【Ｗａｌｋｉｎｇ　ｉｎ　ｔｈｅ　Ｇｒｏｏｖｅ】

[Misc.] Drabble Challenge

Fri, 18 Dec 2009 07:21:12 GMT

_{For this meme, I was basically asked to choose ten characters and then given different prompts coupling up the characters with genres.
I did it with drabbles because tehy're shorter and easier to write; also I like the challenge of fitting an emotion ionto just one hundred words.

Fandom: Hetaleeds and Persona 4
Prompt: First Time

-

He held her, and felt the softness in her flesh. Her curves were gentler, more supple than what he was used to, and Maurice wasn't entirely sure he liked it.
'If it's any consolation,' came the sarcastic reply from beneath him – clearly Chie had seen the hesitation on his face – 'I don't want you to put that in me, either.'
'Now, now,' he soothed, bracing himself to enter her. 'We're both secure enough in our sexuality to get past this, n'est ce pas?'
'Whatever,' she grunted. 'Just get it over with so I can get back to Yukiko.'
'My pleasure.'

-

Fandom: Touhou Project (Touhou 8 Eiyashou: Imperishable Night)
Prompt: Angst

-

People don't take kindly to insects, so they didn't take kindly to her.
Except for Yuka and Yamame, but Wriggle was starting to get a little fed up with being even around them. They didn't understand dismissal, or wanting to wear pretty clothes and grow their hair long and being ultimately betrayed by how boyish their faces were.
It got more than a little depressing.
So sometimes, she would sit by herself in the glade and look at herself for long enough that she could convince herself she was a boy, a feminine one, and that made her feel better.

-

Fandom: Hetaleeds
Prompt: AU

-

'IN THE NAME OF FREUD,' came her customary (and over-theatrical) battle cry, 'I'M GONNA REPRESS YOU SO HARD!'
A shadow, leaping down from the sky! The tension from lookers by as she fell over at first, but then stood triumphantly upwards!
Psych held her magnifying glass upwards against the night sky, and posed.
'Fucking hell, do you have nothing better to do with your time?' The villain was still halfway through robbing a bank and looked incredibly pissed off, at least, until he didn't. 'I mean, I'm really sorry -'
'ENOUGH OF YOUR DISASSOCIATIVE MIND-TRICKS,' she said. 'LET'S END THIS.'

-

Fandom: Persona 4, Real Person and Candy House
Prompt: Threesome

-

'Wow,' Chie said. She stood up and walked away, more concerned with finding her clothes. 'That was boring. It wasn't even bad enough to get worked up about.'
'Shut your face up, motherfucker,' said Ken. In English, so Chie didn't even pay attention.
Yosuke brightened with recognition at the English, but otherwise had no comment; he seemed to have already forgotten the fact that they'd had sex, and was rifling around in his fridge for more beer. After all, if it had gotten him fucked up enough to imagine fictional characters having sex with him, it was pretty good stuff.

-

Fandom: Monochrome Factor and Professor Layton fandom
Prompt: Hurt/Comfort

-

'He never notices me,' Kengo murmured into the counter. Master was polishing glasses and looking uninterested; Akira wasn't here, nor Shirogane. Just Kengo with his English friend all in blue. 'I think he's getting closer with Shirogane, so…But I was the one who stuck with him first!'

He was getting notably more depressed. Luke wondered how he could get drunk off lemonade.

'I know how you feel,' he said. He reached out to touch Kengo's face. 'The person I love won't acknowledge me either.'

'Huh…?'

'So maybe we should…' he paused for a minute, fumbling his words. 'acknowledge each other.'

-

Fandom: Hetaleeds
Prompt: Crack

-

ALRIGHT BITCHFUCKS THIS STORY IS ABOUT A FINE MANLY MOTHERFUCKER CALLED CLIFTON
NOT THAT PUSSY EDMUND
RIGHT, ONE DAY CLIFTON WAS OUT PISSING OFF VEGANS
SPECIFICALLY THAT WHORE LEODIS
SO YEAH HE WAS PISSING THEM OFF BY EATING A DOG IN FRONT OF A STUDIO AUDIENCE
WHEN HE NOTICED L.C MIALL WAS IN THE AUDIENCE
SO HE CHALLENGED THAT PUSSY TO A FIGHT
BUT L.C WAS ALL 'NOOO I'M SCARED'
SO HE MOVED IN WITH HIS AUNTIE AND UNCLE IN BEL AIR, I WHISTLED FOR A CAB AND WHEN IT CAME NEAR THE LICENSE PLATE SAID
'EDMUND IS GAY LOL'

-

Fandom: Professor Layton fandom
Prompt: Horror
Warning: This won't make any sense to anyone not in Laytonchat, but I figured it was time I took the piss out of myself if everyone else is doing it.

-

I am sat at my laptop writing this when there's a noise out on the balcony. Big World 21 has mutual balconies on this side, so that's not too unusual.
It is unusual that it's so close, though. There aren't people in the rooms either side of me, so why would people be making noise on the balcony so close?
I turn. There's a figure pressed against the glass.
For a second, my heart freezes. Just stops. Then it starts to beat again, albeit erratically.
'Hi Katy,' Tom is mouthing against the glass, 'I'm the one who stole your knickers.'

-

Fandom: Monochrome Factor and Candy House
Prompt: Babies

-

'Amerikajin,' Kentaro Takahashi said. It wasn't his first word, by any means – he was on the roads to being fluent – but it did come out harshed by his absence of teeth. Kengo looked at him in mild interest.
'No, that's wrong,' he corrected. 'Japanese.'
'Blonde.' Ken waddled slowly over. Being kind of plump even for his age, this was quite an arduous task.
'I think it's because I'm an anime character,' Kengo explained. 'Though I don't know how I know. I guess my sister told me.'
Ken was too busy drooling on his leg. And thus began a superficial friendship.

-

Fandom: Hetaleeds and Touhou Project (Touhou 6 Koumakyou: Embodiment of Scarlet Devil)
Prompt: Dark

-

The light in the room dims. Psychology is very attuned to the needs of her patients, and the sad girl in the pinafore doesn't seem to like the light much.
When the air has cooled, Sakuya starts to talk. Her English is fluent, though accented.
'I took them from the villages,' she confessed. 'I locked them up. When I opened the doors to take them to the kitchens, they would beg me: 'We're human too, why are you doing this?' And I would close the door on them.'
'Why?' Psych asks.
'For Miss Remilia,' Sakuya says, and closes her eyes.

-

Fandom: Hetaleeds and Touhou Project (Touhou 8 Eiyashou: Imperishable Night)
Prompt: Romance

-

When he first met him he hadn't known that the pronoun was wrong, and that was why he had flirted. Maurice lived for flirting. Or for the result of flirting, at any rate.
'Just why is a lovely thing such a you whiling away les heurs in a place like this?'
Wriggle turned, startled from where he'd been sitting at the lake. He started to speak, but Maurice cut him off.
'I suggest – non, insist – that we leave immediately. Presumably to a hotel.'
Wriggle blinked, then did something strange with his mouth that looked like an attempt to smile. '…Okay.'

-

Fandom: Real Person and Touhou Project (Touhou 6 Koumakyou: Embodiment of Scarlet Devil)
Prompt: Death

-

One day Yosuke was so impossibly, incredibly bored that he found himself browsing the internet to do something other than write blog posts about Steview Wonder or tell his fans about animal incontinence.
He came across a shoot-em-up game. Yosuke wasn't a particularly avid gamer for anything other than Animal Crossing, but he downloaded the game and played for a bit. He actually found that he was pretty good at it!
Then he died on stage 6 over and over and shut it off, deciding that doing flower arranging or making parodies of 'art' was a better idea. THE END

-}

[VOCALOID] Merging Point

Mon, 09 Feb 2009 00:29:13 GMT

_{Title: Merging Point
Rating: PG-15
Fandom: VOCALOID
Characters/Pairings: Rin/Len
Word Count: 565
Disclaimer: I don't own VOCALOID, they're owned by Yamaha, etc.
Summary: Written for the Kink Meme. Rin/Len + bondage.

One step, two step. The way she binds him is like a dance done in perfect rhythm – but then, all of them were created for the purpose of expressing music, so maybe it's not so surprising.
Her hands flutter around his wrists, holding them fast with yards of interlocked chain, teasingly flitting over the gentle slope of his stomach, lower. She's very delicate with her work, like a butterfly. All ribbons, and sunshine, and lightness.

"Can you move, little brother~?" her voice lilts into natural sing-song when he tries to wriggle his legs free. They've undergone the same treatment, so of course, he can't move.

He swallows his hesitation and tries to look her in the eye. "N-no…"

"Good," she says. Razorblades under honey. She bites at his lips when she kisses him, and works one small, delicate hand between the juncture of his thighs – gives a little musical laugh when he gasps into her mouth.

Len closes his eyes and lets her do what she likes. He loves her with an intensity that aches through him, loves her as a sister and…and something else. Something murky and illicit. The way she loves him.
They always were mirror images of one another, after all.

"Poor little Len," she croons, running her other hand through his hair. "So lost, so confused, so naïve."

"Yes," he sighs against her closed lips. Her fingers are slim and cool, and he can feel them working the zipper of his shorts open. Then they take him in hand quite literally, and he feels his spine bend the slightest fraction towards her touch –

She lets go. He curses.

"We weren't raised to use words like that, Len."

She's stepping out of her shorts, pushing the tiny blouse over her head. Her fingers flash in and out of the locks of her hair until the ribbon falls free, and then it tumbles in a spill of gold against her bare shoulders.

"Rin?" He's scared to talk at times like this, because her temper's so volatile (and she has a knack for conjuring up steamrollers when her mood calls for it), but it has to be said. "Y…You're beautiful, y'know."

For a second it looks like she's going to frown, but she just pulls a little tighter on the chains binding his hands and ankles. He struggles against it to no avail. "That'd be because we're nearly identical, wouldn't it?"

He's not allowed to touch her when she takes him (and while their very anatomy might argue with that phrasing, Len's left in no doubt that Rin is the one in control). Instead, his hands fist uselessly at thin air while she touches his nipples through his shirt, raising them until they push the fabric into peaks.
If he's too loud with his sounds of pleasure then she bites down on his throat, his lips, his stomach. When she lets him inside her…

Len strains upwards, tears fringing his eyelashes. Just to look at her smirking down at him is enough, with those narrowed eyes that are so like his own.
She's tight, and warm, and his (for now).

thinking that
causes him
to lose control.

She kisses his forehead when he's done, smoothes the hair back and wipes his tears away.

"I love you, little brother," she murmurs into his headset.

There's a bleep as it commits it to memory, and then silence.}

[Professor Layton] ...Unsolved Even Now

Tue, 30 Dec 2008 17:27:13 GMT

_{Title: …Unsolved Even Now
Rating: PG-15; allusions to not entirely savoury pre-marital relations
Fandom: Professor Layton
Characters/Pairings: Legal!Luke, Layton. Implied Legal/a lorra lorra ladies.
Word Count: 1,439
Disclaimer: I don't own Professor Layton. Level-5 does, and they do a much better job of it.
Summary: Layton has a little talk with Luke now that he's old enough to appreciate female anatomy. Sequel-fic to An Unsolved Enigma.

A/N: WRITTEN FOR XAL because she wanted to see how a talk about girls would go down between Legal and Layton in the aftermath of An Unsolved Enigma (speaking of which, this is more or less a direct sequel so you may need to read that one first).
Ilu Xal. I'm sorry this is so late and so terribly short and random :)

"I was thinking of something, Professor."

Luke had gone to bed, and yet Luke was sat across the table in front of him.
Layton couldn't quite get used to this whole 'future London' business; while it was reassuring to have a guide in this place that was as familiar as it was alarmingly different, the fact it was a twenty-three year old version of Luke made it all kinds of headache-inducing.
Luke might have even been aware of how mindbending his very presence was. At any rate, his grin widened when Layton reached upwards to tug the brim of his own hat down – and that was upsetting in itself, that Luke grew to recognise his mentor's telltale signs of nervousness.

"Yes?" One thing that Layton could pride himself on, however, was keeping said nervousness out of his voice and general manner.

Luke leant against the chair so that it balanced on its back two legs. He was now technically defying gravity,

"We had a conversation once," he paused, seeming to relish in Layton's mounting discomfort. "About…"

"About," Layton muttered.

"Girls," Luke leant forward. "Remember?"

This was a dinner table in the inn, rather than the large wooden desk of Layton's office that the aforementioned conversation had taken place at – but they were sat in a very similar manner to how they had been just over ten years ago. It was more than a little unnerving.

Then there was the subject of the conversation itself.
Remember? Of course Layton remembered. It had nearly given him a heart attack when Luke had brought it up, and then haunted him for weeks afterward in the way that only moments of extreme regret and poor judgement can. Girls, indeed.

"Is there a point to bringing up that conversation, Luke?"

"Well, yes, actually." Luke's chin was resting in a little shelf he'd made by interlocking his fingers. Layton recognised the gesture of one of his own, and was quite disturbed by it. "I did a bit of scientific study, you see. Oh, and don't worry," he raised a hand when Layton looked alarmed, "I 'exercised restraint'."

"Luke…" Was there any way to prevent the dread from seeping into one's voice when it came to matters of women? "Why are you…"

"Well, first of all, there's one thing very definite."

The silence grew between them. Layton felt that the way he composed himself was particularly important in times like this, so he shifted his back a little straighter and tried to adopt an expression of being unfazed.
Luke's arrogant little –half-smile didn't abate.

"Jonathan Rigby was a lying little sod, is what. It's not made of plastic at all."

Layton was quite sure that he felt a blood vessel burst in his brain. Hopefully the resulting clotting would lead to a quick and speedy aneurysm and he'd never have to relive Luke saying that ever again.

"What."

"The hatch," Luke nodded his finger tapping against his chin. That sort of action would have looked more at home on an author stuck for inspiration, or a musing tactician. Certainly not a man mentioning what Layton thought he was mentioning. "I didn't try kicking Flora there or anything, but it was easy enough to deduce-"

That was one allusion too many.
Layton was sure he must be changing an interesting shade of mauve. He hoped that it didn't undermine his point too much when he said, in a low and restrained voice, "Are you insinuating that you have…known Flora?"

Luke looked perfectly at ease. "You don't really want me to answer that, but all the same… I assure you that I didn't just ask to look under her skirt."

"L-Luke-"

"It was strange though, Ms. Riddleton – her grandmother used to store our puzzles, if you remember - she didn't have any plastic there either. Or the young lady at the inn. Or even the girls in that strange shop with all the coloured lanterns outside the door. But that's not the point."

It was only when his vision threatened to leave him that Layton came to realise he was on the verge of fainting. He raised a hand(trembling, by this point) to his forehead and knuckled it against the skin there, hoping it would send a message for Luke to be quiet.
This was traumatic, of course, but Layton still thought he could repress it if he drank a strong knock of whisky and requested someone to punch him unconscious. Just about.

"I'm not sure I want to know what the point is, Luke, now I must really-"

"I wanted to compare notes with you." The worst thing about this horrible scenario was that Luke really did look the image of an earnest scholar, and Layton wasn't able to tell anymore if the expression was ironic or not. "I mean, I came to wondering – perhaps Mr. Rigby simply had a malformed idea of the fairer sex, but then it hit me! Perhaps girls, as they mature-"

"Luke, this is ridiculous-"

"-they change-"

"-refuse to believe you've devised such an – an- absurd hypothesis-"

"-it would explain the differences in urban legends though, yes?" Luke had cocked his head to one side. Layton had to entertain the thought that he was serious, as much as he didn't want to.

With a deep sigh, he tugged his hat's brim even lower. It was now almost obscuring Luke from his line of sight, and that suited Layton just fine. "I don't believe young women are ever composed of plastic at any point in their lives, my boy. Perhaps in the future at some point, when we all have jetpacks and handheld phonesets and what-have-you, but even then I believe that would require long and painful surgery."

Luke looked at him with his arms folded, then seemed to take the answer into account.
It seemed to satiate him (Thank the Lord for small favours, Layton thought) and so he nodded, tugged his own cap into place with an absent flick of his fingers, and sat forward.

"You know," he said, "That makes sense. After all, if it wasn't…organic, then it wouldn't make any sense for the tentacles to be there."

Layton had made the mistake of assuming the conversation was back on safe territory, and taken a large gulp of tea. This ended up being unceremoniously sprayed on the table in front of him.

"You see, I read this wonderful lost volume of works by H.P Lovecraft; it's all erotica, you know, and so I thought as preparation-"

"Luke, s-stop talking, please-!"

"And just because I've not encountered them yet doesn't mean that-"

"Luke," Layton barked, and it took a moment for him to realise that he had gotten to his feet; and indeed, raised his voice and lost his composure.
That was a sobering thought.
He sat back down and forced himself to take another sip of tea. "Luke."

"Yes?" Luke was looking lightly baffled, as if he'd expected Layton to embrace his theories and 'research' with open arms.

"How did…" He went to say Flora and couldn't. "How did the young ladies react to your…ah…"

"Technique? Oh, wonderfully!" Luke smiled and nodded.
It was disturbing how very like an overeager little boy he still was, even in this stage of his early twenties when he should know much better. "It said in the Lovecraft book that they should make a lot of unearthly noises, and they did. Though," he paused, his head on one side, "all of them did slap me and say something along the lines of - and I quote from Ms. Rebecca of London Inn here – 'Come near me with that thing again and I'll rip it off'."

Layton made a noise that was halfway between a moan and a sob. He picked up what remained of his tea and downed it in one slug, because after all, even whisky couldn't offer any solace against what he'd just heard; and then he stood and made to leave the room.

"Professor?" Luke's voice was indignant as he stepped out into the hallway to follow him. "Professor, you're really being awfully immature about this. This is science."

"Oh, quite, dear boy," Layton replied as he started up the stairs. "In fact, I'm going against all my prior morals and telephoning the local comprehensive to inform them that I support their latest proposition. Especially seeing as it will apparently benefit most of the female populace of London."

Luke followed him even to his bedroom door, looking both agitated and confused. "And what proposition is this, Professor?"

"Sex education in schools," Layton said, and promptly shut the door in his face.}

[Professor Layton] An Unsolved Enigma

Mon, 28 Jul 2008 10:38:57 GMT

_{Title: An Unsolved Enigma
Rating: PG-12; schoolboy discussion of girls
Fandom: Professor Layton
Characters/Pairings: Luke, Layton, Flora. No pairings.
Word Count: 1,394
Disclaimer: I don't own Professor Layton. Level-5 does, and they do a much better job of it.
Summary: Written for the Fic Exchange at professorlayton, for linjeec's prompt of 'Layton clears the subject of women up for a perplexed Luke.'

A/N: YES THIS IS VERY LATE orz. All my time got swallowed up in This One Other Fic, and it's in between bouts of writer's block for That One Other Fic that I finally got this done. I'm so sorry! I hope it's at least slightly enjoyable ^^;
Also SECOND TIME I'VE USED LUKE'S RANDOM CLASSMATE, hurray.

Luke knew that he was clever. Clever, not in that he was a good student – before he’d started following the Professor around, he had a reputation as being rambunctious and loudmouthed – but in that he was good at working things out. He excelled in maths and science and word problems.

So really, it came as a surprise when he wasn’t able to apply the same processes to everyday life. There was one problem in particular that flummoxed him every time.

That problem was girls.

Luke went to a boys’ orphanage and a boys’ primary school. He knew what girls were, of course, because he saw them in picture books and in the grocery market. They were very like boys, with a different chest and longer hair. Jonathan Rigby from the year above had confided in Luke that girls were even more different ‘down there’.

“Different?” Luke had been intruiged.

“If you kick ‘em there,” Jonathan had said, “it doesn’t hurt ‘em. They’re made of plastic, and when they’re gonna have a baby it opens like a hatch.”

He’d thought about asking the Professor about that hypothesis, but for some reason it didn’t feel quite right. The Professor was well-knowledged on all aspects of critical thinking, but Luke had a sneaking suspicion that he didn’t know very much about girls at all.
Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if girls were a big, important part of life. Luke was going to grow up and study archaeology and be a Professor, just like Professor Hershel Layton, and girls had nothing to do with that at all.

So when Flora had moved in with the Professor, things had gotten a little uncomfortable. It seemed a bit strange to barge in uninvited if Flora was sat at the table, and even stranger if he passed her on the street on the way to the building. She was almost always surrounded by a crowd of other girls, laughing at their jokes and talking about things.

Sometimes she’d notice him walking past and wave. If he waved back, the other girls in the group would giggle. If he just stared at her instead, she would flush bright pink and look annoyed, and the other girls would chorus ‘oooooh!’ with their hands clasped together.

He disliked the giggling and he disliked the ‘ooooh’s, but more than anything he disliked not understanding why they did these things. If he ever saw Layton on the street (which he did, a lot) and waved to him (which he did, and very enthusiastically) then Layton would smile and wave back, and any other surrounding men would nod at him in acknowledgement, and that would be the end of it.
That behaviour was logical. That behaviour made sense.

After a few weeks of this puzzling treatment he decided to ask the Professor about it. Flora was out at a cookery class, and so Layton was alone when Luke opened the door to his study.

“Professor?”

“Luke, it’s good manners to knock.” Layton was reading a newspaper and looking utterly unpreturbed by the fact a schoolboy had wandered into his study without any assistance.

“Sorry.” Luke swallowed. “I…um. I wanted to ask you something, Professor.”

Layton folded up the newspaper and turned towards him, his eyebrows raised. “Is there a problem, dear boy?”

You could say that.

“Well..” Luke sat himself down at the table and rested his feet on his school satchel. “It’s about…girls.”

The newspaper lowered a few inches, so that Layton’s eyes could fix upon Luke’s over the top. They were bright, alert and…slightly alarmed.
Luke swallowed and searched for a little while to find the words for his question.

“Are you…” It was Layton’s turn to swallow now. Luke hadn’t noticed initially, but the elder man was looking uncharacteristically flustered; his hair looked a little tousled, and he was tugging agitatedly on the brim of his hat. “I mean, that is to say, dear boy, have you been experiencing…ah-feelings? Around the ladyfolk?”

Feelings? Luke blinked rapidly. Well, that all depended on whether you classed ‘confusion’ as a feeling. By its most simple definition, it probably was. “Well, I guess…”

Layton murmured something under his breath that sounded very much like ‘Good lord’. He tucked away the newspaper onto a nearby table, and placed his elbows on the table infront of him – threading his fingers together to create a little rest for his chin. He faced Luke with a look that seemed a lot more serious than a little conversation about women should require.

“You are very young,” Layton started. Luke noticed his voice was shaking. “Your parents should be…Should have been…the ones to tell you this, but I suppose…”

Luke was getting intruiged now. Perhaps there was a deeper motivation behind the giggling and the ‘ooooh’s, something diabolical that you had to be told about.

“As boys become older, they begin to…change,” Layton was saying. That didn’t make much sense in the context of the conversation; it was Flora and all the other girls that were acting so bizarrely, not Luke himself. “They begin to notice women around them. No matter how logical the mind, no matter the will to concern the self with nothing but riddles and scientific endeavors…Women, Luke, they become…apparent.”

Luke thought about this. Well, they were awfully apparent when they were giggling at him. He nodded, smiling, though he was starting to wonder why the Professor was looking so bothered by it all.

“In times like this, it’s easy to become…swayed, by these feelings about women and their…well, their…bodies. But I must remind you Luke, that goading women into fulfilling these…” A sharp intake of breath. “..urges, is the very pinnacle of ungentlemanly behaviour. You must exercise restraint, my boy.”

“I don’t understand,” Luke said, because he didn’t.

Layton groaned and slumped a little further.

“I mean, is this why they’re always giggling at me? And if I wave they giggle more, but if I don’t they get annoyed? Professor?”

There was a momentary silence as Layton lifted his head to look Luke in the eyes. “Do you mean to say that your question is about the illogical behaviour of women?”

“Well…yes.”

“Of…of course.” Layton seemed on the verge of dying from sheer relief. “Still too young…Of course, my boy…I mean…Yes. Women. Their behaviour. Well, my boy, that’s quite a fascinating puzzle in itself, perhaps even one without any one true answer-”

“Hang on a minute.” Luke tended to hold himself in check when talking with the Professor – he was the only adult he revered to a god-like degree, and interrupting him was normally out of the question – but his curiosity had been piqued. “What were you talking about?”

“Why, women, my dear boy.” Layton smiled, but Luke noticed how strained the man’s eyes were.

Suddenly, Luke realised. Of course!

“Is this about the hatch?”

Layton reacted as if Luke had uttered something about crucifiying his mother and bathing himself in her blood. He made an urgent move to stand up, then thought better of it and ended up banging his shins against the table. He fell back into his seat, spluttering, “Hatch?!”

So maybe that wasn’t a good idea. Jonathan Rigby clearly had no idea what he was talking about.

“That is…Luke, I…Where did you…” Layton paused for a moment, then got himself under control. “That is incredibly vulgar terminology, Luke. I think we’ve talked enough about girls for today, my boy.”

“But you haven’t told me why they giggle so much,” Luke protested, but weakly. He could tell the Professor was growing near to a breakdown, for whatever reason. He grasped for another topic – anything - “And I had another question.”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to work out how many weekends my birthday will fall on in the next ten years.” Sometimes, Luke was glad that he was good at working things out. What conversational topic was most likely to dissuade the Professor, for example. Just as he predicted, Layton’s face broke into a grateful smile and he nodded.

“Well, Luke, that really is just a matter of simple math – you see, the dates follow a set pattern every year, although of course we have to factor in the presence of leap years…”

Luke decided that logic puzzles were a lot more fun than girls. Who'd care if he didn't understand them?
It wasn’t like you got picarats for decoding women, or anything.

-}

[The Gemma Doyle Trilogy] Transitory

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 23:54:05 GMT

_{Title: Transitory
Rating: PG-12
Fandom: The Gemma Doyle Trilogy; set after the last book.
Characters/Pairings: Ann, Tom, Charlie, OC. One-sided AnnxTom.
Word Count: 1,037
Disclaimer: I don't own The Gemma Doyle Trilogy; that belongs to Libba Bray. I'm just playing in her sandbox.
Summary: Ann reminds herself that singing is enough, because she's happy now. Of course. Written for a friend.

A/N: I've been meaning to write this since I finished the series. :') My good friend Faye and I have debated long and hard over how much of an emo lolcow Ann is, bless her. So here it finally is, a little tiny glimpse into Ann's CONSTANT YEARNING FOR TOM who she will never have.
The name Tom seems to be popping up a lot lately.}

When she steps off the stage, she catches his eye in the audience. She looks away immediately, of course, because she recognises him. She doesn’t look long enough to tell if he recognises her or not.

She can’t tell which would be worse, because he doesn’t acknowledge her in the slightest.

Ann retreats into the dark gloom of backstage. She is strictly small-time at the moment, part of a chorus group, nothing special. She can blend in. Blending in is rather like a comfort blanket, to tell the truth; she’s not cut out for standing out.

So you can imagine her alarm when he follows her.

Her breath is tight in her chest, the beat of blood in her temples steady and strong, her lips dry. She forces herself to squash the hope down flat deep inside her, because there is no way that he can be here for her – not pasty, plain Ann Bradshaw.

She hopes, all the same.

Ann watches him in her dressing-table mirror. Why is he here, anyway? He stands out amongst the straggling crowd of fathers and husbands and stage-hands. He’s younger, for one thing.

And more attractive.

Her cheeks flare bright with the presumptuousness of that. How dare she? She ought to ignore him completely. What right did she have to peer at him?
She had her singing to preoccupy herself with now. She should just finish brushing herself up and leave.

He’s still standing there. His eyes glide over her for a moment, meet hers in the mirror, and then dart away. Ann’s left feeling flushed and cold, the strange paradoxical sensation of absolute embarrassment. Of being rejected.

“Can I help you, sir?” Mr. Smalls has crossed the room to where Tom Doyle is standing watching her. There is a disguised knife-edge in his voice; Ann realises that he thinks Tom is a…a pervert, or something, come to watch the girls after their performance.

Tom smiles disarmingly at him. “I’m waiting for Ella Gregory.”

Ann’s heart leaps into her mouth and stays there, sour and bitter. Ella Gregory is another girl in the Merry Maidens musical; a soprano soloist with dark hair and dark eyes and a petite heart-shaped face. Her father is the Count of some part of remote England.

“She’s in a talk with her parents. She should be done in another twenty minutes.” Mr. Smalls nods at him, but then he turns to look at Ann in questioning. At least, Ann thinks, at least he doesn’t look pitying.

“Are you coming out to the foyer, Ann?”

She swallows, recognising that he is giving her a way out. Tom is looking at her again, one eyebrow raised.

“In a minute,” she says.

Mr. Smalls frowns, but doesn’t pursue it. He leaves her alone in the backstage room, reminding her to come out when she’s finished.
She and Tom are alone. The silence grows thick and pregnant between them, until she clears her throat and seizes the reins of her courage.

“How is Gemma?” It’s a weak question. A garden party sort of question.

“Still in America,” he replies. “How is the Russian nobility line?”

It’s a well-aimed remark, and it hits where it hurts. It’s a mark of how far she’s come that she is able to grit her teeth and smile at him, her plain face forced into a genial smile. “That isn’t fair.”

“I think you should be in the foyer,” he says pointedly. “Ella and I are courting, you know.”

“I gathered.” Her smile is like ice. “Is she rich?”

“’That isn’t fair’,” he mimics back at her, but his glare falters. He looks vulnerable for a moment, and she feels a sharp stab of something in her chest. Something like the remains of schoolgirl affection. “You’re very like Gemma. That’s not a compliment, Ms. Bradshaw.”

“Really?” she smiles at him, and gathers her things. “I’d quite like to take it as one, if that’s all right.”

His eyes widen a little. Satisfied with herself, she turns on her heel – and nearly trips over Ella Gregory, who has just emerged from one of the side-doors.

“Oh! Ann!” she squeaks, and glances across at Tom. “Why are you-”

“Just leaving,” Ann trills in a horrible parody of her own voice. She swans out into the foyer, feeling the bright heat of their eyes on her back.

-
Later, she is alone in her rented room.

She looks at herself in the mirror of the bathroom, and some of the old despair comes welling up.
Her skin is clearer now, and she has learnt to take care of her hair from Felicity, and she has lost weight. But there is no spark in her features, no wild sensuality that makes her captivating in the way that Ella is captivating. In the way that Fee and Gemma and Pip are captivating.

There is a small pair of bathroom scissors in the cracked mug next to the mirror.

Ann looks at them with glassy boredom.
It would be a little too easy to slip into that particular habit again, wouldn’t it? She thinks of Ella and Tom together in the back room of the local theatre, and it is almost like her fingers reach out of her own accord before she catches herself.

No, Ann. No.

She tries to console herself with the singing.
She still has her singing. Mr Smalls - Charlie- has taken her to the side recently and told her that he thinks her voice is something incredible. As far as she knows, he hasn’t said that to Ella, no matter how many solos she manages to secure.
That helps ease the pain a little.

Ann rests her knuckles on the sink and closes her eyes against the sight of the scissors. Sometimes things are hard. She knows this. Sometimes you have to work harder than the other girls to obtain what you want, want you need. She knows this, too.

Sometimes, other girls win anyway. That’s what she has difficulty with.

She falls asleep dreaming uneasily of Tom, with the subconscious knowledge that he is probably entwined intricately with Ella but a few rooms over; his fingers curled in the dark ebony of her hair.

[Poem] Coleridge

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 15:37:15 GMT

_{Title: Coleridge
Fandom: None; Original writing
Word count: 263
Summary: An English lesson.

A/N: I'm not quite sure what I think of this. I like it, in a way, but I prefer poems that rhyme :(;
But I think if I forced this one into a rhyme scheme it'd make it hypocritical somehow, so... anyway, here you go.

It was a Thursday with Ms Flynn,
English Literature 101.
She told us to take a scalpel from the pen drawer, and then we’d begin.

The specimen was a tiny thing,
Laid all bare like that on the operating table
While I and my classmates watched her, open-mouthed.
If we were unable, said Miss, to cope with deconstruction
Then there is the door. Don’t cause a disturbance.
Just leave.

I recognised the specimen, and a few others too.
From lazy afternoons when the summer holiday
Was forever, and we sat with our storybooks out on the grass
She’d visit us. She was smaller, then. Less complex.
She was called Poetry.

“You can go first, John.” John was me.
I walked up to the table and faced Poetry.
“Tell me what you think the first verse means.”
So I did.

We dissected her together, piece by piece.
The nouns first, then the delicate lists of adjectival nerves
Her structure, her form, her language.
We debated her father, and how he took opiates,
And what effect that had upon her birth
We talked of her deformity—
the last line and how it didn’t match.

She’d looked beautiful at the beginning.
But the more we dissected, the more flaws we found.
Her rhythm, the skeleton, was improvised
And that striking last line seemed tacked-on
Like her father was rushing to finish her,
And when we finished taking her apart
She was dead.

“Next week,” said Miss Flynn, “we start novels.”
And so we filed out into the hallways,
Thinking of how much we hated to read.}

[Misc.] Song Drabble Challenge

Wed, 18 Jun 2008 14:59:17 GMT

_{1. Choose five different fandoms.
2. Play your iTunes in shuffle. Note down the next five songs that come up.
3. Write a drabble for each fandom, using the respective song as a prompt.

A/N: I've never tried drabbles before - those tiny little fanfics that are 100 words exactly. So I thought this looked fun. :3 Please note, the song lyrics that preface all of the drabbles (for the songs that have lyrics, anyway) are not part of the word count.}

Fandom: Yosuke Sakanoue
Song: 'Mr Tambourine Man' by Bob Dylan

'Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you

The man is smiling. He has cigarettes. Yosuke doesn't have enough English to ask for one, so he gestures. They smoke in silence.
"You from China?" The man asks.
He thinks. "Japan."
"You play?" The man points at the guitar-case spread out on the pavement. There are a few quarters, nothing more – the guitar itself is rested on Yosuke's knees.
"...Yes." He hesitates. "I am...Yosuke Sakanoue. From Tokyo."
"How about you play a song, Yosuke Sakanoue from Tokyo?"
The American has to repeat himself until Yosuke understands. He smiles. "What...is. The song you want. The song you want, what is it?"

Fandom: Professor Layton Series
Song: 'Elephant' by bôa

I'm gonna go there, I'm gonna travel, I'm gonna see my way through and
You can follow, we can go together, trunk in hand we're gonna go
Isn't it touching, the way the leaves hold the leaves into the sky
And when the breeze blows all you can see is the green and gold...

Luke loves trains. The trees speed past in a frenetic blur, and Luke watches them in fascination.
"It's so fast, Professor!"
The woman with the cart clucks at him fondly when she trundles past. "Boys, eh? I bet you were glad when you had your little girl."
Flora flinches, expecting him to say 'she's not mine' or 'I'm just her guardian'. Layton merely smiles and says nothing. Right now, she may as well be his. Luke, too. Travelling together like this, they feel like family.
Speaking of which…
"Luke, Flora. If a family has five children, and all are boys..."

Fandom: ProjectZERO
Song: 'silences' by the band apart

Clock breaks down, and there's no clue
No one ever shows there are just feelings
See someone smirking into the ground below

She plummets.
She relives every second of the last seconds of her life, that jarring feeling when her neck snaps and her head crushes uselessly against the back of her shoulderblades. She screams her last scream. She smiles as the ground rushes towards her, full of the hope that this will be liberation, this will be freedom.
This is none of those things.
It's ironic, though, being forced to relive the moments when you believed that death would solve everything. When you welcomed the fall. Welcomed the pain.
Who knew it would end like this?
Not that it ever ended.

Fandom: Harvest Moon
Song: 'The Legendary Theme (Acoustic ver.)' by C.O.I.L

As this song has no lyrics, the drabble is more inspired by the context in which it appears in the game 'Gitaroo Man'.

They always met in the vineyard. Ann was happy to oblige; she liked Cliff.
She liked the vineyard.
She liked the way Manna fussed over her, asked after her father, commented on stocking wine for the inn.
She liked how Duke told her how pretty she was getting.
More than any of that, she liked lying against Cliff while the autumn sunshine filtered through the trellis. He’d tell her about things he’d seen over the world, and the food he'd tried there.
Most of all, she liked the line that always came at the end – 'but your cooking is better'.

Fandom: Persona 3
Song: '日曜日' by 月子天野
Warning: VERY vague hints at spoilers.

悪戯な会話と
重なりあう影法師
このままこのまま路地裏で迷子になって帰れなくていいよ

"Dude, it's Sunday."
"So?"
"So...Let's go to Tartarus tonight. I'm gonna be out for a while today, but I'll be back in time."
"Oh?"
"I'm going out with Ryoji."
"How come?"
"I wanna set him up with some chick who works at Hagakure. It kinda gets to him sometimes, y'know, that I’ve got...not that Chidori is...at least, I think...Aw, man, you know what I mean."
"Riiight..."
"So lunch with Ryoji, then beating up Shadows! Awesome Sunday, right?"
"Sure."
"You know, you’re pretty weird. Sometimes it feels like you just...get your responses out of a handbook, or somethin'."
"You're overanalyzing, Junpei."

[Professor Layton] The Final Challenge

Fri, 13 Jun 2008 12:59:51 GMT

_{Title: The Final Challenge
Rating: PG
Fandom Professor Layton
Characters/Pairings: Layton, Luke, Flora, Baron Reinhold. Onesided Flora+Layton if you squint.
Word Count: 1774
Disclaimer: I don't own Professor Layton and that fact makes me cry at night.
Summary: Baron Reinhold takes the matters of his daughter's protection very seriously. Flora isn't quite sure what to think about any of this.}

A/N: The first two thirds of the fanfiction's dialogue are lifted DIRECTLY from the game, so that's owned by Level-5 too. Also, I really...don't know what I was on when I wrote this.

-

The two of them stood looking shyly at one another, in the rubble of the flying device that Layton had pieced together. The mark on Flora’s neck had faded.

‘Professor!’

Luke ran towards them, his feet nimbly skipping over charred pieces of wood and cloth. There was a tremendous grin on his face as he hugged Layton around the middle – ‘Thank goodness you’re all right, Professor!’

When he looked up at the sky, his mouth was slightly open in awe. ‘Don Paolo’s flying contraption was something else...I really thought we were done for back there.’

‘Yes, it was all quite dodgy. But...’ Layton smiled. Flora blushed slightly as he turned towards her. ‘...he also provided us with the answer to one of our ongoing mysteries. Do you remember that awful noise we heard the first time we visited Reinhold Manor?’

‘The one that spooked Claudia? Oh, so that must have been the noise.’

Luke patted the boy atop the head. ‘You’ve put it together! The racket was likely Don Paolo’s contraption making a crash landing. If that’s the case...’

The two continued to banter about approximate times and the greater ramifications of Don Paolo’s entrance. Flora busied herself with looking at her shoes, her hands clasped tightly at her chest. She still barely knew this strange man and his loud little assistant. And yet...

She was brought back to reality when the boy said her name –’Flora is the Golden Apple everyone’s been looking for...’

Flora looked up. They were talking about the treasure. Her father certainly had been wealthy...
The Professor was still talking. ‘The Baron would need to hide it somewhere only the Golden Apple would know to look.’

Luke gawped at her again. He didn’t seem to have any grasp of proper manners; she coughed, and looked irritated, but he continued to stare at her. It didn’t feel right, being glared at like that. ‘Flora knows where the treasure is hidden?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, speaking more to Layton than to the rude staring boy who assisted him. ‘but I don’t know about a treasure or anything like that...’

He gave her a charming smile – a gentleman’s smile, one might say. Suddenly, she was very glad it was he who had breached the tower before anyone else. ‘Let’s head back to Reinhold Manor one more time. I suspect we’ll clear everything up there.’

Aware her cheeks were feverishly warm, she nodded.

~

‘Professor, do you really think the treasure could be located here?’

Luke’s shoes were muddy. Flora knew they should be focusing on greater things at the minute, but at the moment the greatest thing to her was how this little boy was leaving dark footprints all over the floor of her familial home. She clasped her hands together tighter; so tight that the knuckles began to squeak.

‘Look closely at this painting, Luke.’ Layton’s voice was therapeutic in its smoothness and clarity. Flora focused on that, instead. ‘I’m sure it holds the key to the Reinhold fortune.’

‘But I’ve already looked at it,’ retorted Luke. Flora was beginning to think Luke was a manner-less little guttersnipe.

‘If we solve this mystery, Luke-’ how did the Professor always sound so patient, so charming? ‘-I’m certain we’ll come face-to-face with the Reinhold treasure. Touch the painting where the Golden Apple is hidden.’

Flora almost spoke out of turn, in protest. Luke had shook her hand before; his hands definitely weren’t very clean, almost like he’d been digging around in grimy old jars or something. She didn’t want someone like that touching her painting!

Luke stood on his tiptoes to get a better look at the painting. He tapped his chin for a minute with one finger – that was slightly endearing, Flora admitted, like a Layton in miniature – and then smiled in satisfaction. ‘I think I’ve got it!’

The tip of his finger rested on the bodice of the Flora-painting. Flora felt herself pinkening all over, and she hid her face in her hands.

‘Now, Luke,’ Layton said. ‘It’s important to be a gentleman.’

Flora gave a half-moan behind her cupped hands. Luke laughed – the nerve!- and mumbled, ‘Just kidding, Professor. I remember now, it’s right here.’

He pressed the section of the painting where her birthmark was, and all three of them heard a resounding click of an unlocking mechanism. ‘Aha! A switch!’

‘The switch seems to have activated the wall,’ Layton nodded.

The wall gave way to a small but brightly-lit walkway. The trio stood looking at it for a moment, a little perturbed by it.

‘To think that Reinhold Manor held the secret behind this painting all along,’ Luke breathed. ‘It looks like there’s a passage that leads farther in.’

What genius, Flora thought savagely to herself. I can certainly see why you were picked as an apprentice.
‘Oh,’ she said aloud. Some things were best left unsaid.

Layton took her hand. ‘Let’s see where this passage goes.’

~

The chamber behind the walkway was impossibly large. Flora could almost feel her eyes expanding, attempting to drink more of her surrounding in – gold, bars of it, coins of it, jewellery made of it. Everything as far as the eye could see was glittering and beautiful. She knew her father had been rich, but this...this! This was something else!

‘Oh my goodness, look at this place!’ her voice came out high and breathy. She felt wound up so tight she could scarcely draw breath – and for once it had nothing to do with the fact she forced herself into a corset every morning. ‘I had no idea...’

‘Now how in the world did you know that the switch was hidden in the painting?’ Luke was fixing Layton with a questioning eye.

‘Listen closely, Luke.’ Layton was looking around the large room with a composed sense of detachment. Flora felt her appreciation for him increase; surely lesser men would have gone crazy, grabbing at anything they could lay their hands on. ‘Wisdom wasn’t the only thing Baron Reinhold required of potential guardians for his only daughter.’

Luke nodded.

‘You saw it too, did you not?’ Layton used one hand to carefully brush Flora’s ponytail away from her shoulders. She wished she would stop blushing. ‘That mark on her neck, that only appeared once she laughed...In other words, Baron Reinhold set out one last requirement for the potential inheritor to his fortune.’

‘Not quite last,’ said a voice that didn’t belong to Luke or Flora.

Flora froze. She hadn’t heard that voice in...in years. If she wasn’t mistaken...

‘Father?’ her voice shook.

‘Flora,’ said the disembodied voice of Augustus Reinhold. ‘My little Flora.’

‘Where’s that voice coming from?’ Luke was frowning and his arms were folded. Flora was getting annoyed again. This was her tearful reunion scene! Why did Luke always have to open his big mouth and ruin everything?

‘Flora, you’ve made it here at last,’ continued her father’s voice.

‘That voice...!’ She could feel tears blossoming on her eyelashes. ‘Papa, is that you?! Papa!’

‘My dear Flora, had the village watched over you as I would have?’ Typical Papa, always fussing over her protection. She loved him for it. ‘I built St. Mystere for you so that you would never have to know true loneliness...’

As her father talked to her, Flora became aware that Layton had the most curious expression on his face. It looked almost suspicious. In fact, he seemed to be murmuring something to himself, something about ‘not quite last...so there’s another challenge...?’

‘Please know,’ Flora’s father boomed, ‘that I want nothing more than for you to be happy. Whether the person by your side right now can give you that or not is up to you, I suppose.’

Flora smiled gratefully. Of course she was happy with the person next to her – she turned, expecting to beam up at Layton, only to realise that he’d wandered off to the other side of the room. Luke was stood next to her, wiping his nose on his sweater sleeve.
She recoiled and stuck her nose in the air. Boys.

‘And to you, who have found your way to my daughter’s side, you will have my heartiest congratulations...’

Layton frowned. ‘Will have?’

‘You have proven yourself an adept hand at puzzles, a kind soul who will look out for my daughter’s wellbeing. Only one challenge remains...’ the voice paused. ‘The world is a dangerous place. I want to know you are up to the task of physically protecting my dearest, only daughter.’

‘WHAT?!’ Flora, abandoning her manners entirely, looked around the room in bafflement. ‘Papa, what did you...’

A door at the back of the room swung open, revealing a towering behemoth of black fur and body mass. It was a bear.

Typical Papa. If she’d thought he’d overreacted by building a village full of robots just to keep her safe, then this definitely took the proverbial biscuit.
Flora turned towards her two companions, her eyes bright with alarm. ‘I didn’t- I thought-’

Luke was sighing with resignation. ‘Another bear, Professor.’

‘It feels like this happens every time I get called out for these sorts of requests,’ Layton nodded, his fingers curled around his chin. ‘Almost as if it’s a thinly veiled excuse to sic a bear on me. Fetch me my rapier, Luke.’

‘Right!’ Luke produced a well-crafted fencing sword out of seemingly nowhere.

‘B-but...’ Flora reeled in the background. She needed a cup of strong tea and some smelling salts. ‘This is...Your...Your specialty is puzzles, Professor!’

‘And fencing,’ Luke chirped in.

‘I’m a dab hand at archaeology too, my boy,’ Layton added.

‘He lectures at a college back home,’ Luke told Flora, in the same proud tone that a parent would use to announce that their youngest son was taking piano lessons. ‘And invented a unique blend of herbal tea.’

‘Hush, now.’ Layton was smiling.

The bear, feeling rather left-out, bellowed and made a lunge for the group. Layton took a firm grip on the rim of his hat and began to lash it away using the fencing sword, his mouth pressed into a thin line of concentration. ‘Take Flora outside for a moment, Luke. I’ll take care of this.’

‘Yes sir!’ Luke took hold of Flora’s wrist with his very unclean little fingers, but Flora was so confused and distressed that she didn’t think anything of it. The two of them sped down the walkway, the sound of steel on fur – and the accompanying moans of pain from the bear – echoing all around them.

‘This game is ridiculous,’ Flora complained bitterly.

‘Is it?’ Luke looked backwards as they ran. ‘How do you feel about time travel?’

I requested ptps to illustrate this |D
You can see the animation here.

[Original fiction] Log Out?

Tue, 10 Jun 2008 14:16:32 GMT

_Title: Log Out?
Rating: PG
Fandom: None; Original writing
Word Count: 730
Summary: A script writing exercise I did to try and build up characters using limited actions and mainly dialogue. An online conversation redesigned for the stage.

A/N: I've been working on this for a while - it's the first piece I've started writing where I actually worked on each of the characters prior to writing the text itself. I played around with where they came from - Ken was originally Italian, for instance. Think of this as an 'intro', maybe? One day I'd actually like to finish writing this as a proper story, seeing as there's numerous things I've plotted but haven't worked into this initial part (Ken's girlfriend, Sam's paraphilia...)
lol ramble ramble. Yayyyy original writing? 83;

"This is the internet.

Double-clicks and synapses. Fleeting conversations and discussion. Resources. Alibis. Business. Leisure.

This is a world.

Of course, it’s optional. You can dip your toes in the shallow waters or you can let it swallow you up. The shallow-water folk tend to be the ones with lives and friends and pocket organisers. They have places to go and people to be there with.

I said ‘tend’. There are anomalies.

I’m here, aren’t I?"

- Takashiro Ken

VICTOR EVANS is seated at a desk with his fingers rested top a keyboard, habitually, in the customary touch-type position. His back is to us, but we can see his face reflected in the eggshell-glow of the PC monitor. He is wan and sickly looking, though not unattractive – his chin is resting comfortably on his chest. We can see he wears glasses, though in this position they reflect the light too strongly. We are unable to see his eyes.

VICTOR:
(V.O) Is anyone on?

((A standard error noise.))

VICTOR:
(V.O) Is my connection okay?

VICTOR stirs in his seat momentarily, cursing a little.

VICTOR:
Piece-a crap connection.

MARIE DESCARTES adds her voice. She is not visible onscreen.

MARIE:
(V.O) We are on!

Her voice is light and gently accented with French. She is markedly upbeat compared to the apathy of VICTOR’s voice.

VICTOR:
(V.O) Hi, Paris.

MARIE:
(V.O) Don’t call me that. Verve.

VICTOR:
(V.O) Is it just you?

Two more voices are introduced. KEN TAKASHIRO, a tenor with the occasional stumbling of a language student. SAMUEL THOMAS, a native of Philadelphia with an accent to concur.

KEN:
(V.O) I’m waiting for a bus.

SAM:
(V.O) We had news, Verve. Been waiting for you. L-O-L.

VICTOR:
(V.O) Yeah?

KEN:
(V.O) My bus is here.

CHORUS (SAM, VICTOR, MARIE):
See you – goodbye – later, Ken!

((Standard Messenger EXIT tone.))

SAM:
(V.O) Mil is moving to Manchester.

MARIE:
(V.O)Got the readings of her area today – she thinks she’ll be safe there, but she won’t be.

MARIE:
(V.O)I checked out her new location and it’s (with relish) awash with activity. I’ll have to call her! Every night! Maintenant!

VICTOR:
Uh...huh?

VICTOR is now sitting up, straight, in his chair. He moves to nervously press his glasses further up the bridge of his nose; a habit that he will repeat during moments of alertness or intruige.

VICTOR:
(aloud, with V.O) Mil is coming here?

MARIE:
(V.O) She moves in at a crucial time. They’ll be waiting.

VICTOR:
(V.O) Shut up, Paris.

MARIE:
(V.O) Tsch! DASH. UNDERSCORE. DASH.

SAM:
(V.O) Her parents finalised the move. They’re good to go.

VICTOR:
(shocked) Finalised?

VICTOR stabs furiously at the keyboard while he voices over, his shoulders hunched.

VICTOR:
(V.O) When, exactly, where you going to tell me about this?

MARIE:
(V.O) Mil wanted to leave it until she got there. A wise choice, I believe. It would stop them following her.

SAM:
(V.O; slightly overlaps MARIE’s last sentence) We were going to tell you, but...

VICTOR:
(V.O) I thought you were my friends.

MARIE:
(V.O) I knew he would be like this. Interference from their input, no doubt.

VICTOR:
(V.O) Paris, shut up. Go eat a pastry or something.

MARIE:
(V.O) You are a horrible boy.

MARIE:
(V.O) It is late. Bon nuit, Samuel.

SAM:
(V.O) See you, Rie. X X X.

((Standard Messenger EXIT Tone))

VICTOR:
(V.O) I don’t like her.

SAM:
(V.O) CAPITAL D, COLON. She’s a nice girl, Verve...

VICTOR:
(V.O) I want to know why you didn’t tell me where Mil was moving.

SAM:
(V.O) She told us not to. COLON OPEN BRACKET.

VICTOR:
(V.O) But...

VICTOR removes his glasses, folds them, and places them on the desk. With one palm supporting his chin, he types. There is an expression of disdain on his face.

VICTOR:
(V.O) I mean this kindly, but I know her better than you all do. Why does Marie get to know, when I don’t? When it directly affects me?

SAM:
(V.O) Because you would have tried to change her mind.

VICTOR tenses in his seat. His typing becomes more aggressive; brief bursts of stabbing at the keys.

VICTOR:
(V.O) I would not have!

SAM:
(V.O) I have to go, Verve. See you round, maybe. COLON OPEN BRACKET.

As VICTOR types furiously-

((Standard Messenger EXIT Tone))

VICTOR:
(V.O) Can you at least tell me when she arrives?

St. Valton's Thing Day

Tue, 27 May 2008 00:45:57 GMT

_{Title: St. Valton's Thing Day
Rating: PG/12 - cursing befitting of English schoolboys
Fandom: Professor Layton (General spoilers about the end of 'Curious Village')
Characters/Pairings: Luke, Flora, Layton, Luke+Flora
Word Count: 2,300
Summary: As a part of one of their etiquette lessons, Layton teaches Luke and Flora about a national holiday. Because those are relevant when you're a gentleman or a fair lady. Especially this one.

A/N: Because seriously, I've not written any (non-Anonymous) fanfiction this long in...forever. Consider this one working off the rust. Seasonal fanfics that are out of season are my forte, y'know :B}
-

It was February 13th, and conveniently enough the date was a Saturday. Saturdays were the days where all three of them would congregate in the office at the college.

Saturdays were the days of ‘etiquette lessons’.

They had initially been a two-man ordeal; that is, Luke had come on a Friday, looking incredibly glum, and Layton had taught him manners and tea-making and use of cutlery.

“This is bloody pointless,” Luke had groused on the first day. He immediately straightened up and put his hands over his mouth, as if he could stuff the curse back where it had come from. “Sorry.”

“Good manners are a valuable and useful tool,” Layton had said. “I can guarantee you’ll make much more use of this than studying critical analysis of Dickens-“

“I like Dickens-”

“I dare say,” Layton allowed, smiling. “But people in our society aren’t going to let you discuss him if you make liberal use of the word ‘bloody’, are they, my boy?”

Luke glowered, and then hung his head. “I said I was sorry, Professor.”

As time had progressed, Luke had gotten better. As much as he complained about the futility of the lessons, every Friday he would knock on the door, regular as clockwork. They settled into a neat little routine of conversational practices, levels of formality, appropriate dress.

And then St. Mystere happened.

It was Luke who brought up the issue when they were on the way back from the town. By this point, Flora had curled up on the back seat and fallen asleep; they could hear the soft, even sounds of her breathing. A curiously relaxing sound, considering what they’d just been through.

“Professor?”

Luke was looking out of the window, feigning disinterest.

“Are we still going to have etiquette lessons, now that you’ll be taking care of Flora?”

Layton’s analytical mind was well-suited to more than puzzles. The subtext of Luke’s question rang out clear as day: Are you still going to bother with me?

He focused his eyes on the road ahead. “There’ll be lessons. Of course, Flora will have to take part too.”

Luke’s shoulders stiffened. Layton noticed the almost imperceptible flicker of his eyes towards the back seat and then back again. Then a nod.

“Alright,” he said. His voice was blasé and non-committal, and Layton loved him for it.

So the lessons had begun with Flora inclusive. They had tended to be more of the same, although he’d quickly discovered that both of his charges were on very different learning curves.

Flora, having been raised in a house of refinery, picked up her cutlery with finesse and needed no assistance whatsoever with her dressing and her manners. Luke had taken to pouting most unattractively when he had to repeat the same vocal exercise ten times that she had mastered in two, and once he’d left the room in a temper after Layton had attempted to teach them to dance.

That was a lesson best reserved until they were a little older, he supposed.

However, Flora had her own shortcomings. She’d lived a sheltered existence separate from the rest of the country, let alone the world. She’d had to be taught about Christmas and St George’s Day – and that was after she’d mastered the concept of a national holiday. She’d never taken part in formal lessons, and had to be guided through the basics of maths, science and English.
Luke had been to school and already knew these things.

One thing which Luke was not familiar with arose on the lesson of Saturday the 13th of February.

“Tomorrow,” Layton began when they were all seated in the office, “is the day of St. Valentine.”

Flora worried at the hem of her dress. Luke took a sip of his tea and raised one of his eyebrows in an expression that suddenly turned him into the world’s most precocious pre-adolescent.

“Who?”

Layton crossed the room to one of the bookshelves, and leafed through a number of volumes before resting on one page. “Two martyrs or Geoffrey Chaucer, depending on what you believe. In recent years it’s become a popular holiday for...”

He paused. Flora was still fidgeting with her dress; Luke was playing with the Klotski puzzle he’d left out on the table.

“Lovers,” he finished.

The silence in the room shattered. Firstly with a short, violent ripping sound; Flora’s fingers had tensed upon the material, and she’d managed to rip her skirt. Next came the clatter when Luke lost his grip on the puzzle-block.

“Professor!” Luke squeaked, at the same time that Flora mumbled something unintelligible – her cheeks had flushed bright pink.

With the uttering of one simple word, they’d managed to reflect their society in a way that Layton couldn’t ever hope to teach them; utter dismay and revulsion at the mention of romance.

“It’s a very tame tradition,” he said. They blinked at him warily. “It’s getting popular to send cards to the object of your affection.”

The suspicious audience seated at his table didn’t look much comforted. In fact, both of them looked across the table to each other, appeared to acknowledge that they were of opposite sex, and then moved their chairs a little further apart.

Sigh. He hadn’t predicted this when he’d taken Flora in.

“I just needed you to know,” he said, “in case you got any letters tomorrow. Shall we move on?”

“Wait a minute, Professor.” Luke put his hand up before he spoke, Layton noticed with a touch of pride. “Will Flora have to get me a-”

His sentence was drowned by a number of spluttering noises coming from Flora’s seat. Her cheeks had become a very violent shade of strawberry. “Professor, can you tell Luke not to be so presumptuous?”

“Well, I was going to get you one,” Luke mumbled pointedly. Then he added, with a touch of petulance, “I won’t bother now.”

“Well, good!” She rose from her chair, her hands clasped tightly together at her waist. “It sounds like a...Like a very silly holiday to me, anyway. I probably won’t get any letters.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and marched out. Her eyes were shining and her lips were pressed tightly together – Layton wasn’t particularly experienced with such things, but it seemed as though she were on the verge of tears. How extraordinary.

“I thought she just said it was good that I wasn’t getting her a card,” Luke said after a moment of guilty silence. “Professor, why do girls say things that don’t add up?”

Saying things that don’t add up... A very apt observation, to be sure, but-

“Speaking of girls, that reminds me of a puzzle,” he offered.

It was a chance to stave off an awkward Flora-less lesson, and Luke recognised it. His eyes lit up. “Let’s ‘ave a go then.”

“Have.”

“Sorry, Professor.”

-

When he and Luke returned home, they found the door locked. Luke waited outside while Layton checked Flora’s room – she was asleep, her hair loose and fanned out across the pillow. The handle of a paper bag was clutched in between her still-gloved fingers.

He looked at her for a moment, and then gently tugged the bag’s handle away from her. Even in her sleep she clasped at it; the slightest of frowns crossed her face.

“I’m not going to look in it,” he whispered.

She lay still again, and he was able to tuck her in properly.

Layton returned to the main hallway to find that Luke had already gone to bed. Opening his bedroom door revealed that he was still half-awake, albeit tangled in a muddle of bedsheets with his hat still on.

He stayed quiet while Layton tucked him into bed – awkwardly, because they were still far from father and son – and then mumbled, “Flora hates me, doesn’t she.”

“Nonsense, my boy.”

Layton gave the boy a clumsy pat on the head (or more accurately, the cap) and looked towards the bedside cabinet. “Should I leave the lamp on?”

“Yes please.” Luke’s eyes were still visible from the other side of the room; dark little things, like a kitten’s. “Professor?”

He stopped in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Do you get cards on Valentine’s Day?” The covers were drawn up tight next to his mouth, so the words were muffled.

Layton swallowed past a lump of some strange emotion that had appeared in his throat. “Sometimes.”

“Who are they from? Women like...”

The sentence trailed off in the air, and Layton knew that Luke was visualising the exact same archetype as he was. Some sort of amalgamation of Beatrice from the inn in St. Mystere, or Martha with the card puzzles; a woman over forty with a rain hat and a love of a man with an over-endowed...intellect.
He snorted despite himself, and suddenly both of them were laughing.

“Yes,” he managed to cough out. “Yes, mostly.”

“Poor Professor,” Luke said gravely, and that was enough to set them both off again.

~~~

Layton woke up a few minutes later than usual the next morning. It was a Sunday, and a national holiday besides – what better excuse was there to sleep in for longer?
At least until he remembered that he had two young mouths to feed with toast and butter and whatever else was left in the kitchen.

There was nothing else for it, when you had children in the house. He pulled himself out of the comforting sleep-haze and started to dress himself.
...And yet, he could swear he heard light footsteps along the corridor. This was strange. Flora got up an hour or so later than he himself did; and Luke was utterly useless on a Sunday, preferring to spend most of it in bed and completely unconscious.

The footsteps carried on, right past his own door and up the hallway – Layton cocked his head to one side to better hear – and stopped. Luke’s room. There was a momentary hush, then quicker footsteps rushing back down the hallway, towards the kitchen. A-ha.

Layton strolled out of his own room and into the kitchen, feigning complete ignorance when he saw Flora at the oven – or, at least until he realised that she was attempting to cook. At that point he gently took over the cooking, seeing as he was very attached to his third kitchen in as many Flora-related disasters.

“Good morning, Professor,” she smiled. A little too cheerily; her cheeks were crimson again. “It’s...lovely weather today! A lovely Saint...Saint Valton...thing. Day.”

“Of course.” He smiled back. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Flora.”

“I still don’t think that anyone will get me anything.” She’d sat at the table now, her fingers toying with the end of her ponytail. “It’s a lonely holiday, isn’t it?”

Layton supposed it was, actually. He was reminded of the hypothetical woman in the rain hat, and quickly busied himself making toast to distract himself from laughing.

“I...” Flora looked shamefaced for a moment, then handed out an envelope. “I made you a card, Professor.”

It had a colony of rabbits on the front, although Flora had made the drawn additions of large glasses and a shawl to one, a cap and a satchel to another, and a top hat and blazer to the third. Inside was Flora’s neat cursive – ‘This holiday is silly, but have a nice one anyway Professor. And thank you. – Flora’

Luke had crept in while Layton was reading, and had helped himself to orange juice. “O’rite, Professor?”

“Your diction is terrible,” Layton reprimanded over the top of the card. He rested it gently on the windowsill and handed Flora the plate of toast. “That was beautiful, Flora.”

“The mail just came,” Luke announced, though in actuality the postman was off-duty today. He produced two envelopes, grinning. “I didn’t get anything.”

Flora took hers – her cheeks looked as though they were going to catch fire – and it quickly disappeared under the table, out of sight. Layton didn’t bother. If Luke had written him a Valentine’s card, he was going to open it in public, and if it proved unsuitable...

He opened the envelope and four playing cards, an ace of each suit, dropped out. His face blanched. “Luke-“

Luke put his hands up in mock-surrender. Layton noticed that tiny flicker of the eyes again – towards Flora, to see if she was watching, and then back. They’d also moved their chairs a fraction closer together.
If Layton didn’t currently feel like a man facing the unknown, he would have found this almost adorable.

He took out the card. It had a very crudely drawn version of himself on the front, as well as Martha in...a bridal gown? Layton closed his eyes and groaned.

“You are a terrible boy. That poor woman.”

“You are, Luke,” Flora said, but even she was laughing behind her hands now. Excellent.

He opened the card. What was obviously Luke’s handwriting – large, boyish print, a world away from Flora’s – glared back at him. He swallowed, and started to read aloud.

“‘DEAR HERSCHEL LAYTON IT HAS BEEN TOO LONG SINCE I LAST PLAYED CARDS WITH YOU.’” Run-on sentences too. Lovely. Evidently they neglected to teach grammar at Luke’s secondary school, let alone common human decency. “’I THINK WE SHOULD PLAY CARDS ALL NIGHT LONG ONE NIGHT IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. THEY SAY THAT ELIZABETH THE FIRST PLAYED CARDS ALL NIGHT WITH THE EARL OF LEICESTER. I HOPE YOU CATCH MY MEANING. I LOVE YOU AND WANT TO MARRY YOU. MARTHA.’”

He sighed and put the card down, leaving his view of two completely hysterical adolescents clear. He was tempted to remind Luke that it was ungentlemanly to laugh at one’s own practical jokes, but decided against it.

“Your mind is in the gutter,” he told Luke instead, and settled himself behind a newspaper. “And Elizabeth the first died chaste. Not that any self-respecting gentleman should care, of course.”

That only made them laugh harder.

ahnjehleehn drew this amazing picture of the last part of the fanfic. She is pretty freakin' awesome!

An Introduction to the World of Teethshipping

Thu, 07 Feb 2008 19:44:05 GMT

_{Title: An Introduction into the World of Teethshipping
Rating: 15;PG-13 for language and teeth
Fandom: Dir en grey
Characters and Pairings: Kyo/Toshiya
Summary?: GODDAMMIT KELYNN}

_{_{*~*~DEDICATED TO KELYNN, LOVER OF TEETH~*~*~
Yes this is actually the first fanfiction posted here. :F A very short, one shot humour thing.
GOD IT'S BEEN YEARS SINCE I POSTED FANFICTION WHERE ANYONE COULD SEE IT AND I JUMP IN AT THE DEEP END WITH REAL-PERSON FIC ABOUT TEETH}_{He was edging nearer. Across the bed, his fingers creasing the bed linen, moving with his knees; almost feline, the way his vertebrae was finely arched. Kyo dared to reach one hands out and trail a finger upwards. Along the pale neck, skirting around the Adam’s apple, to the chin.}_{“You are very drunk,” he deadpanned. “You are drunk, and you are trying to seduce me.”}_{Toshiya fell back onto his haunches, his hair tousling in a mess over his face. Kyo wasn’t particularly sure, but he could’ve sworn his bassist was...pouting.}_{“I didn’t think I was so drunk that I was obvious.”}_{He hauled a pair of skinny legs over the side of the bed. “It was worth a shot.”}_{Kyo snorted. “What was?”}_{“You, I guess.” He cocked his head to the side and shrugged blithely.}_{The vocalist shook his head and stood up.
Dividing the band up into groups usually worked well, particularly in foreign places; it was never lonely, you always had someone to help attempt translations of English porn channels.
Except Kyo sometimes prioritised being alone, and couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt the urge to translate an English porn channel.}_{Regardless, he was now stranded on the tenth floor of the Holyhead Hotel in Portland, Maine. Toshiya had been drinking, and now, for whatever reason, was getting amorous.}_{The beginnings of a headache were beginning to dance at the edges of Kyo’s temples. He staved it off as best he could by agitatedly swiping at his head with the heel of his hand, while he looked around the hotel cabinets for a glass of water.}_{Toshiya stood at the edges of the room, slender and spidery, his fingers enclosed around the neck of a beer bottle. It was half empty.}_{He sipped morosely at it while Kyo proceeded to ruin half of the room looking for the glasses, which he eventually found in the bathroom. Where they always were in every hotel they’d ever stayed in, of course.}_{Toshiya quirked his eyebrows a little too high when Kyo returned, fuming, to the bedroom, and so it was really his own fault that he wound up pinned to one of the cheap nylon bedspreads.}_{His temper still frayed from having to journey all over his fucking hotel room to find a glass so that he could have a glass of water, Kyo put one hand on each of Toshiya’s shoulders and shoved him into the bed.

“Stop pissing me off.”}_{Toshiya blinked up at him placidly, then sideways at the discarded bottle of beer on the floor. “You made me drop my beer.”}_{Kyo shoved him into the bed again. “I said...stop, not ‘Please piss me off further, Toshiya’. What part of that didn’t you get?”}_{Toshiya shrugged.}_{From this particular angle, the setting sun caught Kyo’s teeth in a particularly captivating way. Kyo noticed the entranced look in Toshiya’s eyes, was momentarily confused, then resumed being enraged because the point of this fanfic is clearly his anger over his lost water glass.}_{The sunlight glinted off every jagged edge; the slants , the protrusions where extra teeth had grown and possibly died. Toshiya’s lips were trembling in awe; this was...this was the most beautiful...}_{“What the everloving shit...?!” All the bad temper had ebbed from Kyo’s voice now; he was looking down at Toshiya in genuine bafflement.}_{“You’re just like me,” Toshiya murmured.}_{Kyo clenched his teeth together. “Toshiya-“}_{“Oh,” the bassist sighed, his hands reaching up of their own accord. Kyo was frozen in place simply out of a complete lack of knowing what the fuck was going on – this led to be his downfall, as Toshiya gently pulled his head downwards and kissed him.}_{Oh, and it was such bliss!
He’d been convinced for so long that his mouth was built with no equal, with no...no soulmate...but he was proven wrong.
Oh, was he ever proven wrong!

The brunette twisted fistfuls of dyed golden hair between his fingers, holding Kyo’s face even closer to his own. Their lips meshed together, their teeth ghosted against each other. Toshiya’s tongue dared to dart inside of Kyo’s mouth and flick across the roof of his mouth.
Even with the tip of his tongue, he could trace the damage of fingernails, metal, and...yes...Kyo’s very own canines and incisors.}_{That one sly slip of the tongue as all it took for Kyo to completely lose it. He was still thirsty. Toshiya had actually gone certifiably insane. Worst of all, he couldn’t commit Toshiya to a mental institute because he was in Maine, and didn’t speak English, and moreover Die was out for the rest of the day teaching lesbians to read or something.}_{A bellow of rage escaped the gap between his and Toshiya’s lips, and he tried to rear his head away. Pain. He tried again. Pain. Toshiya was screaming.}_{“ASSSHHH!! SHHRHTRHTRJRJ!!”}
_{Loosely translated, he was telling Kyo that his teeth were bleeding because Kyo had managed to lock their jaws together.}_{After a fruitless battle trying to extricate themselves from each other, they lay face-to-face in a heap on the bed.}_{I swear to God, Kyo was thinking. When Die comes back, I am going to kill you. And then bathe in your blood. And then eat your liver. And then burn the remains.}_{I can feel our teeth grating together was running through Toshiya’s mind in ecstatic delirium. Grate grate grate grate grate grate grate}

_{Oh my God what have I done}}

Fanfiction Journal

Sat, 10 Sep 2005 15:37:52 GMT

_{Just in case you didn't read the userinfo.
This isn't a specific fiction journal; just about anything I ever write's going to be in here once I can be bothered to put it up. That includes fanfics about bands, videogames, TV shows (including anime), books, movies, and original stuff. Which doesn't technically qualify as fanfiction. But there you go.}

【Ｗａｌｋｉｎｇ ｉｎ ｔｈｅ Ｇｒｏｏｖｅ】