' Eyes twitched and energy returned to his head, enough to lift his gaze as it failed to materialise. Alfeegi's laugh carried over to him once more, along with light, soothing tones and the perfumed smell of false flowers: the scent of a woman.

The Dragonlord, Lord of Draqueen, Lover of Raseleane and Employer of Alfeegi slid out from under his bush and crept across the open ground to the dubious cover of another plant that was closer to Alfeegi. The cotton garment remained behind.

Crawling under the new bush, a joyously leafy hedge of some sort, he parted the leaves enough to frame Alfeegi and his companion. The green-haired Dragon Officer leaned easily against a low stone wall, nodding and smiling as his friend - a young, dark-haired woman that Lykouleon didn't recognise - nattered away, mouth moving faster than Rath when he'd broken something old or expensive. Her story came to some sort of conclusion when Alfeegi bowed and she clapped - her cheeks flushed. Alfeegi rose again, standing straighter and taller than he ever had before. He reached behind the wall and broke off the stem of a fern. Twirling it in his fingers, he said something that his friend hadn't heard. She leaned closer and he flicked the stem, lashing her gently on the ear with the feathery fern. She jumped back, clapping her hand to her ear and giggling helplessly. Alfeegi advanced on her, fern outstretched and she ran away, glancing behind to make sure that Alfeegi was following, slowing down when he did and speeding up when she realised his trick.

Lykuoleon watched as much as he could from his vantage point, mouth slipping further and further open, until it scraped the ground. Eventually he rolled out from under his hiding place and retrieved the cloth garment. It turned out to be a cotton shirt, with lacy collars and tiny buttons that his fingers fumbled over. He pulled it over his head, grimacing as the damp cotton clung to his body. He ignored the collars, letting them fall open as he checked for the next item of discarded clothing, hoping for breeches.

Suddenly catching sight of furious waves from Raseleane he turned around to see Ruwalk.

"Your Highness," said the smiling man, the Dragonlord's longest friend.

"Ruwalk!" Lykouleon hailed him and scooted closer, a pasted smile echoing his Officer's.

"Anything I can do for you?" he asked, quirking his eyebrows.

"Actually..." Lykouleon coughed and leaned over the hedge. "Have you see any clothing?"

Ruwalk's smile dropped and he hit his hand with an open palm. "You haven't done it again, have you?" He looked at his silent friend, before rising up on tip-toes and slowly peering over the hedge.

The Dragonlord pushed him back "Of course not!" he exclaimed. "Not after everything that happened last time. I uh, just saw Alfeegi running past and ... he was ..."

"Ah," said Ruwalk.

"I was hoping to cover for him. He deserves a break, you know?"

Ruwalk nodded. "I'll keep my eyes open and if anything's found, I'll send it back to him."

"Yeah, thanks," said Lykouleon, his face freezing for a moment. "A-ha, well, you look that way," he pointed toward the lake "and I'll look around here some more."

The Dragon Officer clicked his heels together, saluted and wandered off, leaving his Lord with a pained expression on his face. He retreated back to his love nest and his wife.

"There's something about a man in a loose shirt..." said Raseleane, snuggling up to her beloved before recoiling.

"Dew," sighed Lykouleon. "It'll dry."

"No trousers?" she asked, picking up the blanket and shaking it out.

"Not yet," he admitted. "The shirt on its own isn't really useful for me. Do you want to wear it? In case we're found out."

"That's okay," she said, shaking her head. "I'll just wrap the blanket around me. It'll work as a dress from a distance." She pulled the blanket around her and tucked one corner under her arm, but stopped before folding the opposite side into place. Instead she stared at the drops of blood that spoiled the pure, white fleece.

"Something wrong?" he asked, reaching out and stroking her arm.

"Nothing," she said, tucking it into place and hiding the stain in the blanket, but not the light in her eyes. "Everything's fine!"

Yes, I wanted to write some Lykouleon/Raseleane porn. Well, not porn, but then the ending hit me and I realised that it suited Transparent Feelings, then thought that it didn't, then started to write another, but finally gave in. How confusing.

Basically, I didn't want to up the rating for a single story, so there's not much sexiness. Didn't the last theme have a naked Rune in it? Man. I have to get that M fic out of me.

In other news, there are only three themes left. Three! I'm nearly done!

*dances the happy dance*

Platonic Love - Dragon Knights - PG

2006-03-26T00:54:05Z

This is for the Dragon Knights challenge.

Author: Vuirneen
Fandom: Dragon Knights
Theme: 04 Platonic Love
Rating: PG
Pairings: Rath/Thatz/Rune, but y'know, platonic
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Knights. It was created by Mineko Okhami.
Warnings: humour, brief nudity
Size: 8.58 kb

Rune was fuming. Rune always fumed. The other two swapped looks behind his back as they wound him up further. People who met them wondered first how Thatz and Rath could put up with Rune's behaviour, then later how Rune managed to stay sane with companions like those.

The road forges people. Living with someone isn't as trying as travelling with them. When there's no escape from your friends, no distractions or amusement, no entertainment except for the wit and conversation of the two people you've talked with every day for the past year, relationships get strained. It's even worse when all you have to look forward to the following day is a hard slog on aching feet and there's no sympathy to go around. When you're on the road, you can't take a break from your friends, do something to let off steam, or escape for a while... not if you want to get to the next town before dark.

Irritating traits get magnified. Even reasonable behaviour becomes jarring and innocent small talk gets taken up the wrong way. With a cast of three all manner of childish games can be played, until the go-between becomes angry and a new fight replaces the old one and alliances are reforged, although Rune usually ganged up on the other two. Sometimes, Rath wondered when Rune developed the backbone he used to beat them up.

When he'd first met Rune, Rath had been a child and Rune had been unfailingly polite. It took a few years for those gentle edges to rub off and the bitter, raging sense of unfairness that he carried to show itself. Rune tried to explain things calmly to the young Rath, and then firmly, then forcefully and finally loudly. For his part Rath had been confused by Rune, who was the only one to treat him so gingerly. Ruwalk had said that the water knight was like him, but Rune was soft and warm and disliked eating worms and bugs. He never let his dragon out, which was a very cruel thing for such a timid person to do.

Thatz came last to the group. He was lots of fun, but caused lots of trauma. Rath had the most fun with someone encouraging him to sneak out of the castle and go on demon killing and looting duty. Rune hated Thatz for the same reasons. He constantly harped on about the knights' duty, rebuked their side-trips and called them lead weights around his neck, yet whenever he managed to drag them home, he still sought out their company. Once, thinking that he might have figured out the cause, Rath asked if he got homesick and Rune went on for six days about the faerie forest.

He never visited. It's not as though a diversion to see his birthplace would be any more wearing than one of Thatz's jaunts to an old ruin that was rumoured to be haunted by the ghost of a murdered rich man, or that it would take them any further out of their way. In fact, some of their missions took them really close, within a fortnight's travel, but Rune never asked them if they'd mind the delay. Rath and Thatz didn't suggest a visit. They knew it could hurt Rune, although they didn't hold back from commenting on his girlish looks.

Some of the tricks they played were cruel and they always seemed to hit when Rune was moping a bit more than usual, sighing and generally slogging along without talking to the other two more than neccessary. The last caper had been a huge success or tragedy, depending on how you looked at it, and Rath and Thatz traded ideas on how to match it while Rune built up an ever greater head of steam.

Their chance came at the next stream. Rune couldn't pass by any given body of water without stripping off and jumping in. He tried, vainly, to get Rath and Thatz to join in and wash their stinking hair. They figured that it'd just get dirty again and at least their noses had gotten used to the stench. It always amused Thatz that Rune would complain about a quick side-trip of the Earth or Fire Knight, yet quite happily hold them up for hours while his hair dried beside a camp-fire. Once they hit water, the day was gone and Thatz would set up camp while Rath grew bored.

These delays left them plenty of time to plot.

Although sometimes Serendipity offered them a beautiful gift.

A clatter of female voices interrupted their moaning as Thatz put on a kettle of water to boil. He grinned at Rath when a small group of men and women came around the corner of the road and waved at them from the verge. Once they'd come closer, he shook his head with a sorry sigh.

"I have to ask you not to go any further this way," he said. "There's a lovely, slow-moving river just through the bushes, but I'm afraid that our sister is bathing there. She's a very modest girl and she asked us to keep strangers away."

The travellers looked at each other and patted down their dusty clothing. The two guys grimaced at each other and made a show of sniffing their armpits and shrugging their shoulders. Three of the girls swarmed over Thatz, who seemed to be enjoying it a bit too much.

"Please, sir," said one, a busty brunette with a mad glint in her weary eyes, "is there really an honest-to-goodness river nearby? I haven't been clean in a fortnight. There'd be no greater luxury than to bathe in fresh water."

"Yes," said her friend, who grabbed her hair and nearly pulled it out. "My hair is blonde under this muck. I fell into a sink-hole two days ago and I'm sure there's something living in it now."

The third girl just batted her eye-lashes in between her comrades' pleas.

"Look," said a woman in a chain-shirt, who had been patting down the mules and checking the straps that held their belongings in place. "I respect that your sister asked you to keep a watch out - no woman wants someone to find her while she's vulnerable and when you're wet and naked is the worst - but we're tired and dirty. I'm sure that she wouldn't mind if some fellow women joined her. I bathe with other girls all the time and some of them are quite prudish."

"Well..." mumbled Thatz.

"I can understand that she'd want you to keep men away, but I bet that after all this time in male company, she'd like a bit of girl-talk."

"Yes, girl talk," agreed Busty.

"Oh she'd be delighted to share with us," agreed the mucky blonde.

The eye-lash girl batted twice more and one of the goons in the back flexed his fingers near the hilt of his sword.

"Of course," answered Thatz, keeping a wary eye on the goon. "I'm sure she'd be delighted."

"Let me just warn her first!" blurted Rath, who sped down the path Rune had followed, nearly tripping over several roots. He pushed grasping branches aside and emerged beside the river. He quickly spotted his friend, indulging in a lazy back-stroke. "Rune," he sang over the waters to the swimming Water Knight. "Some other people want to use the river and they're really nice and really dirty and Thatz said that it'd be okay."

Rune waved at him and started to swim back.

Rath sniggered before adding. "Don't be a prude, after all, you're all girls, right? Okay, thanks, bye."

Rune stopped mid-stroke and dived under the water when a cascade of women flowed down the bank and into his river. The chick who had been in chainmail reached under the water to pull his head back up. "It's okay, relax," she said, before ducking under the water. Rune's hands clamped over his chest and crotch and stayed there even after she re-surfaced. She shook her hair, spraying water over Rune, who crouched lower in the water and couldn't remove his eyes from her exposed body. "Aaaaah," she sighed, running her fingers through the wet and tangled mass. "Do you have any soap?" Rune pointed up to his bundle of clothing. His arm snapped back under the water when a busty lady retrieved his soap and shared it around.

Rune sank lower, the water tickling his nostrils as they lathered up, gossiped, frolicked and splashed each other. He grew wrinkled and cold, barely moving as he was, until night fell fully and he was sure that every last one had left the river. He crept up to the bank, jerked on his clothing and snuck back to the fire to have a word with the other knights.

Rath and Thatz stopped running when they reached Draqueen and managed to hide behind Tetheus. Rune gave out for two days solid and swore blind that he'd never go on a mission with them again. The following morning he sat down beside them and civilly commented on the weather over breakfast. Two weeks later he was packing again, carefully hiding the bail money and squeezing in extra bandages for Rath.

Flavour - Dragon Knights - PG13

2006-03-17T19:11:10Z

This is for the Dragon Knights challenge.

Author: Vuirneen
Fandom: Dragon Knights
Theme: 13 Flavour
Rating: PG13
Pairings: Thatz/Kitchel/Food
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Knights. It was created by Mineko Okhami.
Warnings: pure fluff
Size: 6.07 kb

"Okay." His laugh flavoured the darkness behind her eyes.

"What is it?" she asked, struggling to sit up, but he pushed her back down.

"No peeking," he warned. She felt his body move to cradle her and then he brushed her lips with his own. She relaxed. The heat from his lap was comforting and made her drowsy, although the stone sticking into her bottom kept her from falling asleep.

He stretched and she grimaced as his body twisted beneath her and her head rested at an awkward angle. "Sorry," he apologised, his legs returning to a comfortable position. "I had to get this. Open your mouth."

She complied and then gagged as a gooey liquid dropped directly onto the back of her throat. She rolled onto her side, coughing and he stroked her back, uttering soothing noises. Eventually the coughing subsided and she rolled back. "Let's try that again," she croaked.

This time she blocked the sticky flow with her tongue and it trickled over her taste-buds, a sweet and energising rush.

She swallowed and then licked every last trace from her lips. "Mmm, honey!" she murmured.

"Correct!" he said. His body contorted once more, although he supported her head with one of his hands this time. "Next."

She opened her mouth eagerly, but puckered as soon as the first drops hit her tongue. "Eugh, sour." She wiped off the excess fluid with her fingers.

"If you don't guess, then you have to taste more," he warned her.

"Lemon juice," she moaned and pouted. "You know that I don't like sour flavours."

"And yet wasn't there something that you fed me seven times, even though you know that I can't stand it?"

She giggled. "But you made such a cute face when you realised what it was. I never thought you'd turn your nose up at food."

He grunted and his body shifted again. She opened her eyes a crack, worried that he might try to punish her with a rotten egg, or something equally gross, but he closed them with a gentle touch and a stern admonishment - "No peeking."

She lay waiting as paper rustled and there was a snap of a twig breaking. When a cold breeze drifted up under her skirt, he popped something solid into her mouth. Her tongue probed its bumpy surface and rolled it around in her mouth. Her teeth trapped a round and squishy bead between them, which broke under the pressure. Another acidic taste dripped onto her taste-buds. She swallowed it whole and rasped "raspberry," when it had gone down.

"Very good," he replied. The paper rustled again. "Say ahh."

The next one was hard and melted in her mouth. She sucked on it and murmured in delight. When the last molten droplet had been swallowed she sighed. "More chocolate, please."

"On peesh ownlee. 'At's eh roole," he mumbled.

She lifted her hands, felt around and found his face and poked him squarely in his bulging cheeks. "Only one is to be fed," she lectured. "That's another rule."

"My legs are goin to sleep," he complained, rolling her onto the hard ground. He caught her gently but she still landed with a slight bump. He checked, of course, that her eyes were still closed and mumbled "sorry", before rustling through his bag again.

He teased her with the next item, running something pliable under her tongue and around her lips. She tried to bite down on it, but he snatched the food away, leaving only a salty residue behind.

"What is that?" she asked. He responded by placing the mystery substance in her mouth and allowing her to bite off a piece. She chewed, grimaced and swallowed quickly, before demanding water. He spilled a little on her top, but she soon managed to wash the taste out. "That was horrible! It tasted like, like, eugh. It was dry, pointy - I think that it cut the inside of my mouth! It was drowning in salt. What did the poor chicken do to deserve that? Who cooked it? Rath?"

"Bingo!" he said. "Well done."

"That was cruel," she moaned. "No one deserves to eat Rath's cooking."

She felt his breath on her face as the next one brushed against her lips. Some of it dribbled onto her chin and she licked it off. The taste was sweet and juicy, with a cinnamon spice. Another brush followed and she grabbed onto the food with her teeth and licked some soft mush from it. She discovered, as she continued to lick, that the mush coated a soft, but calloused core, one that she bit slightly harder. He twitched and she cackled as best she could. He tried to pull away, but her teeth clung on and he merely succeeded in lifting her head off the ground and gaining a deeper mark on his finger. Soft kisses flowered on her cheeks and fore-head and eventually she let go and tried to catch them on her hungry mouth.

"One more," he said. "No biting."

She muttered something non committal and waited.

His breath warmed her face again, as something soft glanced off the outstretched tip of her tongue. It left a spicy, oily smear and she closed her mouth and cleaned her tongue in the sudden saliva that filled her mouth. "Is it salsa?" she asked. He didn't reply, so she swallowed and reached out her tongue again. The soft object trailed down her tongue and into her mouth. She closed her lips around it and explored the mystery as she had before. This new food was soft and flexible and even though her lips had closed, he was still manipulating it, running it around her tongue, coating her mouth in this spicy flavour. As the outer layer rubbed off, she realised that underneath was something moist which gave off a heat that was unrelated to the spices.

She reached up and grabbed his head, squeezing it, then running her fingers through his hair and scratching his neck lightly with her nails. His warm hands found her body and he rolled onto her, his sudden weight expelling the air from her lungs and the food from her stomach.

Each of them apologised and when they'd both cleaned up they moved the picnic to another area of the grounds and finished off the lot with their eyes open.

Pygmalion | YugiOh

2006-03-05T18:46:05Z

Title: Pygmalion
Author: twhitesakura
Fandom: YugiOh
Character: Pegasus
Themes: 10 Hope
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own YugiOh.
Summary: A statue comes into his possession.

Haunting Past - Dragon Knights - PG13

2006-02-03T15:17:46Z

This is for the Dragon Knights challenge.

Author: Vuirneen
Fandom: Dragon Knights
Theme: 09 Haunting Past
Rating: PG13
Pairings: none
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Knights. It was created by Mineko Okhami.
Warnings: no humour, your past is what moulds you
Size: 4.72 kb

The ghosts of everything I've ever done stand over my left shoulder. They watch, sometimes commenting, sometimes only making their presence known with their looming disapproval. They're stupid; rooted in the past, their viewpoints can never change. They can't understand, even when I explain slowly, that what I've done isn't that bad.

They think he cared. They think that I broke his little heart the day I ran off and left him penniless. That ghost is closest whenever he's around. That ghost freezes my heart when I ever think of joking around with him again. It can't see that my actions were only a game: time proved it, he bounced back.

I sold his stuff for a tenth of the price that he could have gotten and one hundredth of its true value, but the point remains that I ended up with the loot and what a haul it was. Him and his loser friends; I beat them, lived like a queen and could have retired and made a good home for myself, but I had to return to the game and play again. That proves that I stole for kicks. I didn't mean it and no-one got badly hurt.

I lost all my friends. My friends were his friends and even the ones that didn't like him stopped talking to me. They stopped trusting me. If I stole from him, then I could easily steal from them without remorse and I could too: I'm the best, the best thief in Draqueen, probably the best in the world. I could steal the knickers from the Dragonlord if I wanted to. Anyway, friends aren't of any use to me. You can't steal friends, so they can't be counted. Loot is what matters. Loot is what loves me. Money can solve every problem.

Except for those ghosts.

I must have been cursed by gypsies. Maybe if I gave back the crystal ball and apologised, these spectres would leave. I would have to say "sorry" to their graves, though. Bandits attacked the camp and they were unprepared. Just as well; who knows where the ball ended up after it was fenced. It's best not to ask these questions, just count the money and leave quickly.

Cash is cold and disloyal. It can be easily lifted and it has no marker to show who it belongs to. Possessions, goods and heirlooms, their value lies as much in the memories they hold and sentimental notions attached to them as the money you can get for them. Of course, you don't get recompense for those sentiments. When something you love is sold by a low-life, the fence doesn't care how much you loved it, or how important it was to you. He won't give it back. It's useless to rely on things: they don't last. If you can't hold on to something then it isn't really yours.

I learned early and I learned well.

There are ghosts that pushed me to steal. They're ghosts that taught me to be wary of people and that you're a sucker if you're not out only for yourself. They have familiar faces, ones that I don't want to look at too closely. No matter how fast I spin around, I couldn't see them anyway. I just kept my head down and did what was best for me. I grew up. Those ghosts faded or maybe they're crowded out by the others: the old widow's nest egg and the poor family's hidden treasure, the wails and keenings of unlucky people made poorer.

Some thieves say that drink quietens them. Others say that it only makes them louder and it makes the thief stupid. Anyone who tries to steal while drunk gets caught. I check out the competition whenever I can. These people around me - the scum and the low-lives - between them they've stolen several lord's ransoms, so why do they drink in the darkest, smelliest parts of town, near the sewage exits? Perhaps that's where I can find a stash or two.

I should have a house or a mansion by now. I've earned enough several times over, this year alone. Only a bad workman blames his tools, but the tools of my trade are expensive and they break a lot. Why pay so much for ultra thin and ultra strong wire, for gadgets and masterwork tools? I lived better when a hairpin was my only lockpick. It'll take another job to finish paying for the tiny manipulator, now lying proud in my pocket and the reason why I'm drinking boiled water tonight instead of the finest wine.

The game, that's why. The game, the high, the thrills, the stories, the envy of my peers; that's the excuse. The game validates me. The game is what I'm good at. Without it, what would I be? A failed fishmonger? A broken barmaid? A talentless tailor? Give me the life of a master thief and while you're at it, give me a new pair of non-slip shoes so that I don't have to pay premium prices to the real crooks in this business.

A Deadly Sin - Dragon Knights - PG13

2006-01-14T19:45:42Z

This is for the Dragon Knights challenge.

Author: Vuirneen
Fandom: Dragon Knights
Theme: 06 A Deadly Sin
Rating: PG13
Pairings: none
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Knights. It was created by Mineko Okhami.
Warnings: Some bad language, humour, pokes fun at Nadil
Size: 9.31 kb

The proud man wandered sliffly through the room, with a large smile on his face. "What do you think, eh?" He stopped in front of one of the mirrors. "Flawless!"

The room was covered in mirrors. If wallpaper came with a mirror finish, then the room would have been completely reflective. As it was, there were hardly any bits of wall poking through between the many frames. The floor was also littered with shiny, reflective goodness. Stand-alone mirrors vied with easels that were pressed into service. There were also a few hand mirrors suspended from the ceiling. Plaster tumbled from the ceiling as the man's bored attendants watched.

"Sire, no one will notice, but don't you think that it'd be a good idea to get a few stitches sewn in?"

The man's hand reached up to a tiny ribbon that wound once around his neck. "You're joking, aren't you? That'd leave a nasty scar and as you can see, everything's fine." The expression on his face froze, as his head turned on its side. A hand reached up and clamped it back firmly onto its neck.

"Sire!" a woman with long pale hair nestling in the clevage of her low cut dress pulled a metal contraption out of a burlap sack. It resembled a medieval torture device, like a thumbscrew, but several times the size. "It's dangerous not to use a brace. Within a few years, your neck will be able to support itself, but healing takes time."

"Don't be stupid!" The man glared at her, fingers twining deeper into his purple hair. "I'll look ridiculous if I put that on. How can I inspire fear and keep my position as lord of the demon world if I look so stupid?" He switched hands, a brief freeze signifying the changeover. "This ribbon is fine. It covers the wound, but still looks manly."

"My Lord, Nadil." A man with pale, blond hair bowed low as he spoke. "What if something happens and your head falls off?"

"Then dust it down and put it back on again. I can't have Lykouleon thinking that he cuts off my head and it's something serious. He'll gloat." Slowly, he removed the hand from his head. Moving stiffly through the room again, arms out wide for balance, he smiled. "See, no problem. It fits right back on with no ill effects." His expression froze again and the girl dived forward, with her arms outstretched. She landed at his feet. "Shyrendora?" Nadil asked. "While you're down there, can you tell me what I just stepped on?"

He lifted a foot and balanced awkwardly while Shyrendora started to get to her feet. "It's just your pink scarf, my lord."

"Ah yes," he said, stepping over it and making his way through the field of mirrors to a luxurious throne. He turned around and feeling behind him, carefully lowered himself to his seat. "No problem. I can walk and sit."

"What about eating, sire?" asked the blonde man. "How will you manage that without being able to look at your food?"

"Yes, well, as the Lord of Demons, I should be able to demand a minion to feed me. Those sorts of whims were quite popular among my predecessors. Find someone to do that and make them pretty, or amusing."

"Sire," called Shyrendora, displaying the clamp, "what happens when you sleep?"

He responded with a dismissive wave. "Fedelta wakes me each morning. If my head becomes detached in the night, he can replace it and hold it on for me while I dress."

"Shydeman?" murmured the girl, looking at her companion.

The blonde man stepped forward. "What if the dragons send an assassin and he finds you before Fedelta does?"

Nadil laughed. "Their lord cut my head off and I just plonked it straight back on. He was so scared, he shit himself. No dragon will come within ten, no a hundred miles of this place. They're terrified of me." He laughed a little more, then lifted up his arms, bracing his head between them. "Booga booga."

"Yes, my lord," muttered Shydeman. "Truly terrifying."

"Told you," crowed Nadil, settling himself further into his seat. "Now, go and prepare everyone. I'm granting an audience. They'll soon see that Nadil lacks no head."

His attendants bowed and backed out through the door. Nadil ignored their exit and focused on the mirrors, checking the ribbon that covered the line proving that the Dragonlord had indeed cleaved right through his neck. "Maybe a bigger ribbon wouldn't hurt," he said. "I'll look at that scarf again too." He stood up and moved his rigid body back to the spot where Shyrendora had prostrated herself. He wavered as he bent his knees and lowered himself enough so that he could feel around the floor. He closed his eyes as his fingers gripped onto the scarf and missed the many reflections of a door opening and three dusty
figures scampering inside and hiding behind a chair. "Harder than it seems, but I'll soon have it mastered and no-one will know my little secret." He closed his eyes to laugh again and missed the reflection in every mirror of a hand lobbing a piece of plaster. The plaster sailed through the air and bounced neatly off Nadil's head, leaving a white mark: the laughter cut off as the head fell fowards.

A pair of hands caught it and restored it on his head. "Who did that?" he called, jumping to his feet and scanning the room, his hands clamped firmly to his head. When he didn't spot anyone, he let go with one of his hands and noticed white powder on it. Looking behind him, he saw the chunk of plaster. He gripped his head and looked up. "Plaster from the ceiling?" He moved away. "I'll have some of those mirrors taken down."

He sauntered back to his earlier viewing spot and looked at his neck again. "Argh!" The head looked too far to the right and jutted over the neck on his left. He realigned it carefully, pulling the ribbon out of the gap between the two where it had fallen. He covered up the mark by tying the scarf in a jaunty knot.

The next lump of plaster was much bigger and hit Nadil between the eyes. His head tumbled backwards off his shoulders and rolled away, ending up beneath the throne. His headless body wobbled and nearly fell over, before regaining balance. It reached out, then knealt down, feeling along the floor and crawling in a desperate search to find his head before Shydeman and Shyrendora returned.

Three figures emerged from behind a chair. The mirrors watched as the one with green hair creeped up behind Nadil and mimed kicking him in the arse. The black-haired one stuffed a hand into his mouth to stifle giggles, but the blond shook his head and pointed at the throne. He pulled out a bag and snuck over to it, then knealt down and stuck his hand under it, but couldn't quite reach the head. It just brushed the tips of his fingers if he stretched out.

While the blond pondered his next move, Nadil's body turned. His questing fingers found a foot and a leg and while the dusty interloper froze, he pointed at the empty space where his head should be. The trapped intruder shared a frightened glance with his giggling friend, who stopped laughing, pulled a sword out from a scabbard and advanced on the headless demon. His frightened friend gestured for him to stop. The armed intruder shook his head.

"Rath! No!" shouted the green-haired man, as Nadil's fingers tickled higher, before clamping his hands over his mouth. Nadil didn't react, slowly feeling his way up the man's body.

Rath laughed. "He can't hear you, Thatz," he said, pointing at the throne where the blonde was knealing. "His ears are over there."

Thatz heaved a huge sigh of relief, which turned to panic when he realised that Nadil's fingers were almost at his neck.

"Rune!" shouted Rath to the blonde, who turned and looked at the sword in his hand.

"Good idea," he said, drawing his own sword and spearing Nadil's head on it. He slipped the head into his bag and closed it tightly. "Let's go."

By this stage Nadil was fully upright and running his fingers across Thatz's features. He checked out his hair, then measured the intruder's height against his chest, before grabbing him so hard that Thatz squealed. Rune ran forward and kicked the headless demon lord in the groin. He released Thatz and collapsed to the ground. "Let's go," he shouted, clamping a hold of Rath and tugging him towards the door.

"But we could do it. We could finish him off!" shouted Rath. "It would be so easy. He's helpless."

"He still has magic and we don't know when his underlings will be back. Let's go!"

"Rune's right," said Thatz, sprinting to the door. "We have the head, but loot doesn't count until you're at home and spending it."

Rath grumbled, but followed quickly enough when the demon lord made it to his feet again. Nadil clenched his hand into a fist and shook it at the wall and was still there when his minions returned.

"How embarrassing," said Shydeman, looking at the scene. He stepped back out of the room and Shyrendora locked the door.

"Let's just say that he's dead."

Shydeman agreed.

20answers @ 2005-11-06T11:05:00

2005-11-06T19:12:00Z

Title: Breathing Blessed
Author: shiegra
Fandom: Dragon Knights
Theme: all nineteen
Rating: varies. some might be light R depending on your sensibilites
Pairings: many, many, many
Disclaimer: I don't own DK
Notes: and here's nineteen. They've actually been done for quite a while, but I forgot to post them up.

03. Something that is inaccessible.

Tintlet remembers Rune.

Her fingers remember the curve of his spine, her lips the searing press of his mouth. Her heart remembers, oh so dear to her, the warmth of his soul and magic, the comforting wash of heat that had always been hers.

Tintlet waits for him, keeping faithful, binding Varawoo tightly to his watery prison. She holds her memories and her love for him close to her heart.

When her memories slip away, Tintlet fears everything she is or ever was, is lost forever.

01. A formal event.

“Another ball?”

Cool fingers sliding over her own and a warm smile when she turns to see him. She is happy every time she sees his face, gloriously, foolishly happy. “They’re happy, my love.” She replies, and her voice turns a little sad. “It isn’t that common anymore.”

His fingers tighten over hers and he pulls her closer almost possessively, turning his face into her hair. He smells like wood smoke and wilderness, and she wants to drop the glass in her hand and cling to him, drop kisses on the sleek skin over sleeker muscle.

Instead, she rests her head on his shoulder and stares out over the ballroom. Cesia’s smiles are a little absent, and she has barely tasted the alcohol Ruwalk gave her. Rath smiles but with an undercurrent of watchful tension. The two other Elemental dragon knights are more relaxed but attuned to their comrade’s mood, Rune eating with his customary delicacy, Thatz eating as fast as he can.

The amount of drunks is steadily mounting.

The Dragon Queen curls a little tighter into her King’s arms, smoothing her hands over his forearms. She is content here.

She closes her eyes and makes a wish.

02. Dreams.

Rim Kaana ranges alone for some time, waiting for her prey. She travels through woods and deserts, keeping Tintlet’s copy by her. The fairy’s memories plague her, making her remember things she would rather not. She dreams brief, vague dreams of a cool, considerate lover with golden hair, and she refuses to look at his face.

She awakes to Fedelta’s slanted, mocking eyes, focused in a thoughtful stare. She stares back before lowering her eyes. She is not powerful enough to challenge him, and he could take anything as an offense if he so chose.

“Trouble sleeping?” He says, and she hears the smirk in his voice.

Her spine stiffens and she sits up and jumps to the ground, light on her feet. Young as the girlish body is, young as she is in demon eyes, no demon’s life lends itself kindly to naivety and Rim Kaana knows exactly what the low heat in her belly means and wonders uncomfortably exactly how keen the fire demon’s senses are.

Maybe it is that curiosity that makes her reply, snappishly, “bad dreams.”

She feels his focus sharpen on her like a well honed blade. “Really.” He remarks. (smug bastard) “Is that what you call them?”

That answers her question and her cheeks burn as she begins to stalk away, the high heels she has adopted-maybe for fashion, maybe to make her even a little bit taller-making sharp sounds on the stone. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

And then he’s *there* and she can smell him, all hot smoky scent and she stumbles back a step before regaining her balance and glaring at that goddamn smirk. “I *am* your superior.” He reminds her lazily.

Rim stiffens her shoulders and glares back. She isn’t backing down. “Then don’t you have more-*superior*-things to do?” She suggests, angrily.

His smile widens and curls. “Sweet dreams.” He tells her, and is gone.

That night she dreams of heat and hands that move with almost savage surety over her skin, and she awakens flushed and writhing and nearly falls out of the tree, *really* wishing he was there so she could try to kill him.

By the time she sees him again her anger has faded enough beyond the fear/respect of his power that all she does is flush and glare and want to hate him, wishing she doesn’t remember the dream as clearly as she does.

04. Platonic love.

Pyore cried with Kuon Sheena for her boyfriend, wept and gave her little girl kisses and wrapped her arms around her. “I’m here for you.” She said bravely, sharing in the grief she imagined her sister felt. “I’m here.”

Kuon Sheena rested her head on her hair and closed her eyes, smiling. Demon or no demon, the warmth of the little girl body against hers drove doubts away.

05. Traps.

A slender girl, with pale skin and copious amounts of glossy black hair. Truly lovely, with a sweet smile and gentle eyes, laughing as she carefully counted out money to the vendor, and gathered up her fruit. “Thank you.” She told him, and collided with a solid body as she turned.

“I’m sorry.” A cultured voice said softly, and long fingers curled around her wrist, tugging her up as she gasped and nearly fell. “Clumsy of me.”

Kuon Sheena smiled as she looked up into Death’s eyes.

06. A deadly sin.

Lust, Kitchel muses as she turns away from Thatz’s profile across the room to smile at her target. If she approaches him now, he’ll lose *his* target. She smiles at the man. “Shall we do business?”

Greed, Kitchel thinks as she sees the shiny treasure that Thatz holds, then his too-casual face. She takes it out of her hand and sets it down on the table so she can press her mouth and body to his.

Gluttony, Kitchel considers as she tiptoes past the truly delicious looking feast, her fingers itching to get on the delectable pile of treasure sitting a few rooms away.

Anger, Kitchel hisses in her mind as she darts past the man shouting insults and swinging fists at her to leap for the window, bread tucked under her arm.

Envy, she growls through mental gritted teeth as she hauls the whore off Thatz and meets the challenge in his glittering eyes with a smirk.

Sloth, she wonders about as she pushes herself out of the hammock to saunter past the rich man and lady with their jewels, indulging his shameless stare as she indulges her urge to take his money purse.

Pride she ponders as she swings one long leg over her bed and watches Thatz dress. He’s leaving and she won’t stop him, but neither will she protest when he comes back again. Maybe this is an insult to her pride. He looks over his shoulder to raise an eyebrow and she grins, openly ogling him.

Maybe it’s just a pleasure.

07. Origins.

Tintlet in his bed, lips soft and warm and body willing, fingers cupped around his bicep and head tossed back, eyes closed as he pressed his mouth to her collarbone and shifted fractionally; hissed. He can’t ever imagine being without her and he tells her so.

She smiles at him as the dream ends, and Rune stares up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. *Wait.* He tells himself. *Just wait. Someday.*

08. Rejection.

Cesia held her breath, heart pounding in her ears as she watched Rath’s too-still body. But the chest didn’t rise, the breathing didn’t begin.

She wakes screaming, and her lover’s kisses comfort her as she runs her fingers through the white streak in his hair, trails them over the seamless place on the neck where, in another body, a sword once went through.

She knows it’s just a dream, and she endeavors to keep from sleeping the rest of the night.

She succeeds, but neither of them mind terribly much.

09. Haunting past.

Raseleane dreams of Nadil sometimes-the honed blade of seemingly lazy cruelty in his eyes, the feel of his skin. The sound of his laugh, so effortlessly enticing.

She wakes sweating and shivering from these dreams, and names them nightmares to Lykouleon’s knowing eyes.

She is almost certain he understands better than she likes.

10. Transparent feelings.

“You know,” He said once, propped on one elbow, sleekly naked and muscled, eyes thoughtful from beneath lowered lashes. “I knew from the beginning.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate.

Kitchel didn’t need knowledge. She didn’t need reassurance. She didn’t even need him to love her in return, or for him to acknowledge that love. She needed the burning pressure of his mouth and the physical aspect of love.

She wanted the sweet memories while she could still have them.

In the beginning it had mainly been fueled from adrenaline and opportunity. They were friends when they weren’t rivals or enemies, when she hadn’t stolen from him for a while, or sometimes when she had. Their relationship was tempestuous and confusing even to themselves.

She gave up a catch she could have made for a night laying beside him on a grassy hill, not speaking or making love, simply staring at the sky, his hand a solid presence on her ribs, above the steady pulse of her heartbeat.

But that was in reckless days when she grasped at the heady sensation of the moment, never sure if she would live another day, and now she works for the side of good, though really it just means stealing for more powerful, more enigmatic people.

Nevertheless, she still dreams of his heat.

11. Emotionally Shattered.

Raseleane, Dragon Queen, loves her King.

She loves him almost desperately-loves his patience and his strength, the glitter of his eyes and the slow curl of his smile, infinitely knowing. The gentle heat of his love and the intensity of his passion.

And they were so, so happy.

Then the Demon King came and shattered everything, gathered her up and laid his curse, his mark on her, and she never hated anyone so much in her life. It is a slow steady burn in her stomach, at times flaring up almost unbearably.

She sees his mark in others-the flare of terror in Cesia’s beautiful eyes, the bitter rage in Rath’s every movement though that is perhaps less Nadil’s fault than a thousand other contrasting factors, the despair that builds in everyone.

And the man she loves is dying, was dying in her arms as she wanted to weep and scream and beat her fists on the marble. Instead, she cradles his head, and closes her eyes. “I love you.” She says, for the thousandth time.

He smiles the smile she’s loved since the first time she ever saw it, and she doesn’t need any words.

As he closes his eyes and she is pulled away, she realizes, maybe for the first time, that this is war.

13. Flavor.

Rim Kaana doesn’t really like being in love with Rune.

It is a pleasant feeling but she can’t be sure that it isn’t *Tintlet’s* pleasant feeling and that very much disturbs her, making the emotion sit uncomfortably in her mind.

Rune is promises and dreams and butterfly wing-fragile hopes; she imagines him rich and slow like honey. Tintlet is bright, candy-sweet, and Kitchel is twists of brown sugar that melt in your mouth.

Thatz is something musky and earthy and disturbingly real, and the glances he and Kitchel exchange thoughtlessly, almost without realizing have the spicy scent of shared passion.

Shydeman and Shyrendora she imagines icy cool, maybe a taste more sharply bitter-sweet, and Nadil….Nadil is simple.

The Demon King is fear, and that taste is unforgettable.

Fedelta. Fedelta is where this thought train began and she really, really wants it to derail before it gets too far. Fedelta smells hot, a smoky dangerous scent like incense…but really more like the memory of blood.

Fedelta’s skin holds heat effortlessly-when he stands close to speak derisively to her, or to threaten her, the high temperature makes her skin prickle. His fingers, briefly and painfully(possessively?) pressed to the skin of her wrist, made her heart jump.

Rune is sweet, cool water and someone else’s. Fedelta is fierce, burning fire and something she will never let be hers.

15. Innocence.

Demons are bloody and violet and savage. Little of the usual romance exists between them-it isn’t, someone once said, in their nature. They are creatures made to kill.

Really. Replied his companion, a little girl with long, white streaked black hair. And where do you think little baby demons come from? Do you need to learn about the birds and the bees? And recorded conversation halted there, giving way to long-suffering silence.

Nonetheless he brings her a flower and makes a cutting remark, flattering if blunt, about how it looks against the strange purple bangs that hang over her Dragon Eyes. She tilts her head to the side, smiles at him and tugs his own white streak wordlessly, and they don’t hold hands but they go for a walk and when they come back, he’s a little rumpled and she looks like the cat that got the canary.

And she made him cake and made derisive noises about how he held the silverware, and she leaned over him to correct his grip and really the sugary kiss was worth the ache in her spine when she managed to step back.

And they held hands, occasionally, and if their grip was a little tight, a little desperate, they didn’t tell, and she would lean her head on his shoulder and they would walk almost in tandem, and in the end sometimes they couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended.

Because in the end, romance is all you make of it, and they’re used to building their own world.

14. Possession.

Demons like Fedelta, at least, do not lend themselves to traditional romance well.

But he’s branding her right now-*his*-with his mouth pressed to her skin, long coltish-girl’s legs wrapped around his waist, fingers digging into his sides, head fallen back and mouth open. She keens in the back of her throat at the preternatural heat of his skin, even through the barrier of clothing. She’s little and defiant and the long, mock-fragile bones are in his hands.

He could break them as easily as he cradles them, grip a little too rough.

But demons like Rim Kaana, even those blooming from awkward adolescence where they were infatuated with fairies and fought against the Demon Lord, don’t take to the traditional romance any better.

She moans and laughs at the same time, and draws blood with her nails as he bites her on the collarbone.

They do just perfect together.

16. Redemption.

Rim Kaana wonder sometimes if what she feels is love. Rune loves Tintlet, and Tintlet loves Rune. Rune is gentle-his hand tracing Tintlet’s cheekbones, his mouth pressed to her cheek. And Rune is passionate-his open frustration as Tintlet insists she come with him. The familiar banter of two people who know each other very, very well. The pure rage in blue, blue eyes as he moves with the intent to kill, to protect his soulmate. Tintlet is sweet-the gentle music of her rare laugh, the brittle look of the smile Rim Kaana manipulated her facial muscles to make, and the pure bliss in the smaller smile she aims at Rune’s sheepish face. Tintlet is passionate-the obstinacy in the set of her mouth as she braces herself, clings to his sleeve.*Let me stay.* The cool determination in her set face as she deflected Rim from Zoma, with a dark undercurrent of ire.

With the memory of Rune’s touch, and the knowledge of Tintlet’s mind, Rim Kaana wants to kiss them both so much she can barely breathe.

17. The Afterlife.

“If I die,” Rath asks, head resting on Cesia’s collarbone, fingers tracing over her ribs. She traces the outline of his mouth as he speaks, and he grimaces at the tickling sensation, but doesn’t stop her. “What would you do?”

She pulls his head up towards hers, and mumbles the answer around the kiss. “I would go to the land of the dead and drag you back out.” She draws back to raise one eyebrow, and smiles. The expression is soft, and she is lovely in only rumpled sheets and the thick black curtain of her hair. “Again.”

18. Racism.

rac•ism
n.
1. The belief that race accounts for differences in human character or ability and that a particular race is superior to others.
2. Discrimination or prejudice based on race.

“I’m a demon that kills demons.” Rath said with a smirk, sword against Saabel’s neck. Nadil was an unpleasant shock but not entirely unexpected and he spoke without conscious thought, feeling Thatz’s uncertain gaze on his back.

“I’m there for you, no matter what you are.” Cesia whispered to him, even knowing he was created from people who died to love him. Her lips were soft even on his forehead and he couldn’t catalogue her scent, but thought it was probably somewhere in the realm of ambrosia.

Kharl the alchemist stared at Rath with a mixture of clinical evaluation and covetousness.
You’re mine. His eyes said. “You were a horror.” His mouth said.

Fuck Nadil, he’s going in there and he’s going to rescue the woman(demon) that he loves, and he’ll slaughter each and every thing that gets in his way.

19. A natural disaster.

“The earthquake made me do it.” Kitchel told him a little later, finger tapping her mouth. At his disbelieving stare, she elaborated. “Adrenaline. Instincts and all that. Really wasn’t my fault at all.”

Thatz snorted. “Yeah. Right.”

“No, seriously.” She protested, widening her eyes and pausing to take a sip of her drink, fanning herself. They were sprawled in her bed, one of her long lean legs thrown over his hips. “I mean, come on. I have *some* pride.”

“I couldn’t tell.” He replied, and laughed as she smacked him, playfully.

“Thatz?” She asked a little sadly after a moment.

He turned his head to her, expression sobering. “Yeah?”

“Do you ever wonder….y’know…why we’re here?”

“To enjoy life.” He said a little too curtly, but his arm slid around her, wordless comfort. Her breath gusted against his skin, and he knew she appreciated it. Kitchel liked the simple things.

Her hair tickled his nose as she laid her head on his shoulder, gazing off into space and slowly rotating her wrist so the ice cubes clinked in her glass. “I like stealing.” She told him collarbone finally. “I enjoy it. I’m good at it. But occasionally it’s just like, is this what life’s about?”

He pressed his lips to her hair and turned on his side, stretching to put his now empty glass on the rickety, scarred little table by the head of her bed and shivering as she ran the backs of her fingers over his side. There was a bookshelf at the bed’s foot. A spare room, one kept for her by a grateful orphanage manager. “For you and me, maybe it is. Do you want something else?”

“Mm-mm.” She nuzzled his chest as he lay back, leaning over to press her forehead to his shoulder. “I’m happy. What I mean is-ah hell. Are you?”

“Right now?” He slid his cold hand down her spine, smiling as she hissed softly and arched, shivering. “Yeah.”

Her lips curved into a smile as she tipped her face up to press them to his.

20. Immortality.

“They say you gain immortality from your children.”

Lykouleon looked away from her, then sighed, turning back to press a kiss to his Queen’s temple. “Raseleane.” Her pale skin was incredibly soft, and she reached over her shoulder to press her fingers to his cheek.

“They do.” She insisted almost absently, ducking her head. Dark, wavy hair slid over her shoulder, and her lashes looked stark against the delicacy of her skin.

“Raseleane.” He said again, gentle as he lifted dark hair from her neck to press a kiss there, worshiping the fragile flutter of her pulse. Her head tilted back, resting on his shoulder.

“A king needs an heir.” She persisted, fingers tightening on the arm wrapped around her waist. “Lykouleon, you can’t deny it forever.”

He made a frustrated sound against her throat, closing his eyes and wrapping other arm around her. “I’m not denying anything I need.” He said gently, giving her one last squeeze before stepping back. “Raseleane, I don’t any heir that doesn’t come from you.”

She spun on him, mouth opening in fervent protest, but the words died in her throat at the look in his eyes.

“I mean it.” He said softly, and took a single long stop forward, boxing her in. There was frustration in his eyes, and his hands cupped her face, thumbs rubbing over her cheekbones, tracing the glittering path of tears. “I don’t need-want-I won’t *have* anyone but you.”

She closed her eyes. “You should-” She began, but the tears stopped.

He gave her a gentle shake. “I *should* nothing.” He responded softly, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re mine. I’m yours. Don’t get foolish ideas. I’m not giving you up.” Then, alarm as fresh tears rolled down her skin. “Raseleane?”

“I’m *happy*, you fool.” She sobbed, burying her face in his shoulder. “And I really, really shouldn’t be, because-”

His kiss cut her off.

“Because sex on a balcony is incredibly undignified.” She finished breathlessly when he let her go.

He arched one eyebrow. “Shall we remedy our location, then?”

Her laugh was sweet, clear and pure joy.

Lies - Dragon Knights - PG

2005-10-21T11:43:08Z

This is for the Dragon Knights challenge.

Author: Vuirneen
Fandom: Dragon Knights
Theme: 12 Lies
Rating: PG
Pairings: L/C
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Knights. It was created by Mineko Okhami.
Warnings: Breakups - the least honest time in someone's life
Size: 4.97 kb

It's not you, it's me.

So that's what you look like when you lie. I'd always wondered, but now that I see the face you use, I can recognise those other occassions when you lied to me. Was it to spare my feelings that one time, when you told me You look fine? Did you know how nervous I was at meeting your parents? Was it that overly flamboyant dress that turned your mother against me? She was given to snap judgements: maids fired, courtiers dismissed to foreign cities, prospective in-laws disgraced. Why didn't you back me up?

You deserve someone better.

You're not doing yourself any favours with this, Lykouleon. There's sweat forming on your upper lip, is my silence making you uncomfortable? Your face screwed up like this when I used your hands to unfurl my woolen balls. I would have been okay if you'd told me you were bored - I wouldn't have minded, but you screwed up your face and said No, I like to do this, really.

I just want to spend some time on my own.

Then why are you looking to your left and not meeting my eyes. It can't be the silence - you're weathered worse than this before. How about the streams of tears that you soothed away with your sweet mistruths:I don't think you're needy. I can't believe that I felt so safe that I cried in front of you.

I don't have the time to devote to you right now.

Well, you've been busy for the past twenty years - what's suddenly changed? I can help you, you know. Remember telling me I like that we talk about important things? I know as much about this land as you do. I can help and advise you. Lykouelon, didn't you realise that I'd planned to devote myself to you and your duty, no matter what?

I hope that we can still be friends.

Is my friendship important to you? Well it's conditional on you accepting buckets of love. I will serve you and I will listen to you, but I won't believe you. Everything's okay. I'll never believe you again, Lykouleon. I won't speak to you, except civilly. Perhaps then your heart will pang and you'll see why these lies do you no justice.

It's over between us.

If that's true then why are you still staring at my chest? What will happen when you get drunk next? I saw you and Ruwalk on that lonely night that neither of you will speak about. I was watching from the shadows and scant years later I caught an awful sense of déja vú when you whispered I don't even look at other women.

Poor Ruwalk, poor me.

There isn't anybody else.

"What about Raseleane?"

Couldn't keep that in, could I? How many times did we talk about her? How many times did I hear: She can't hold a candle to you?

We're just friends.

That smile on your face says you're lying. She has it all, doesn't she? Hips, boobs, that precious inch. I prefer smaller women. Just how tall is she, exactly?

You're a really cool, strong person.

You've seen me weeping into my cups; held my hair on my birthday; seen me crumple when my father died. How can you say that when you're trying to crush my spirit? I get how you work now. You mean You're going to have to be cool and strong, because I won't be there with with you just like I'd love to spend the weekend with you meant I'd rather go fishing with Ruwalk and I'll see you next on monday.

I know you'll be fine.

The one thing you can't do is see the future. Wishful thinking that you don't quite believe? You stopped caring about me long go. I'm sorry I was late. That day was important to me. That day was special. Your shirt was crumpled and your eyes were wild and you offered no explanation. I couldn't say anything there and then, but you soon learned how furious I was.

You'll find somebody else.

In a city where no-one touches your cast-offs? You've paraded me in front of everyone. Who is there that doesn't know? Who is there that doesn't realise how badly you treated me and how little you respected me? Who didn't snigger into their tankards on the eightieth time you said I was unavoidably delayed? Over and over and over and over.

Do you know what that does to a girl's marriage prospects? Thanks to my blind love for you, I'll be a spinstery old maid. Poor mother died dreaming of the day that she'd be invited to Lykouleon and Cernozura's Wedding. That's why she left everything to my younger brother.

I have to go.

And attend what fire? You could stay here longer. You could spend time with me when I need you. I'll be there! you'd cry and you never were. I was always left standing alone - what's the diffference now?

Proper Enunciation | YugiOh

2005-10-20T02:32:41Z

Title: Proper Enunciation
Author: twhitesakura
Fandom: YugiOh
Characters: Ryou, Yugi
Themes: 11 Masks
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own YugiOh.

Ryou is a exchange student from that most exotic of places: England.

20 Themes for Naruto - PG

2005-10-16T14:46:07Z

this is the last one i'm posting! i swear! >_>;; off-site link.

Title: Naruto 20 Themes
Author: jan
Ratings: G - PG
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto-sensei, not me.
Naruto 20 themes

Dreams - Dragon Knights - PG

2005-10-05T12:37:49Z

This is for the Dragon Knights challenge.

Author: Vuirneen
Fandom: Dragon Knights
Theme: 02 Dreams
Rating: PG
Pairings: R/T
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Knights. It was created by Mineko Okhami.
Warnings: I can't think of a summary. One word says it all, really.

Size: 5.62 kb

In his dreams, he's not alone: everything's quiet, perfect and unchanging. He wakes up in the same bed and falls asleep in the same, soft arms. The forest is their bedroom and the leaves are their blankets, the branches shelter them. In his dreams, they rarely speak: they follow their own paths, playing with fairies, making clay jugs and weeding stubborn plants, but whenever he raises his head he can see her; whenever he raises his head she comes running; and whenever he raises his head, he falls backwards shortly after, falls backward in the welcoming and warm drift of leaves. Then everything else disappears and it's just the two of them, one person, again.

In his dreams, gold is edible; whatever flavour you crave rocks your tastebuds and squeezing a gem spurts out the tangiest juice. Piles of jewellery are riches to the tongue as well as the wallet and he can't keep himself from eating half his horde. Crowns, after bracelets, after necklaces, after brooches slide down his gullet and into his stomach. He cries when he sees the three treasures, greatest marvel of the Dragon Tribe - he can't help it; he knows that he won't be able to hold himself back and he devours them. Oh god, the taste! The richer the object the more intense the flavour: these three marvels send shivers rippling up and down his body: Chocolate, raspberry, blueberry, cinnamon, thyme, chilli, then the new flavours, silver, gold, platinum, emerald, ruby, the ripples pulse on and on and on and he wails and moans because nothing will ever taste this good again.

In her dreams, she's fixed. She lives in a small house and though it's empty right now, it'll fill with noise when her children come home. Her life is hard, but she's happy to clean and to cook, as the smiles on their faces make everything right. The pain that throbs in her heart disappears when even one angel whispers "Mommy, I love you."

In his dreams, he's free. He can't remember his past or his name, but there's an open plain in front of him and though he's been running for hours, he's not tired and he wants to race on. A wolf joins him and he laughs. He eases up the pace, so as not to lose it, but it still tires long before he does. The plain gives way to the ocean and he dives into it, not bothering to breathe, marvelling at how easy it is. A turtle offers him a lift and he grabs on, laughing and laughing and laughing.

In his dreams, his home is filled with people: people who loved him, people who disliked him, people who hated him and people who obeyed him. He knows that something is wrong, something is missing, when he stops to pet the white dog, but it's not important now, because a friend he hasn't seen in a long time is calling to him. Why has it been so long since they've met? They share the same home.

In his dream, someone's singing. He can't make out the words, but he's scared somehow. It's dark and he's not sure what's going on. He turns around: his siblings are playing without him and he runs to catch up.

In her dreams, it's quiet. The book on her desk is unopened, but a pen stands urgently beside it. She shuns them and runs out through the window. It's spring and the flowers are blooming. In ten minutes she has to go to her first dance and she hopes to meet the handsome prince there. Tonight, the party is for her and she is the centre of attention.

In her dreams, everything means something. She hates to sleep, because she knows that her dreams will be interrogated in the morning. The world of symbols is arrayed about her, disguised in plants, flowers and hair that can't be brushed. She tries again. The lord is waiting for her beyond the door, but she can't talk to him until her hair is alright. A tooth falls out and she bends down and picks it up. She pushes it back in and grinds it down. Tonight, she will meet the lord. Her hair grows wilder. Tonight she will open the door.

In his dreams, it's always sunny. He waits for rain, the gardens need it, but somehow they thrive in dry air. Even the corn stands tall and proud. He sweeps the floor of his simple home and sits in his rocking chair. The fields grow around him; it's as if they don't need his help, so he sits and rocks and takes it easy and the world of important people passes him by, unheeded.

In his dreams, it's always cold. This is the season where it all goes wrong. This is the season where it's important to make a difference. He stands at the door, pulling the clothing from strangers, but he can't find the one he's looking for. He can't find the one that needs his help. He'd go alone, but he doesn't know the way.

In her dreams, she's truly lonely. Every door she knocks on goes unanswered and every house she breaks into is empty. The fires are lit and the food is warm, but they must flee before she gets there. She steals a ransom in gold and then leaves it at the next house. Gold is heavy and cold and slows her down. If she keeps searching, she's bound to find one that's not fast enough to get away. She's bound to discover what's happening; where everyone's going and join them.

In her dreams, she's not alone: the forest is quiet and unchanging, as it was before. There's no water, anywhere, no streams or lakes and there are no people, but her and her lover. The forest is their mother and their father. The forest keeps them safe. When they grow tired, they fall into its arms and everything disappears and it's just the two of them, one person again.

Here, There, and Everywhere; Samurai Deeper Kyo; PG

2005-09-28T02:22:26Z

Title: Here, There, and Everywhere
Author: Rui (tnarcheska)
Fandom: Samurai Deeper Kyo
Themes: All. XD (I finished all at one go.)
Rating: Overall...PG
Pairing: Various. (But I'll be cutting each theme according to the characters or pairings involved.)

This is an amateur effort and does not intend to infringe on the rights of Kamijyo-sensei and his associates.

1. the places in between

There are two souls in him, and Kyo can no longer tell what lies in between them. During that fight with Shinrei...was that concern for the girl his own or somebody else's?

2. touching me, touching you

Sometimes, when he saw his reflection in the water, he could almost imagine the fleck of blue in his crimson eyes. Kyo placed his fingers on his cheek. The Kyoushiro in the water did the same.

When he reached out for his reflection, there was only ripples though.

3. real or not?

How do you tell if something is real or not? Hotaru believes in flames. If it could burn, it must be real. Illusions couldn't catch fire, could they?

Kyo's lips tasted a little like blood. But they were cold. No matter how hard he tried, Hotaru could not make Kyo open his eyes, to show him eyes the color of flames.

Bon said Kyo was dead. But there was no fire, there was no heat. Therefore, it could not be real.

Right?

4. secret garden

This was their secret garden. The place that they used to be when they were children.

Now, Koutarou would burn the whole damned forest down if he could.

5. pride over death

This was shameful, Hishigi thought. He could only imagine how revolting he looked now, the left side of himself completely infested by the Medusa's eyes. But when he saw the look of desperation in Fubuki's eyes, the fear that he would once again be left alone, Hishigi decided that he would give up anything just to live, if that was what Fubuki wanted.

Even if it meant he had to give up his own pride.

6. domestic

Yukimura loves the smell of noon best.

"What's for lunch, Kosuke-chan?"

"Ah! It's bear stew, Yukimura-sama!"

As it always is. The familiarity of the domestic.

7. always second best

How childish, Akari thought. It was amusing how Akira and Hotaru would fight over who would be second-best, after Kyo. Bontenmaru would not say anything, self-assured in that nonsensical confidence that he would not settle for anything other than the best.

Akari had a totally different aim altogether. He would not miss this time, he thought as he tightened his grip on his staff.

He did not want to be best or second best. He wanted to marry the best.

8. tug-of-war

It was a mental tug-of-war between them, trying to see who could outlast the other.

Akira could not help but smirk when Tokito jumped off Bon's shoulders to walk on her own, obviously bristled by what he said.

The rope's on his side. For now.

9. brother, thou art my brother

Dinner among the Goyousei is always a messy affair. Saisei does not understand, of all the many pieces of roast meat they have on the table, Keikoku has to have the one that Shinrei had his chopsticks on first.

If anybody bother asking, Keikoku probably won't admit that he does so because that's what brothers do.

Isn't it?

10. fool's dream

Owning the world was a fool's dream. It seemed so typical, so cliche, so stupid to shed blood just to play God.

But Nobunaga never said he wasn't one.

11. honor among enemies

Shinrei saw the hand offered. But for a moment, he hesitated, carefully considering the implications of that gesture. Keikoku could have struck him easily while he was down. But here he was, holding out his hand patiently. Was that a smile he saw on his brother's face?

Just when Shinrei thought there might just be honour among enemies yet, the strike to his stomach told him otherwise.

Keikoku, you bastard...

12. it's all about the money

It was all about the money. Yuya could keep convincing herself of that. If only she would stop blushing whenever Kyo gave her that smirk.

13. foggy days

Everybody else in the Shiseiten hated foggy days. You couldn't travel, you couldn't rest because there was always a chance that you would be attacked. You could not even see the people you travel with.

Hotaru didn't mind foggy days though. Only that Kyo always tend to attempt to eat him alive more often on those days, when nobody could see those stolen kisses through the white.

14. identity crisis

"Oi, Keikoku!"

"My name is Hotaru!"

"Keikoku!"

"Hotaru!"

"Keikoku!"

"Hotaru!"

"Hotaru!"

"Keikoku! Eh?"

Shinrei allowed himself a small smirk. It wasn't that hard to confuse his idiot of a half-brother after all.

15. "something's wrong here..."

"Something's wrong here..."

Bontenmaru rolled his eyes at the blond boy beside him.

"Sure there is, A-hou-tarou."

How else can you explain Kyo's decision to make the Shiseiten spend a night in a mushroom farm?

16. rise or fall

Shinrei grew up with an inflated sense of pride for who he was. Kingdoms rise and fall. But the Mibu, like the gods, are constant.

17. sad but true

So long as they could still fall in love with humans, they would always end up burying a lover younger than they were. A lover who would die before they do.

This is sad, Muramasa thought as he placed a hand on his wife's headstone. But nevertheless true.

18. back the way things were

Kyoushiro looked up at the hand offered.

"Let's go back." The smile on Sakuya's face was beautiful. "Let's go back to the way things were."

He reached out for that promise. Their hands never met.

19. earthquake

He was the wielder of earth. He could bury you alive if he wanted to. But why was it that he couldn't make the earth split apart wide enough to bury his pain?

20. the end is the beginning

When they cleared aside the rubble, not knowing whose corpse they should wish themselves finding, they found them both.

Their hands were held fast by the dried blood. There was a smile on both their faces.

They met as friends, lived as enemies, and died as friends again. Life certainly do have a morbid sense of poetry.

Rejection - Dragon Knights - PG

2005-09-24T17:36:11Z

This is for the Dragon Knights challenge.

Author: Vuirneen
Theme: 08 Rejection
Rating: PG
Pairings: None
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Knights. It was created by Mineko Okhami.
Warnings: The sad story of Rath and the Dragonlord's relationship.

Size: 5.76 kb

Lykouleon looked at the small, pink mass in his arms and frowned again. He shifted the bundle around, trying to find a more comfortable way to carry it. A small squeal came from the blanket. He prised it open and looked into that grumpy face. It still hadn't cried; the squeal was the only sound he'd heard from it so far, so the baby couldn't be human. Human children wailed all the time, from what he'd seen of them. This baby was so quiet that Lykouleon wouldn't have noticed him without Crewger. The ice-demon had taken Lykouleon's sleeve in his mouth and led him to the corpse of his twin, Illuser. Enough had died, and Lykouleon would have avoided that sight if he could - another loyal servant falling because the dragon lord was too cowardly to fight the demon king himself. Resigned, he'd reached down to attempt a proper burial of the body, when it twitched. Lykouleon had jumped back, afraid that some necromancy had taken poor Illuser and turned him to evil once more, but the body didn't rise. When he had cautiously circled the body, he had seen a small, naked and bloody baby kicking the body as hard as possible.

Lykouleon didn't know how, or why, the baby had been born, but he definitely wasn't human. The dragon lord wasn't an expert on demon propagation, but the child couldn't be Illuser's either, at least, not entirely. Royal blood had many effects, it was poisonous and meant death to those who touched it, yet it had freed Illuser and Crewger from the spell that had bound them, perhaps it had also given Lykouleon an answer to the problem that now plagued his heart. Perhaps the child could take up the dragon lord's burden when he died.

But first, he had to introduce the child to its new mother... and hope that it wasn't the evil he feared, but the future for his tribe.

He pushed open the door with his foot, poked his head around it and smiled at her before following through with the rest of his body, carefully cradling the child under his cloak. Raseleane smiled. She usually carefully posed herself - her emotions were displayed artfully, like an artist arranging features on a portrait. Since her rescue from Nadil, her face was more open and Lykouleon knew that she was truly happy to be with him. They had finally started to open up to each other and support each other.

"My lord," she sighed, a pleased smile coming easily to her lips, as she came towards him, her arms wide for an embrace.

She frowned when he dodged the hug, still unsure of their new relationship, but mollified by the light playing in his eyes. Then he lifted his arms and shook aside the cloak that kept the child from her eyes. She stared at it, emotion fleeing and the painter staring before a blank canvas once more. She lifted her brush and furrowed the brow, narrowed the eyes and twisted the lips.

"How could you?" She spat the words at him. "How dare you?"

As she pushed past him, Lykouleon fumbled, but caught the child before he dropped it. The door slammed and he stared into the sullen eyes of the only hope left for the dragon tribe.

oooOOOooo

I'm a demon! I'm a big scary demon! Rawrrr!" The boy reached up on tippy toes, twisted his fingers into claws and growled at the raven-haired dragon. "I'm going to eat you."

"Will you?" said the dragon, with a grin. "Well, I'm a brave knight and I will slay you." He pounced at the boy, reached over and tickled him.

"No! No!" he laughed. "I'm a demon. You can't defeat me!"

"You're not a demon, Rath" The cold voice cut through their play.
The black-haired dragon unfurled himself and bowed. "My lord," he said.

"You can be a knight, Rath, but not a demon, never a demon!" Lykouleon shouted, marching up to the boy and towering over him.

Rath smiled. "Do you want to be the demon then?" he said shyly. "I'll be the knight and we can fight." He held out a bent stick to the stern dragon lord, who knocked it out of his hand.

"I'm too busy to play games," he said, turning away. "Ruwalk will play with you."

Rath watched him leave. The other dragon picked up the stick.

"Do you want to be the demon again?" he asked.

"No," replied Rath, flatly. "I'm a knight."

oooOOOooo

Even the dragon lord can't do everything himself," Lykouleon said, with a kind smile. "So it's important to treat people well, give them challenges and tools so that they can do their job better. Even if you want to, you can't handle everything yourself. A well-trained and loyal subordinate is worth far more than cutting your time into smaller and smaller pieces."

Rath stared out the window. Lykouleon peeked past him. The day was overcast, the grounds were empty and the leaves on the trees had yet to turn. He smiled again and walked to his pine cabinet before opening a drawer and pulling out a long, thin bundle, wrapped in a deep blue cloth.

"I had Alfeegi take this from the vault. It was my grandfather's sword and it's one of the finest blades we have," he said, releasing it from the cloth and hefting it. He ran his fingers up the blade and over the etchings on the metal. "I thought that it might be an appropriate gift for a newly confirmed knight."

He laid down the cloth and lovingly rested the sword on top of it, but Rath didn't even glance over.

"Do you want to try it out? I have some free time, what do you say? Would you take me on as a sparring partner?" he asked, his voice light, but his face strained.

"Can't, I'm too busy," Rath muttered.

The sword broke three days later.

This is the tenth theme I've written, so I'm halfway through! Woot!

20 Themes for Matantei Loki Ragnarok - PG

2005-09-12T12:15:51Z

off-site link to my webpage again, i'm afraid. ^_^;;

Title: Matantei Loki Ragnarok 20 Themes
Author: jan
Ratings: G - PG
Disclaimer: Matantei Loki Ragnarok is the brainchild of Kinoshita Sakura-sensei.
Matantei Loki Ragnarok 20 themes

Dragon Knights - Emotionally Shattered - PG

2005-09-09T10:51:12Z

This is for the Dragon Knights challenge.

Author: Vuirneen
Fandom: Dragon Knights
Theme: 11 Emotionally Shattered
Rating: PG
Pairings: Rune / Tintlett
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Knights. It was created by Mineko Okhami.
Warnings: the Dragon Knights try to cheer up a mopey Rune.

Size: 7.33 kb

It was a cyclical thing, but only a few recognised it. The first sign was Rune's long, blonde hair gaoing limp, the second was his lack of response to provocation and when he took to staring into the pool without moving, the mood, or whatever it was, was in full swing.

A full year of hectic adventuring passed before misery returned and once more Rune trudged through life, every action a burden. His wearisome sighs echoed heavily on his friends' ears.

"I'm sick of his moping!" moaned Rath, stomping up and down the corridor and throwing glances at Thatz. The green-haired thief leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

"What can we do?" he asked. "Rune'll snap out of it eventually."

"I know that," snarled Rath, "But when? He's driving me mad. Even if I avoid him, I can feel him."

"The sense of melancholy reaches out from where he sighs and soils your fun, eh?" Thatz grimaced. "I don't know if it's a mystic connection, but his moods affect me too."

"You think that Lykouleon might be to blame?" growled Rath, after stopping in his tracks.

Thatz frowned at the Fire Knight. "The Dragonlord isn't causing Rune's pain, but he might know why it affects us too."

"We'll look stupid if he turns and tells us that it's because we love Rune," said Rath, punching the wall beside him.

"You're right." Thatz coughed into his hand and blushed slightly. "I miss him when he's not around. I guess you don't realise how much someone means to you, until they leave, or are in pain. He's annoying, but Rune makes diverting the mission more challenging and that makes the loot much sweeter."

Rath frowned before raising his eyebrows and walking back up to Thatz.

"We need to look at this a new way," he said, clenching his fist. "If Rune can make us sad, then maybe we can make him feel better by having as much fun as we can!"

"I like it!" beamed Thatz. "I'll start right away in the Fighter's Club. Oh," he cried, restraining Rath with a gentle pinch on his shirt-sleeve. "Do you have any stake money? I'm all out."
"Fool me once, shame on me," replied Rath, shaking him off and walking away.

oooOOOooo

Rune was in the middle of a very good mope and about to start on a small bout of pouting, when he was scooped up from the ground by Rath and Thatz. The poor guy's feet flicked out and dropped into the cold water: Rune's reflexes couldn't save his shoes and they were soaked.

He sighed and went limp, noting the gouges in the grass caused by the weight of his feet. His kidnappers remained grimly silent, determinedly marching onwards. They hauled Rune through the gardens, into the castle itself and Rune had grown mildly curious when he was unceremoniously plonked at the head of a table in the dining room. The table was heaped with food: bowls of strawberries, thick slices of chocolate cakes, melting scoops of ice-cream, steaming pies, savoury tarts, mouth-watering spicy concoctions, sausages on sticks, jugs of rich sauces, decanters of wine, mead and fruit juices. Nervous heads peeked out through the door, lining up evenly, one on top of another, all watching Rune.

He picked at a plate of carrot sticks, ignoring the chocolate, caramel, chilli and even the caramel-chilli dips ranged about it in a semi-circle.

Thatz shook. It started as a minor vibration, almost imperceptible, but when Rune reached right over the cherry gateau to grab a stick of celery, the table quivered in harmony.

"Right, that's enough!" he shouted, reaching out to Rune. Rath took the other end and a moan from the disappointed chefs spurred them on their way.

The food didn't go to waste, but somehow, it didn't taste as sweet as it should and the party ended early, with everyone sober.

Their next stop was the sparring grounds. Rune didn't protest as Rath pressed a light, wooden blade into his hand, but it took some balancing until Rune would stand unaided: he seemed to melt into first Rath's embrace and then Thatz's. They gritted their teeth and kept at it, until he gave up.

With a nod to his partner, Rath grabbed up a matching sword and marked off three paces. He saluted Rune and launched into an immediate attack, which landed firmly on the unresisting Water Knight. Rath sprang back. Rune swayed, but stayed upright, so Rath attacked again: the blonde wavered in place, holding his wooden sword, but refusing to parry.

Rath swung in ever larger arcs, slowing down to the pace of a snail, but still Rune ignored him, standing glaze-eyed, without registering a thing that happened. Rath finally stomped up and started poking him with the tip of his sword.

"Rune? Rune? ROOOOOOOOO-un?" he cried, his prods growing stronger.

Thatz eventually stalked up and plucked the sword from Rath's hand. He shook his head and Rath nodded. They picked Rune up again and moved on.

The sword in his hand dipped lower and lower and was eventually lost when it caught on a bramble and fell from his unresisting grasp. He was hauled all over the castle again and eventually settled at yet another table.

"I'll spot you ten silver to get you started, okay Rune?" said Thatz, setting up the Game of Life.

"Ten gold," muttered Rath, as a horde of Dragon Fighters descended on the game and threw script onto the table.

"Ten gold," echoed Thatz, less enthusiastically than before. "Who's first?"

The pile of gold in front of Rune dwindled slowly, until a few lucky turns and skilful moves rebuilt it again. The other dragons groaned every time Rune's luck mysteriously turned, but his face remained vacant and his heartbeat thumped on, unchanged. His two friends eventually gave up trying to liven him up and after a fair game, Rune was left with five gold and a handful of silver.

The fighters scattered and Thatz dragged a chair up to the table, sat into it and slumped over.

"I'm completely out," came from between his hands. "All we've managed is to bring everyone else down."

Rath clapped him on the back and sat down as well.

"We've tried everything that we like to do, but what's Rune's idea of fun?" asked Rath.

Thatz snorted. "I have no idea," he said. He sat up and pursed his lips. "Um, something dull, I bet, like reading a book, or picking flowers."

"Does he embroider? Most girls like to embroider," added Rath.

Then Rune spoke.

"I'm grateful for everything you've attempted to do." Rune gave a brave smile, but pain still glistened in his eyes. "I'm afraid that you'll just have to wait."

oooOOOooo

A young man walks alone by the frog's pond. He doesn't see any of the beauty in the lilies, or notice the heron by the rushes. This man is untouched by the very thing he stares so deeply into. He's hollow at the core: nothing reaches out of there, nothing penetrates too deeply.

"Happy anniversary," he whispers to the still waters. "Happy anniversary, my sweet Tintlett." He sits down beside the water, his eyes too dry to well up anymore. "It's been another year since we were married, another year since I became a Dragon Knight and another year since you fell asleep and left me all alone."