Brooke (original) (raw)
urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan Brooke Brooke Brooke 2012-12-08T08:36:39Z urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:10292 [Once Upon a Time] Brandy 2012-12-08T08:35:35Z 2012-12-08T08:35:35Z Title: Brandy
Fandom: Once Upon a Time
Characters: Emma, Regina, Snow White
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 459
Summary: Emma wakes up after a night of drinking.
Challenge: The Advent Calendar Challenge, Prompt: Brandy
“Good morning!”
Emma pulled her pillow over her head and glared at her mother as she opened the curtains and let in the morning sun. She tried to come up with a coherent reply, but all that came out was a groan.
“I brought you some water and ibuprofen. How bad is it?”
“I’ve had worse.” She tried to sit up, only to give up halfway through the effort and retreat under the covers again. “I think.”
“I warned you that no one could outdrink Ruby. I learned that the hard way.”
After a couple more false starts, Emma managed to force herself into a sitting position and reached for the ibuprofen and water. “How bad was last night?”
“You didn’t cause any property damage or bodily harm.”
“Great. At least I won’t have to arrest myself, which is a good thing since I seem to be missing my handcuffs.”
“Ruby borrowed them. She said you could pick them up at Granny’s this morning.”
“Perfect. I hope Regina doesn’t find out about that.” Snow looked away. “What?”
“She already knows. She was there…” Snow hesitated slightly.
“And?”
“You ended up…singing to her.”
“What?” Emma flopped back again, wondering if anyone would notice if she didn’t leave her bed for a week or three.
“Well, not so much to her as at her. She just happened to walk into the bar at the wrong moment.”
Emma sighed, not really seeing the distinction and doubting Regina would either. “What did I sing?”
“'Brandy.’”
“The seventies song?” Snow nodded, her lips twitching slightly. “You mean I got drunk and sang ‘Brandy, you’re a fine girl’ to Regina in front of the whole town?”
“It was a slow night at the bar, so only half of the town was there. The other half is probably hearing about it over breakfast at Granny’s right now.”
“You’re really bad at comforting thing, you know.”
Snow had the decency to look slightly guilty, though Emma saw her lips twitching in amusement. “There’s a silver lining to this,” she pointed out, just as Emma started to wonder if she could suffocate herself with her own pillow.
“Which is?” she asked, moving the pillow slightly so that she could see her mother’s face.
“It was the first time I’ve seen Regina speechless. She recovered by the time we left, though. She told me that since you clearly shouldn’t follow Ruby’s example and drink tequila, you should come over to her house tonight and try some of her brandy.”
“Really?” Emma was more than a little intrigued.
“She had a condition, though. You have to promise not to try to sing to her.”
Emma retreated under her pillow again as Snow finally lost control and dissolved into laughter. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:10098 [Once Upon a Time] Enough 2012-12-07T08:12:34Z 2012-12-07T08:12:34Z Title: Enough
Fandom: Once Upon a Time
Characters: Emma, Regina
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Queen of Hearts
Word Count: 639
Summary: Emma and Henry try to make amends for leaving Regina behind.
Challenge: The Advent Calendar Challenge, Prompt: Forced Cheer
Notes: What should have happened at the end of "Queen of Hearts."
Regina dropped her keys on the table by the door, let her purse fall carelessly, and slipped off her shoes. She went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine, then headed into her living room, preparing for another night alone. For a brief moment, she had hoped that her son would return home tonight, but he had gone to Granny’s to celebrate without a backward glance.
Since she was alone, she allowed herself the luxury of collapsing on the sofa and letting her head fall back. Sometimes it seemed like she had spent her entire life playing a role, but was becoming much more difficult recently. Playing the Evil Queen or the ruthless mayor was easy enough, but now she wasn’t exactly sure what role she was supposed to be playing.
After Emma had arrived in Storybrooke, it had become clear that Regina was in danger of losing the only thing she cared about. None of her old methods had worked, so she had decided to adopt an attitude of forced cheer, regardless of how hard it was to smile when she saw her son—hers, not Charming’s, not Snow’s, and certainly not Emma’s—consistently choosing them over her. She couldn’t lose her him, so she was prepared to do anything it took to keep him.
She hadn’t realized exactly how hard it would be. Compared to this, hiding her grief for Daniel and marrying Leopold with a smile on her face had been easy because she had a clear plan and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would succeed. If she just had some reason to believe that she was making progress in rebuilding her relationship with her son, she could keep smiling forever if need be. But she had gracefully let him go off with Emma and Snow and he hadn’t even looked back.
As she finished her wine, she heard the sound of the key in the door. Henry must have forgotten something. She sat up a little straighter and schooled her face into a welcoming smile. As expected, Henry bounded in with Emma following behind.
“Did you forget something?” she asked, looking warily at Emma.
“No.” He looked at Emma and she nodded encouragingly. “I just thought I would sleep at home tonight.”
That was a surprise, but Regina didn’t let it show. “Very well. It’s late, so go upstairs and I’ll check on you in a few minutes.”
Henry hesitated for a moment, and then obeyed. Internally, Regina sighed at her lack of warmth, but it wasn’t like she had a good example to follow.
That left Emma standing in her foyer with a foil covered dish in her hands.
“Thank you for bringing my son home, Sheriff Swan.” Once again, she winced at her coldness. “Again, I’m glad to see you back in Storybrooke.”
“I’m glad to be back.” An awkward pause. “In all the excitement, we didn’t realize you weren’t with us until we were already at Granny’s. So...um…pie?” she said, holding out the dish. “It’s apple.”
“Apple?”
“Granny made it, so unless you’ve been sharing your recipe, it should be safe.” Regina accepted the surprisingly heavy dish. “It’s a lot of pie,” Emma added unnecessarily, shoving her hands in her pockets and rocking back on her heels, looking as uncomfortable as Regina felt.
“Thank you.” They both hesitated. “Would you like to join me for some pie and coffee?” Regina asked, fully expecting to be refused.
Emma paused for a moment, then she nodded. “I’d love to. I… I should probably give Snow and Charming some time alone.”
Regina nodded. “Of course.”
It wasn’t much, but her son was getting ready for bed in his own bedroom and it seemed like Emma was making some sort of peace offering. Right now, that was enough. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:9916 Advent Calendar Challenge 2012 Table 2012-12-03T07:11:29Z 2012-12-08T08:36:39Z
| Mistletoe and Wine | Forced Cheer | Brandy |
Fandom: Once Upon a Time
Characters: Emma, Regina
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 487
Summary: Emma braves Regina's annual Christmas party.
Challenge: The Advent Calendar Challenge, Prompt: Mistletoe and Wine
Emma accepted a glass of wine from a uniformed waiter and surveyed the room. It was Stoneybrooke’s annual Christmas party, held at the mayor’s home. Even though it was becoming harder and harder to think of Regina as the Evil Queen, Emma still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was entering hostile territory…possibly because she still sometimes saw Regina looking at her with a predatory look. Given Regina’s history with Emma’s family, any close scrutiny from the other woman made Emma wary.
And speaking of the devil (or would that be Mr. Gold?), Regina was crossing the room with two champagne flutes in her hand. Emma quickly drained her wine glass and looked around to see if there was anything stronger.
“Sheriff Swan, I’m so pleased you could make it,” Regina said, offering her a flute.
“Champagne?” Emma asked, examining the liquid carefully. Regina might be slowly moving away from her Evil Queen persona, but past experience had taught Emma that it paid to be wary.
“Sparkling cider.”
Emma sat the drink down on a nearby table a little too hard. “Given my family’s history with your apples, I think I’ll stick to wine.” She took another glass from a passing waiter and wondered idly if she could arrange to have alcohol served anytime she had to deal with Regina.
“As you wish.” Regina took a sip from her glass and looked up. Emma followed her gaze to see some greenery suspended above them. “Mistletoe.”
“I don’t think I’ve actually seen mistletoe used as a decoration before,” Emma commented.
“I like to observe traditions. Besides, in its own way, it has every bit as much of a history as my apples. Are you familiar with it?”
“From Norse mythology? I have, actually. When the Norse god Baldur was born, his mother made every living thing promise never to harm him, but she overlooked mistletoe. Loki then tricked Baldur’s brother, Hod, into throwing a weapon made of mistletoe at him and it killed him.”
“Impressive. I didn’t know you were so well-versed in mythology. But that wasn’t what I was referring to. I was referring to the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe. And you, Sheriff Swan, are under the mistletoe.”
Emma opened her mouth to retort, but Regina silenced her quite effectively with a kiss. The kiss was soft and warm and tasted faintly of the apple cider Regina had been drinking. Regina pulled away and carefully plucked a berry from the mistletoe, dropping it carefully into Emma’s half-empty wine glass. “If you’ll excuse me, I have other guests to greet. But if you want to discuss mythology later, I hope you’ll find me.”
Emma watched Regina disappear into the party and gently placed her. wineglass on the table beside her then carefully picked up the glass of cider. She took a tentative sip and smiled. Apple cider definitely went better with mistletoe than wine, she thought. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:9343 Nana: Stories 2010-03-03T08:46:45Z 2010-03-03T21:17:30Z Title: Stories
Series: Nana
Characters: Nana, Hachiko
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Later volumes of the manga, especially volume 20.
Word Count: 802
Summary: Nana looks back at her past choices.
Challenge: lover100, Table A, Prompt 45: Truth
Nana had a hundred reasons for leaving Japan and a thousand for leaving Hachiko. Even after years of living in England, those still held up to scrutiny. In her loneliest times, she had taken comfort in the knowledge that she had done the right thing in light of the circumstances. As long as the reasons for her actions were good, then she knew that her decision was right.
Lately, though, she had started to realize that everything she had believed was wrong. Recently, when she started to list the reasons why she had been right to leave, a small, but increasingly convincing voice demolished her carefully constructed arguments.
In spite of it all, she kept clinging to her reasons. And tonight, as she stared out at the ocean, she tried to reaffirm her reason.
Hachiko was weak. She would never be able to be happy without a man in her life, but she would never be able to choose a man that would make her happy. She would draw everyone into her chaos just as surely as if she were the Demon Lord.
That was wrong, wasn’t it? She might have fled Japan, but Nana had kept track of everyone in her old life and Hachiko was doing fine. Not only had she taken control of her love life, but she had also provided the rest of Blast with much needed stability….even more than Yasu had been able to provide. Where would Shin be now, if not for Hachiko’s ridiculous game of house that had somehow evolved into the emotional support that he had so desperately needed?
Even if Hachiko wasn’t weak, Nana could only keep her through Nobu. His failure to hold on to her would mean that she would eventually abandon every member of Blast, including Nana. Especially Nana.
Nobu had never really “claimed” Hachiko in the way Nana would have done, had she been given the chance. Nana never understood not taking what you wanted, no more than she understood Hachiko’s refusal to fight for Shoji. Shoji wasn’t much of a catch, obviously, but Nana had seen Hachiko’s resignation as a sign of weakness, not as proof that she had her own quiet pride.
And yet, years later, they were still together. Not as lovers, but as friends. Despite the changes in circumstance, Hachiko was as involved with Nana’s former bandmates as she had in the earliest days of Blast. Nana’s fury at Nobu, her fear that Hachiko was slipping away, had hurt no one but herself.
Hachiko hadn’t rejected Nana. Nana had fled before giving Hachiko a chance to accept her.
But that was the right choice, wasn’t it? She could never be enough for Hachiko. Hachiko needed a man, someone who could provide strength and stability. Someone who could provide for Hachiko and her child. Nana could never be that person. At the end of everything, Nana had barely been able to hold herself up.
It had taken a while, but Hachiko had finally decided to stand on her own two feet. She had distanced herself from Takumi and started working to support herself and her family. Takumi helped, obviously, but Hachiko was making it. She didn’t need anyone to lean on. She didn’t need financial support now. She did need her friends. She needed apartment 707. And Nana could have been part of that.
And her biggest mistake had been about herself: Nana believed that the only relationship she could have was with Ren. They would never be completely happy together, but they wouldn’t be alone. They were perfectly matched, if only because they were both damaged in similar ways. Without Ren, there would be no Nana.
Well, the last part was true. Nana had disappeared when Ren died. Somehow, though, instead of dying with him, she had become a new person. A new country. A new hairstyle. A new look. A new style of singing.
And a new understanding.
Years of introspection had left her with nothing but brutal and painful honesty. Maybe she hadn’t been wrong to leave. Maybe she would have never been happy with Hachiko, but the reasons she left? The circumstances that left her unable to keep her friends in her life, unable to stay with the people who loved her, unable to hope that she might someday be happy?
Mistakes.
Mistakes which had lead to more mistakes. Pain which had caused more pain.
And yet, now she was beginning to believe that she could handle the pain, that she could own up to her mistakes and try to make it right.
Maybe Nana hadn’t died with Ren that night. Maybe the love story of Nana and Ren didn’t get its tragically beautiful ending.
Maybe, just maybe, the story of Nana and Hachiko might still have a chance to be told. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:8979 Marimite: Rules of Attraction 2010-02-13T11:00:17Z 2010-02-13T11:00:17Z Title: Rule of Attraction
Series: Maria-sama ga Miteru
Characters: Sei, Youko
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 100
Summary: Youko looks at her relationship with Sei scientifically.
Challenge:
lover100, Table B, Prompt 56: MagnetismAs a girl with Western looks in a school that was dedicated to turning out perfect Japanese ladies, Sei was a poor fit. Youko, the ideal Japanese girl fascinated by Sei, wasn’t much better.
Initially, the two girls had clashed. Sei completely ignored Youko. Youko became obsessed with being as different from Sei as possible.
Even as friends, they were still complete opposites, yet somehow perfectly matched. The Western-looking girl eating the Japanese meal with Darjeeling tea and the Japanese young lady eating a sandwich with matcha were a perfect fit. It was scientific: like repels like, but opposites attract. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:8706 Lover 100 Table: Sei/Youko 2010-02-11T07:17:39Z 2010-02-13T11:05:06Z Table-B
| 001. | Romance. | 002. | Beauty. | 003. | Forgiveness. | 004. | Regret. | 005. | Discovery. |
| 006. | First Meeting. | 007. | Hardest Truth. | 008. | Resolutions. | 009. | Anything. | 010. | Home. |
| 011. | Intimacy. | 012. | Self-Love. | 013. | Kisses. | 014. | Frustration. | 015. | Pressure. |
| 016. | Absurd. | 017. | Forbidden. | 018. | Honesty. | 019. | Grace. | 020. | Laughter. |
| 021. | Confidence. | 022. | Happiness. | 023. | Sexy. | 024. | Tears. | 025. | Growth. |
| 026. | Sensuality. | 027. | Faith. | 028. | Night. | 029. | Day. | 030. | Innocence. |
| 031. | Music. | 032. | Water. | 033. | Love. | 034. | Ambiguity. | 035. | Act. |
| 036. | Whew. | 037. | Anger. | 038. | Dirt. | 039. | Trust. | 040. | Heat. |
| 041. | Summer Love. | 042. | Patience. | 043. | Opportunity. | 044. | Death. | 045. | Passion. |
| 046. | Healing. | 047. | Life. | 048. | Joy. | 049. | Freedom. | 050. | Bliss. |
| 051. | Dreams. | 052. | Kinky. | 053. | Haunted. | 054. | Emergence. | 055. | Transmogrify. |
| 056. | Magnetic. | 057. | Surreal. | 058. | Passage. | 059. | Lush. | 060. | Could Have. |
| 061. | Would Have. | 062. | Should Have. | 063. | Hunger. | 064. | Need. | 065. | Want. |
| 066. | Take. | 067. | Have. | 068. | Mine. | 069. | Yours. | 070. | Lubricious. |
| 071. | Lugubrious. | 072. | Perspective. | 073. | Capering. | 074. | Empathy. | 075. | Sympathy. |
| 076. | Mirth. | 077. | Almost. | 078. | Always. | 079. | Surprise. | 080. | Warmth. |
| 081. | Heartache. | 082. | Ghosts. | 083. | Break-Up. | 084. | Make-Up. | 085. | Diary. |
| 086. | Voice. | 087. | Biggest Fear. | 088. | Warning. | 089. | Everything. | 090. | Nothing. |
| 091. | Failure. | 092. | Success. | 093. | Glimpse. | 094. | Sanctuary. | 095. | Picture. |
| 096. | Writer‘s Choice. | 097. | Writer‘s Choice. | 098. | Writer‘s Choice. | 099. | Writer‘s Choice. | 100. | Writer‘s Choice. |
urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:8451 Lover 100 Table: Nana/Nana 2010-02-11T07:13:03Z 2010-03-03T08:47:24Z Table-A
| 001. | Beginnings. | 002. | Middles. | 003. | Ends. | 004. | Firsts. | 005. | Friends. |
| 006. | Hours. | 007. | Days. | 008. | Weeks. | 009. | Months. | 010. | Years. |
| 011. | Lovers. | 012. | Strangers. | 013. | Love. | 014. | Too Much. | 015. | Not Enough. |
| 016. | Simple. | 017. | Complicated. | 018. | Accident. | 019. | Addicted. | 020. | Smell. |
| 021. | Sound. | 022. | Touch. | 023. | Taste. | 024. | Sunrise. | 025. | Sunset. |
| 026. | Breakfast. | 027. | Lunch. | 028. | Dinner. | 029. | Vacation. | 030. | Date. |
| 031. | Time. | 032. | Birthday. | 033. | Thanksgiving. | 034. | Christmas. | 035. | Valentine. |
| 036. | Secrets. | 037. | Hurt. | 038. | Threesome. | 039. | Kink. | 040. | Lies. |
| 041. | Passion. | 042. | Hidden. | 043. | Confession. | 044. | Discovery. | 045. | Truth. |
| 046. | Betrayal. | 047. | Dream. | 048. | Nightmare. | 049. | Lost. | 050. | Emotion. |
| 051. | Epiphany. | 052. | Sex. | 053. | Denial. | 054. | Jealousy. | 055. | Greed. |
| 056. | Lust. | 057. | Hands. | 058. | Lips. | 059. | Kiss. | 060. | Crush. |
| 061. | Winter. | 062. | Spring. | 063. | Summer. | 064. | Fall. | 065. | Anniversaries. |
| 066. | Romantic. | 067. | Union. | 068. | Afraid. | 069. | Safe. | 070. | Protection. |
| 071. | Broken. | 072. | Fixed. | 073. | Heat. | 074. | Night. | 075. | Shade. |
| 076. | Who? | 077. | What? | 078. | Where? | 079. | When? | 080. | Why? |
| 081. | How? | 082. | If. | 083. | And. | 084. | He. | 085. | Them. |
| 086. | Choices. | 087. | Life. | 088. | Fight. | 089. | Work. | 090. | Home. |
| 091. | Peace. | 092. | Bedroom. | 093. | Gentle. | 094. | Independence. | 095. | New Year. |
| 096. | Writer‘s Choice. | 097. | Writer‘s Choice. | 098. | Writer‘s Choice. | 099. | Writer‘s Choice. | 100. | Writer‘s Choice. |
urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:8411 Harry Potter: Alone 2009-03-14T08:39:44Z 2009-03-14T08:54:01Z Title: Alone
Series: Harry Potter
Characters: Harry
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Entire series.
Word Count: 936
Summary: After the final battle, Harry reaches out to the one person who can understand him: Snape.
Challenge:
10_letters, Table 10a, theme 10: Alone (Writer's Choice).Note: This my first Harry Potter fic and my first letter format fic, so I'm a bit nervous. I plan to write all ten letters from Harry to Snape and explore the aftermath of the final battle. I haven't decided exactly where to go with it yet, so it feels fair to mention that it may stay gen or it may go a bit slashy.
Snape,
I don’t know why I’m writing to you, of all people. We never got along before and I can just imagine how you’d sneer at getting a letter from me. Of course, you’re dead now, so you won’t even care. You don’t get to care. This letter is a waste of time, but no more than anything else since the last battle.
It’s been two weeks and I still don’t know what to say about anything that’s happened. The atmosphere has been almost surreal. I can’t name a single wizarding family in Britain that didn’t lose someone. I’ve lost track of how many funerals I’ve attended…sometimes two or three in a day, but in spite of all the tragedy, there’s been what Hermione refers to as “a sense of euphoria.” It’s like people don’t even know how to feel.
We buried Fred yesterday…then we went to a parade. After we buried Tonks and Remus, we went to a reception at the Ministry of Magic. That’s how it’s been nonstop: mourn, then celebrate, then mourn again. I don’t even know how I feel anymore. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to feel.
Ginny and I had our first fight after Fred’s funeral. I told her that I didn’t understand how people could act this way, how they could celebrate so much death and carnage. She told me I didn’t understand exactly how hard it was to try to live in a world ruled by Voldemort and that however bad my time on the run was, I was still insulated from what it really meant to live under Voldemort’s heel.
I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t help but wonder if she was right.
She blames me, you know. I think a lot of people do. The rumors are already starting, of course, claiming that I spent my time hiding from Voldemort and abandoning the people who were ready to sacrifice everything. The worst part is that I wonder if they’re right. How many lives would have been saved if I had moved a day earlier? Or a week earlier? Or a month? Is Teddy Lupin going to grow up without parents because I was obsessed with finding answers that didn’t even really matter?
I rejected Fudge and Scrimgeour and their efforts to use me as some sort of rallying point and I don’t regret it for a minute. Now, though, I’m in the very position I spent my life avoiding…the one that you claimed I always sought. I’m in the spotlight. People like Minerva McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt are trying to pick up the pieces, both at Hogwarts and in the greater wizarding world. Hermione says that people need to see me right now, they need something to rally around. She wants me to make a few speeches, show up at the right places, and “give the people what they need.” She swears that it’s only temporary and I’ll be able to fade into the background once things are back to normal. I wonder, though…especially since Hermione’s never been a fan of the magical status quo.
Still, it has its uses. You’ll be glad to know that you received a posthumous Order of Merlin First Class. That was what you wanted, right? You were willing to sell out Sirius and ruin the one good thing in my life to get it…
No, that’s not fair. I never knew what you wanted. None of us did, except maybe for Dumbledore and I have my doubts there. He always seemed so benign, as though you were just a wayward son who made a couple of small mistakes…then I saw the penseive and the look on his face when you came back… I don’t think he even had that much contempt on his face when talking to Voldemort.
What was your relationship with him? I always envied the fact that he trusted you so completely, but now I wonder whether it mattered. Did he trust you because he felt some sort of fondness for you or because he knew that he controlled you completely?
I guess it doesn’t matter now. But looking back, you were always alone. Even in your memories with my mother, you two only seemed happy for a short time. I suppose that’s why I’m writing this to you right now. I thought that once Voldemort was dead, something would happen and I would feel some sort of connection to the people around me. Instead, they’re celebrating and mourning while I spend my time feeling that I was somehow cheated because I survived.
I’m looking at my future and wondering if I’ll spend the next hundred or two hundred years feeling alone, even when I’m around the people who should mean the most to me. I look back at your life and I can’t help but wonder if maybe you could somehow give me advice on how to get through this…if you were alive. If I could get you to read this letter in the first place….
It’s not without precedent, though, is it? You couldn’t look at me without yelling and I couldn’t stop hating you long enough to listen. If anyone had asked, I would have sworn that you were the worst teacher at Hogwart’s and that it would be impossible to learn anything from you and yet the Half Blood Prince helped me excel in potions. Now I wonder what would have happened if you’d ever made me want to listen to what you have to say. Would I feel so alone now? Would you be dead? And would it matter?
-Harry urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:8112 Rough Draft Letter #1, Theme : Alone 2009-02-24T04:45:18Z 2009-02-24T04:45:18Z Snape,
I don’t know why I’m writing to you, of all people. We never got along before and I can just imagine how you’d sneer at getting a letter from me. Of course, you’re dead now, so won’t even care. This letter is a waste of time, but no more than anything else since the last battle.
It’s been two weeks and I still don’t know what to say about anything that’s happened. The atmosphere has been almost surreal. I can’t think of a single wizarding family in Britain that didn’t lose someone. I’ve lost track of how many funerals I’ve attended…sometimes two or three in a day. But in spite of all the tragedy, there’s been what Hermione refers to as “a sense of euphoria.” It’s like people don’t even know how to feel.
We buried Fred yesterday…then we went to a parade. After we buried Tonks and Remus, we went to a reception at the Ministry of Magic. That’s how it’s been nonstop: mourn, then celebrate, then mourn again. I don’t even know how I feel anymore. I don’t even know how I’m *supposed* to feel.
Ginny and I had our first fight after Fred’s funeral. I told her that I didn’t understand how people could act this way, how they could celebrate so much death and carnage. She told me I didn’t understand exactly how hard it was to try to live in a world ruled by Voldemort and that however bad my time on the run was, I was still insulated from what it really meant to live under Voldemort’s heel.
She blames me, you know. I think a lot of people do. The rumors are already starting, of course, claiming that I spent my time hiding from Voldemort and abandoning the people who were ready to sacrifice everything. The worst part is that I wonder if they’re right. How many lives would have been saved if I had moved a day earlier? Or a week earlier? Or a month? Is Teddy Lupin going to grow up without parents because I was obsessed with finding answers that didn’t even really matter?
I rejected Fudge and Scrimgeour and their efforts to use me as some sort of rallying point and I don’t regret it for a minute. Now, though, I’m in the very position I spent my life avoiding…the one that you claimed I always sought. I’m in the spotlight. People like Minerva McGonagall and Arthur Weasley are trying to pick up the pieces, both at Hogwarts and in the greater wizarding world. Hermione says that people need to see me right now, they need something to rally around. She wants me to make a few speeches, show up at the right places, and “give the people what they need.” She swears that it’s only temporary and I’ll be able to fade into the background once things are back to normal. I wonder, though…especially since Hermione’s never been a fan of the magical status quo.
You’ll be glad to know that you received a posthumous Order of Merlin First Class. That was what you wanted, right? You were willing to sell out Sirius and ruin the one good thing in my life to get it…
No, that’s not fair. I never knew what you wanted. None of us did, except maybe for Dumbledore and I have my doubts there. He always seemed so benign, as though you were just a wayward son who made a couple of small mistakes…then I saw the penseive and the look on his face when you came back… I don’t think he even had that much contempt on his face when talking to Voldemort.
What was your relationship with him? I always envied the fact that he trusted you so completely, but now I wonder whether it mattered. Did he trust you because he felt some sort of fondness for you or because he knew that he controlled you completely?
I guess it doesn’t matter now. But looking back, you were always alone. Even in your memories with my mother, you two only seemed happy for a short time. I suppose that’s why I’m writing this to you right now. I thought that once Voldemort was dead, something would happen and I would feel some sort of connection to the people around me. Instead, they’re celebrating and mourning while I spend my time feeling that I was somehow cheated because I survived.
I’m looking at my future and wondering if I’ll spend the next hundred or two hundred years feeling alone, even when I’m around the people who should mean the most to me. I look back at your life and I can’t help but wonder if maybe you could somehow give me advice on how to get through this…if you were alive. If I could get you to read this letter in the first place….
It’s not without precedent, though, is it? You couldn’t look at me without yelling and I couldn’t stop hating you long enough to listen. If anyone had asked, I would have sworn that you were the worst teacher at Hogwart’s and that it would be impossible to learn anything from you…yet the Half Blood Prince helped me excel in potions. Now, I wonder what would have happened if you’d ever made me want to listen to what you have to say. Would I feel so alone now? Would you be dead? And would it matter?
-Harry urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:7854 10 Letters Challenge 2009-02-24T03:26:18Z 2009-03-14T08:42:23Z I've decided to try the
10_letters challenge using Harry as a means to get back into the groove of writing fic. | 001 | Breath | 002 | Dream | 003 | Elements | 004 | Hate | 005 | Itch |
| 006 | Love | 007 | Seasons | 008 | Time | 009 | Writer's Choice | 010 | Alone |
So, my first new rec (and the fic I couldn't find) is Transvolitional by
predatrix. It's an NC-17 (or whatever the current phrase is) Snape/Lupin fic. Involving wands. It's not a PWP, though. It has some very interesting classroom interaction and some good interaction between Snape and Lupin. I'm not 100% sure about the characterization, but I wanted to included it here in case I wanted it later.On a different note, Copy of Report on Surprise Inspection of Case #14568 by Treemonisha is an insanely funny Sirius/Remus fic.
And that's enough for one night. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:6969 Red vs Blue: In the Hallway 2007-12-24T11:16:32Z 2007-12-24T20:45:12Z Title: In the Hallway
Series: Red vs Blue
Pairings: Grif/Simmons
Warnings: Slash, Language
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 876
Note: My take on what happened after "Personal Spaces." Grif. Simmons. Hallway. It had to happen.
Once again, beta by
jack_infinitude. I'm honestly surprised she's still able to speak English after dealing with my typos."Are they gone?" Grif asked.
"I don't think so," Simmons answered. "And can you move a little further away from me?"
"It's a hallway. In a basement. This is as far as I can go."
Both men jumped as the door suddenly slammed.
"Yeah, they're gone."
"Thanks, Simmons. I would have never figured that out by myself," Grif grumbled. He moved away from the wall. "Finally. Those walls are hard."
"Those walls are rock, you dumbass. And it's a lot harder when you have a large bruise slowly spreading across your back."
"How does Sarge think playing Seven in Heaven will help us win the war?"
"What?!?!"
"You know, Seven in Heaven. Where you pick out your crush's name and go in a closet and--"
"I know what Seven in Heaven is! I just couldn't believe you'd be so juvenile as to compare a military trust exercise to a pre-teen party game!"
"You never got to play it when you were a kid, did you?"
"Of course I did. Everyone did that. Her name was....well, there were lots of girls. Not that it matters. And what the hell was that body slam about, anyway?" he asked, trying desperately to change the subject.
"I thought you liked it rough," Grif remarked, removing his helmet.
"I... Rough? One time, Grif. Once, and I told you that-- What are you doing?" Simmons choked out as Grif's breastplate landed on the floor next to his helmet.
"Slipping out of something a little less comfortable," Grif replied, leering at his teammate before bending to remove the armor from the lower half of his body.
Simmons swallowed thickly as more of Grif's body was revealed. Without realizing it, he found himself removing his own helmet to gulp the cool, damp air.
"Glad we're on the same page," Grif smirked, crossing the small space to search for the catches on Simmons's armor.
"We're NOT on the same page." Simmons snapped. "We're not even in the same book." He backed away from Grif. The other man kept advancing. "Hell, we're in completely different volumes." He swore under his breath as he hit the wall.
Grif expertly removed the other soldier's armor. "We may be in different volumes," he smirked, glancing downward, "But I think both of those volumes are hardbound." With that, he pressed his body against Simmons, pinning them both to the wall.
"Sarge..." Simmons choked.
"Sarge, Sarge, Sarge. You, Simmons, have a thing for Sarge. A daddy complex," Grif remarked, scraping his teeth against Simmons's neck. "You jump through hoops to keep him from finding out, but I think you liked him watching today. Tell me, when I had you pinned against the ground while Sarge and Donut cheered, did you like it?"
Simmons shuddered, the memory Grif's body pushing him against the ground while his CO watched blurring with the sensations he was currently experiencing.
"Leave...Sarge...out of...this," he ground out, too overcome by the stimulation to be angry the Grif was breaking a cardinal rule of the relationship.
Grif's low chuckle told Simmons that the orange soldier knew he had won. "Fine. No Sarge." He nipped at Simmons's ear. "So, tell me, ever tried hallway sex, Simmons?" he asked, pushing his teammate against the wall, hard.
"God dammit, Grif," Simmons snapped. And those were Simmons's last intelligible words for a long time.
*****
A few hours later, the two soldiers heard the basement door open again.
"Simmons, you okay?" Sarge called. "Is Grif dead?" he added hopefully.
"No, we're both fine," Simmons called, glancing hastily at Grif's armor to make sure the other man had put it on properly.
"See, I told you they were fine, Donut." Sarge rolled his eyes at Simmons. "Pinkie here said he heard strange sounds down here and thought you were killing each other. Looks like he got my hopes up for nothing," he concluded with a disdainful look at Grif.
Donut peered through the darkness. "I don't know. I think there may have been une petite mort down here," he said knowingly.
Simmons followed the other man's gaze to Grif and bit back a curse. The idiot had forgotten to put his helmet back on and his hair was suspiciously messy.
Grif and Sarge looked at Donut in confusion, while Simmons glared balefully at the pink soldier. "Shut up, or I'll drown you in your damn bidet," he growled.
Donut smiled, as though Simmons's response had confirmed his suspicions.
"Well, this portion of the exercise is completed, so we'll move on to the next part. We're going to do the thing where you fall backward into your partner's arms. Except we're going to do it off the top of the base," Sarge announced.
"Sounds great, sir. I volunteer. And Donut was just telling me the other day how much he loved doing those exercises in acting class, so he can be my partner," Simmons said with forced cheer.
"No way. I have a note--"
"I'm sure Doc will make an exception just this once," Simmons replied firmly, grasping Donut by the arm.
"But Grif...."
"Pulled a muscle in his back due to circumstances that have absolutely nothing to do with this hallway and has to go rest," Simmons finished. "So get moving."
"Fuck."
Note: *Une petite mort means, literally, "a small death" and can be used as an euphemism for orgasm. Clearly, Donut is applying what he learned in his Women in Lit course. I'm sure his parents will be very glad to know the tuition was well spent. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:6433 Red vs Blue: Enough Part I 2007-09-23T04:42:56Z 2007-09-23T17:15:39Z Title: Enough Part I
Series: Red vs Blue
Pairings: Grif/Simmons
Warnings: Slash, Language
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 944
Note: This is inspired by
michygeary's fic Under Pressure. If you haven't read it, go do it now and tell her she's great.Beta courtesy of
jack_infinitude. She's great.Simmons was sitting at the table when Grif entered the Red team's kitchen. The maroon soldier grunted in response to Grif's greeting, not seeming to notice the (intentional) racket that the orange soldier made while getting a soda and retrieving Oreos. Grif figured that there was only one appropriate course of action when someone seemed dead-set on ignoring his presence: he sat down across from Simmons.
"Morning," he said around a mouthful of cookies.
Once again, Simmons responded with a noise polite enough to avoid outright rudeness, but dismissive enough to discourage conversation. Grif was unfazed. He merely continued his breakfast, making sure to "accidentally" drop crumbs on the reports Simmons was reading. He was rewarded with dirty looks.
"Hey, Simmons." The maroon soldier looked up and Grif grinned at him. "I'm bored. Wanna go make out?"
The other man turned white, dropped the report he was reading and almost knocked over his coffee. "I--" Then, his face turned red and he choked out, "What?"
Grif took another drink of his soda to hide the grin. "Hey, I was bored, you have to be bored, just thought I'd throw it out there."
Simmons jaw worked for a moment, then he glared. "You're out of your fucking mind. What if someone had heard? What if someone had taken you seriously?"
"You mean, someone like you?"
Grif wondered for a moment how Simmons's face could alternate between ghostly white and blood red in the space of seconds. He knew he shouldn't tease the other man, but it was too easy.
"It's not funny," Simmons said stiffly. "I know this doesn't mean anything to you, but it does to me." He moved to gather the reports up to leave.
"Wait," Grif told him, getting up to throw away the empty cookie bag. "Don't leave. I'll stop," he promised, sitting down at the table once again, this time directly beside Simmons. The other man tensed at his proximity, but didn't move. That was some progress, at least. It had taken Simmons a week to even be in the same room with him after that one, ill-advised kiss.
Despite his constant teasing, Grif had to admit that seeing the tension in the other man's body bothered him more than a little. As enjoyable as it was to push Simmons's buttons, part of him wished there was some other way of interacting. He leaned in a little closer and tried to ignore the fact that Simmons moved away. "What are you working in?"
"Emergency plans. In case the Blues attack," Simmons replied, returning his attention to the paper in his hand.
Grif made a dismissive noise. "Why you let Sarge waste your time with that crap?"
Simmons tensed once again. "It's not crap. I can see how you'd forget, but we are in a war here. And the enemy is right on top of us. We *need* backup plans."
"Right," Grif said sarcastically. "Because Caboose and my Sister are such military geniuses." He rolled his eyes. "Those guys are harmless. You just think they're dangerous because Sarge says they are and you kiss his ass. Would it kill you to think for yourself every now and then?"
Simmons dropped the report and closed his eyes. After a long silence, he asked in a level voice, "You mean let you think for me?"
"Don't be an ass. You're entitled to your opinion, just don't spout off Sarge's crap in response to everything."
Simmons took another deep breath and Grif could almost hear him mentally counting to ten. "Did it ever occur to you that I follow Sarge because I have my own problems with the Blue Army, and not that I have problems with the Blue Army because I follow Sarge?"
Grif shifted uncomfortably. There was something wrong with this entire conversation. Simmons was angry, that much was clear. Normally, if Grif had made Simmons this angry, Simmons would be yelling. Loudly. Instead, the man's voice was disturbingly calm. Only the tightness in his jaw and his white knuckles gave any indication the man was angry.
When Grif didn't respond, Simmons said quietly, "When I first joined the Army, the Blue Army captured me."
"Like me?" Grif asked, remembering the uncomfortable cell at Sidewinder and the boredom and uncertainty.
"What happened to you was nothing like what happened to me!" Simmons snapped, crushing report in his hand. Another deep breath, then he seemed to regain his control and focused his attention on smoothing the crumpled paper.
Suddenly, Grif wanted nothing more than to stop this conversation, but Simmons was watching him, waiting to see what his reaction was. Somehow, it felt like a test. He took a deep breath and, feeling like he was following a script, asked, "Was it bad?"
"Sarge rescued me," Simmons said.
Suddenly, that relationship made more sense to Grif.
"Did they.... Were... What happened?"
"They did...things to me." Simmons looked away, his jaw tightening even more, the paperwork now forgotten.
"What kind of things?" Grif asked. He didn't want to know, not really, but he had to ask. Otherwise, his mind would fill in the blanks and he wasn't sure he could live with that.
Simmons was silent for a long time, long enough that Grif had given up on an answer. Then, in a tightly controlled voice, Simmons said quietly, "Things I don’t want to talk about."
Grif struggled for a response, but Simmons stood up and left, forgetting his coffee and paperwork.
Things I don't want to talk about. That was all he said.
But, Grif thought, recalling the stiffness in his friend's shoulders as he left the small kitchen, wasn't that enough?
Part II urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:6276 Red vs Blue: Enough Part II 2007-09-23T04:33:14Z 2007-09-23T04:43:45Z Title: Enough Part II
Series: Red vs Blue
Pairings: Grif/Simmons
Warnings: Slash, Language
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1,056
As always, thanks to
jack_infinitude for her general awesomeness.Part I
Simmons reached for a handful of pebbles and threw them one by one. He had been sitting outside the Red base for several hours, even since he had walked out of the kitchen when talking to Grif.
It was, as usual, unbearably hot. Sarge would never admit being bothered by the extreme heat, Donut was constantly trying to find the positive aspect of it (and if Simmons never saw another bottle of baby oil in his life, it would be too soon), while Grif complained about it. Constantly.
Simmons liked the heat, though. He was never cold. And that was good, because being cold made him think of Sidewinder and nothing good could come from that. Sarge had helped him understand that.
So why he had he mentioned it to Grif?
He scooped up another handful of pebbles and threw them as hard as he could.
Sidewinder was, without a doubt, the lowest point of his life. At point, in that prison cell, he had accepted he was going to die. He had wanted to die. His only fear was that, in the midst of the pain and intimidation, he might give away information that would cause other Red soldiers to die and the world to brand Dick Simmons as a traitor.
Then Sarge came.
Sometimes, Simmons thought that if he could just make Grif understand exactly what Sarge had done, his teammate would at least respect Simmons's devotion to their CO. He remembered lying in the cell, half-conscious and in pain, and suddenly seeing a flash of red. Sarge had carried Simmons out of the cell and, though most of it was pretty fuzzy, Simmons remembered Sarge saying, "Good job, soldier." And, more importantly, through the pain and humiliation, Simmons remembered the note of admiration in the older man's voice.
In the course of his recovery, Simmons discovered that Sarge had learned that the Blues were holding a Red soldier in Sidewinder and that the Red Army had decided that a rescue operation would endanger too many other soldiers and, since the private lacked any knowledge of sensitive material, Command had decided to abandon him. Sarge had agreed to go in alone, with no backup and the knowledge that the Red Army would not attempt a rescue if he were caught.
How could Simmons not respect the man?
Sarge had gone one step further, though. After Simmons had been released from the hospital, he had taken steps to get the private assigned to his command. Sarge hadn't held his hand and the one time Simmons had tried to discuss the ordeal, Sarge had awkwardly offered to find someone for Simmons to talk to, and then changed the subject. Still, he had helped Simmons recover. Sarge had given him a purpose and ways to keep busy...and keeping busy was almost as good as forgetting. Sometimes.
He couldn't forget, though, and it affected almost every aspect of his life, though he did everything in his power to hide it. Most of the time, he succeeded. And some things had even improved. Even when they had first met, Grif had little respect for personal space and, while he never actually touched Simmons, the other man somehow managed fill up every space he was in. Gradually, the tension had faded enough that Simmons barely noticed Grif's proximity any more.
Which brought him back to the question of why he had revealed anything to Grif. Simmons hadn't planned on keeping it a secret forever. Someday, Simmons would meet someone, a female someone, who would listen to the details of his ordeal and offer him comfort. And when that happened, he could put it all behind him.
So, once again, why Grif? He wanted to believe that it had somehow slipped out while he was defending Sarge and, with enough rationalization, he might even make himself believe it. But now, he had to admit that he could have easily defended Sarge without bringing up his experiences in Sidewinder. And he had kept it secret for years, so it would hardly slip out accidentally at this point.
That left a very disturbing answer: he had wanted to tell Grif. In the middle of that fight, Grif had looked concerned. And part of Simmons needed someone to be concerned, to listen to his story. Or so he thought.
Once the words were out, Simmons felt colder than he'd ever been in his life. Grif wasn't an enemy, but was he a friend? Would he betray Simmons's trust? Could Simmons deal with it if he did? And what would Sarge say?
So, in the end, he had just walked out and spent several hours outside the base, trying to figure out the best way of handling the situation; but he was too confused to think.
He jumped as he heard a sound behind him.
"Sorry," Grif said, hesitating briefly and then sitting down directly beside Simmons.
That was reassuring. Even if he had hesitated, Grif was still trying to treat him normally.
"Don't worry about it," Simmons muttered, unable to bring himself to look at his teammate.
"Yeah, well..." Grif trailed off and they were both silent for a long time. "I've been thinking about what you said and I can't.... I don't know what to say,"
Simmons shrugged, reaching for another handful of pebbles. "Don't worry about it."
"Are you okay?" Grif asked.
"Yeah."
"Is it something you want to talk about?"
"No."
Another long silence. "Okay. Do you want me to leave?"
He shrugged again. It was impossible to figure out what he wanted from Grif now, or what he wanted for anyone.
"Then I'll sit here for a while," Grif decided, grabbing his own handful of pebbles. "Are you aiming at anything?"
Simmons shook his head. "Nothing to aim at."
"Oh, right. I hate this fucking place," Grif muttered, throwing his own rock and smirking when it went further than Simmons's rocks.
Another long silence, interrupted only by sound of the pebbles hitting the ground.
"Look, man, for what it's worth, I'm sorry," Grif finally said.
Simmons looked at his teammate for the first time. "For what?"
Grif shrugged. "I don't know. For all the things I should apologize for?"
Simmons said nothing.
Two words. I'm sorry. It wasn't a lot, not in light of everything.
But somehow, it was enough. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:6064 More Recs 2007-09-08T10:53:18Z 2007-09-08T10:54:10Z Because hopefully, I'll eventually find time to start the archive.
The Last Moments (of You and Me) by
cunfuzzled_1 (Church/Tex) - A little softer than I usually like Church and Tex, but still well worth reading.Ambivalence & Indecision by
churchswife (Church/Tucker, Church/Grif) - Because love lust triangles are hot.Sweet, Sweet Revenge Part I and Part Deux by
churchswife (Church/Tucker) - Because confessing is even hotter.And I'm finally sleepy, so I'm calling it quits. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:5673 Red vs Blue: Deconstruction 2007-09-01T08:42:58Z 2007-09-01T08:42:58Z Title: Deconstruction
Series: Red vs Blue
Pairings: Grif/Simmons
Warnings: Slash, Language
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1,813
Once again, thanks to
jack_infinitude for being a wonderful beta. I should buy her a pony or something. Or at least stop sending her fics fill with really stupid typos. Note: I wanted to thank everyone who's been commenting on my fics. The last few weeks have been a little rough (though nothing I didn't sign on for or can't handle) and all the nice comments have really made my day. I really appreciate everyone who's taking time to read this and comment. Thanks so much! And now, the fic....
"Simmons won't be happy if he catches you smoking," Donut observed as he joined Grif on the roof of the base.
"That kiss ass can get over it. He's the reason I'm smoking." Grif lit a new cigarette with his old one before throwing it down.
"Chain smoking and dropping your butts. That's really going to impress him. Or were you absent on the day they showed those videos in health class about how smoking doesn't make you look cool?" The pink soldier crossed his arms and glared at his teammate. "Besides, smoking gives you wrinkles. You could at least have a little consideration for the people around you."
Grif rolled his eyes and wondered if he could smoke two cigarettes: one for the pain in the ass currently sucking up to their CO and another for the pain in the ass lecturing him on his smoking habits. "No one has to be around me right now. In fact, I came up here so I wouldn't have anyone around me. If it bothers you, go somewhere else." He deliberately exhaled a stream of smoke in the other man's face.
The pink soldier didn't yield. "Just because you won't deal with your problems like a mature adult doesn't give you the right to take them out on your friends."
"You think you know my problems?" He glared at Donut, but his teammate was unfazed.
"Yeah, I do. You have a problem with the fact that you're gay."
"I'm not gay," Grif answered tiredly.
"Yeah, right. You can't keep your eyes off Simmons," he pointed out, following Grif's gaze to where Sarge and Simmons were busy working on the Warthog. "You have a thing for him and you're making everyone more miserable by refusing to admit it."
"Having a thing for Simmons doesn’t make me gay."
Donut made a skeptical sound. "Yeah, you'd be surprised at how many straight guys want to have sex with other men. Happens all the time."
Grif ignored him. It wasn't worth arguing over.
Donut tried again. "Okay, even if being attracted to another guy doesn’t make you guy," the tone of his voice said clearly what the thought of this position, "You still have a thing for Simmons and you have a problem with that."
"Not because he's a man." Donut made another disbelieving sound and Grif turned to face him. "Stop acting like you know me. You don't know anything about me and you don't have the right to tell me what I have a problem with." He took a deep breath. "I do not have problems with being attracted to another man.
"Bullshit." The other man's uncharacteristically strong language forestalled any reply on Grif's part. "Ever since I got here, you and Simmons have been in each other's faces over every little thing. Then, suddenly, you guys started getting along better and everything was great, then you realized you were attracted to him and start snapping at anyone who even tries to talk to you. So why don't you make peace with it and then go talk to Simmons about it?"
"I can't," Grif said. "And you don't understand anything about this." Donut opened his mouth to reply. "Shut up! I don't have a problem with guys liking other guys. I had this friend. And he had this older brother and he was just.... He was great to us, you know? When we were kids, he always put up with us tagging along or whatever. And he was good at everything." He stopped for a minute, wondering why he had brought up, but unable to stop himself. "And when we were in high school, and he was in college, he came out. And one summer, when he was home, we... It wasn't a relationship exactly, but we did stuff." At Donut's shocked look, Grif rolled his eyes. "I mean, it didn't go that far...and after he went back in the fall, it was over. And after that, I just always went for women, but..." He rolled his eyes. "Why am I telling you all of this, anyway?"
"What I want to know is why you've been holding out on me all this time!" Donut exclaimed. "And why you're having such a hard time dealing with the Simmons thing in light of your...um...previous experience."
The maroon soldier sighed. Donut was a good guy, but he just didn't get things sometimes. "Sarge."
"Sarge? What about Sarge?"
"He's not okay with you being gay. I mean, listen to what he calls you. Princess Peach. Strawberry Shortcake. Pretty in Pink--" Donut cut him off.
"Those are about my armor color. Not my....preferences."
Grif snorted. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, man." He looked down at Simmons and Sarge, who were discussing something intently while gesturing first at the Warthog and then at the base. "Hope whatever they're talking about doesn't involve us," he remarked. "But anyway, Sarge isn't okay with that kind of thing. And Simmons is a huge kiss ass, we both know that. Whatever Sarge says, goes. Besides, he's straight."
"You don't know tha--" This time, Grif was the one to interrupt.
"Get over it, Donut. He's so straight that he can't even acknowledge that you're gay. So what am I supposed to do? Walk up to him and say 'Excuse me, Simmons. You may not have noticed, but I spend an inordinate amount of time staring at your ass. In light of this, I think we should crawl in the back of the Warthog and do dirty things. Really dirty things.'"
"The Warthog, huh? Kinky. I'd have gone for Sarge's bed myself," Donut mused.
"Sarge's bed? That's not just sick, that's suicidal, man!"
"Like he wouldn't kill you both if he caught you in the Warthog?"
"The Warthog probably has less firepower that whatever Sarge keeps under his pillow," argued Grif.
Donut shrugged. "Everyone needs a little danger every now and then." He turned to look at his teammate once again. "But don't you think Simmons has a right to know? Maybe not in that way, but somehow?"
"Why? So things can get weird between us?"
"He has a right to know." Donut insisted.
"No, he doesn't. I don't plan on doing anything about it. And if I told him, things would be even worse than they were earlier. He'd hate me. At least this way, we're friends. Sort of."
"I think it's dishonest. You can't be friends with someone if the other person doesn’t know the whole story. It's not fair."
"It's not dishonesty, it's just something that isn't worth mentioning," Grif argued. He reached for a third cigarette, but stopped when he saw Simmons looking directly at them. Unable to meet the maroon soldier's eyes, Grif shoved the pack back into his pocket, threw his butt on the roof, and turned to Donut. "Besides, it would just make Simmons all the more tense and that's the last thing we need."
"You have feelings for him and you keep acting like it's nothing."
"I'm acting like it's nothing because it is nothing, Donut. I don't have feelings for him. I think he's attractive, but I don't think that's something you have to admit to everyone you look at twice," Grif argued.
"You've looked at him more than twice."
"Let it go, man,"
They were quiet for a long time, then Donut sighed. "You know what I find interesting?"
Grif continued to watch Sarge and Simmons working on the Warthog, refusing to encourage Donut by responding.
Apparently, he didn't need encouragement. "I find it interesting that, while you claim not to have feelings for Simmons, your reasons for not telling him are all pretty selfless."
"Why are you so intent on making this into something it isn't, Donut? Why can't you just let it go?" Grif demanded, reaching for another cigarette.
"Because everyone has a right to know if someone cares. If someone cared about me, I'd want to know...even if it wasn't mutual. And you do care about Simmons," he said, preempting Grif's protests, "because you won't tell him anything because you think it might upset him. You're not worried about what he'll say to you, or what Sarge will do. You're keeping your feelings secret because you don't want them to make his life harder. And do you know what that means?"
"It means that the only reason I haven't shoved you off the roof of this base is because you're too far away and it would mean that I would have to get up? And that if you finish that sentence, I'll decide it's worth getting up to do it?"
"It means that you're in love with him," Donut said triumphantly, moving carefully away from the edge of the base and making his way toward the door before Grif could stand.
Grif leaned against the wall for a long time, enjoying his cigarette and thinking about what the other man had said. Most of what Donut said was ridiculous. The guy meant well, but he had a habit of romanticizing everything. The idea that he was in love with Simmons was ridiculous. Their relationship had always been charged, initially with anger, but lately they had arrived at a truce. And sometimes, watching Simmons watch him, Grif thought that the attraction might be mutual. But the idea that anything like love existed between the two of them was ridiculous. Even if Simmons was attracted to him, and if they pursued a relationship, it was impossible to envision himself in love with the other man.
On the other hand, lately, Grif had started to think that he might actually like the other man. He had started to suspect that, somewhere beneath the kiss ass exterior, Simmons might actually be a decent guy. And Donut was right about one thing: That was why he had kept his interest in the other man secret. After all, Grif had nothing to lose. Worst case scenario, Sarge would flip out and send the orange soldier home. For Simmons, though, it would complicate things. Either Simmons wasn't interested and spent the next few months even more awkward and uncomfortable around him or he was interested, Sarge found out, and Simmons lost his position as Sarge's second. While Grif personally thought that would be doing Simmons a favor, he couldn't bring himself to do that to someone that might be a friend.
So, the solution was simple. His feelings for Simmons were hardly overpowering, so he ignored them. He followed the maroon soldier's lead when it came to their friendship and, so far, it had worked. Frankly, he had no real interest in Dick Simmons...despite Donut's best efforts to create some elaborate story of unrequited love. He tolerated Simmons and Simmons tolerated him. Period.
So why did he feel a slight pang when he saw Simmons deep in conversation with Sarge? urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:5206 Red vs Blue: A Start 2007-08-12T05:28:05Z 2007-08-12T05:28:05Z Title: A Start
Series: Red vs Blue
Pairings: Grif/Simmons
Warnings: Slash, Language
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 840
Many, many thanks to
jack_infinitude for being one of the best betas I've ever had!"Sarge wanted me to talk to you about the latest emergency plans."
Grif shrugged, not bothering to look up from the magazine he was reading. "Put it in a memo."
Simmons made a frustrated noise. "You don't read the memos."
"I give them all the attention they deserve. Sometimes more. So send me another one. They're useful."
"You've used the last five memos I sent you to make a paper airplanes," Simmons began.
Grif chuckled, finally laying the magazine down. "Yeah, that was fun. And I won money off Donut. He bet me that I couldn't get one stuck in the ceiling beams. He was wrong."
Ignoring his teammate, the maroon soldier continued, "You turned the one before that into a 'Kick Me' sign for my armor."
"Yeah, Donut ruined that one. I was going to write 'Kiss ass,' but he said that was too mean and I thought the guy was going to cry, so I had to go with 'Kick me.' Although, sometimes the classics are the best," Grif mused, smiling at the memory.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Simmons snapped.
Grif finally looked up from his magazine, surprised at the anger in the other man's voice. Granted, Simmons could have a short fuse, but getting this angry, this fast was unusual, even for him. "What do you mean, what's wrong with me? I'm just fulfilling my role in this unit."
"Your role in the unit?" Simmons asked in disbelief. "You don't have a role in the unit. You actively try to avoid doing anything at all that might, in some small way, contribute to the unit."
"That's not true," Grif argued. "We all have our roles: Sarge cooks up harebrained schemes; you tell him he's brilliant, then spend hours trying to convince Donut and me that the plan isn't stupid; Donut takes care of the decorating *and* maintains our team's web site and blog; and I try to help you maintain some semblance of objectivity by pointing out how much Sarge's plans suck and how much you kiss his ass. Frankly, I think we exhibit model teamwork." He turned his attention back to his magazine, wondering for a moment why he was trying to hard to push Simmons's buttons.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Simmons grabbed the magazine and leaned in close to Grif. "Look, I don't know what the hell has happened in the past couple of weeks, but it's driving me crazy. Everything was going great. You were actually working. I thought we were making progress to ...I don't know...coexisting in the same space without wanting to kill each other. And now..." Simmons trailed off, still glaring at his teammate.
Grif was less focused on the other man's words and more on their respective positions. He was still sitting down, but Simmons was now leaning across the table, his hands on either side of Grif, so close that the orange solider could smell the soap Simmons had used that morning.
Right...that's why I bait him, Grif remembered. While Simmons usually kept his teammates at arm's length, physically and emotionally, he tended to severely invade personal space when angry. It could make for interesting circumstances. Like now. Neither of them was wearing armor and Grif could feel Simmons's breath tickling at face. All in all, not a bad way to spend an afternoon, he thought with a smirk.
"Now you think this is funny?" Simmons snarled. "I swear, if you don't tell me what the hell is going on with you, I'll..." He trailed off, clearly trying to find an appropriate threat.
They glared at each other for another minute. Grif decided that things possibly couldn't get worse and realized that he had a perfect opportunity to test a theory. He grabbed the front of Simmons's shirt and tugged gently, forcing the other man's face down just a bit closer. Then, in the middle of the Red Base, Dexter Grif kissed Dick Simmons.
Simmons made a shocked, angry sound and, for a moment, Grif thought he was going to pull away. He remained, however, though unyielding. Then, Grif raised his hand up to cup the back of his teammate's head and suddenly, Simmons was kissing him back.
It only lasted briefly, and then Simmons pulled back. "What the fuck?" he gasped.
Grif sat back in his chair. "It seemed like the right thing to do at the time," he grinned, enjoying the other man's confusion. "Now, was there anything else you needed to tell me?"
Simmons was silent for over a minute, then suddenly, things seemed to click into place. "Yeah. Sarge sent me to discuss his latest emergency plans. The first one is to be implemented in the event the Blues gain control of the jeep again and, as you can see from the diagram..." He took a seat at the table and began unrolling plans while relaying Sarge's instructions.
Grif settled in to listen. It may not have been the most auspicious of beginnings, but it was certainly a start. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:4933 tsukinobotan @ 2007-08-06T07:50:00 2007-08-06T11:52:02Z 2007-08-06T11:52:02Z Since I plan on starting a RvB fan fic archive soon, I thought it might be best to go through and make a note of the fics I actually enjoyed and want to get around to archiving. Instead of doing it on my hard drive, though, I thought I'd go ahead and post them in my LJ as reccs. So, here's the first batch:
Break These Chains by
somniac_kiss - This is a violent, pre-RvB Church/Tex fic. It's not how I usually like to think of Tex, Church, or their relationship, but there's something compelling about it. Major warnings apply, though. Langauge, explicit sex, dubious-to-non-con activity. Death by
jack_infinitude - A short, bittersweet Donut/Sister piece. The imagery is amazing and it's beautifully written. Hours by
michygeary - Pre-RvB Simmons story. Writer's summary: Young Simmons, new to high school -- 'nuff said This is part of Michy's very amazing, very fascinating Simmons backstory. The Broiler Room by
michygeary - Simmons/Grif (yay!) and some Church/Tex. Michy's summary: Tex collects the "favor" Simmons and Grif owe her. This has to be some of my favorite interaction between Tex and the Reds...however brief. There's also some great Simmons/Grif interaction.The Room Above the Broiler Room by
flightofpassage - Companion piece to The Broiler Room. Tells the events from the perspective of Tex and Church. And that's it for now. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:4709 Red vs Blue: Right or Wrong 2007-07-30T04:15:47Z 2007-07-30T04:15:47Z Title: Right or Wrong
Series: Red vs Blue
Pairings: Grif/Simmons
Warnings: Slash
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1,000 (exactly)
Thanks to Xeiharioukou for the beta.
Simmons tensed and forced himself to breathe evenly as Grif snaked an arm around his waist and muttered something incomprehensible without ever waking up.
"This is wrong," the maroon soldier muttered to himself. Grif, as oblivious asleep as he was awake, merely snorted in reply and tried to steal the blankets.
He couldn't even begin to count the ways in which the situation was wrong. First, Simmons hated sharing a bed with Grif. When the other man pressed him for a reason, the maroon soldier merely pointed out that there were no locks on the bedroom doors and how easy it would be for Sarge to walk in to find the two men....together. Grif had snorted in laughter, advanced on Simmons until his lover was cornered, then murmured, "Let him. It might be an educational experience. Think of what I could teach him about handling a man under him."
Simmons had blushed furiously, tried to lecture his teammate on the chain-of-command and proper military discipline, and had instead wound up making soft, pleading sounds as Grif did things to his body that even Donut couldn't have imagined.
And that was the problem, he reflected as he tried to reclaim his share of the blankets. As long as he had known Grif, he had considered himself superior to the other man. Superior in rank. Superior in intellect. Superior in discipline. That superiority had comforted him. But once they had both realized that their mutual hatred was changing into something infinitely more complicated, but no less mutual, Grif was suddenly in control.
Though Simmons wasn't a virgin--thanks to a brothel, several bottles of hard liquor, and Sarge's determination to "make a man" out of his second-in-command--he was utterly inexperienced with relationships. Moreover, he still wasn't sure if he was entirely comfortable having feelings for another man...especially the man currently sleeping beside him.
Grif, on the other hand, had taken the change in their relationship completely in stride. Had it been left up to Simmons, they would still be working out a code of appropriate and inappropriate behavior around Sarge, Donut, the Blues, and anyone else who could possibly come to Blood Gulch and observe the interaction between the two them.
Instead, Grif had listened to Simmons's suggestions for nearly ten minutes (and that show of patience had underscored the change in their relationship more than anything else) before leaning in and kissing him until they were both out of breath. And then the discussion was over, never to be visited again.
Grif had used similar techniques to overcome all of the other man's boundaries. After the hurried kisses came long conversations on the top of the base. After the long conversations came leisurely kisses in Grif's bedroom. The kisses had gradually became more and more insistent until, one lazy afternoon, with no real discussion or fanfare, they were suddenly lovers.
It was only after that incident that Grif encountered any resistance. While Simmons had been content to allow the other man to take control, he certainly wasn't under any sort of spell. He had carefully evaluated each step they took in their relationship, giving the mental okay before succumbing to Grif's strategy.
After several nights of Simmons furtively sneaking back to his own bedroom after their nocturnal activities, Grif had finally rolled his eyes. "Stay," he had ordered.
Simmons ignored the order for a week. Then it had become a request and, finally, three weeks later, something that, in a more tender relationship, might have been a plea. He had recognized the desire in Grif's voice and was shocked that his presence beside another person could matter so much.
So he had submitted and, on the first night, he realized how wrong it was.
Grif's bed was too soft, thanks to his practice of appropriating the supplies intended for new soldiers. When Simmons had questioned him, the orange soldier had merely replied that the most recent recruit was Donut, four years ago. Grif was right, but it still rankled Simmons, who had appropriated from the storeroom no more and no less than what the Red Army regulations allowed. The softer bed might be more comfortable, but it seemed like another betrayal his values.
Second, Grif was annoying whether asleep or awake. At regular intervals, he would steal the blankets, sprawl possessively over Simmons, mutter in his sleep, or do one of any dozen annoying habits. As a result, the quality of Simmons's sleep was suffering, though it was nothing his cyborg parts couldn't overcome.
The real problem was trust. The trust required for the physical aspect of their relationship was nothing compared to the anxiety Simmons felt when he imagined himself asleep and vulnerable next to Grif. Intellectually, he realized that he could trust Grif after everything they had done, but the idea of allowing himself so vulnerable around a man he had hated until a few months ago was almost impossible.
Simmons hadn't been kind to Grif and the other man could make him pay in so many ways, most notably by allowing Sarge to find his second-in-command curled up in his least favorite soldier's bed. While Grif never mentioned the rockier parts of their history, listening to Sarge's derisive remarks must have caused an almost unbearable desire to shock and hurt his CO by revealing his relationship with a man that the red officer seemed to regard almost as a son.
And that was what Simmon's nights consisted of lately: tossing and turning in a too soft bed, afraid to drop his guard enough to sleep. There was no question in his mind that this situation was wrong in too many ways to count and that he should take steps to solve the problem.
Then he would finally doze off, only to wake later with Grif nuzzling his ear. "Sleep well?" he'd ask, looking slightly disheveled and very attractive in the weak sunlight that made it into the base.
And for the briefest moment, everything would be right. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:4509 Red vs Blue: The Five Stages of Grif 2007-07-11T08:46:20Z 2007-07-11T08:52:27Z Title: The Five Stages of Grif
Series: Red vs Blue
Pairings: Grif/Simmons
Warnings: Slash, language
Spoilers: Nothing major. Maybe up to season two, but nothing critical.
Word Count: 1,934
Comments: The title is a play on "The Five Stages of Grief." No one dies in this fic, but Simmons does come to terms with some "catastrophic news" (another application for the model).
Thanks to
michygeary and cunfuzzled_1 for the beta.Denial
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Simmons hissed.
Donut shrugged. "Denial."
"I'm not in denial. Denial would imply that I li-- That I'm interested in--" The maroon soldier took a deep breath. "It implies that I'm the thing you said I am and that I just won't admit it. It can't be denial because there's nothing for me to admit."
"You realize that what you just said is classic denial?"
"Forget it. I'm not going to be lectured on denial by a guy who can't even admit that his armor is pink." Simmons turned to leave..
"It's not pink!" Donut yelled at the other man's back. "It's--"
"Lightish red. We know." Sarge finished, coming up behind the pink solider. "What's wrong with Simmons? Think he needs an upgrade?" he asked, his voice filled with anticipation.
"No, he's just in denial."
"Dammit, Pretty in Pink, I told you not to mention Grif to him! If we're going to beat those sneaky Blues, we have to function at maximum efficiency."
"I can't help it! It would just be so romantic if--"
"That's enough, Private! We don't have room for that nonsense here. This unit is a well-oiled machine and I won't let anything get in the way of that. A machine! Do you hear me?"
"Did you say we were getting a candy machine?" The two men turned to find Grif calmly eating a Twinkie. "I hope it has Oreos."
Anger
"Goddammit, Grif, can't you do anything?" Simmons asked, glaring at him over the Warthog's engine.
The other man shrugged. "I probably could. I just don't want to." He opened up another pack of Oreos and offered Simmons one.
"Why are you offering me an Oreo? You never share."
"Sorry," Grif said, taking the package back. "I just saw you and Donut fighting this morning and thought I'd be nice."
"Nice? He talked to you, didn't he? He swore he wouldn't say anything and besides, it's all bullshit! How can you believe anyone wearing pink fucking armor? And why the hell were you talking about me with him, anyway?" Simmons slammed the hood down.
Grif threw his hands up. "Forget I mentioned it, man. You know, I think Sarge should trade you for that mean chick on the Blue team. At least we'd expect her to be a bitch every month."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"That you're being a bitch?"
"That's it. I'm going to fucking kill Donut."
Bargaining
"Please, sir, it's a reasonable request." He hated the whining note in his voice and cringed at the thought of what Grif would say.
"Can't do it, Simmons. Red Command won't reassign him and we can't throw the useless meatsack out We can't have a new recruit unless Grif quits and I've been working on that for the past four years. You can see how well that's gone."
"I think you've done a fine job of trying to get him to leave. It's just that Grif's inherently flawed, which is all the more reason to get rid of him. He's tearing us apart."
"Never happen."
"Okay, then reassign me. Anywhere. I don't care. Sidewinder. The moon. Disney World. Wherever." Simmons stopped himself. "Not that you aren't the best commanding officer I could hope for, sir, but I feel that I'd serve you better by sharing your tactics with other units."
"No way. If I get rid of you, I'm stuck with Grif and Pinky over there." Simmons followed Sarge's gaze to see Grif sleeping with a chocolate bar in his hand and Donut reading a fashion magazine and taking notes.
"I see your point, sir. But what if I find a replacement? A good one?"
"Who?"
"Um...Doc?" Sarge shook his head. "Okay, the freelancer?" He sighed at Sarge's horrified look. "Lopez? If we could find his body? I'll do whatever it takes."
"Sorry, son. Looks like we're all stuck here for a while." The Red leader sighed dramatically, then perked up. "Want to play some Grif ball?"
Depression
"Simmons?"
"Go away, Donut!"
"You can't spend all day in bed."
"There's nothing to stop me."
"Dinner's ready."
"I'm not hungry."
"I made a chocolate cake."
"Who cares?"
"Come on. You'll feel better after you eat."
"No. If I come out, you'll just say that thing that you keep saying and Sarge will tell me he can't do anything to help. I just want to stay here. In the dark. And think about how I have nothing left to live for."
"That's not true, Simmons. You have a lot to live for, like--"
"Here, let me take care of it, Donut. You have plenty to live for, Simmons. Think of all the asses you have left to kiss."
"GO AWAY, GRIF!"
Acceptance
Several hours later, Simmons decided it was time to get up. His body was forcefully reminding him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. The clock beside his bed indicated that it was just after midnight, so no one should be awake. Sarge was an early riser, Donut claimed he needed ten hours of beauty sleep, and keeping Grif out of bed during the daylight was hard enough. The maroon soldier decided to chance a late-night kitchen raid.
Someone had forgotten to turn out the light before leaving. Probably Grif, he thought contemptuously. He made his way to the refrigerator and started rummaging for something to eat.
"Nothing's left. Donut threw out all the good stuff because he said he was gaining weight."
Simmons jumped at the sudden voice and banged his head painfully on the top of the refrigerator. He turned to see Grif sitting at the table with an extremely large slice of chocolate cake.
"Grif? What are you doing up?" Simmons cursed inwardly at his cracking voice.
The other man shrugged. "Couldn't sleep and I remembered there was some cake leftover, so I figured 'Why not?'"
That would explain his appearance. Grif was clad in only a pair of black sweatpants and his hair was tousled. He looked....nice. Simmons tried not to stare at his teammate's well-toned chest.
"Want some?" Grif gestured at the cake. "I took the last slice, but there's enough to share."
"I...um..." Simmons tore his gaze away from the light stubble on the orange soldier's face and looked at the door. "I should..."
"Yeah, yeah. I know. You don't approve of the junk food. But beggars can't be choosers," Grif declared firmly as he retrieved a second plate and fork from a nearby drawer. He cut the cake into two surprisingly equal pieces and pushed one toward Simmons. "Eat."
It was a red letter day. Grif had offered so share food not once, but twice in a twenty-four hour period. Besides, as much shit as they gave each other, Simmons didn't actually dislike Grif. In fact, at times like this, when he wasn't being lazy, or greedy, or... Well, he could be tolerable. Sometimes. Maybe.
Simmons sat down and accepted the proffered fork. He poked the cake tentatively.
"Eat it. It's really good," Grif said around a large mouthful. "Donut's great at cooking."
Grif was right. The cake was excellent, much better the usual Blood Gulch fare. They ate quietly for a few minutes, until Grif finally broke the silence.
"So...um...are you okay?"
Simmons looked up in surprise. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"
"I don't know. You've just been acting weird since yesterday. You were fighting with Donut and then you were really...uh...tense when we were working on the Warthog," Grif played with his fork, refusing to meet his teammate's eyes.
"'When we were working on the Warthog?' I think you mean when I was working on the Warthog and you were goofing off," Simmons snapped automatically, before catching himself. "It doesn’t matter. Nothing's wrong with me."
"Oh." Grif said softly. "Then it's me."
Simmons almost didn't catch the last part because he was mesmerized by a smudge of chocolate on the other man's cheek. When the words finally registered, he dropped his fork. "You? Why would it be you?" He took a deep breath. "It's not you."
"Yeah, right. You were in a bad mood all day, then I heard you begging Sarge to get rid of me, then when he wouldn't get rid of me, you wanted a transfer." Grif shoved another forkful of cake in his mouth and chewed angrily. "Although I'm surprised you were able to stop kissing his ass long enough to ask for one. Hell, I guess I should be impressed by that, shouldn't I?" He slammed the fork down and glared.
"What the hell is wrong with you? One minute, you're offering me cake and the next minute..." Simmons grabbed his plate and stood. "You know what? I don't fucking care. I'm going back bed.
"No, stop! Look, I'm sorry. It's not like I haven't given you plenty of reasons to be pissed at me and I'm not making it any better, obviously." Grif ran his hand through his hair, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "I shouldn't have... I didn't..." He shook his head and crossed his arms. "I just thought we were doing better, you know? I thought things were okay between us and then you beg to get away from me and won't leave your room when you find out you can't."
Simmons sat down. Hard. "I don't have a problem with you. And the reason I was talking to Sarge was stupid. It's just that I...I... Can we just say that I don't have a problem with you and not talk about it?"
Grif shrugged. "Sure. I mean, we already have Donut nagging us about sharing our feelings."
"You, too?" Simmons was relieved to know he wasn't Donut's only project.
"Yeah. He thinks that I--" The other soldier was suddenly very interested in his cake. "You know what? It doesn't matter. Donut has weird ideas, you know?"
"Yeah. Do you think he tries to fix Sarge, too?"
"No way. He would have never survived this long if he had."
The two men ate in silence for a long time. Finally, Grif finished his cake and stood up. "I'm heading back to bed. You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine. I'm just going to sit here a little longer." He looked at Grif. "You might want to wash your face before you go to bed, though."
"What?"
"You have some chocolate on your cheek."
"Oh." Grif laughed and reached up to wipe it away, completely missing it.
"No, it's..." Simmons motioned at his own cheek. Grif tried again and missed. "It's higher. And..." Grif succeeded in smearing it more. "Here, just..." Without thinking, Simmons reached up to wipe it away. He felt a chill as his fingers brushed the stubble and jerked his hand back. "It's...um...gone now."
"Yeah, thanks." Grif looked as awkward as Simmons felt. They looked at each other for a moment and the orange soldier shrugged.
Grif hesitated, then started to leave. He squeezed his teammates shoulder as he left. "If you want to talk about it, you know where to find me."
Simmons sat there for a long time before noticing that Grif had left his dirty place, fork, and knife for someone else to clean up. He rolled his eyes and took the dirty dishes to the sink and cleaned up the rest of Grif's mess, marveling at how much mess he had made out of cutting a piece of cake. As he cleaned, he thought about the events of the day and his midnight snack.
It was time to face the truth: he wanted Grif. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:4240 Red vs Blue Excerpt 2007-06-07T05:17:40Z 2007-06-07T05:19:39Z I'm playing around with a Red vs Blue fic in which Tex and Simmons end up stranded together for a few hours. It's very rough, since I'm only writing chunks at a time and since I've never written this fandom before. I don't like asking people people to beta something in process, but I really need someone who can tell me if it works or not. So, I'm putting this up in hopes of getting some sort of positive or negative feedback.
***
"Why would you booby trap the teleporter?"
"We didn't booby trap it. Sarge just added an enhancement," he replied defensively.
"Why would you enhance our teleporter?"
"Strategic reasons."
The expression on the freelancer's face made it very clear that using the words Red team and strategy in the same sentence was nothing short of ludicrous. "Your strategy was to trap us out in the middle of nowhere due to a teleporter malfunction."
"Okay, first, we didn't know it would malfunction. Second, we weren't trying to trap anyone anywhere." The Red gave her a baleful look and muttered, "Especially not with you."
Her sharp glance told him she had heard the last part, but she chose to ignore it. "Then what was your master plan?"
"Like I'd tell you."
"Ha," she snorted. "I knew you didn't have any sort of master plan. Your crazy CO was just screwing around with our teleporter and it backfired on you."
"He was not screwing around with the teleporter. He was trying to build a--" he cut himself off before finishing.
"Build a what?"
Simmons shook his head.
"Right. Screwing around," she said dismissively, turning away from him.
He sighed, the urge to defend Sarge winning out. He told her what it was.
"What? I didn't understand that."
Simmons sighed. "Hewastryingtobuidatruthray."
Tex mentally translated that, then began laughing. "I'm sorry. It sounded like you said he was trying to build a truth ray."
He sighed again, refusing to meet her eyes. "That's an over-simplification, but yes."
"Why would you want to build a truth ray?"
"To gain strategic knowledge from the Blues." When she didn't reply, he snapped, "What?"
"I'm just trying to figure out where to start explaining how wrong that statement is."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Okay, first, the Blues have no strategic knowledge."
"Sarge says they're constantly scheming."
Tex opened her mouth, then closed it. "Yeah. We don't have time to explain why any statement that begins with 'Sarge says' is ridiculous." He started to defend his CO, but she cut him off. "Second, even if, by some act of God, the Blues managed to piece together a strategy, why the hell would you need a truth ray? There are easier was to get information out of people. Like beating it out of them."
"Sarge..." Another withering look from the freelancer, but he continued, "He had read some theoretical writing on truth devices and wanted to test it out."
"With old parts from a vacuum cleaner, no doubt." This time, Simmons didn't even bother replying. "Okay, finally, assuming that the truth ray worked and the Blues had some sort of strategy worth learning, why would you attach it to the teleporter?"
"It's complicated. You wouldn't understand without the proper background information."
"You have no idea, do you?"
Simmons was silent.
"Okay, since I'm clearly never going to understand the thought processes of the Red team, let's move on to the actual truth ray. I'm not even going to ask if it works or not. My question is, while it's busy not doing what it's supposed to do, does it have any nasty side effects?"
"You don't want to know."
She glared at him. "Trust me, I do."
"Fine." He heaved a long-suffering sigh, perfected by years of interacting with Grif. "It does work." At her skeptical look, he amended, "Sort of. But not exactly the way Sarge had in mind."
"This should be good," she muttered.
"What's your problem? I don't see you doing anything like this," he returned.
"Oh, right. I'm going to defend my habit of not building bizarre devices using plans from Mechanics for Dummies to the guy who's team attached a truth ray to a teleporter. I'm the one with the problem."
*****
"That's the problem with you Reds, you're always whining. It's like you think you have the monopoly on problems."
"Oh, are you implying that we don't have problems?"
"Hell, no. I'm just saying that you aren't the only ones with problems. And frankly, I think Blue team has much worse."
"Blue team has it worse? You're kidding me. Our CO's favorite soldier is a Spanish speaking robot who not only ran away, but also teamed up with our worst enemy. And managed to lose his body. We're still not clear on that."
"Our rookie is in love with a tank."
"Our rookie wears pink armor."
"Our rookie probably has permanent brain damage because he went without oxygen for close to thirty minutes when his genius teammates decided to reboot his armor."
"My team isn't ambitious enough to reboot anything. Except Sarge. And then it's not so much rebooting as turning it off to attach random, unrelated parts, then turning it back on."
"Thanks to Tucker, we had to order biohazard signs from HQ for his rock."
"We had biohazard signs. Grif ate them."
"Tucker got knocked up by an alien."
There was a long pause. "Okay, you win. Or else I don't want to compete anymore. I'm not sure which."
Tex smirked. "What do I win?"
Simmons glanced at her. "The honor of being part of the most fucked up team in the canyon?" She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, in that case, how about the choice between beef and chicken?"
"The prize for having the most dysfunctional team is an MRE?" She looked at the two pouches. "Yeah, actually, that makes complete sense. And I'll take the chicken."
He tossed it to her. "Perfect. I felt like beef tonight, anyway."
She tore into the packet, taking a quick inventory of the contents. "You aren't gullible enough to believe that's actual beef, are you?"
"Let me guess. One of the things you special forces types learn is what's in the mystery meat." An inspection of his meal revealed something that probably might pass for beef...if the only comparison was fast food restaurants and mess halls.
A disdainful snort. "They didn't have to tell us anything. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out."
"Okay, if you're such an expert, what is it?"
She waited until he had taken a big bite of beef before answering. "You saw the movie Soylent Green?" He stopped chewing. "That would be the best case scenario." She punctuated her reply by taking a bite of her own meal.
He snorted. "That would be a lot more impressive if I hadn't spent the past four years eating with Grif."
"Messy eater?"
"No. For the first year or so we were here, I think he spent at least an hour a day trying to create a new 'special' ingredient. Apparently, he figured that if it was gross enough, we'd all stop eating and he could have triple rations."
"Did it work?"
"No. Once Sarge realized that Grif actually like the MRE's, he started making Donut and me eat double rations at every meal."
"As punishment?"
"Not really. I don't think he cared what Grif was doing. Sarge just saw a way to make him suffer. Unfortunately, we had to listen to Grif's bitching, so it really wasn't one of the more effective plans."
"Did we have the same military training? When we made plans, it was usually a way to beat the enemy. Or get better tactical position. Something like that."
"Blue team has tactics?" Simmons asked skeptically, tossing the empty MRE container at a nearby rock.
"Blue team? Hell, no," she replied, sending her empty container in the same direction as the Red soldier's garbage and smirking slightly when it landed ten feet past the other container. "I mean Special Forces."
"Oh, right. Sorry, it's just..." he trailed off, obviously thinking better of what he was about to say. "So, you Special Forces types didn’t play practical jokes or anything?"
"Of course we did. The difference is that we apparently have a natural ability to figure out the best way to make our fellow man suffer. We didn't need to plan for it."
There was a long silence. "You know, we always thought it was bad that you were working with the Blues, since it pretty much meant that you were trying to kick our asses every time those idiots sneezed--"
"Trying?" she asked in disbelief.
"Okay, you kicked our asses every time those Blue idiots had a bright idea. So, obviously, being on the other side of you in a conflict isn’t good for continued health. I'm starting to wonder, though, if the guys on your team are any safer."
"They're perfectly safe. I know how to stop short of lethal force."
"I'm sure they're very grateful for that."
"I try not to care," she said.
"But you do."
"Don't be ridiculous. Why would I care?"
"Honestly, I have no idea. But a better question is why have you spent the past four years helping them? I know you'd have to be able to make better money somewhere else."
He wondered if it was his imagination or if her face actually colored slightly. "I have my reasons."
"They don't have anything to pay you and they don't have any skills you need, so I know you're not trading favors. So there has to be another reason...."
"I traded a favor to you and Grif, didn't I? And it's not like you have that many useful skills. And what was that about gay stuff, anyway?"
"Nothing! That's just Grif." He looked away, hoping she wouldn't see his face.
"No way. Normal, heterosexual men don't immediately go to 'gay stuff.'"
"That was Grif."
"And you said nothing."
"It was GRIF. It's not like logical thought works for him."
The freelancer studied him for a moment. "Huh," she finally said, smirking.
"What?" She was silent. "WHAT?"
"Oh, nothing. It's just that you seem pretty hung up on Grif."
"WHAT?" Realizing that he had just made a sound somewhere between a girlish shriek and a squawk, he cleared his throat. "I mean, what are you talking about? That's insane. Why would I be hung up on Grif?"
She shrugged. "The usual. Two relatively attractive men. Close quarters for four years. Latent homosexual urges. It happens."
"You think I'm attractive?"
"One, I said relatively. Two, you just proved my point."
"I've been on a team with Donut for four years. Trust me, I can spot insane ramblings without a point from ten miles away."
"And now we're bringing the openly gay one into this conversation. I just have one question: When you get married, are you going to have Sarge officiate?"
"Shut up!"
They glared at one another for a long time. Finally, he broke the silence. "Okay, I'm not going to argue with you over something this ridiculous. I mean, Grif and me?"
"Fine. I respect that."
"Oh, right, you-- Wait. You respect that?"
"Yeah. I respect that you're not going to tell me you don't have a thing for your teammate when you're clearly obsessed with him."
"God dammit, I'm NOT obsessed with Grif!"
"Hypocritical *and* defensive. I take back what I said about you being relatively attractive."
"That's a good thing, as far as I'm concerned. I'm starting to understand why Church is the way he is...and why you seem to think you're such an expert on obsessions."
"What did you say?" Her voice was suddenly cold.
"Yeah, it's not as funny when you're on the receiving end, is it?"
"You know what? This is why you Reds have sat there for four years without managing to beat that bunch of Blue idiots! It's not just that your CO is an idiot. It's because you're all delusional."
And then they start arguing and Tex and Church and then they either share a moment of understanding or refuse to speak to each other until rescued....not sure which. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:3787 Maria-sama ga Miteru 2006-07-14T04:15:59Z 2010-02-13T23:15:49Z Title: Nothing
Fandom: Maria-sama ga Miteru
Pairings: None, really.
Warnings: Slight shojo-ai
Spoilers: Very slight spoilers for Spring episode 5
Comments: I wanted to write a Maria-sama ga Miteru fic and this idea occurred to me late last night. It didn't turn out exactly the way I wanted, but I'm putting up because I really would like some insight and criticism.
Today should have been many things. It should have been the day that the third year students graduated. It should have been the day that the current Roses departed. It should have been the day when the Boutons finally blossomed into Roses. There are so many ways that today should have been remembered. But instead, today was the day that Ogasawara Sachiko cried.
The outburst was forgiven—embraced, even—by the other students. They saw the display of emotion as touching, as evidence of the deep, sisterly love that Rosa Chinensis en Bouton held for Rosa Chinensis. They believed that my despair was caused by the thought of having to continue on without the loving guidance of her Onee-sama. In short, I was the perfect petite soeur.
They were wrong. There was nothing touching or honorable about my behavior. In fact, my actions could only be characterized as a betrayal. My inability to deliver the farewell address was a betrayal to my Onee-sama who had to respond to such a disgraceful address. It was a betrayal to the students of Lillian who had chosen me for this honor. It was a betrayal to Yumi, who respected me.
It was bad enough that I had failed. It was bad enough that I had betrayed my Onee-sama who had chosen me for this position and supported me. The worst part, however, was the reason for my tears: I cried because my Onee-sama didn't love me. I cried because my Petite Soeur didn't need me.
From the day that Onee-sama gave me her rosary, I understood that I had been chosen as the soeur of Rosa Chinensis en Bouton, not as precious little sister of Mizuno Yoko. In the same way I had been prepared to take Shimako as a soeur to bring her into the Yamayurikai, Onee-sama had chosen me as a soeur to ensure that I would become Rosa Chinensis one day.
Onee-sama had always been kind to me and perhaps it was unfair to say that she didn't love me. She had offered me unconditional support and guidance, but I understood that I would never be first in her life. I never truly understood what I wanted, and needed, from my Onee-sama until I met Yumi.
I loved Yumi in a way that Onee-sama could never love me. But, while I had always needed my Onee-sama, Yumi didn't need me. I saw it when Rosa Gigantea teased her. I saw it when she ate lunch with Shimako. I saw it when she and Yoshino exchanged looks during meetings. Even if Yumi had not joined the Yamayurikai as my Petite Soeur, she would have still had friendship and respect of so many people. What could I offer her?
And so, I criticized her. I scolded her when she was late for a meeting because she was meeting with someone. I reprimanded her for unintentionally encouraging Rosa Gigantea's antics. I could only repay the lessons that Yumi taught me with hollow rules about conduct and etiquette.
But the real reason for my tears was the realization that, when I became Rosa Chinensis, Yumi would become Rosa Chinensis en Bouton and would find her own petite soeur. She would find someone that suited her. Someone that didn't scold her for small things. Someone that didn't need her so desperately. Someone that suited her. And then, I would be alone.
I realized truly how alone I was when I was standing on the stage. My Onee-sama would never weaken my position as the next Rosa Chinensis by going to me and Yumi... I had trained Yumi too well to do something as inappropriate as walking on stage during my farewell address. Rei's assistance had given me some comfort, but I realized that Yoshino was as possessive of her Onee-sama as I was of Yumi. So Rei's assistance was fleeting, too.
I had forced myself to enjoy the rest of the day. I understood, now more than ever, that though I had everything, it was temporary. Soon, my Onee-sama would be gone. Soon, Yumi would choose a petite soeur. Soon, I would be alone.
I, Ogasawara Sachiko, had everything I could want in life, but I had nothing to offer another person.
Today was been many things, but I will always remember it as they day that I realized that I had nothing. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:3154 Quotas: A Good Thing 2006-06-16T22:20:54Z 2006-06-16T22:20:54Z I lost my Ryuhou and Sherise paring on
30kisses cause I haven't been updating. Oops. I need to get home and get the stuff together, but with finals and the surgery, things have been rough. Over winter break, I set a goal of writing about 500 words a night and that got a lot of stuff done. Sometimes more than 500 words. I need to go back to doing that. I have several things to work on. I need to revamp and finish my Roy/Havoc fic, I have some Royai things to finish, I have a plot bunny for another Ross/Riza fic, and then my S-Cry-Ed 30kisses pairing. I have a lot of the latter planned and I really want to finish it. So, starting week after next, beta readers get ready! And I would give anything to find another good S-Cry-Ed beta, but I think it's a limited field. But any beta offers will be greatly appreciated. urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:tsukinobotan:2512 Fringe 2006-04-20T06:52:09Z 2006-04-20T06:56:48Z Title: FringeFandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairings: Riza/Maria
Warnings: Slight shojo-ai
Thanks to
tsu for the beta! It all started in the gym. Or, more accurately, in the locker room.
Riza noticed that Maria Ross had been casting subtle glances at her while they were changing. After that, Riza had started becoming more aware of the other women at work, but Riza hadn't noticed anything unusual at the office. She was unsure what to do. Maybe it was the influence of Mustang, but Riza had started to think there were worse things in the world than having an attractive woman watching her. It was rather flattering, in fact. On the other hand, having a subordinate ogling her, even outside of work, probably wasn't the most effective way of keeping good order.
A couple of weeks after her initial realization of the problem, she had opportunity to deal with it. Riza had taken her hair out of the ponytail she often wore while working out and was brushing it to remove the tangles. She felt a slight tingle run up her spine, and turned to meet the eyes of Maria, who had been staring intently. The blonde sighed inwardly and put her brush down. This had gone on too long.
"Is there a problem, Lieutenant Ross?" she asked coolly. Being ogled by another woman was just as insulting as the unwanted attentions of the opposite sex.
To her credit, Maria blushed profusely and dropped the bag of toiletries she had just removed from her locker. Riza eyed the other women as she scrambled to pick up the items that had scattered across the locker room floor
"I'm sorry. I... It's just..." The brunette swallowed and winced. "Your hair."
"My hair?" Riza asked in disbelief.
"I noticed it when you started coming to the gym and saw it down. It's just so pretty." Maria ran a hand through her own short, dark hair and smiled ruefully. "I've never had long hair and I'm not sure I'd want it. But my hair just seems so...practical. I always thought it was okay, because I'm a soldier and this hair works for me. But you're a soldier and your hair is so...pretty. And if you can have pretty hair, then maybe I could, too." Maria hesitated. "Besides, there's someone I...I'm interested in and that person is pretty oblivious to me. So, I thought that, maybe, if I changed my hair..."
Riza laid her brush down and sat on the bench, thinking for a moment. Maria Ross wanted new hair? She had a crush? Could said crush be Danny Broche? The two of them seemed to spend a lot of time together. That wasn't surprising, but someone asking Riza Hawkeye for beauty advice? That was new.
"You weren't in the War, were you, Lieutenant?" The brunette shook her head. "I didn't think so. I had short hair then, as a matter of practicality. After the War, I suppose I wanted to separate myself from the person that fought it, so I started growing it out. But I think that if I were to be back in the field on a regular basis, I'd cut it again."
"I don't want long hair. It's just..." Maria hesitated and plunged on. "It's just that a couple of weeks ago, someone came up behind me and said 'excuse me, sir.'" The other woman looked so crestfallen that Riza had to try hard not the laugh. "It's not funny! I'm sure no one has ever mistaken Lieutenant Colonel Hughes's wife for a man!" At the other woman's indignant expression, Riza lost control.
"It's probably because Gracia Hughes doesn't get her hair cut at the military barbershop," Riza explained, after she had stopped laughing.
"It's that obvious?" Maria questioned, digging through her bag for a mirror to study her close-cropped hair.
"A little," Riza answered soothingly. "But that can be fixed." Retrieving her purse from her locker, Riza pulled out a business card and handed it to the other woman. "This is the name of a salon where I get my hair cut. It's a little more expensive than the military shop, but at least you won't walk out with a high and tight."
Maria took the card dubiously and the two women finished changing without any further conversation.
Time past, and it didn't take long for Riza to completely forget about their conversation. It was two weeks later, and Riza was doing the Colonel's neglected paperwork when she heard loud voices in the hallway.
"It's against regulations!"
"What are you talking about? The regs say that hair can't touch your collar. Show me one place where it touches my collar! And besides, you don't have any room to talk about hair being against regs."
"Okay, fine. But it's impractical! Look at the how the back is all...weird."
The voices were getting closer and Riza recognized them as belonging to Danny Broche and Maria Ross. Recalling their conversation earlier, Riza cringed, wondering if one of the more... progressive stylists had convinced the Second Lieutenant to do something drastic.
"It is NOT weird. And the only way anyone would notice a difference is if they spent hours staring at the back of my neck."
There was a long pause on this. "Well, it's not my fault that you always walk faster than me and make me follow you. See, you're doing it now!"
As the door swung open, Riza quickly focused her attention back on the paperwork. Maria strode in, followed by her partner. When Riza looked up to greet the two, she quickly took in Maria's hair.
It was still brown. Still short. Still practical. However, the style was more feminine and emphasized the fact the Maria Ross had very pretty features.
"Lieutenant Hawkeye!" The two saluted her and Riza nodded in acknowledgement, returning to her paperwork. She had enough trouble babysitting the staff members that were directly assigned to the Colonel's office. Now that she was satisfied that Maria hadn't dyed her hair orange or walked in with spikes, she had no desire to step in and try to police an argument between two friends.
Unfortunately, as with so many other things, what she desired had no impact on reality. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, tell her she has to change her hair."
"Why?"
"Look at the back. It's all... long."
Maria looked pointedly at Danny's hair as he grabbed her shoulders and turned her to allow Riza to see the highly controversial back of her hair.
Where Maria's hair was normally cut close and straight across the back of her head and touched up with clippers, the back was now slightly longer with an attractive fringe. While it certainly suited the other woman, Riza did feel a certain amount of disappointment. Maria's old haircut usually left a slightly paler strip of skin where the hair had blocked the sun that Riza, and apparently Danny, had found slightly erotic. But, all in all, it suited her.
"Give it a rest, Danny. She doesn't care. No one but you cares!"
Danny affected a hurt puppy expression that had apparently been learned from Fuery. "Fine. But what's next? Make-up? It's just not you."
At that, he stalked off, presumably to get more 'How (Not) to Date' advice from Havoc.
Maria turned to Riza. "Ma'am. I apologize for dragging you into this. Sergeant Broche can be rather excitable at times."
Riza smiled. "Don't worry about it. Men can be slow to adapt. Although, the back is a bit of a change, however attractive." Riza watched as the other woman processed what she said, then continued. "If you want to meet for drinks to discuss make-up tips, I'm free after work."
At that, Riza gathered up her papers and headed for Mustang's office, leaving a very shocked Maria Ross in her wake.