| I Don't Hate You | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 6 2009, 07:54 PM (269 Views) | |
| Kusumita | Nov 6 2009, 07:54 PM Post #1 |
![]()
|
Name: I Don't Hate You Rating: G Pairing: Arynia x Dante --- Slight AU on how they met- childhood friends ftw? Hahahaha -- "She was beautiful, in the quiet way that lonely, unnoticed people are beautiful to those who notice them." - Jedediah Berry. He says get lost when he means I love you. Being her mother's daughter, she lies that he doesn't mean it. It's his job to be moody underneath that cheery exterior so she gives him rope without telling him to go hang himself; he tosses the lifeline into the river and doesn't wait for it to land. Ever the washed up superhero, Dante tries to launch himself off the roof. There are no birds or planes and the only red tights that flash across his eyes belong to the memory of someone far less screwed up, but Lois Lane takes to wearing headbands and saves him anyway. With super-strength, he pushes her away. Later, she says yes to the first boy who asks, ring loose but heavy, a voluntary noose that maybe she doesn't want to get free. It's a smoke screen like everything else in their zip code, the queen and her prince – matters of state confuse him; she’s always preferred the background and the perks of a royal name with none of the monarchial responsibility – holding court on the steps of the church while the peons coo over how perfection has unblemished skin. She's in love with someone else and pretends that the particulars are not particularly important, but it would've been easier if he'd said get out instead of asking are you sure? She’s turned to God recently- or so she claims. She’s always been a fantastic liar. Arynia slips a bit of Vodka into her tea when she thinks he isn’t looking- sending him a glare to be quiet which makes him chuckle as he serves other customers. He’s amazed at how times have changed since they first met that time in the desert- the rose-haired princess commanding frogs to leap and bring her water. He was never that good at following orders but he guessed a piggy back returning her to civilization was good enough for her. She’s never really had a job. Sixteen and an alcoholic with mood swings of constant menstration but he’s already twenty and murdered more than he can remember. He isn’t really one to judge. Dante tries to save her in that ridiculous way of his – with penguin kisses and poetry and I see you, Arynia – but it's the wrong thought, an embellished mirage along a compass needle angled away from the sun so that he can squint and believe that she's capable of being good. He owns night vision goggles, but regardless, he crashes that train almost instantaneously, car jumping the tracks while realization flies through an open window; Arynia smirks underneath the sunlight of the café’s faded windows. She sips her tea laced with vodka- sending a flip of her hair towards the waiter. Their eyes meet for a second before she looks back to her cup. Coyish, he thinks, but coquette is adorable for women who’ll cut me up in a second. "Bad seeds, Dan," Arynia laughs, "always grow into poisonous flowers." She whispers. “What would you say… if I became an acolyte?” If his world view is shattered, she tries not to notice. Join a high stakes poker game even though you barely know how to play. Dante will promise easy money and you'll half-believe him, a timeline full of easy looks and easy priestly acceptances and easy planned out futures hovering like non-negotiable conditions for having this life. Let the part that knows about Dante's sinking financial portfolio guide you away from bar crawls and green plastic St. Patrick's Day hats. Be cautious: fold, fold, fol at the table. "Take a chance, Arynia," Dante will whisper, slapping her back for extra reassurance. "It'll be fine." It won't (you hope). Be stupid: blow your trust fund by doubling up on losing hands. Get that winning smile punched in, Adonis turned Kool-Aid Man. Watch the head priest barter for your freedom with his prized baseball. Pretend to be grateful. "What the hell were you thinking?" he will ask later in the carriage. "I was trying not to." "Go to Juno next time." Through the dividing glass, the priest will order Arthur to stop somewhere for a slab of beef – "hell, Outback even!" – because Prontera raises boys who bruise like peaches. "On the double before Arynia starts to look like a wrinkled plum." If this is penance, you want a war wound. Arynia snorts before downing her flask. Its going to be a long life- better strap in for the ride. She looks back slightly in time to catch the gaze of a stripped prince standing in the street with a broken tea cup and an expression that read ‘I don’t hate you- I just really dislike you. |
![]() |
|
| The Abominable Joe-man | Nov 6 2009, 08:12 PM Post #2 |
|
haha, this brings back memories of our old trio. |
![]() |
|
| Kusumita | Nov 6 2009, 08:49 PM Post #3 |
![]()
|
Sydney got me hooked on writing fics for them again! Hahaha -- Name: Hedonism Rating: T Pairing: Arynia x Dante -- A lord, a lover, a broken promise, a fine line: these are the spoils of a failed Tuscan summer. Acolyte is the right thing at entirely the wrong time for her time of personality, but that's old hat. Her survival guide is still tucked under the mattress, Mother’s tips on how to cover up puffy eyes and mascara stains dog-eared from a lifetime of fractured fairy tales and ill-fitting family heirlooms all the while entertaining the thought that prince charming doesn’t exist- if he does, he comes with a fifty dollar bill and a sleazy smile. Arynia rationalizes that (maybe) she's done giving out second chances and playing Russian roulette with someone who carries extra bullets. "I'd still love you wear granny panties around me," he suggests, laughing through a mouthful of rum raisin as he chewed it in his mouth, "Just in case you, you know, lose your resolve." He grins cheekily, massaging his head a bit. "Go drown in a community pool,” Arynia shoots back with a glare, biting her lip while twirling her staff. The religious girl shoots a smile to a passing man who tips his hat and leaves a donation. She nods in acknowledgement before flipping her gaze back to the commonly dressed assassin- she couldn’t believe he was one to actually kill at night. She’s never seen it- but she’s curious. Pressing her tongue into the corner of her cheek, she watches him pull at pieces of his hair while laughing at her comment. So mentally retarded, she wondered, What a fag. Never satisfied with third tier, Arynia waves goodbye to the royal priest a few minutes later. This is another zero sum game that she has to play even though she's tired of crossing her fingers for hopeless causes. They don't waste anytime- taking advantage of the empty church. She cries out slightly as she's pressed against the church wall, his hand up her skirt with her lips crashing against his. Its darker in this private room, the candles shine off of the holy images in the mirrors and the windows. She tilts her head back and he presses his lips against her neck. She’s so going to Hell but she doesn’t care- with the blood on his hands, he’s going to be there too. She gripped his shoulders. "To hedonism," he smiles. |
![]() |
|
| Kusumita | Nov 8 2009, 01:54 AM Post #4 |
![]()
|
Name: Chinese Guns Rating: PG Pairing: FreyxNateshaxMarius -- Chinese guns and cocky smiles headline justice. Angels proclaims him the new face of the revolution, victor in an uncontested race. Never mind the need for a negative campaign; the other guy plays dress up. Midgard likes its heroes in Armani not Kevlar. (That's a good boy, Frey, Daddy says. At just the right angle, whiskey could pass for love.) * In another time, there's a man and grocery lists on the fridge and couples bowling on Sunday nights and he's actually happy. There's a house – because that's what grown ups do – and it scares the hell out of him, cold sweats and shaky feet and when it's time to sign on the dotted line, his grip is white hot to keep his hands from trembling too much. He spends the first year waiting for it to all go to hell, plastering walls and cleaning the gutters while bracing himself for the infrastructure to crumble. He waits. And waits. And waits. Nothing happens, but Marius is a patient man. He waits. * "You're not getting shot at, you're not doing your job right," he laughs as if to say I'm not worried so you shouldn't be either, Natesha.” It's not like he expects him to beat his chest and roll around the floor in tears, but, truthfully, he's a little hurt by his nonchalance. Love shouldn't be this easy to let go. "I'm fine, Frey. Really. Your level of concern for my well-being is staggering!" "Feeling vulnerable, Mr. Marquis?" he laughs. "I did almost just get killed," Natesha scoffs. "Almost being the operative word, right? Come on, Natesha. You're not getting soft on me, are you?" (Boy, you ain't nothing but tears, Daddy spits out in disgust. The coin catches the light as it flies through the air and Daddy tells him that real men are made of steel. Knuckles cracked and ready, Daddy says that he's going to make him a real man.) He flinches and then tries to laugh it off like it's no big deal, but Marius hasn't sat on the sidelines for so long that he's forgotten how to read people. He touches his arm, leans in, and whispers that he'd be inconsolable if he bit it. "Truly." "Liar," he grins. "You'd probably throw a parade if I got whacked." Frey laughed at the two before sipping his gin. "I don't know. Would it also double as The Sopranos wrap party?" * In another time, he's developing an ulcer from the stress of everything-that-hasn't-happened (-yet). He doesn't tell him, but he doesn't have to for Marius to get out the warm milk and brandy and say, "You don't have to hold your breath, baby. This is forever." He smiles for real, lopsided and toothy and not at all like the posters plastered around town for his election campaign. Maybe he's right: the etch-a-sketch has been shaken clean and he's free to be anyone (or no one) at all. Start from zero. (Daddy's silver dollar weighs heavily in his pocket like breadcrumbs; if he gets lost in the woods, he's going to have to save himself.) * Natesha wasn’t made for single relationships, the blonde warns, I wouldn’t recommend you try to change him, Frey. Frey scoffs and walks out. At the party, he opens his eyes and gets it. He loves him, but he's not in love with him; it's the difference between buying a one-bedroom condo in the city and putting down money for a house in the suburbs. He's hurt, but he's not heartbroken; sometimes when he kisses his collarbone, he sees someone else with softer eyes and a smaller smile. This is where it should end, but he's already flipped the coin so he pops the question – not like last time; he's not sending it down a piece of a pink string on the anniversary of the first time they went to the carnival – but he gets down on one knee, smiles the believe in me smile, and asks him to spend the rest of his life with him. (He can't bring himself to say forever. He wants to want a yes, but maybe he's hoping for a no.) The maniac with an upset expression and violent aggression slams in- blonde hair flying in a jealous rage interrupts him before he can choose. * Natesha groans under the sunlight. In another time, he's taking basal body temperatures and keeping towels and gin by his bedside. Frey is in the bathroom staring at himself- point out flaws which may not exist. Neither one of them wants to say that this isn't working, that the creaks from his scales of justice are dampening the steady tick tick tick sound of his ending sanity. "Some day," he replies when he tells him that he wants a family and a minivan and tire swings in the backyard, "The world is frightening right now. Kids…they don't have a chance anymore." "If we love—" "And hope for the best?" He flips the coin high, watches it scrape the blade edge of the ceiling fan, and tells her that's about as much chance as any kid has of turning out okay: "Fifty-fifty, Marius. That's nothing." "Bullshit," Marius shouts for the first time in a long time, knocking his palm away as he waits for the silver dollar to drop. "That's fatalistic bullshit, Natesha. I'm tired of living like that." "It's the way it is." "It's not the way it has to be," he sighs, clutching both his hands between his own, "You rose above it, Frey. You're a good man." He shakes his head and pulls away. "Maybe so," he says like he doesn't really believe it, "but I'm still my father's son. Can't change that." Marius collapses against the couch as Natesha groans from the bed- holding his head in his hands. "The odds are in your favor if you want them to be." * In another time, he says I'm sorry and forever is a lie perpetuated by a coin that assures him that he'll be back. He's believing what he wants to believe, but silver magic died sometime around Santa and the first time Daddy tossed it in the air and asked if he wanted to play a game. Half is the same as one is the same as nothing. |
![]() |
|
| Rinslette | Nov 30 2009, 01:59 AM Post #5 |
|
OTP OTP <333 Omg, Frey, Natesha, and Marius are hot together. Shit. <33 |
![]() |
|
| akanekari | Nov 30 2009, 01:59 AM Post #6 |
|
Hi. I LOVE YOU. ;O; SLKGLSKGLKGSLK |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
|
|
| « Previous Topic · Fanfiction · Next Topic » |








8:00 PM Jul 10