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I'm still alive. Kinda.

Just a note letting people know I'm still alive.  Ish.  Hope everyone's doing alright and enjoyed Christmas/New Year/Lunar New Year.  And happy (very) belated birthday to Rune.  There will be fanfic...eventually

*poof* disappears*


Fortune and Fate [Complete]

Title: Fortune and Fate


Warnings: None really, except maybe ooc-ness

For [info]runesque ...it was definitely fun writing this ^^  Apologies for lateness.


Vignettes [Complete]

Title: Vignettes
Pairings: Squalo x 80 and 1880 if you squint really hard
Warnings: None.
kyokou_kuroda ... my feeble attempt at your prompt

Happy Birthday Yami!

Happy Birthday Yamikakyuu~

A/N: Yeah, ok, back to normal sized font.  Although I haven't known you for that long, I'm still writing birthday fic for you ^^  I hope you had fun and celebrated with cake.  =)  So I'll give you 1896 fluff-ish because they deserve calm moments too.  (Excuse me if Hibari's OOC >_<)  Title is inspired by Vega4's "Tearing me Apart". 
It's also kind of a continuation of the 1896 in my Chrome fic. 

 [Edit: Post is unlocked for [unknown] amount of time =3]

Title- Birds of a feather

Author –



Rating – PG-15

Pairing- 1896 for part IV, Gen. for the rest.

Warnings- Spoilers for ch. 169

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Amano-sensei

A/N: This was originally posted as a separate, but I edited it (see if you can still see traces of the original) and now it has been incorporated into the Kokuyou fic of massive proportions that I am doing.  Don’t like 1896?  Don’t read Part V.  Also, it is now in 2 posts because it’s too long. 




<The next part...>

5/5 Hibari's Birthday

Title: Godless

Author: luinael

Rating: G

Pairing: Gen

Warnings: None (possible spoilers up to current chapter)

Summary: Recollections of Hibari


1) He doesn’t know happiness

Hibird.  A bird chirps, a shrill, bright yellow sound.  Namimori.  A disciplined school, organized neatly, runs like clockwork.  Space.  A clear open field.  Intrigue.  A baby he challenges but cannot defeat. 

And you’re wrong.

Vanity.  A ring that ties him to a group, affiliation.  Ennui.  Late afternoon boredom, when no one has broken the rules and there’s no one to punish.  Crowds.  Hundreds of synchronized heartbeats, the same, (disgustingly) afraid.  Flawed.  A so-called tutor who’s only human after all.

And you’re right.


2) He doesn’t know peace

An empty sky, blue as it reflects the ocean reflects the sky.  Warm concrete of a school roof, gentle friction against his body, his interlocked hands behind his head.  Sakura blossoms, a swath of elegant pinks and reds and whites.  Tea leaves steeped in water that has just been boiled, unfurling a delicate aroma.  A tranquil room enclosed by delicate Japanese screens. 

And you’re wrong.

Glint of unerring metal strikes the target, red blood splatters and stains.  The sound of his ribs cracking under the sharp blow of a trident handle.  Leather snapping around his wrist.  A thousand flowers, choking the water as they decay, never ending (disturb his sleep). 

And you’re right.

3) He doesn’t know mercy

A little creature rescued from “lost”, redeemed from “enemy”; for his own sake.  A boy conveniently exploding his cage; a debt repaid.  A girl who forgets how to live and remembers how to die; …?

And you’re wrong.

Machine that sucks out life, vampiric, struck down in one blow [who cares about consequences?].  Blonde-haired electric chair, so close to executioner, raggedly impaled [get the fuck out of my land].  Ten years too young and still somehow alive but maybe soon to be asphyxiated [Fight or die, herbivore].

And you’re right.

4) He doesn’t know fear

Intruder, foreigner, hair the wrong shade of gold and too confident in his skill.  Disturbing the peace, making him kneel unable to catch his breath desperately or move, dizzy.  White and black and silver, there is no other color for them and there’s so many he can’t catch his breath.  (Because he’s afraid of death and who isn’t, movement is life)

And you’re wrong.

Sparring, euphoria, no need to hold back, a sense of relief.  And how long does your moment last because mine is neatly concluded, closer to winning than losing.  He flares against a monochromatic scene, recovers indigo, rings, flame, life.

And you’re right.


5) He doesn’t know humanity

A child who hasn’t learned to speak correctly, short hair neatly braided.   His second-in-command who resolves minor issues, keeps his peace, knows exactly what he wants.  Buying time, holding back the Millefiore. 

And you’re wrong.

Touch him and die, filthy weak herbivore contamination.  Kill first, and never bother asking.  Get up and fight even if his entire body is shattered because broken bodies heal faster than pride.  There’s no limit to his potential.

And you’re right.

6) He doesn’t know God

How many people pray to God each day?  Probably millions, hundreds of millions, voices all beseeching salvation.  On Sundays, especially, God must be swamped by demands and requests.  Let me have this and I will be happy, or I will die without it. 

He doesn’t believe that a sparrow’s fall is the result of providence, doesn’t feel the need to ask for forgiveness or eternal love.  Everything he has done needs no justification.  Hibari doesn’t ask for anything, and not because he can’t, but because he doesn’t need to.  He takes what he wants. 

            In the end it comes down to one rule: Don’t change (but even God does every time someone prays to him)



And which would you rather be.  Right or wrong?



A/N: I think this is in part inspired by the comment that Runesque made about how the only god Hibari believes in is himself.  I would wish Hibari-san a happy birthday, except I’d probably get bitten to death.  (And I just broke my promise I wasn’t going to write more fic after Kokuyou =_=)  I guess the point of this was exploration of perspective and voice, and pure imagery.  And no I don’t know why things always end up in six parts. 


Drabble (because I couldn’t resist a tint of D18 on his birthday)

            Dino doesn’t bother knocking on the front door, because he knows it will be unlocked.  It’s unlocked, not out of forgetfulness or carelessness, but because it’s convenient.  No one would be arrogant or stupid enough to enter Hibari’s home without his permission, let alone steal.  No one except Dino (and really, a snide voice in his head says, you’re just stupid.)  He steps inside, slips off his shoes, gestures for Romario to do the same.  He manages to walk silently upstairs. 

The second door he encounters is the one he knocks on, tak tak tak, three sharp taps in succession.  He’s sure Hibari is already aware of his presence, but old habits die hard.  The door is wrenched open, and dark eyes glare furiously up at him.  Dino chuckles at the infuriated look in his eyes. His mouth curves naturally upward, a fool’s grin on his face.  A few more years, and maybe he’d really be afraid of his student. 

“Can I come in?”  Ever the polite, genial gentleman.  Except it’s a statement hidden within a request. 

            Hibari makes a disgusted noise, but doesn’t slam the door in Dino’s face.  Dino closes the door carefully, leaving Romario outside.  He promptly trips on the carpet and falls on the couch, narrowly missing the table.  In the meantime, Hibari has seated himself primly in another chair, one leg crossed over the other, in the posture of a boss who means business. 

            Dino grabs a random book lying on the table, bows his head over it to hide his grin.  All the prepared words and well-wishes have vanished.  The book is snatched away from his hands, tossed onto the table, clattering into the glass of water resting there.  For a moment, Dino is tempted to give Hibari the number of a highly recommended therapist who specializes in anger management.  Except that Hibari would make the therapist seriously consider working in a less dangerous field before returning to annihilate him for presuming that he needed someone’s help. 

Instead, he simply says, “Happy Birthday, Kyouya~”

            “There’s nothing happy about my birthday.”  The corners of his mouth are obstinately down, angry.

            Dino is surprised, but not really.  There’s a limit to how much he can understand, the heir of a mafia family with grandiose birthday parties.  He manages to walk the short distance separating them.  His hand comes down in a friendly gesture, but it is knocked away before it even approaches Hibari’s shoulder.  Dino drops his hand awkwardly, sits down on the arm of the chair.  He tries again, manages to grab the left sleeve above the carefully pinned badge.  “Come on, let’s go celebrate.” 

            Hibari yanks his sleeve away, and grabs a fistful of Dino’s shirt.  Everything about this idiot foreigner is too bright, too patterned.  Why couldn’t he ever wear simple black-and-white?  There is a tense exchange, Hibari’s murderous intent clashing against Dino’s slight grin.  Or what?  You’ll bite me to death?   Were all Italians this infuriating?  Dino reaches up a gentle hand, grabs Hibari’s wrist and gently disengages it from the fabric of his shirt.  The fingers are slender, the nails delicately trimmed.  He leans in closer, examining the curious gray eyes of the other.  Forcefully, Hibari rips his wrist out of Dino’s grasp, is away within moments.  Dino, overbalanced, falls into the empty seat.  

            As usual, the metal tonfas appear out of nowhere, pressing against a warm pulse.  He doesn’t want to touch his teacher directly, as if there was some contagious disease he could catch.  Dino stays still, doesn’t reach for his whip.  “I’ll bite you to death.” 

            But you won’t, because you would have done so long ago.  He doesn’t say this aloud.  His student is perfect, efficient in his movements and inhuman in his endurance.  But his student is terribly flawed, and it isn’t something he can teach.  How to smile, how to enjoy the feeling of someone’s arm resting across your shoulder, and how to love.  He considers this, realizes his shortcomings as a tutor. 

            A sharp pain in his head directs his attention back.  Another blow, possibly more damaging, flies at his face.  His muscles react automatically, coiled whip flicking outwards and entangling Hibari’s arms.  He gets up, pulls the younger boy closer, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the back of his head. 

            “I’m sorry.” He murmurs into the crown of Hibari’s head. 

            Hibari bites him. 

            “You have no manners,” but his voice is laughing.

            “Says the one who breaks and enters,” and his voice is snarling, feral. 

            Dino laughs again, holds up his hands in defeat, leaves rubbing his bleeding neck. 

Hibari returns to his book.


A/N: OHGODICAN’TBELIEVEIJUSTWROTETHEWORSTD18INTHEWORLD.  In the words of my friend: You can’t write G.  And although I labeled it D18, I rather consider Dino and Hibari to be on equal footing.   Oh, yes, and absolute final note:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HIJIKATA-SAN (I won't even bother trying to write fic for you because I have no time and I don't know how to write you.  Sorry =/)

Untitled (3/6)

Title:  Untitled until I can think of something
Author: </a></b></a>luinael
Pairing: none; Chikusa-centric
Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Belongs to Amano. 


Title: give some warning before you try to kill an injured person damn it!
Author: Luinael (aka Kirin)
Warnings: spoiler for episodes 31-32, mild GinZura, fluffiness~
Disclaimer: Gintama is property of Sorachi Hideaki

A/N: This may be posted on fanfiction.net, provided my account actually starts working.  GinZura is not my favorite pairing (takazura is), but my first attempt at writing takazura was FAIL.  Apparently I write fluff better than angst XD.  No flames please.

give some warning before you try to kill an injured person damn it!

To go outside, Katsura has to wear a disguise.  Even then, it is risky – his distinctive long hair and the swords he carry are much too noticeable.  As if that isn’t enough, his trusted companion, Elizabeth, is…unusual.  He isn’t afraid of the Shinsengumi dogs, but he is afraid of leaving his group without a leader.  They would fall apart and his dream to drive out the Amanto would fail.  However, he needs to go out and earn money to fund his not-quite-legal activities.  Under these circumstances, he is pleasantly surprised when he is offered a job that does not require him to wear a disguise.

The manager of the store grunts when he sees Katsura for the first time.  Then he promptly shoves him into the street to hold up a sign and invite “clients” inside.  Katsura frowns—he does not support prostitution—but does his best to attract the customers.  His pretty-boy looks help him for once.

There is a slight commotion further along the street, and Katsura turns to see who is disrupting his work.  The distinctive silver hair makes him pause just as he opens his mouth to shout at another prospective “client”.  He half-listens to Shinpachi, a boy that follows the former Shiroyasha like a dog, keeping half his attention concentrated on doing his job.  When Shinpachi finishes explaining the situation, he turns to Gintoki.  “Amnesia, huh?  You remember that you’re my servant, right?”  He ignores Shinpachi freaking out, as he senses danger.  A minute later, he is rewarded by the sight of a mob of men dressed in black uniforms.  The most enthusiastic of them screams, “DIE, KATSURA!” and proceeds to fire a bazooka in his direction.  He leaps away easily, tossing one of his bombs into their midst as he makes his escape.  Even as he leaps from roof to roof, he wonders where a teenage Shinsengumi gets a bazooka, but dismisses it as another peculiarity of the police force.

When he is safely away, he wonders whether his old friend is merely faking memory loss.  He decides to go to the Yorozuya and check for himself.  Remembering that the Shinsengumi are still after him, he travels by a more unconventional route.  By the time he arrives at the Yorozuya, it is late afternoon.  The sun is rapidly setting, and Katsura pauses on the roof of a building when he sees a flash of silver hair beneath him.  He is too far away to hear what Gintoki is saying to Shinpachi and Kagura, but he stirs when he sees Gintoki walking away.  Shinpachi and Kagura stand with shocked expressions on their faces.  The Yorozuya lies in ruins. 

Katsura searches for the silver streak amidst the crowds of brown and black.  The sun has set, but the light from the shops in Kabuki-chou is forever shining.  The light is enough to illuminate the faces of the pedestrians.  A droplet of water hits his face, and he glances upward as the rain starts to fall.  The busy streets clear quickly.  Some begin to run home, while others take shelter in the shops.  Only those without a place to call their own remain in the rain.  Tonight, there is only one person still walking slowly down the street, his hair as silver as the hidden moon.

Puddles are gathering in the street, turning patches of dirt into mud.  Katsura jumps down onto the street, grabbing the first umbrella he sees.  He ignores the cries of protest behind him and walks swiftly.  Mud is splattering onto the hem of his robes, but he ignores it and continues onward.  “Gintoki!” He cries out, his own voice surprising him.  The other man stops and turns around slowly.  He bows slightly.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember who you are.”  Gintoki speaks softly, his eyes furrowed in thought.  The rain has tamed his unruly hair a little, and his clothing is plastered against his skin. 

Katsura steps closer, sheltering Gintoki from the rain.  Gintoki sneezes, an explosive sound in the otherwise quiet street.  He stumbles slightly, and Katsura reaches out a hand to support him.  His cool hand makes contact with feverish skin.  Katsura instinctively nudges Gintoki towards the Yorozuya, until he remembers that the Yorozuya is destroyed.  Instead, he changes his mind and half drags Gintoki over to a nearby building, where he knows they will be safe for a while.  He closes the umbrella with a quick snap and enters behind Gintoki.

Gintoki falls onto the floor and curls himself into a ball, moaning quietly.  Katsura kneels beside his friend and touches his forehead.  It is hotter than before.  He forces Gintoki to lie flat on his back, and strips off his wet clothing.  Then he drags Gintoki over to a futon, covering him with all the dry blankets he can find.  Gintoki’s breathing slows as he slips into sleep.  Katsura sits down slowly, leaning against a wall.  He is wet and tired and falls quickly into an uneasy sleep.

“Sensei!  Come quickly!  Gintoki fell into the creek!”  A boy is shouting, and Katsura looks up in alarm from his studies.  He catches a glimpse of his sensei running out barefoot and without a coat.  He follows more slowly, slipping on his shoes and a coat before going outside.  He is only halfway to the creek when he sees the shape of his sensei approaching.  Sensei is carrying the small, wet form carefully.  They pass Katsura quickly, and he turns and follows them home as best as he can.  Sensei gently sets down the silver-haired boy.  He kneels down beside the boy with a slightly furrowed brow.  He placed his hand on Gintoki’s forehead, and his face cleared.  Turning, he speaks to Katsura.

“Please bring some water Katsura.  Thank you.”  His sensei speaks softly and Katsura leaves the room to draw water from the well nearby.  He looks down into the water and has a sensation of falling into the water.  He shifts when he realizes the water is not as deep as he thought.  It is only a shallow, muddy puddle.

There is a warm weight pressed against his back, a strip of white cloth fluttering against his face.  He turns, and sees his childhood friend grasping the bloody sword firmly in both hands.  “This is the end, Gintoki.”  He wants to commit seppuku and die an honorable death, but Gintoki rejects the idea.  Red droplets glisten, scattered in the silver hair.  He fights, so Katsura fights too.  But he knows he is no match for the Shiroyasha, the Silver Demon.

Katsura jolts out of his dream, fully awake.  Sunlight is streaming in through the window.  He has slept for an entire night.  He walks over and checks up on Gintoki.  Gintoki’s eyes are open, staring at the ceiling.  He turns when he hears footsteps approaching.

“Who are you?” He asks quietly.

“Katsura.” He offers no further explanation.

Gintoki tries speaking the name.  “Katsura.  Thank you for taking care of me.”

Katsura drives his sword into the floor inches away from Gintoki’s head.  Gintoki flinches away.  Katsura stares down unsmilingly, his face inches away from Gintoki’s and his long hair a curtain blocking out reality.  “You really don’t remember?”  Katsura sees the slight fear in Gintoki’s eyes, something he has never seen before.  He moves his hands then, and stands up calmly.  “You’ll need a job.  Go find the manager of the Justaway factory, and tell him Katsura sent you.” 

Taking the umbrella from last night, Katsura walks out.  He stops a block away, and watches a silver-haired man emerge from the building, ask directions from a passerby, and set off on a new life.  Maybe it’s better you don’t remember, Gintoki.  Katsura’s face remains impassive as he returns to the shop.  The manager yells at him for leaving partway through his shift, and promptly fires him.

Katsura forgets about the silver hair, working what jobs he can get and planning the overthrow of the Amanto.  It is not until he hears the explosions from the direction of the Justaway factory that he stirs himself.  He watches the standoff between one of his men and the entire Shinsengumi.  Suddenly, he sees a silver flash and remembers the White Demon.  Gintoki turns slightly, and Katsura sees the light is back in his eyes.  The sun is setting again.  How fitting.

He jumps down from his vantage point and walks towards Gintoki with his head bowed.  Gintoki walks by and pauses, sending Kagura and Shinpachi off first.  He stops in the middle of the street, but does not turn.

“Oi, Zura, are you blind?”

“Not Zura, it’s Katsura.  You got your memory back.  Speaking of which, do you remember working at the Justaway factory?”

“Yes.  Speaking of which, you owe me for destroying the Yorozuya.”

“Speaking of which, you should pay me for medical expenses and for destroying my factory.”

“Speaking of which, you’re still a gloomy terrorist.”

“What does that have to do with anything?  Speaking of which, do you remember…?”

Gintoki waves his hand dismissively.  “I can’t remember everything, you know.  But normal people don’t stab floors in the vicinity of an injured person.  See you around, Zura.” 

“Not Zura, it’s Katsura!”

Gintoki waves his hand again, and does not look back.  Katsura turns and allows himself a small smile.

Gintoki’s back.

First Attempt at Fanfiction

Title - Monster Under the Bed
Author - me~
Rating - PG13
Pairing - Slight 69D
Warnings - blood, angst, shounen-ai
Disclaimer: Characters are property of Amano

Three pale, terrified faces turn towards him, pleading for help.  Despair traces every line in their all-too-young faces.  He turns to see the men behind him.  They lift up their guns to shoot, three quick, accurate pops.  He tries to stop them, but his cries are drowned out by the screams of the children as they die.  One of the men, laughing, turns and faces him.  His heart stops when he sees the man’s face.  Time drags on as he struggles to breathe against the tidal wave of grief and shock that threatens to drown him. 

They are in a different room now.  Other children, underfed and injured, huddle in groups out of an animal instinct of safety in numbers.  A doctor with a patchwork face like Frankenstein leers at them.  “It’s an honor to die to restore the glory of our family.”  He watches another failed experiment, the child burning to death.  The doctor merely makes a sound of annoyance before picking his next victim.

Fuuta’s words come back to him then.  “Ranked number one boss to care for the welfare of civilians.”  It rings in his ears.  An accusation.

And then it is him in the body of one of the children, strapped down to a hard metal surface (easy to clean, so the elders reasoned) and in unbearable pain.  His tiny spine contorted.  Being shot was a mercy in comparison.

He wakes up screaming “No more!” It is loud enough that Romario runs in, convinced there is an assassination attempt.  He runs his hand through his perpetually disheveled hair and manages to convince Romario that it is only a bad dream.  Romario smiles and sits down on a chair beside the bed.  “You used to be so scared of monsters beneath your bed, you know?  I had to check every night before you’d go back to sleep.”  Dino smiles at the childhood memory.  “Romario…were you…did you…the Estraneo children…?”  Romario’s smile becomes troubled and suspicious, an expression he had never seen on the open, smiling face before.  It is a long time before he answers, and he avoids looking at his boss.  “Orders, Mr. Cavallone.”  Dino thinks that this is the only time Romario has called him by anything other than his first name.  Romario stands up and bows, waiting for permission to leave.  “I understand, Romario.  Good night.”  Dino falls back into an uneasy sleep.

It is the same room again, but there are no sign of the children.  The adults are dead, some crumpled into a ball against the wall, others sprawled like a star on the floor.  A sheet of paper floats down, a corner of the page landing in a pool of blood.  The centerpiece of the macabre tableau is a young boy with mismatched eyes and midnight blue hair.  He turns and smiles playfully.  “Let’s erase it all.  Shall we go together?”  Two other children left alive join hands with him, and they walk away from the blood.

There is only darkness now, the space between the here and the now.  He does not know if he is dreaming or awake. 

“Haneuma.”  The other man uses his title, mocking him.

“Dino is fine.” 

He is no longer a child, if ever he was.  Some things have not changed - the midnight blue hair and the mismatched eyes.  Tonight the eyes are bright and glassy.  Then a single lonely tear flows down his face, the first following the last. 

And then his arms are around the thin fragile shoulders of the young man seven years his junior, hoping to offer some kind of comfort for all those lost years.  Except that there is no recompense for childhood, but he in all his bright optimism hopes that there is.  Mukuro’s hand comes up then, and clasps the arm around his shoulders.  They are each other’s support. 

Something wet is on his hand now, and he shifts to look at it.  It is blood, not the salt water of tears.  He realizes with a cold start that there is no pulse of a living heartbeat.  The body vanishes, until there are only the mismatched eyes and the playful smile.  Like the Cheshire cat, the smile is the last to disappear.  There is laughter in every corner of his mind, no place bright enough to dispel the chill that falls over him and no corner dark enough for him to hide.  He curls into a fetal position, but the sound goes on and on.

He is steeped in so much guilt and the belief that somewhere a tortured child exists within the sadistic shell.  His men are before him now, smiling and greeting him.  Then a flash of something red, and they fall en masse, hand clutching their throats in a desperate attempt to stay alive. 

He gets up then, finds his whip at his side.  He can't wash away the blood on his own hands, but he can obliterate his own guilt.

He does not know how long he fights until the whip slips from his sweaty palms, and Mukuro’s body presses him against a wall.  A gloved hand reaches up and brushes Dino’s golden hair out of his tired eyes.  His lips are crushed with bruising force until they bleed.  He licks his lips with the satisfied air of a cat.  “Tsunayoshi will be so disappointed when his ‘sworn brother’ tries to kill him.”  Then there’s someone else in his mind, leaving him no room to exist.  He realizes then that the child never existed, and this is the shadow he feared. 

Arrivederci, someone whispers.  Don’t pity the monster under your bed.