Usagi and Kitsune.
The Fight:
By, Black-Haired Girl
August 11, 2011
OC Characters: Usagi, Kitsune
“You’re insane! You’re really crazy, you know that?”
Usagi felt his shoulders tense. He bit his lower lip and resisted the urge to snarl angrily up the stairs at the man who had once upon a time, as of yesterday, had been his lover. He felt hate flickering hot and volatile in his chest, stirring up every repressed emotion he had ever held for that bastard over the past two years. It was coming. It was all about to come out, here on the stairs of the apartment complex. He could hear people murmuring at the bottom of the stairwell, obviously concerned at the slamming of doors and the heated screams that had been coming from the top level for the past twenty minutes.
Usagi knew he should leave. He knew that yelling wasn’t going to fix anything. It wasn’t going to make him feel better. It wasn’t going to make that fucker take back what he did, or change anything what had happened the night before.
It was over. Finally, it was over, and yet he still wasn’t satisfied. He clenched his hands into fists and yelled up the stairs; hearing his own heartbroken and choked voice echoing back at him like a slap in the face. “I hate you! I never want to see you again!”
“You’ll be back,” sneered the confident voice on the top landing. “You always come back.”
It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Part of him wanted to scale the steps and punch that fucker in the face, but the voices on the landing below were growing in intensity. He heard someone whisper something about the police. He knew he had to leave. Of course, he would be the one to leave, as usual.
He spun around on his heels and stormed down the steps, nearly tripping over his own feet as his mind ran out before his body could keep up. A few of the neighbors from the first floor were gathered around the mailroom, staring at him as he stalked through the lobby and out the front door.
He didn’t care what they thought. He didn’t care about anything.
He stormed down the street with his hands fisted so tightly he could feel the burn of the inevitable bruises forming on his palms. He had to find something to hit, or kick, or generally destroy. He had to let this out. It wasn’t fair that he had to leave his own apartment because that prick had pissed him off. It wasn’t fair that he was the one out on the street while that asshole sat comfortably on their couch. He would bet anything that once he left the building that asshole had called him.
If that was what he wanted, then fine. Usagi couldn’t make him stay in love with him, and not run out and fuck every other asshole he could get his hands on. He couldn’t change the fact that for the past two years he had been wholly invested in a man who didn’t love him enough not to cheat on him. He couldn’t help that. It had just happened, hadn’t it?
But it hadn’t. He knew that he had chosen his fate. He had been suspicious of his lover for a while. He wouldn’t call him after work like he used to. He didn’t want to be seen in public with him anymore, and often just opted to stay in and watch movies and generally ignore him. He had seen suspicious phone calls on the caller ID. The other man wouldn’t let Usagi use his phone. He had been up to something, but Usagi hadn’t wanted to believe it. He didn’t want to think that someone would lie to him, especially the man he thought he loved.
He spat on the sidewalk and stopped at a crosswalk, glaring angrily up at the blaring red light that blocked his path. Cars whirred past quickly, trying to make it through the intersection before the light changed. All around him were people calmly making their way to their destinations, unaware of the anguish and frustration he possessed.
Showing posts with label drabble. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drabble. Show all posts
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
[Prompt] For Visual Trigger, LJ- "How To Wash a Jungle Man"
Originally Posted September 2008
Trigger # 10 : How to Wash a Jungle Man
Title: How to Wash a Jungle Man
Author: Black-Haired Girl
Fandom: Tarzan? I suppose...
Warnings: This is pretty retarded.
Word Count: 529
Summary: Does "Bathtub" translate into Gorilla?
How to Wash a Jungle Man
Jane slipped through the narrow doorway into the spacious bathroom and pointed down at the blue-painted bathtub.
“Bathtub…” She said quietly to the jungle man who hesitantly poked his head through the doorway. She watched as he sniffed the air and shifted his weight from one foot to the next, apparently displeased with the cold tile against his calloused, bare feet.
“Ba-“ He began before raising both eyebrows high on his forehead, obviously confused by the strange new word. She smiled kindly and pointed down at the tub again.
“Bathtub.” She repeated patiently. He listened intently as she spoke the word before once again trying to speak it with an unaccustomed tongue.
“Bath… tub.” He murmured curiously. Jane smiled brightly and nodded.
“Yes-yes. Bathtub. You wash here. Wash. Your body?” Her words fell upon deaf ears. She had been working with Tarzan for a little more than a month and though he knew the basics he still didn’t seem to have the grasp of the English language that she had hoped for.
He stared at her for a long moment before nodding his head vigorously. “Bathtub. Bath… tub. Wash.”
“Precisely!” Jane exclaimed, very pleased that he had absorbed at least a few of her words. Now she had to test whether the concept had translated. She was not sure if the jungle man had a gorilla word equivalent for bathing. Did gorillas even bathe? Perhaps not.
“Tarzan… you wash here.” She said slowly, pointing into the tub. “Wash…” She lifted her hands to her torso and began rubbing across her chest, trying to illustrate the act of scrubbing to him. He watched her do this. A smile crossed his rugged, yet surprisingly handsome features.
“Wash…” he grumbled. Then, to Jane’s surprise, he approached her and began rubbing his hands across her chest in large, clumsy circular motions. The sudden groping caused her to squeal in surprise. Frantically she began to bat his hands away, a bright red blush creeping across her cheeks.
“No-no-nonono!” She wailed as she fended off the offending hands. “Oh dear, this isn’t working…” With a dismayed sigh she slumped to a sit on the edge of the bathtub. “There has to be some other way to get you clean…”
Tarzan frowned and stood beside her awkwardly, staring at the top of her head, waiting for further instruction.
“Ah ha! I have an idea!” Jane suddenly exclaimed as she leapt to a stand beside the grungy jungle man. “Come, follow me!”
<3 ~~~~~~~~~
“Tarzan no like!” Tarzan yelled in horror as a cold spray of water pelted the back of his matted hair. Jane laughed heartily as she watched the loincloth-clad man crouch low to the ground in attempt to get away.
“Now hold still, you ninny, it will be over in a few minutes!” Jane yelled with a large grin as she pointed the hose at Tarzan’s exposed back. The jungle man howled in protest as he was hosed off. A few neighborhood children had gathered along the white picket fence that surrounded Jane’s father’s yard to watch.
“Now, that is how you wash a jungle man!” Jane exclaimed triumphantly.
Trigger # 10 : How to Wash a Jungle Man
Title: How to Wash a Jungle Man
Author: Black-Haired Girl
Fandom: Tarzan? I suppose...
Warnings: This is pretty retarded.
Word Count: 529
Summary: Does "Bathtub" translate into Gorilla?
How to Wash a Jungle Man
Jane slipped through the narrow doorway into the spacious bathroom and pointed down at the blue-painted bathtub.
“Bathtub…” She said quietly to the jungle man who hesitantly poked his head through the doorway. She watched as he sniffed the air and shifted his weight from one foot to the next, apparently displeased with the cold tile against his calloused, bare feet.
“Ba-“ He began before raising both eyebrows high on his forehead, obviously confused by the strange new word. She smiled kindly and pointed down at the tub again.
“Bathtub.” She repeated patiently. He listened intently as she spoke the word before once again trying to speak it with an unaccustomed tongue.
“Bath… tub.” He murmured curiously. Jane smiled brightly and nodded.
“Yes-yes. Bathtub. You wash here. Wash. Your body?” Her words fell upon deaf ears. She had been working with Tarzan for a little more than a month and though he knew the basics he still didn’t seem to have the grasp of the English language that she had hoped for.
He stared at her for a long moment before nodding his head vigorously. “Bathtub. Bath… tub. Wash.”
“Precisely!” Jane exclaimed, very pleased that he had absorbed at least a few of her words. Now she had to test whether the concept had translated. She was not sure if the jungle man had a gorilla word equivalent for bathing. Did gorillas even bathe? Perhaps not.
“Tarzan… you wash here.” She said slowly, pointing into the tub. “Wash…” She lifted her hands to her torso and began rubbing across her chest, trying to illustrate the act of scrubbing to him. He watched her do this. A smile crossed his rugged, yet surprisingly handsome features.
“Wash…” he grumbled. Then, to Jane’s surprise, he approached her and began rubbing his hands across her chest in large, clumsy circular motions. The sudden groping caused her to squeal in surprise. Frantically she began to bat his hands away, a bright red blush creeping across her cheeks.
“No-no-nonono!” She wailed as she fended off the offending hands. “Oh dear, this isn’t working…” With a dismayed sigh she slumped to a sit on the edge of the bathtub. “There has to be some other way to get you clean…”
Tarzan frowned and stood beside her awkwardly, staring at the top of her head, waiting for further instruction.
“Ah ha! I have an idea!” Jane suddenly exclaimed as she leapt to a stand beside the grungy jungle man. “Come, follow me!”
<3 ~~~~~~~~~
“Tarzan no like!” Tarzan yelled in horror as a cold spray of water pelted the back of his matted hair. Jane laughed heartily as she watched the loincloth-clad man crouch low to the ground in attempt to get away.
“Now hold still, you ninny, it will be over in a few minutes!” Jane yelled with a large grin as she pointed the hose at Tarzan’s exposed back. The jungle man howled in protest as he was hosed off. A few neighborhood children had gathered along the white picket fence that surrounded Jane’s father’s yard to watch.
“Now, that is how you wash a jungle man!” Jane exclaimed triumphantly.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
[Kingdom Hearts Fanfiction] Girl Trouble, Drabble
Kingdom Hearts Drabble
Girl Trouble
by, Black-Haired Girl
“She likes you, Sora. She really does.”
Sora frowned and crossed his arms over his chest in a nervous gesture. He didn’t know what to say. When Riku said he had news for him he was hoping it would be something good, like that he finished the roof of their clubhouse or that he was coming over to his house for dinner, or that they got an A on their science project. The last thing he wanted to hear was that some girl had her heart set on him.
“I don’t know. I just don’t like her like that…” Sora managed to utter, his eyes downcast at his oversized shoes. “We’re just friends.”
“Do you want me to tell her for you?” Riku offered, placing a friendly hand on his best friend’s shoulder. Sora shook his head and shrugged the offending hand off with irritation.
“Of course not, that would be crummy of me. She deserves more respect than that. No woman should hear news like that from someone else; at least that is what my mom says. Don’t worry, Riku. I’ll take care of it.”
Sora looked up just in time to see Riku’s approving smile.
“Okay, then. Ready for Blitzball practice?”
“Heck yes, I’m gonna whip you this time!”
“Bring it on, pal!”
Two days later…
Sora barely saw it coming. He had stopped at his locker to switch out his textbooks when a hand came in firm contact with the back of his head.
“Ow! What was that for…” he mumbled, turning around to come nose-to-nose with his friend Kairi.
“Oh, hey…”
“I can’t believe you!”
“What… ?”
Kairi huffed loudly, hugged her pink planner firmly againster her chest and glared angrily at Sora.
“Don’t play stupid, you know what!” She practically shrieked, causing a few passing classmates to mingle nearby and eavesdrop.
“I don’t know what, Kairi!” Sora protested, only to receive a kick in the shin. “Owwww! Stop with the violence!”
“You deserve it, you big jerk! How could you do such a thing! She is all broken up over this, you totally messed up!”
“… what’s going on here?”
Sora thanked his lucky stars at the sound of Riku’s voice from behind his locker door. The taller boy peered around it at the two of them, his light blue eyes locking on to Kairi accusingly.
“Don’t look at me like that! Why don’t you ask SORA what he did…” and with that the young girl stuck out her tongue and stomped off to her next class.
“What is she talking about, Sora?” Riku asked, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. Sora rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head and shrugged.
“I guess she means Selphie.”
“Didn’t you tell her you weren’t into her?”
“Yeah, I sent her a message on Facebook two days ago..”
“… what?”
“Yeah. I wrote it all nice. ‘Dear Selphie, I am not so into you, hope we can still be friends…’ and so forth.” Sora scooped up his books for his next class and sighed. “I guess Selphie is really upset.”
“You… said you would do it properly, Sora. Don’t you think a message on Facebook is a little cold?”
“Um… no.”
“Would you break up with me on Facebook?”
“Well… I don’t know. You’re different…”
“Right.” Riku glanced at Sora coldly and began to walk away. Sora frowned and shrugged.
It was the twentieth century after all.
Girl Trouble
by, Black-Haired Girl
“She likes you, Sora. She really does.”
Sora frowned and crossed his arms over his chest in a nervous gesture. He didn’t know what to say. When Riku said he had news for him he was hoping it would be something good, like that he finished the roof of their clubhouse or that he was coming over to his house for dinner, or that they got an A on their science project. The last thing he wanted to hear was that some girl had her heart set on him.
“I don’t know. I just don’t like her like that…” Sora managed to utter, his eyes downcast at his oversized shoes. “We’re just friends.”
“Do you want me to tell her for you?” Riku offered, placing a friendly hand on his best friend’s shoulder. Sora shook his head and shrugged the offending hand off with irritation.
“Of course not, that would be crummy of me. She deserves more respect than that. No woman should hear news like that from someone else; at least that is what my mom says. Don’t worry, Riku. I’ll take care of it.”
Sora looked up just in time to see Riku’s approving smile.
“Okay, then. Ready for Blitzball practice?”
“Heck yes, I’m gonna whip you this time!”
“Bring it on, pal!”
Two days later…
Sora barely saw it coming. He had stopped at his locker to switch out his textbooks when a hand came in firm contact with the back of his head.
“Ow! What was that for…” he mumbled, turning around to come nose-to-nose with his friend Kairi.
“Oh, hey…”
“I can’t believe you!”
“What… ?”
Kairi huffed loudly, hugged her pink planner firmly againster her chest and glared angrily at Sora.
“Don’t play stupid, you know what!” She practically shrieked, causing a few passing classmates to mingle nearby and eavesdrop.
“I don’t know what, Kairi!” Sora protested, only to receive a kick in the shin. “Owwww! Stop with the violence!”
“You deserve it, you big jerk! How could you do such a thing! She is all broken up over this, you totally messed up!”
“… what’s going on here?”
Sora thanked his lucky stars at the sound of Riku’s voice from behind his locker door. The taller boy peered around it at the two of them, his light blue eyes locking on to Kairi accusingly.
“Don’t look at me like that! Why don’t you ask SORA what he did…” and with that the young girl stuck out her tongue and stomped off to her next class.
“What is she talking about, Sora?” Riku asked, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. Sora rubbed the sore spot on the back of his head and shrugged.
“I guess she means Selphie.”
“Didn’t you tell her you weren’t into her?”
“Yeah, I sent her a message on Facebook two days ago..”
“… what?”
“Yeah. I wrote it all nice. ‘Dear Selphie, I am not so into you, hope we can still be friends…’ and so forth.” Sora scooped up his books for his next class and sighed. “I guess Selphie is really upset.”
“You… said you would do it properly, Sora. Don’t you think a message on Facebook is a little cold?”
“Um… no.”
“Would you break up with me on Facebook?”
“Well… I don’t know. You’re different…”
“Right.” Riku glanced at Sora coldly and began to walk away. Sora frowned and shrugged.
It was the twentieth century after all.
[RAW Edit] Ethan, Drabble
Title: Ethan
Drabble
by, Black-Haired Girl
“She had always wanted a baby.
I never much understood it but I suppose it comes with being a woman. There must be something down to the DNA that makes a woman bonkers for babies and my wife had this fever threefold. Ever since we had first started dating she had always lamented of a future with children. Her eldest sister had four natural births. Her brother had sired a fleet of little nobles. Now it was her turn to help me carry on my family name.
We tried. We tried for years. Sex became nothing but a chore. We charted ovulation. Every day was another check of her basal temperature. Every morning came another cocktail of fertility drugs and herbal remedies. Every attempt was precise, well calculated, but it wasn’t enough. No matter how hard we tried conception was unachievable.
I suppose it was natural for her to blame herself. I am told most women do. She cried every night and apologized to me frequently for her inability to be, as she would say, “a suitable woman”.
Her self-deprecation bothered me. I tried to get her to speak to the family physician about how she felt but she was too private for such exchanges. It began to eat away at her. I suppose I was in denial of it at first. I tended to overlook how odd it was that she spent so much time in the empty nursery on the third floor. I didn’t seem to notice how quiet and aloof she had become until it was too late.
Seven years into our attempt to have a child she began to shut down. It happened right after the outbreak. She stopped talking entirely. Four months had passed and she hadn’t uttered a peep to anyone- family or servants alike. She had grown pale and thin. Her once full, pink face had grown sallow and gaunt. She rarely changed her clothes. It had been weeks since she had brushed her hair. Whenever someone would suggest that she should take a bath or try to spruce up she would burst into tears and bury her face in her hands. I had called a therapist to consult her. He had diagnosed her with an inexplicable semi-catatonic condition and had little advice for us.
The only thing he suggested was to turn off the TV. I attempted this only once. The news was on. It was always on. She had been sitting on a couch staring unblinkingly at yet another extended program about the destruction beyond the compound when I snagged the remote and turned off the TV.
She screamed.
It was the most unearthly sound I had ever heard. Her face contorted into a horrifying expression I cannot begin to describe and her shrill voice tore through my ears and sent a stab of pain into my heart. I quickly turned it on. She turned to look up at me with bloodshot eyes. She was gone. Gone from me, gone from the family, gone from the world.
It had all been too much for her. The outbreak, having no children, being confined to the compound and shut away from the horrors of the world. I suppose watching the rest of the world lose their children was the only thing that made her happy.
If she couldn’t have them then they couldn’t either.”
Ethan stared down at his father’s neat and angular handwriting. His face felt hot. He quickly closed the leather bound journal and pushed it back into the top drawer of the desk. Footsteps began to crescendo from the end of the hallway. Anxiously he slammed the drawer shut and jumped to his feet just as the dark oak door to the study began to open.
“Ethan?”
“Good morning, mother.”
Drabble
by, Black-Haired Girl
“She had always wanted a baby.
I never much understood it but I suppose it comes with being a woman. There must be something down to the DNA that makes a woman bonkers for babies and my wife had this fever threefold. Ever since we had first started dating she had always lamented of a future with children. Her eldest sister had four natural births. Her brother had sired a fleet of little nobles. Now it was her turn to help me carry on my family name.
We tried. We tried for years. Sex became nothing but a chore. We charted ovulation. Every day was another check of her basal temperature. Every morning came another cocktail of fertility drugs and herbal remedies. Every attempt was precise, well calculated, but it wasn’t enough. No matter how hard we tried conception was unachievable.
I suppose it was natural for her to blame herself. I am told most women do. She cried every night and apologized to me frequently for her inability to be, as she would say, “a suitable woman”.
Her self-deprecation bothered me. I tried to get her to speak to the family physician about how she felt but she was too private for such exchanges. It began to eat away at her. I suppose I was in denial of it at first. I tended to overlook how odd it was that she spent so much time in the empty nursery on the third floor. I didn’t seem to notice how quiet and aloof she had become until it was too late.
Seven years into our attempt to have a child she began to shut down. It happened right after the outbreak. She stopped talking entirely. Four months had passed and she hadn’t uttered a peep to anyone- family or servants alike. She had grown pale and thin. Her once full, pink face had grown sallow and gaunt. She rarely changed her clothes. It had been weeks since she had brushed her hair. Whenever someone would suggest that she should take a bath or try to spruce up she would burst into tears and bury her face in her hands. I had called a therapist to consult her. He had diagnosed her with an inexplicable semi-catatonic condition and had little advice for us.
The only thing he suggested was to turn off the TV. I attempted this only once. The news was on. It was always on. She had been sitting on a couch staring unblinkingly at yet another extended program about the destruction beyond the compound when I snagged the remote and turned off the TV.
She screamed.
It was the most unearthly sound I had ever heard. Her face contorted into a horrifying expression I cannot begin to describe and her shrill voice tore through my ears and sent a stab of pain into my heart. I quickly turned it on. She turned to look up at me with bloodshot eyes. She was gone. Gone from me, gone from the family, gone from the world.
It had all been too much for her. The outbreak, having no children, being confined to the compound and shut away from the horrors of the world. I suppose watching the rest of the world lose their children was the only thing that made her happy.
If she couldn’t have them then they couldn’t either.”
Ethan stared down at his father’s neat and angular handwriting. His face felt hot. He quickly closed the leather bound journal and pushed it back into the top drawer of the desk. Footsteps began to crescendo from the end of the hallway. Anxiously he slammed the drawer shut and jumped to his feet just as the dark oak door to the study began to open.
“Ethan?”
“Good morning, mother.”
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