Log in

No account? Create an account

Sun, Oct. 26th, 2008, 08:52 pm
So yeah

I'm actually going to use my livejournal to blog and stuff everyday.

So enjoy, I don't think anyone I know but Shelbz has a livejournal here. xD

Love love.

Mon, Apr. 3rd, 2006, 06:06 pm
Stage One

Stagesoflove: Wave-Thingy One (Exploration of a Relationship Through The Five Senses: sight, hearing, touch, smell and taste)

Draco x Harry (in Harry Potter... dur)


Exactly 500 Words.

- - - -

Draco is slow in his movements; he finishes unbuttoning the shirt and, rather than pull it off, lets it sort of slide down his arms. The tie, which he had so meticulously undone only a moment before, fell swiftly from his hand, onto the carpeted floor of the Slytherin dormitory.

Harry, not deferring from the way he usually undressed, loosened the tie enough to pull it over his head, doing the same with his white button-up. The clothes landed in a heap behind the Gryffindor, unceremonious and simple. Understandably nervous, he runs his hands through his hair.

It's curiosity more than anything, really. The way Harry skims his fingertips along Draco's sides doesn't necessarily seem sexual, but it makes him shiver. The quick, demanding way he examines Draco; the way he turns him, exhaling audibly while he manages to run his hands along the smooth, clear, unmarked expanse of skin, so white in the darkly decorated room.

It's the way Draco's so slim, he thinks. It's the feminine waist, the flat, yet unmuscled stomach, even the startlingly thin arms. There are no scars, no marks of any kind, nothing to suggest childhood adventures or schoolyard fights or days out climbing trees. Nothing to suggest unnatural tortures at the hands of his father, which Harry had almost expected after the stories he'd heard. Nothing but soft, rich, fragile white skin that shivered under the Gryffindor's fingers.

For Draco, however, it's something entirely different. It's how Harry is so much taller than he is, so much more muscled and worn; it's the scars along his arms, along the tops of his hips, marks proving evidence of child abuse and a hard life. It’s how his tanned, uneven coloring only adds to his rugged, more boyish appearance. It’s the guttural sound he makes when Draco falls back, unintentionally brushing against him in a way that gives them both a sharp reminder as to why they had even come in the first place.

This startles them. Draco doesn’t need to speak to show Harry how afraid he is. The look in his eyes is enough. Harry doesn’t even have to say ‘I should go’; it’s enough in that he gathers the few articles of clothing he’s shed and begins to redress.

And it’s enough in the smile Harry gives him before he leaves, just soft enough to be reassuring.

Draco looks down, realizing suddenly that Harry’s red and gold tie was lying just where it had been before, and that Draco’s was gone. Admiring the gold threading shining in the dim moonlight, Draco picks it up and slips it on before even really thinking about it.

Looking in the mirror, he can see the awkward contrast between the tie and his spoiled, remarkably virginal body. But it doesn’t matter to him that they don’t seem right- his frailty and the courage the tie was supposed to signify- because he knows they fit. He can tell by the feverish heat still rushing through his body.

Wed, Mar. 1st, 2006, 10:37 pm

Title: Reason to Exist
Rating: For now, a PG-ish.
Pairing: Undecided, possible GaaLee.

Summary: Gaara has issues with love, Gaara has issues with the annoying voice in his head… Gaara has issues.

- - - - - -

The door of the hospital room slid open. Sabaku no Gaara stepped forward.

The tucked bed sheets, warm, dark atmosphere, and the drawn curtains were all the work of Gai, who had undoubtedly been worrying over his favorite pupil since the tournament. Lee's carefully cleaned, combed hair and fresh bandages were the work of both anonymous nurses and his teammates, who had all been understandably unsettled by his foolish attempts at training earlier that day.

But the daffodil- the single, cut flower on the ninja's bedside table- was what gave Gaara a headache. The simple expression of love brought a painful, cold burn to the area right behind his eyes.

Gaara swung a hand to his head, wincing at the increasing sensation. He waited for the burning to stop (as it usually wore off after the initial shock), but when the image of Gai-Sensei flashed before his eyes, he doubled over, losing his breath.

The simple gesture, the look that Gai had given Gaara at the end of the battle, spoke volumes about what he felt for the boy. Gaara had refused allowing himself to think at all about the possible aspects of their relationship; the memory alone made his stomach churn.

(with what? jealousy?)


(admit it)

Gaara's fingers dug into his hair, clenching in an attempt to distract himself from the voices echoing behind his eyes.

(admit it)


(he's what you'll never be)

(damn right-)

(i only mean-)

(I'll never be that-)

(that he is-)



Gaara's grip loosened, and he looked up at the boy, unable (or unwilling) to stop the sensation running through his fingers, the thoughts running through his mind. The boy; an example of love, love from others, and example of ignorance, of weakness, and example of the complete imbalance, the... unfairness of everything...

Gaara stepped forward, holding a hand over Lee. Closing his eyes, he felt the power run through him, the hate, the cold familiarity of everything Gaara knew. Standing over the soon-to-be-dead ninja... even when he was alone in the room, the love others felt for him was still tangible.

Gaara heard the chink of the glass vase falling from the table, onto the open window sill.

His eyes shot open.

The flowers sat on the table, the same as they had ever been.

Gaara shuddered, swallowing, willing the burning, red hate to push him further. He watched, fascinated, as sand began to come together on Lee's jaw line, growing, gaining an inch with every second that passed; at any moment, it would cover him completely, choking him, ending him. Gaara's breathing hastened.
(get rid of it)

(i am)

He stopped. His body froze, without explanation. Gaara's eyes widened, and he could only flinch as Uzumaki's fist came flying. Pain exploded in his jaw as someone in the room cried out.

"What are you doing here, you bastard?" Naruto stood, sleeping attire and spiky hair just as anyone would've pictured.

Gaara rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand, wincing he felt grains of his thin barrier fall, leaving a small crack below his eye.

They demanded; or, more accurately, Naruto demanded. He demanded to know what Gaara had been doing, why; he demanded to know why Gaara did what he did, why he hated, why he killed, why he existed. He demanded Gaara pour out his heart, his soul, or lack thereof.

So he did.

His childhood, his reasons, his actions, his feelings; all of the tainted, sacrilegious poison that had cultivated in his heart, throughout his life; all of this, he poured into the room. All for Uzumaki. His parents, the monster, the assassinations that had changed his view on life. All of it; everything Gaara could bring himself to remember.

All the time, he watched Naruto, waiting for the repulsion; the distant, basic disgust that any normal person would experience. He knew, when he saw it, that he would be able to take care of both of them later, without thought. It always made things easier.

It never came.

Instead, something unnerving, something Gaara was definitely not used to seeing, flashed across Uzumaki's face. Understanding?

No. That wasn't possible.

Never, no one. Never.

"Now..." Gaara breathed, opening his mind and allowing the more sensible, sadistic side of him to take hold. "Let me feel it..."

"That's enough!"

Gaara choked. The pain behind his eyes returned, seven fold. He walked to the door, ignoring the obvious stares.

He turned in the doorway, narrowing his eyes, purposefully not looking at Gai.

"I'll get you one day, Uzumaki." he said. "Definitely."

- - - - - -