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lyamainu [userpic]

(no subject)

August 2nd, 2012 (11:08 pm)

Renesme Carlie Black (nee Cullen) isn’t stupid, blind, or deaf, even though she pretends to be all three.
And so she isn’t surprised when Embry tears into her house, swearing a blue streak and tripping over words to tell her that he had found her husband and her mother rutting like animals in the middle of the woods. His face is red, he’s sweating with rage, and he looks like he’s waiting for a word from her to go and tear his Alpha to shreds.
Nessie asks if he would like some tea.
Really, she insists to the gobsmacked man, she knew already, knew long before there was a ring on her finger or a werewolf in her bed. How could she not hear his moans at night, see the burning glances Jake and her mom tried to hide, feel with every kiss and every touch that her husband’s heart was somewhere else?
She tells him to calm down, to go home and think before he did anything rash, before he hurt a man he’s called friend since before he was old enough to talk.
And he does, reluctantly, after checking over and over that she really was fine (wolves are nothing if not loyal, and she was his Alpha surely as Jake was), and she closes the door behind him, and goes about scrubbing the kitchen floor.
And because Nessie isn’t stupid, because she saw the look in Embry’s eyes as he walked out her door, she is prepared when he announces at the bi-monthly Pack/Cullen meeting that Bella and Jacob are having an affair. Her vampire family goes stone still the way vampires do when they are surprised, and she wonders how they didn’t know, when it was so obvious to her. Her grandparents look ashamed, her aunt and uncles disgusted (though Alice is raring herself up to proclaim Bella’s innocence) and her father looks relieved, which Nessie supposes had something to do with the human girl he’d been stalking lately, and hadn’t told her mother about.
At the other side of the room, fur is flying, people are growling, and her wolf-husband is doing his best to tear out the throat that had let loose his secret. And then Sam is hauling Jake off Embry, and they’re shrinking back to human forms, and Leah is glaring at her one-time boyfriend as if this were all his fault, and Quil is hushing a babbling Seth.
Her mother stands, gaining the attention of everyone in the room, and looks around, meeting each and every pair of eyes. At Grandmother’s “Oh, Bella” though, she’s gone in the blink of an eye, and no one goes to follow her. Instead, with Jake huffing in the corner, all eyes turn to her, the grieving soon-to-be-if-his-pack-has-anything-to- do-with-it widow.
She shrugs. “I already knew.”

And then everyone is talking over each other, throwing out questions and screeching over answers. Her father looks rather uncomfortable at all the pity he’s getting, and she just waves off her family’s concern and sets about cleaning up the broken furniture. It’s not until Leah loudly demands to know how the hell are you okay with this fucked up shit? that she tries to put her feelings into words.
Yes, she knew Jacob’s love for her was less imprint and more knowledge that she was the only piece of Bella’s he could call his own. Yes, she had known her mother was having an affair with her then-babysitter before she could properly talk. Yes, it was weird and screwed up and unnatural but what about her wasn’t? Everyone else in the room had lived lives as blissfully ignorant humans before the supernatural came and bit them in the ass. She hadn’t. Her first meal had been human blood. She had lost her virginity when she was six and a half years old. Her grandfather told her stories about his childhood in pre-industrial Europe. Her first memory was of wrestling a werewolf. Everything about her life was strange, why would her marriage be normal?
She looked at her husband’s pained eyes. She would have told him long before, if she had only been able to find the words. Part of him did love her, she knew. A significant part. But she hadn’t married him for love. Oh, she loved him, alright, but... she had always known she would marry him. It was one of those things that never had to be explained to her, was just always there, like how they were different, and how to hide secrets, and that the Cullens and the Pack might get along, but they still didn’t like each other.
It had never occurred to her that she might have had a choice until long after the honeymoon. Jacob had imprinted on her, so someday they would get married. It was as simple as that. Never mind he still loved her mother, never mind she’d only seen him as a sort of hybrid brother/favorite uncle/best friend.
But by then the damage was done, the vows were said, the affair had begun, and Nessie thought it best to let things play the way they would.
And so she left her family sitting there, with bristling fur and stone faces, the agonized face of her husband, and went to look for her Mother. When she found her, Bella was sitting in a meadow (The Meadow), staring at the sky. Nessie announced that the two of them had a plane leaving in two days for France. That they needed to learn they had control over their own lives. Bella said nothing, but stood, and hugged her daughter close.
For months after that the Family and the Pack received postcards from all over the world - sometimes from both Bella and Nessie, sometimes from them individually as they split up and met up, and split up again in their travels. Nessie came home first, sporting a tan (never looking less like a member of her own family) and hauling suitcases of souvenirs for everyone (Aunt Alice was proud). Jacob tried to talk to her, but she told him calmly that the two of them couldn’t resolve anything until he and her

lyamainu [userpic]

The Triangle

July 22nd, 2012 (09:55 pm)

Emma writhed in her sleep, sheets twisted around her legs, sweat dripping off her nose, and yet she shivered with each breeze from the open window.

In her dreams, there was darkness.

She stood in the only pool of light, staring into the abyss. She was waiting for something, but she didn’t know what. There was a sound behind her, and she spun around to see another pool of light had appeared, about four feet away from her.

Standing in it, looking healthy, and very much alive, was Graham.

His eyes were tight, his mouth worried. He clutched an old fashioned hunting knife in one hand, and when she looked to see where his other hand was, she was surprised to see a wolf standing next to him. The wolf looked at her with uncanny, un-animal eyes, as if he disapproved of her. He seemed to take no notice of Graham’s white knuckled grip on his ruff.

Something (someone?) moved in the darkness behind Graham, but she couldn’t make it out. She tried to talk to Graham, to call out to him, but she couldn’t make the words come. Instead she stared at him, wanting to reach out and touch him, but unable to move. He was looking at her the way he had that last day of his life, desperate, as if she held all of the answers to his questions, but was refusing him. The intensity frightened her, and when she heard another sound, she turned away from him.

A second pool of light had appeared, this time holding August Booth. Unlike Graham’s desperation, his face was calm, with an easy smile, and twinkling eyes. He held Henry’s storybook, one hand caressing the spine unconsciously. She tried to ask him what was going on, what was happening (why did he always seem to have the answers?), but she choked on the words. Another (smaller) figure moved behind him, and she tried to call out to it. Booth shook his head with a smile, and tipped his head to something behind her.

She turned, and Lawrence was there. There was madness in his eyes as he cut a piece of fabric without looking at it, eyes locked on her. His lips were moving, and she knew what he was saying, even if she couldn’t hear it.

Make it work. Make it work. Make it work.

The indistinct figure behind him only made his appearance more terrifying, and when she heard a gentle rustle behind her, she turned back to Graham gratefully.

The light was brighter, allowing her to make out the figure behind him. Mary Margaret stood there, clothed in a long white dress, curly hair reaching her waist, and that gentle smile on her face. She stepped forward, and put a hand on Graham’s shoulder. With her other hand, she pointed to Booth.

Emma spun, and next to Booth stood Henry, school backpack on, and impish grin on his face. Booth had a hand on Henry’s hair, and both looked happy to see her. Together, they opened the book, and held it up for her to see. It was the pages she had burned, the ones telling about Snow White and Charming’s baby, the savior of the fairytale world.

She wanted to scream at them, but couldn’t bring herself to try, fearful of doing anything that would take that wonderful smile of Henry’s face, so she ripped herself away from her son, turning back to the madman, wondering who would be with him.

She was shocked to see David, a man she had barely spoken to. He was dressed in a hospital gown, IV trailing away, but the grip on his broadsword was strong. He looked different than she had ever seen him - strong and confidant. She wondered why. Lawrence glanced behind himself briefly, then seemed to dismiss David (and his sword) as unimportant.

Around and around she spun, starting at each figure in turn, trying to decipher what they were trying to tell her. Smiles, questions, desperation, the expressions slowly became indistinct as she moved faster, faces blurring into each other, until Mary Margaret was making a hat, and Henry was holding a sword, and Booth was standing next to a wolf, and then it was too mixed up for her to see anything at all, and finally her throat opened and she cried out.

The sound woke her, and she lay in bed for a few minutes, panting, the dream slowly fading away until she couldn’t remember anything but the darkness, and the sense of expectation, of people depending on her. It was suffocating, and she through off the covers, and went to fix herself a cup of coffee.

lyamainu [userpic]

(no subject)

November 1st, 2010 (10:53 pm)


The crystal bounced against her breastbone as she ran, and she gave a brief thought to hope the chain wouldn’t break. She didn’t think she would have time to stop and pick it up again if it did. The wolves howled in the distance, and fear coursed through her veins at the thought of more pursuers - as if the three behind her wasn’t enough.

Her legs were tired, and there wasn’t a single break in the trees were she could make her stand. Her lungs heaved, her feet burned with nettle poison, and her arms were scratched from protecting her face from the brambles. Her mind was careening around and around, flitting from one terrifying thought to another, all attempts at logic thrown out the window in the face of the mindless, primal fear of the hunted.

She stumbles over a branch, mind disengaging for a brief instant to allow instinct to reassert itself. It gave her the opening she needed to shout an internal ENOUGH!!!! Striking wildly at the fear and shoving it into the deep recesses of her mind, she marshaled her thoughts into vague pattern, and thrust herself into the meditation of magic.

She was falling inside herself, could see the hormones flooding her veins and organs and flesh, the blood pumping too little oxygen, the lungs constricted by fear. There. She could start there. She pushed herself into her lungs, into the tissue as it rasped around air, and pushed, forcing the small air sacs to open wider, to draw in more air, to follow an easy pattern, to unify against the onslaught. She moved into the blood, following trails throughout her limbs, relieving the pressure of muscles pushed to far, of ligaments over worked. She spared a thought for her bones, letting a tiny pulse of magic strengthen them temporarily - it would only last an hour or so, but that would have to be enough; a broken bone right now would probably kill her.

Finally, she turned to the adrenal glands, regulation the flow of hormones, increasing those that would give her strength and speed, steadiness of mind, and the primal knowledge of her ancestors, and slowing those that would hinder, that caused unsteadiness, stumbling, or the blank slate of terror.

She drew on the crystal as she worked, letting it’s harmony, it’s smooth and ordered being to guide her, to keep her from loosing herself in the hopeless complexity of her mind, magic and body.

Finally, she let herself rise to the surface again, each sense becoming aware. The feel of the cold wind against her face, of alternating rough and soft texture of the ground beneath her feet, of the smooth silk of her shirt and rough pants against her skin. The green forrest whipping by her, fading into a blur as she streaked through the trees. The smell of sweat, of fading fear, of coming autumn and evergreens. The taste of bile in her mouth, which she swallowed back viscously, casting the thought of vomiting aside. And the sound of the wind in the trees, of the steady rhythm of her run, and of her pursuers falling behind her.

She loped easily through the trees, heading to safety.

Civilized Murder

It wasn’t enough, she decided arbitrarily one day while doodling during lessons, to learn the required Tonics - she wanted to know more. She wanted to learn the herb lore Madam Tirina showed, wanted the cool confidence and swift command that came with knowing you could kill someone if you chose. She twisted the ring on her finger, gold with an emerald, and thought of the small pinch of powder secreted within - the last defense, should all others fail. It could kill any single mortal on contact - through the skin, or through the breath. If it was diluted and consumed, it would slay a good dozen.

Her eyes traced the words on the ring, carved in the ancient tongue which she was only just beginning to learn - she thought it said something about magic and birthright, but it could have been power and species. The ever present symbol of the Ouroboros - the snake eating it’s own tale - the mark of the immortals, as they liked to think of themselves. Nobody talked about the shrikeen; the cast off, mad ones who were the subjects of midnight ghost stories in the initiates dormitories. And nobody, ever, ever, mentioned the terrifying, paralyzing, Great Secret that was the Abyss.

She remembered overhearing her mother tell it to one of the other girls, one of the ones who’s mother must have been too afraid to ever broach the subject. The girl had come from the room looking dazed, and had gone to bed without bothering to eat supper or even change her clothes. The others had been too frightened to ask her anything, although they seemed curious, wondering to themselves if her mother would have more information than their own had given them. None of them dared ask her, though. It was too terrible to contemplate the reality of their own existences.

For all that her kind prided themselves on being stronger than humans, they could be killed true enough. Though bullets were easily removed, blows to the head were shrugged off, and even decapitation could be reversed once you had the body and head together (a simple ribbon to bind them and the words of power for the restoration of the natural order of things), there was one sure, swift, simple way to kill a Witch.

Cut them off from magic.

That magic which gave them power, which imbued their bodies with strength and fitness and tenacity, which made them impervious to all sorts of things, had bound itself so tightly to the pathways of their minds, to their DNA, to the very essence of their souls, that being cut off for even a millisecond would leave them stone cold dead.

There was nothing to be endured. No wasting away, to death speeches or fond farewells. Only the silence. The unknowable. The Abyss.

And because of this, every witch wore a hypnis around her neck and a ring on her finger containing enough poison to lay a dozen mortals low. It was for this their society was closed, their secrets unknown even to themselves. It was the reason for the fear, and the darkness, and the Rite, which was nothing more than a desperate attempt to force their numbers into so many, that an army could be marshalled to overwhelm even the greatest force. To make themselves so numerous that they could never be wiped from the face of the earth.

Because there were rooms lined with special materials were no magic could reach, manacles the kept your hands from the flow, and whispers of a powder carried by their enemies that could cut you off the moment it hit your tongue.

lyamainu [userpic]


December 7th, 2009 (06:59 pm)

Supernatural, author's choice, maybe they should just let everything go to hell

His brother is bleeding in his arms, and a creature is screaming above their heads. His father's voice is haunting him, yelling instructions, encouragements, insults, so loud that he can't hear his own thoughts, can't muddle through years of programing to do what HE thinks he should do. Because right now, the choice is between his baby brother, and a bus-full of children.

Chronicles of Narnia, King Frank/Queen Helen, when we were young.

When Helen was a little girl, she used to play princess. The family pets, the squirrels and birds of the back yard, and a stray dog were her subjects. Sometimes she wonders what she knew.

Avatar, Katara, phases of the moon

When the moon is full her eyes are wide awake, fingers twitching against her blanket as her mind fills with waterbending forms, tweaking ones she already knows, coming up with new ones, never seen before. She sees Yue above her, and it's as if the moonlight filtering down is full of knowledge pouring into her soul, knowledge she just has to organize and unlock to use.

When the moon is dark, she sleeps long and deep, and dreams of the ocean.

Chronicles of Narnia, Pevensies, by the fire

The fire is banked, embers glowing softly in the darkness as a leopard shifts in the shadows, keeping watch over a young queen who insisted on spending Summer solstice under the stars.

Susan watches from a window in the tower above, her hearth full and crackling with warmth in the cool night, and she wonders if Lucy thought to take a warm enough blanket with her.

Hundreds of miles away, dressed in blood spattered armor, Peter stands before a funeral pyre, reciting prayers for the souls of his dead soldiers as Edmund stokes the flames.

Merlin, Morgana/Gwen, force of habit

When Morgana enters the throne room, Gwen's knees shift with the desire to curtsy, to run up and ask her mistress what she needed, to retreat into the servant's domain - the silent shadows, where they could see everything and be unnoticed. But Gwen is Queen now, and Morgana just "Lady", and it's been years since she was a serving girl. But she'd spent more time as a handmaiden than a queen, and habit's are hard to break.

Narnia, Peter/Susan, children

Susan is calm when Peter rejects another series of suitors for her, never lets her passive face waver, her eyes flicker, or her mouth twitch. But her eyes stray to a mother nursing in the corner of the room and Peter sees. And two weeks later, when her womb weeps red tears for the child she has yet to conceive, it is Peter who holds her, and whispers that yes, someday Aslan will grant her the family she so fiercely wants.

lyamainu [userpic]

(no subject)

July 10th, 2009 (10:27 am)

It isn't until years later, as she watches her eldest daughter clean sauce from her youngest son's chin, that she understands.

Leaving Narnia, her friends, her home, her life, had been pain. So much pain that she wanted to curl up and die, to wrap herself in her blankets and never leave her bed, to lock herself in a wardrobe until she found a way Through, or died of dehydration, whichever the Lion willed to come first.

But pain fades, even if only from blinding to burning, and her tears dried (or she hid them better), and she swallowed her screams, and spent every moment avoiding the thought of it.

And while at first, the act of deliberate forgetting brought Narnia to mind more than it banished it, slowly, it grew easier.

Easier to change the subject when the war with Gelma came up, easier to not notice how Lucy was growing her hair out so she could style it after the fashion of the fauns, easier to believe that it was normal for her teenage brothers not to have calluses on their hands.

She tried to help her siblings forget too, to help them sink into the muddied waters of England's Life-as-a-dream, to dull the pain of their loss.

But she never could, and it isn't until she holds her newborn to her breast she understands why.

Because Lucy had taught her daughter to read Narnian, glyph by elagent glyph. Because to Edmund, Narnian woods couldn't properly be viewed without his son's weight on his shoulder. Because to Peter, Rhinnon's hilt still showed the fingerprints of his gangly daughter a thousand years after she used it to defend a birdnest from a pair of serpents.

She hoped her siblings were with their families once more.

lyamainu [userpic]


July 8th, 2009 (01:09 pm)

Title: Cling
Author: lyamainu
Genre: Angst/Romance
Version: Manga
Rating: G

He clung to her, face pressed into her soft belly. Her dress rustled as she brought her arms down to cradle him.

"I have to go," she whispered softly, voice straining through tears, "they'll notice I'm gone."

He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed duty, politics, war and every other reason she was leaving his arms.

The transporter flickered in the moonlight, and she half turned away, face worried. "Did you see-"

He stood up swiftly and cut her off, kissing her with everything he had. A small sound escaped her, before she relaxed, and clung to him as well. He could feel wetness on their faces, and wasn't sure which of them was crying.

Too soon though, she pressed a hand to his chest, and he broke the kiss, stepped back, and turned away, refusing to watch her disappear from his life forever.

The transporter crackled, and then, silence.

lyamainu [userpic]


July 8th, 2009 (12:58 pm)

Title: Fealty
Author: lyamainu
Theme: Pledge
Genre: General
Version: Manga
Rating: PG

The floor beneath her knees was hard enough to hurt. Her arms strained with the effort of holding them in the perfect subservient salute. She heard the rustle of Kunzite's uniform as he once again began the complicated hand motions of the Terran Loyalty ceremony. She fought the urge to glance at him, instead focusing on the blue, blue, blue eyes to which she was once again swearing her fealty.

Kunzite's muttering slowly got louder as he reached the crescendo of the chant - sacred words only uttered in sacred spaces, in a language so old its meaning was forgotten at the dawn of the Silver Millennium. It took nearly forty-five minutes to recite properly; forty-five minutes she'd been kneeling, one arm extended to her side, the other pressed against her forehead.

Sweat trickled down her forehead, her heart was pounding, and she didn't think she'd ever been so terrified. The enormity of what she was about to do...

The chanting ceased abruptly, and though she never looked away from Serenity, she could see in her mind's eye Kunzite raising his arms in the air and slowly bringing them down as he spoke the final, binding words of the vow, eyes, she was sure, locked on Endymion's.

"My hand in yours. My sword with yours. My life for yours always and forever."

As he spoke the words she felt a hot knife in her soul, and she gasped, eyes clenching, teeth tearing her bottom lip in anguish as the corresponding Lunar ceremony began.

For all its pretty words and movements, the Terran loyalty ceremony was only as binding as those who participated in it chose it to be.

The Lunarian ceremony had no words, no actions.

Only the agony of the Ginzuishu tearing her soul apart, searching for any hint of rebellion, of disloyalty, of anything that she might place before her monarch.

She was ripping, tearing, psychic limbs being torn away from each other more painfully than if her physical body had been drawn and quartered. She was naked, open, bearing everything, every thought, every desire, every pain, every piece of her soul to... to her.

Then it ended, and she fell forward, gasping, eyes wrenching open at last to stare at the tears streaming down Serenity's face.

Serenity opened her mouth, trying to speak, but no sound came out. She shut it, closed her eyes, swallowed, and opened again, but again, silence. She glanced at her husband who took her hand and stepped forward, acting as her voice.

"What you two are doing today is not often attempted. Marriage is difficult enough without having prior oaths binding you. You have each vowed anew those words you have spoken twice before - once at our coronation, and once in lives long past.

You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found worthy. Speak the words of your heart."

She turned to Kunzite, tried to ignore the worry in his eyes (when would he learn that she was as much a soldier as he - and not afraid of pain?), grasped his hand, fingers entwined in the sacred symbol, and, with him, intoned their marriage vows:

"I swear my life and love to you, for now and for all eternity. With the willful spilling of my blood I so swear, and may Heaven strike me down if I act against you. So I speak, so I intend -"

"And so let it be done!" Serenity and Endymion chorused the last words with them.

And then there was only the cheering of the crowd, the catcalls of Jadeite, and Kunzite's lips on hers, fingers tight together, and their future before them.

lyamainu [userpic]


July 8th, 2009 (12:55 pm)

Title: Searching
Author: Lyamainu
Theme: Father Figure
Genre: Angst
Version: Manga
Rating: (G - NC-17)

Her knee hurts
and Papa is busy
and Mama is busy
and she is only
and she needs a parent,
not an android
for a nanny.

Mercury's eyes are
(hard, cold,
as she announces the bruise
(on her knee,
Ami never could see wounds of the
to be utterly fine
and sends her off with a wave of the hand
mind already light years away.

She tries to find Puu next
but the door is locked
and she cannot
the key.

She finds Jaedite in the gardens
sweeping the walkway
(Mars must be angry
and he is so busy
talking to himself, that
he never sees her
(not that he ever does).

A few herb patches away
is Jupiter
arms crossed against her chest
to contain her anger
as she stares down a red faced
(looks like a valentine, all
ruby hearts)
Venus, who's voice is cutting
and who's hand
rests on her sword.

A few taps on a wall console
show Mars doing Mama's hair
while Mama reads
report. Both are utterly consumed
and she walks away from the hallway leading
to them.

She keeps to the
knowing all the holes in the security feed
that are just the right size
for a chibi
and never thinks to wonder
what she will do
when she gets bigger.

Zoicite is in the kitchen
observing the food testing
for dinner
eyes glued to the readout
of the servant's vitals
watching for any sign
of illness.
(she wonders if he thinks about
whether the servant wants to
for her country)

She knows
without looking
that Nephrite is in the Astronomy Tower
and that he is not. to. be. disturbed.

She peeks around a pillar
into Papa's office
Luna's hair obscuring his face
from her
though she imagines it
as he speaks to Artemis

Her Nanny scuttles through the corridor
scanning for one
little princess
who should be in class.

Kunzite sees her
even though she hides
like a mouse
behind the couch.
He picks her up
and puts her on his lap
soft hand soothing the bruise on her knee
as he continues to watch the security feed
chin resting on her head.

She falls asleep.

lyamainu [userpic]

The Choices We Make

July 8th, 2009 (12:50 pm)

Title: The Choices We Make
Author: lyamainu
Theme: "Evil is impotent and has no power..."
Version: Manga

Ami sat at the library table, staring at the numbers on the page in front of her, but not really seeing them. Her mind was filled with visions of green eyes and curly hair, and a smile so small, just a quirk of his cheek really, that no one but her would notice.

Her smile. Just hers. One no one else could even see.

She groaned, and gathered her things up. Maybe studying in the arcade would be better - the noise would take enough effort to ignore that she might be able to concentrate on her work.

She hoped.


She sat in Minako's rooms, waiting for Aphrodite-incarnate to finish doing her hair and makeup. She lounged on the red bedcover, eyes roving about the room as Minako chattered on about her date with Kunzite the night before - checking an energy disturbance of all things. The two were soldiers 'till the end.

"Do you ever have nightmares about dying?" She interrupted the blonde swiftly, meeting surprised blue eyes in the mirror.

"Of course I do," Minako said, "I'm terrified someday something will happen to Her, and I won't be alive to stop it-"

"No. The first time." Ami's eyes were scrutinizing. Minako put her hairbrush down.

"Well, we knew what might happen when we left for D-point, though I wish we had thought of a way to make it-"

"The first time."

Minako turned around in her seat.

"I barely remember that," she said slowly, "it was a whole other lifetime." Her eyebrow quirked.

"Right," Ami agreed, "a whole other lifetime."

But she wondered.


Rei was separating boxes of incense while Ami checked the math of the shrine's budget. Their silence was companionable until the Miko bridged it softly.

"You can tell me - whatever it is - if you want too." The young woman's eyes were calm, but intense. "You don't have to carry this burden alone; I sense it's disturbing you quite a deal."

Ami didn't bother looking up from the computer.

"How have you and Jadeite been?"

"Fine." Only years of friendship allowed Ami to hear the surprise in Rei's answer. "We're going out this Saturday."

"Does he ever scare you?" Now she did look up, strait into Rei's surprised eyes.

"No," she said firmly, "never."

"Never," Ami whispered, turning back to the computer. "Never say never."


Makoto twirled in the western style wedding dress she had picked out. Ami stood to the side, perusing veils.

"I still can't quite believe it," the bride said breathlessly, "after all this time - two lifetimes Nephrite and I are finally going to be together."

"It could have happened a lifetime ago," Ami muttered to herself, bending forward to examine the beading of the veil she was holding, "had he not murdered you."

Makoto paused, looking at her. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Ami assured her, "just thinking aloud." She watched her friend dance.


Ami watched the fine boned man in the bed next to her. Copper curls were tussled from the evening's activities, his chest rose and fell rhythmically, and the brand new wedding band on his hand gleamed.

The hand wearing its match snuck under her pillow, and gripped the dagger there tightly.

Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

lyamainu [userpic]


July 8th, 2009 (12:46 pm)

Title: Revelations
Theme: Glove?
Genre: General
Version: Animanga
Rating: G

All and all, he wasn't surprised.

He should have been, he knew. After all, wouldn't most guys be shocked to find out their best friends were superheros? It certainly didn't happen everyday. At least, not that he was aware of. But the waves of shock and disbelief he expected to incapacitate him... didn't. Mamoru stood there, eyes tight, waiting for the avalanche that never came.

Because, when he thought about it, it made perfect sense,

_Of course_ Mamoru was the Prince of Earth. _Of course_ he was a caped hero. _Of course_ his love for Usagi was destined. It fit him like a glove. Every kitten Mamoru had ever climbed a tree for, every failing freshman he tutored, every swimmer he rescued flashed through Motoki's mind,leaving him with only one thing to say:

"Oh. Is _that_ all you had to tell me?"

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