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06 January 2019 @ 09:31 am
This is a list of things I've written from 2006 up to the present. And some stuff from 2005 that didn't suck so much.

Death Note )
Gundam Seed/Destiny )
Nobuta wo Produce )
Ouran High School Host Club )
Prince of Tennis )
Star Ocean )
xxxHOLIC )
Misc. )
Original )
Poetry & Scraps )
 
 

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Title: Four Scenarios That Kyon Dreamt Up, and One He Thought He Did
Series: Suzumiya Haruhi
Characters/Pairings: Kyon (+ Haruhi?)
Genre: Gen
Rating: K
Summary/Notes: Meme fill, for [info]milchstrasse, who wanted something Kyon-centric. Based on the premise/theory that Kyon is the real God, and not Haruhi, and Kyon knows it, deep, deep down in his subconscious, and what does he really want anyway? A.k.a. THE FICBIT THAT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE.

It's a recurring dream. )
 
 
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05 June 2009 @ 08:30 pm
Title: Fauxliage
Series: Suzumiya Haruhi
Characters/Pairings: Kyon, Haruhi
Genre: Gen
Rating: K
Summary/Notes: For [info]31_days. June 5, "Discipline"

What if Adam and Eve were colorblind? )
 
 
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04 May 2009 @ 01:39 pm
Title: N/A
Series: Kurosagi
Word Count: 300, approximately
Characters/Pairings: Kurosaki, Tsurara
Genre: Gen
Rating: K
Summary/Notes: Drafted on November 2007 on a notebook. I think I intended this to be a ficlet, but at this point I'm sure I won't be able to wring anything from it anymore.

He doesn't say sorry the first time, or the second, or the third. He doesn't sorry the twenty-seventh time either. That's the way it's always been. He's never willing to give her a sincere apology (because it would be sincere; he no longer bothers with pretenses around her, it isn't worth the effort), so he gives her a sincere lack of one. In return, she glares at him, calls him names, slams the door. Sometimes she cries. The next day he'll nag her about rent, threaten to throw her out. She's not stupid, he knows, even though he always tells her otherwise. Any change in attitude and she'll think he's becoming softer, and he refuses to give her that satisfaction.

It's a cycle, routine: he hurts her and doesn't apologize. One day she'll snap. One day, maybe, she'll walk away for good; pass him by along the stairs with her suitcase, slap her payment on his hand, look him in the eye and tell him, I don't owe you anything anymore; tell him, I don't need to stay anymore; tell him nothing, just a weariness and the hint of something sad tugging at her mouth; and she'll walk away, and he'll follow her with his eyes until she disappears into a corner, and his right foot will shift forward but he'll end up turning around, her money in his hand. There will be no note in her room, just furniture and the scents he associates with her lingering.

That's what he's thinking right now, as she stomps upstairs: one day she'll walk away. Still, he goes on like he always has, because he doesn't know another way.
 
 

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16 March 2009 @ 06:51 pm
(track 01) I do not write you letters
But I stitch together
Songs
For a mixtape,
My heartprints scattered and coded
In the verses and vibrations of strangers
Like hidden treasures,
And this mixtape is the map
To where they are.


(track 02) I do not tell you "I miss you"
But I mouth the words
Over the ache in the voice of
The Invisible Floating Torso Man
Through my cheap plastic earphones
At exactly 1:00
And again at 2:13

So would I be out of line
If I said "I miss you?"



(track 03) Somewhere, radio stations
Are transmitting the wavelengths of my soul,
My tears leaking through the static
And the listeners, they do not pause from what they're doing,
Not knowing that the curves of their ears
Are cradling something precious.

(track 04) And how would you react )
 
 
Current Music: HIM - Wings of a Butterfly
 
 
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14 March 2009 @ 07:06 pm
She likes putting nametags on her feelings:
This is Bubbles Floating Upwards
This is Red Roses Blooming in an Open Field
This is Struggling Against the River Current
This is Sinking Slowly into Silent Sea
This is A Crackle Across the Sky
This is An Anchor Chained to My Ankle
This is His Lips Two Millimeters from My Temple,
The Tightness of His Jaw,
Heavy Footfalls Slowly Fading.

She likes making lists. So far:
Thirty-three shades of happiness
Sixty-four fingerprints for sadness
Thirteen flavors of anger
One hundred and seventy-eight variations of his name,
Not a single one repeating
She gathers all one hundred and seventy-eight,
Spreads    t h e m    carefully around the [empty space] on her bed
And
       Falls
           Into it.
 
 
 

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08 February 2009 @ 09:49 pm
Notes: This is something off an essay I drafted for school that I'm probably scrapping. I realized that a) 5 pages isn't enough, and b) it deals too closely with personal philosophies to have any academic value, even though personal reflection was the point of writing it. Watch me jump from Lamarcke/Haeckel to mundane experiences to global warming. Awfully big logically leaps, huh. This snippet is conceptually faulty anyway; I mean, natural selection and recapitulation in the same metaphor? *winces*

In psychology there's a term called "basic anxiety" - it's what children experience when they realize the world they were born in is a big, big place. It's things like these that make people question the value of their existence, knowing that they're only one of the billions that occupy Earth and their lives weigh nothing. And that's where the paradigm shift of recapitulation comes in, putting a twist to this worldview. To me, it means more than once having gills in my mother's womb. Think of carbon atoms and rocks under the planet's surface. Think of heat and pressure, and little crystals that dissolve, unable to withstand these forces. Think of millions of years. Now zoom out, fast forward: you're thinking about a diamond, brilliant and multi-faceted. That's what humanity is: the sum of generation after generation of natural selection. But it doesn't end there. Think again of that diamond. Think about how each facet catches the light and reflects it at a different angle, resulting in a visual cacophony of color and brilliance. We are each facet. We are the small carbon corners of the same stone, made of the same matter, and together we are beautiful. What recapitulation represents is the fact that we are all part of something grand.
 
 
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30 January 2009 @ 06:25 pm
    ☑ Don't read this list. Do everything here without any intending to.
    ☑ Forget to reply to my messages.
    ☑ Put me on the bottom of your list of priorities. Pencil in my name at the edges, then accidentally smudge it with the sweaty side of your fist as you scrawl in something else.
    ☑ Treat me nicely anyway. Mean it.
    ☑ Act like you care, but show me I don't matter.
    ☑ Let me look into your eyes and see what you see: just something lurking at the corners of your vision. Pass me by.
    ☑ Three years later, run into me and ask me how I am with sincere curiosity.
    ☑ Live as the reason and reminder that I hate myself when I'm not strong enough to realize it on my own.
    ☑ Let your love be the moon to my sun: cold, distant, and shining for someone else. Watch me burn out and fold into myself.
    ☐ Others, please specify: ______________
 
 
Current Music: Alanis Morissette - Not As We
 
 
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Title: How Tezuka Kunimitsu Lost His Heart
Series: Prince of Tennis
Word Count: 329
Characters/Pairings: Tezuka, Fuji
Genre: AU-ish. Crack. Really.
Rating: T, I guess, for blood?
Summary/Notes: For [info]silvermuse89 @ [info]drabble_trade. round 2. Because her prompts were AU, humor and tea, I ended up with a two half-assed, well, halves, of the first two prompts and the revival of plotzombie that I had years and years ago. It's quite Neil Gaiman-ish, now that I look at it. But wait, that's blasphemy.

His smile is something Tezuka's sure he won't forget, slow like poison as it ghosts seamlessly across porcelain features. )
 
 
Current Music: Dishwalla - Today