Murder the Music - Listen to It Bleed

Subject: Fanfiction

Mon, 28 Dec 2009 03:45:14 GMT

After seeing icyblu24's personal kink meme, for Hiruma/Mamori, so I decided that I wanted to do it, too.. so long as you'd guys would like another kink meme.

Just leave a prompt and/or a quote, object, song, scenerio, ect. you'd like to be used and I'll get onto it. :3

Subject: Life

Tue, 29 Sep 2009 23:59:56 GMT

I recently bought myself a domain from Namesor.com, my site now called "Melodic Apocalypse", a spin from the title of my first novel-in-the-marking, "Apocalypse Melody".

Here's my site: http://www.melodic-apocalypse.com.

I just now need to create a new layout. ;P

Subject: Fanfiction

Thu, 11 Jun 2009 17:44:22 GMT

Title: Bloodied Scalpels
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Character Pairings: Shilo/Nathan (Repo!Nathan)
Genre: Romance/Drama/Horror
Rating: T-MA+
Overall Warnings: Incest, Gore, Profanity
Chapter Warnings: Profanity
Disclaimers: I own nothing "REPO! The Genetic Opera".
Summary: Rotti Largo’s death has marked a time for change, but change isn’t something that happens in a day – unless you’re Shilo Wallace. Between her mentally unstable father bedridden and needing her attention day in and day out, a notorious grave robber as her boss, and corrupt men seeking to steal the crown of GeneCo, Shilo’s beginning to regret ever being curious about the world.

[link] - Chapter II
[link] - Chapter I

---

"It ain't no trick to get rich quick. If you dig, dig, dig with a shovel or a pick, in a mine! In a mine! In a mine! In a mine, where a million diamonds shine!"

She paused over her selected corpse, the needle of the syringe stuck up its nostril, her hand poised and ready to extract the natural chemicals inside. Blinking, she lifted her head and peered over the rough edge of a tombstone . . . and watched as her 'boss' jigged over his own corpse, jubilantly singing and whistling as he 'mined' the body of its value.

A snort of laughter bubbled up before she could stop it. How disturbing was it to sing a Disney tune and dance as you desecrated graves and pillaged the rotting bodies they harbored?

She ducked a little, smiling, when he stopped and glanced over his shoulder, a smirk riding his darkly painted lips. She heard amusement in his voice when he called out to her.

"You almost done, kid?"

"Almost," she replied, her breath puffing out into the freezing air as her small smile slipped, and she turned back to the job at hand.

She bit her lower lip, grimacing as she slowly pulled on the syringe's plunger, the glass cylinder immediately filling with beautifully luminous, blue liquid.

She gave the needle a little jerk to free it and she sat back in the damp, freshly dug up dirt from the grave, staring down at the full syringe, slowly rolling it back and forth in her gloved hands, its glowing contents taunting her – reminding her.

Zydrate . . . the story of her life, really. As well as the irony.

Here she was, harvesting the very thing that was fed to her every day for the last seventeen years by the one man who was supposed to care for her and protect her. Instead, he poisoned her – thinned her blood – and made her an unwilling addict to the substance.

Now she was assisting one of the very men who distributed the very same drug to others while trying tp overcome her savage withdrawals of Zydrate, day in and day out.

God, could things get anymore twisted and turned around?

"Hey, kid, you feeling okay?" murmured a deep voice above her. "Do you need your . . . er, 'medicine'?"

She tilted her head back, smiling a little up at her boss, her gaze meeting the ocean-blue eyes staring down at her. He was leaning over the tombstone, gloved fingers braced against the rough stone, his pale features expressing a bit of concern as he absently tucked away three vials of newly withdrawn Zydrate.

Sighing, she looked away again, murmbling, "No, I'm okay. Just . . . never mind. Here."

She gathered up her little stockpile of gently glowing vials, the smooth glass clinking against one another and sounding almost sweet and melodious, and then offered them up to him.

He picked them from her hands carefully, almost lovingly, his bout of worry wiped away the second his eyes landed on her night's reaping. A pleased grin spread across his strong, male features and he lifted his hands to the velvet-black night sky, allowing the silver moonlight to spear through the vials and enhance beauty of the liquid's natural glow.

"Damn, you're becoming quite a natural," he murmured, seemingly entranced by the graveyard's treasures.

She smiled shyly, huddling deeper into the heavy leather, fur-lined coat he had given her two nights before, having smoothly said, "Getting colder these days. Consider this a gift for all the help you've been, kid."

She absolutely adored it. Not because it was something great – it was anything but. It was overly large, stained in spots by something she didn't care to know about, the faux fur was discolored and coming off in small patches, the hems were ragged, and it smelled a bit mildewed.

But it was incredibly warm and she had already grown attached to it – it was from her first real friend, a friend who actually seemed to care, if only a little bit.

"Well, I think we're done here," he announced offhandedly, busily, strapping her night's share of vials to his thigh. "Time for me to do my rounds and for you to get back to your old man."

"Yeah . . . " she murmured, feeling her heart drop a little, and she pushed herself to her feet and patted the dirt off her pants.

I don't want to go home . . . She instantly felt ugly and horrible. Her father needed her . . . no matter how much she still burned to just hate him and leave him to survive on his own. She was frightened of his other more vicious personality and she was still crying herself to sleep because of the anguish of the betrayal his true personality had caused her.

She just couldn't stand looking at him . . . at least, not look at him and not be assaulted by a horrid torrent of cruel, dark emotions.

"Kid? You coming or what?"

She blinked and looked up, seeing the multicolored-hair street pirate across the moonlit cemetery, leaning against the open, iron-wrought gate, a small frown pulling at his dark lips.

"Sorry!" she called, a blush warming her cheeks, and she started toward the entrance, deftly maneuvering around slanted and cracked headstones, mounds of grave dirt and various litter.

And with each step she made, she felt a weight in her chest seemingly grow heavier and almost intolerable.

She really didn't want to go home . . .

---

Disgusting, unsightly little Italians, he thought, his genetically-altered, stone-gray eyes cold and glittering with malice despite the charming smile sitting on his lips as he analyzed the false heirs to the world's savior, GeneCo.

"Boujour, Mademoiselle Sweet." He swept low into an elegant bow, the length of his thick, black ponytail slipping over a shoulder as he peered up at the trio behind the dark, heavy mahogany-wood desk, a touch of arrogance seeping into his smile. When he straightened, he gave a polite nod in the directions of the males standing on either side of the surgically beautified woman. "Messieurs Luigi Largo et Paviche Largo."

"Who the fuck are you?" spat the deceased Rotti's eldest son, his narrow features twisted up into a sneer.

"No need to be so crass, mon ami," he coolly responded, his smile freezing on his mouth as an ugliness began to churn just beneath, wanting to twist his lips into a snarl. "Allow me to introduce myself: Juis sui Dionte Adolphus, founder and président of Artillerie D'anatomie, or Anatomy Artillery. We advertise and manufacture –"

"Bio-weaponry," Luigi rudely interrupted, looking insultingly unimpressed as he idly fingered the tip of his knife.

He felt a tick in his jaw as he ground his teeth together, his voice low with forced patience, "… Oui. Extensive, highly successful redesigning of the skeletal et muscle structure to include technology and armaments. Advanced personal defense, if you will."

"That-a is all well and good," the face-stealing son spoke lightly, his stainless silver, gem-encrusted mirror gripped daintily in a pale, slender hand as he regarded him through the empty sockets of the female face, "but what-a does GeneCo have-a to do with-a you?"

"Yeah," the beautiful, surgery-addicted woman finally spoke, her voice cool and aloof. "What the hell do you want?"

He felt a tight, hot curling in his gut, his disgust becoming almost too much to keep contained. Repulsive, hideous trolls!

But he quieted his raging thoughts as a cold, calm air settled over him, his reflective-gray eyes unblinking. "I am here to buy GeneCo and make it a part of my own company."

He watched as the Largo children glanced at each other, as if silently speaking to one another, before their eyes fell back on him. And they erupted together in laughter.

"Get the fuck outta here!" Luigi howled, grinning maniacally.

"What a comedian you-a are, good sir." Pavi then turned his attention to his mirror, lifting it up and out, getting a better reflection of himself, clearly having dismissed him as anything further interesting.

"I'm not selling shit to you," Amber cooed, a falsely sweet smile on her dark crimson lips as she leaned her elbows onto the finely polished surface of the desk, resting her chin on her threaded fingers.

His own smile morph into something arrogant and confident before he wiped it away, a dramatic sigh falling from his lips and his shoulders dropping as he stared up at the shadowed ceiling. "Oh, but that is where we have a bit of a problème, ma chère."

He felt triumphant smolder slowly behind his serious, insincerely-concerned frown when the three's mirth practically died on the spot and they considered him suspiciously; warily.

He simply lifted a long, slender finger, wrapped in the black leather of his glove, and pointed it at them one at a time, his tone matter-of-fact as he spoke calmly, "Neither one of you are in the position of telling moi what you will or will not sell . . . because neither of you are the true successors to this company."

"What?!" Amber shrieked, her beautiful features contorting horribly as it curled into an ugly sneer, and she threw back her chair when she jumped up, slamming her palms down on the desk. "How dare you! I am the heir!"

His demeanor remained collected, even when the hot-tempered Largo son tensed and started to round the desk, the blade of his knife glinting threateningly under the dim light, his sharp, long features expressing his infamous, easily provoked rage.

He flexed his fingers seemingly absently, but his knuckles emitted an ominous cracking sound that seemed to echo loudly off the high, dark walls. A soft whirring then accented the cool air.

His stone-gray eyes were still and unblinking on Luigi, even when the slender man paused at the corner of the desk, his sneer falling into a deep scowl, guarded awareness flashing in his ash-blue eyes.

Slowly, he drew his eyes from the man and swept them over the other two, his playfulness gone and seriousness having taken over as he growled lowly, a small snarl curling his lips and eyes narrowing. "Non. In fact, I did not come here to speak with either of you. I came here on the assumption that Shilo Wallace was here. The legal beneficiary."

"That skank disappeared from existence. Everybody knows that," Amber hissed, her cat-like eyes narrowed into seething slits.

"Nevertheless, she is the heir, written specifically as such in your father's last will and testament. If she's not here, then I clearly must look elsewhere, non?" he inquired, smiling nastily at the glaring, quietly furious Largo offspring. "My business is obviously done here. Au revoir, mes amis."

Bowing low once more before straightening and turning on his heel, he strolled back toward the open elevator, haughtily flicking his long, swishing ponytail back over his shoulder, a snide smirk on his lips.

Tiny-brained Italians. One way or another, this company is mine.

Subject: Fanfiction

Sat, 04 Apr 2009 16:39:33 GMT

Title: Creampuff Grenades
Theme: Complicated
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Character Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori
Genre: Romance/Drama
Rating: T
Warnings: Profanity
Disclaimers: I own nothing Eyeshield 21

---

When dealing with Hiruma, or anything that included him, she found that it was an immensely complicated thing.

"But he's insane, Mamori!"

"Did he trick you into this?"

"He'll ruin you, Mamo-nee!"

"Did you lose a bet to him? Is that why you're doing this?"

"If he's threatening you, Mamori-san, we'll protect you!"

"You're too sweet and innocent, Mamori-chan! You'll be corrupted!"

"It's that book of his, isn't it? Oh, we don't care what blackmail he has on you, Mamori-neesan!"

She smiled guiltily, waving her hands sheepishly in an attempt to ward off practically the whole student body as they surrounded her, their cries of protest, questions, and vows of protection filling the hallway. The commotion reminded her of the day everyone had found out about her joining the American Football Club. It hadn't been the club itself that threw everyone into a tizzy . . . It was because she would be closely working with the well-known anti-student of the school – the Devil; Deimon's sociopath; Tokyo's tyrant; the man who was responsible for this second uproar of disbelief.

"No, no, I won't stand for it! You can't do this, Anezaki-san!"

She was a little surprised, seeing the members of the Disciplinary Committee Board forcing their way through the crowd, replacing those who had been standing closest to her until they made up the innermost circle.

The president of the committee jerkily patted out the wrinkles in his uniform, straightened his tie, frustratedly angled his circular glasses correctly on his nose . . . and then pointed a defiant finger at her, his hazel eyes narrowed and glaring.

"You will not do this, Anezaki-san," he ordered loudly. A deafening hush fell over the massive circle of bodies, and causing her ears to feel slightly clogged from the sudden silence.

She leveled him with a firm look, a small frown tugging at her mouth.

"Don't give me that look," he snapped, unconsciously pushing his glasses up again as they slipped a second time. His lean, bookish-but-handsome features were contorted with anger, his cheeks lightly flushed as he started to pace back and forth, some of the surrounding students backing away to give him room.

She eyed him warily, not sure what to say to him. She knew better than to argue with him, given his hot-headedness and his need to be in absolute control. It made him a fantastic leader for a committee against disobedience and unruly behavior . . . but it made him a little terrifying if you were the one who invoked the temper. She remembered when he had yelled at her and demanded that she stop talking nonsense when she had told the committee of her plans to join the Hiruma-dominated football club. It had taken much persuasion from the other members to convince him that her being in the club might actually help dissuade Hiruma from some of his usual antics.

A small, tentative hand came to rest on her shoulder and she flicked her crystal-blue eyes to meet the soulful-brown ones of another committee officer.

"What he means is that you shouldn't do this, Mamori," she gently chided, flicking an annoyed look at the scowling committee president, then back at her. "Why are you doing this? You should know better than any us how dangerous and unstable he is."

"Exactly!" the sophisticated-appearing student shouted. She continued to frown at him, and he noticed. Sighing frustratedly, he put up a halting hand, as if warding off her defensiveness, his other hand pushing agitatedly through his short, light-brown hair. "Look, I'll be the first one to admit that you joining the football club actually had been a great idea. Granted, you didn't turn him into a glitter-eating angel . . . but the amount of disorder and damage he used to cause nearly daily has been brought to a great minimum. We don't even get complaints about him threatening students with guns anymore."

A lot of the onlookers nodded their heads vigorously, their expressions showing solemn gratitude. She smiled lightly, watching with an air of amusement as the committee president started to pace again, gesturing wildly as he continued his rant.

"But this . . . this! This is taking too far, Anezaki-san. No, I won't allow it to happen!" he shouted, coming to stop in front of her, using his much taller but lankier form to tower over her smaller figure, a blatant attempt to intimidate as he glared down at her through his spectacles.

But she couldn't find it in her heart to at least pretend to be frightened. Not even close. Dealing with the blond-haired delinquent in question on a daily basis made other terrifying things seem . . . not terrifying.

If the threat didn't look like an electrified shark, tote around an invisible arsenal of weapons capable of mass destruction, or speak with such constant vulgarity that it could male up its own language of crudity . . . then it wasn't a threat.

She smiled kindly, trying to deter the boiling frustration she could feel rolling off him in waves. "But Yuuku-kun, if I was able to tame Hiruma-kun this much by just being his manager . . . think of how well-behaved he'll be now?"

She fought hard . . . she really did. But when the words 'tame' and 'well-behaved' left her lips, she found that she really couldn't keep a straight face. She bit her lower lip as a grin started tugging at the corners, her self-control cracking when a desperately-suppressed giggle escaped, and she quickly pressed a loose fist to her mouth to smother it.

"No!" he cried, scowling darkly. He backed away from her to pace back and forth once more, his hands pulling at his hair. "You agreed to join that club to try to control Hiruma's violence; not just to watch out for that friend of yours! You were our soldier, sent out with the main purpose of infiltrating the enemy's forces."

It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her laughter in. Eyes sparking with mirth, she managed to murmur behind her fist, "And what better way to keep a close eye on him now, right? It's basically the same th-"

"No! No, this is not the same thing!" He jerked his body around toward her, breathing hard with hot adrenaline and barely restrained rage. "It is not. This . . . this is . . . this is treason! You're switching sides; joining him! You're collaborating with the enemy, Anezaki-san! Why would you want to do such a thing?"

She smiled gently, light-blue eyes twinkling. "Because I can and because I want to."

The collective gasp felt overly loud to her.

The frazzled, stunned committee president gaped at her. He lifted a trembling finger at her, his voice cracked with indignation and disbelief as he felt his control of the situation slipping away fast. "Y-You want to? B-But you can't! You can't just . . . just abandon your responsibilities as a disciplinary officer for that . . . that criminal! You can't, you can't! If you do this, Anezaki-san, I swear I'll . . . I'll . . . !"

"Kekeke . . . you'll what?"

The crowd of students immediately parted at the new voice – like a people yielding to the presence of their powerful king.

She felt a gentle warmth rise into her cheeks, a smile blooming when she saw him there, standing at the entrance doors, imposingly tall and deadly handsome, the usual unkemptness of his school uniform expressing his rebelliousness and offensive personality. A hand was resting idly on a narrow hip while the other cradled the butt of a Colt M16A4 MWS automatic rifle against his shoulder.

She paused, blinking, then mentally sighed as she realized that she had just recognized and pin-point named the weapon exactly.

He looked like an arrogant king, exuding brutal power and control with an air of indifference as he stood there, wearing that face-splitting, shark-toothed grin. But there was something different about it . . .

His emerald-green eyes, beautifully shaped like a feline's, were hard; cold. They were void of their usual deviousness, the mischief of his grin having fallen short on its destination.

"All you fucking busybodies making such a fuss over who she's goin' with . . . and you end up fucking forgetting who she's goin' with."

Her heart kicked in its pace as he turned his emotionless gaze onto the committee president, his feline eyes unblinking as he stared him down.

"Hiruma-kun," she started, worrying her lip as she took a step forward, unsure of this new side of him.

She'd experienced so many characteristics that made up his outrageous personality: his obnoxiousness when he taunted and teased; his genius on and off the field; his total lack of remorse or guilt when he threatened and exploited others for his own personal ambitions; his violent tendencies via automatic rifles unloaded at feet or into the sky when his authority was challenged; his violent tendencies via automatic rifles unloaded into the sky or hard kicks to the rear when he was extremely proud or ecstatic; his frustration when he ran out of ideas while on the field . . . or when she stood firm against his absolute rule; the emotional and physical exhaustion he had sometimes succumbed to after every victory in the life-or-death games he took command of . . .

. . . the dead seriousness in his tone when he had entered the clubroom the evening before, coolly demanding, "Yo, fuckin' manager, be my goddamn girlfriend."

But this was different; something she hadn't seen before until now . . .

Something dangerous glinted in his eyes when he spoke, his nerve-wrenching gaze unwavering on Yuuku. "Gonna kick her out of the committee all because she has a mind of her own, fuckin' four-eyes? Tch, s'fine by me. I would have ended up taking her out of it myself." His grin widened impossibly more. "Don't like the idea of perverts being around my fuckin' girlfriend."

She saw the immediate tensing of the disciplinary president's shoulders and she frowned a little. What was Hiruma trying to say . . . ?

"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" Yuuku spat vehemently, but his voice shook and he was glancing around anxiously; guiltily.

She wrung her hands nervously, watching Yuuku. Whatever blackmail Hiruma had on him, by blatantly denying it Yuuku had just given the bleach-blond quarterback the invitation to show it.

"Ho-o . . .? You don't, huh?"

A sudden, terrified stillness seized everyone when those long, tapered fingers disappeared inside his uniform jacket. When they reappeared, a worn, black book was gripped between them. Colored page-markers stuck out in various places and its title was barely afloat in a sea of scribbled, quick notes: The Devil's Notebook.

"Mm, let's see," he idly murmured, his fingers rapidly flicking through the pages of the book before stopping abruptly on one. "Yuuku Ishimato: Seen in the girl's locker room during their changing period on a near daily basis since last year."

A hushed commotion of shocked gasps and murmurs of disbelief swam through the student crowd, everyone looking at one another and then back at the quaking disciplinary president, eyeing him in sudden mistrust. They all knew, despite how horrible and deceitful Hiruma was . . . the Devil's Notebook held no lies.

"Y-You have n-no proof of that!" the tall boy cried, and he looked around desperately, looking for support. "He has no proof!"

"Kekeke . . . No?"

She brought hand to her mouth, staring in stunned silence when the quarterback drew a few photos from the book.

He tossed them to the floor and allowed everyone to get their fill of pictures: close-ups of their most respected peer crouched down and hidden in the darkness of the girl's shower room, a video camera poised in his hand as he peered through it, recording various girls undressing.

She could only stare at them as Yuuku dropped his head and slowly sank to his knees.

As loud and angry exclamations erupted around her, accusing fingers stabbing viciously in the direction of the ashamed, corrupted disciplinary president, she lifted her eyes to Hiruma's.

A satisfied smirk was her reply before a long-boned finger was crooked at her in a 'let's get out of here' gesture.

She quickly followed after his retreating back.

---

OMAKE:

"The fuck are looking at?" he growled, having had enough of her staring at him for the last three minutes as they continued their casual walk to the clubhouse.

Suddenly, slender arms wrapped around on of his and he was tugged up against her. He dropped her a disgruntled and slightly confused look.

She smiled softly up at him, her soft-blue eyes reflecting something almost tender . . . and fuck him if his heart didn't start beating a little faster in response.

"Those pictures . . . the girls' faces were blurred out, Hiruma-kun."

"Tch. So? The blackmail was on fucking four-eyes. Not anyone else."

"That was very a kind thing for you to do," she whispered, clearly seeing through his dismissal.

He smirked.

"Whatever, damn girlfriend."

---

[link] - Theme XLV: Heart Song
[link] - Theme XXXIX: Dark
[link] - Theme I: Introduction
[link] - Theme LXXXVIII: Possession
[link] - Theme XXXIII: Seeing Red

Subject: Fanfiction

Tue, 31 Mar 2009 17:45:50 GMT

Title: Bloodied Scalpels
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Character Pairings: Shilo/Nathan (Repo!Nathan)
Genre: Romance/Drama/Horror
Rating: T-MA+
Overall Warnings: Incest, Gore, Profanity
Chapter Warnings: N/A
Disclaimers: I own nothing "REPO! The Genetic Opera".
Summary: Rotti Largo’s death has marked a time for change, but change isn’t something that happens in a day – unless you’re Shilo Wallace. Between her mentally unstable father bedridden and needing her attention day in and day out, a notorious grave robber as her boss, and corrupt men seeking to steal the crown of GeneCo, Shilo’s beginning to regret ever being curious about the world.

[link] - Chapter I

---

She had always sensed that there was something off about her father – something eerie and out of place – and that feeling had only intensified the older she became, the strangeness having grown into a nastiness; a horribleness. Like a stain that only seemed to darken and spread out over time.

And it had only been on that terrible night at the Opera House that she had learned that her father was . . . ill.

"Go away . . . ," she whispered, eyes wide as absently scooted farther down the bed, her heart pounding.

He continued to leer at her, his winter-green gaze glinting with something cruel as he tracked her every movement. A light eyebrow lifted, and he cocked his head slightly in the surrounding pillows.

"'Go away'?" His was voice raspy and gravelly and so unlike her father's gentle, soothing one. His mouth took on a tilt, but his eyes held no amusement as he drawled, "Make me."

The blatant dare was like a dig at her still fresh, emotional wounds, reminding her that she was still not in control, even when she deserved to be.

There was a bit of bite in her words as she glowered at the stranger inhabiting her father's body. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

A slight smirk. "I'm your father."

"You are not my father!"

"No?"

"No!" She glared at him, unconsciously gripping the bed covers in her small fists, her heart beating harder with anger. "You're not my father! Y-You have to be – no, you are the reason why he did . . . did all those things. You're the reason why he's been poisoning me; why he lied to me about Mom an-and Blind Mag and R-Rotti Largo; why he kept his Repo life a secret from me, making me believe that he was . . . was actually helping people – not killing them!"

Her chest was burning, her emotions running high between hate and anger and hurt confusion. For the two whole weeks she had been taking care of him, she had spent her time trying to come up with reasons to justify or explain her father's conduct, but the most plausible one could put together was this. . . this illness of his. It just wasn't possible for her father to do all those unspeakable acts and . . . be of sound mind!

. . . Right?

Tears scorched the corners of her eyes, but she rebelled from them fall. She found comfort in glaring at the man appearing almost lazy and at home in her father's bed, lounging there against the thick pillows and in her father's open shirt – in her father's skin.

His cool-green gaze was unblinking – studying her.

A cold chill crawled up her spine, and she felt suddenly naked under the hard, scrutinizing stare.

But she met it straight on, despite how much she just wanted to hide from it. She wasn't going to be afraid of him. He was the one bedridden, here. He was in a state of vulnerability.

Then, there was a twitch of his lips, and he seemed to relax deeper into the pillows, saying in a snide tone, "Fishing for excuses to give Daddy, precious?"

She sucked in a breath, her eyes flaring indignantly as she demanded again, her words shaking slightly as she fought against the need to hit him, "Who are you? We can't you just leave us alone?"

For a moment, he just continued to stare at her, appearing almost thoughtful. Then he replied, his voice rough and raspy. "I'm the emotions your daddy keeps buried; the memories that he wishes to forget; the needs he has denied himself for seventeen years." A sickening, almost grim smirk tugged at his lips. "But I'm not the reason behind the decisions he makes."

Her lips thinned stubbornly as his words hung in the air. An instant sense of understanding tried to rise in her mind, but she slammed it down – refused to accept it. She didn't want to understand. If she understood, then it would mean . . . it would mean that her father truly had been aware of what he'd been doing. She didn't want to believe it, she didn't! Her father was a wonderful, loving man who cared and worried about her; always at her beck and call . . .

A pained growl had her snatched from her thoughts and she looked up in time to see him trying to push himself into a sitting position.

"Don't!" she gasped, her hand instinctively reaching out to stop him, but she quickly recoiled back, remembering that this was not her father . . .

He paused and glanced at her with a sneer. It effectively reminded her of why she felt so uneasy whenever her father got upset . . . Because beneath that calm and collective resolve of his lurked an untamed beast ready to wreck havoc and horror . . .

"Y-You're still healing . . . ," she explained, swallowing hard. "If you, you know, move too much, you might . . . tear the stitches . . ." This less-than-sane, brutal man was sharing her father's body . . . and she didn't want him doing anything careless during its much needed time to heal.

His unwavering gaze seemed to sharpen and become aware of something . . . and she repressed a shudder, the hair on the back of her neck rising. What was about this man that . . . made her so uncomfortable? She could practically feel the darkness oozing off of him . . .

He reluctantly eased himself back into the pillows, shifting lazily and settling deeper into them, a small smirk playing at his lips.

". . . Thank you," she mumbled, finally dropping her eyes from his, feeling a bit of relief. If he hadn't complied . . . really, what could she have done? Her father was much taller and heavier than her, and possessed muscle strength that was frightening.

". . . You look just like her," came the rumbling voice that wasn't her father's, and it sounded thoughtful – even a bit amused.

She dared to look up again.

Something almost . . . unholy was set in those light green eyes; a glint of something that made her skin crawl.

"Who . . . Mom?" she inquired softly, figuring that that's what he was talking about. Everyone told her so. Dad, Rotti Largo, Blind Mag, Graverobber –

She gasped, her gaze flying up at the wall clock.

Ten after eleven.

Graverobber!

She flew off the bed and quickly went around the room cleaning up – emptied the basin, shoved ropes of used bandages in the nearby trash bin, picked up dirty laundry and dumped them the hamper in the corner – God, she forgot that they was harvesting tonight!

"What are you doing?"

She paused near the medical tray sitting at the foot of the bed, glancing up at the clearly annoyed expression on her father's – no, not her father's – face.

Her fingertips brushed over the syringe lying amongst the rolls of bandages, gauze and bottles of sanitizing alcohol. The cylindrical glass was smooth and cool to the touch, its liquid contents glowing a bright, alluring blue.

She picked it up, clenching it tightly as she forced herself to move closer to the head of the bed where danger and brutality eyed her.

"I have to go to . . . um, work," she murmured, keeping her gaze steady on his. "And you need to get some rest."

A sardonic smirk crossed his lips, his voice rough. "You can call me Nathan, sweetheart."

She nearly dropped the syringe, first shocked. Then she felt her blood boil slowly as she stood over him. There was a wickedness in his eyes as he stared up at her.

Tossing out her wariness, she angrily grabbed his arm and stuck the steel needle with practiced ease into the soft tissue of the crook of his elbow, ignoring the grunt and raspy laugh, and she squeezed the prescribed Zydrate into his veins.

"You're not my father," she reminded him firmly as he fell victim to the immediate effects of the drug, drifting back to sleep.

Subject: Fanfiction

Thu, 26 Mar 2009 19:26:04 GMT

Subject: Fanfiction

Sat, 21 Mar 2009 11:14:37 GMT

Title: Glowing Butterflies
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Fandom: REPO! The Genetic Opera
Theme: Introduction
Character Pairings: Graverobber/Shilo
Genre: Romance/Drama
Rating: T
Warnings: Profanity; Innuendo; SDG's Bad Humor
Disclaimers: I own nothing REPO! The Genetc Opera.
Summary: 100-Theme Challenge. Drabbles and one-shots on the Graverobber/Shilo pairing.

"Please?"

"No," she said firmly, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, more to show her stubborn defiance than to keep a hold on her body warmth. It was so cold, winter having settled in, bringing with it a light sheet of snow and biting winds.

The male, painted face peering at her through the bars of the mausoleum door gave her the most pathetic, begging look she'd ever seen. She felt an ugly streak of guilt start to ride her conscience . . .

"Pretty please?"

"I said no! Now, go away!" She looked around the dim interior of her mother's tomb, the only light coming from the few lit wall torches. God, she couldn't deal with him right now. Her father needed all of her attention – she couldn't spare even a minute of her time to monitor the peddler's ever movement. Not to mention, she didn't want to bring her father anymore stress or grief by sneaking notorious grave robbers into his home . . .

"Oh, c'mon, kid!" he whined, his velvet-blue eyes glancing around the dark, cold graveyard behind him. "It's cold out here, and damnit, the cops are on my trail!"

"I can't!" But she could feel her stubbornness starting to weaken. Beginning to feel desperate, she fixed him with a glare, her lips pursing slightly. "And if you stop robbing graves, I'm very sure the GeneCops will leave you alone."

Long, ice-white fingers appeared, curling around the iron bars of the window, gripping them firmly as her only friend pulled himself closer, his voice dipping into a whisper. "Ple-ase . . . ?" An eyebrow lifted curiously. "What's the big deal, anyway? It was never a problem before, letting me hide out here."

She bit her lip, looking away. It was true – she had let him in a couple of times ever since the graveyard incident, but even then that had been a major risk. But at least back then she could keep an eye on him while her father was out . . .

"Listen," she whispered, looking at him with begging eyes, wishing for him to understand. "My father . . . He's healing, or at least, well, he's trying to, okay? He keeps getting sick and I . . . I just can't deal with you right now! Please, okay? I need to get back . . ."

She pulled away from the door and turned away, her guilt a hideous, cruel beast, making her feel horrible. But the deep voice that echoed off the stone walls made her pause.

"Look, kid, I promise – promise – that I won't cause any trouble. Just let me hide here for a few hours."

She shook her head and turned back toward the door, a defeated moan in her tone, "But my dad – "

" – won't know I was even here!"

She stared at him, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. His pale face, illuminated by the dim, flickering torch light, regarded her with a serious expression. He wasn't playing anymore. He really needed a place to stay, if only for a little while.

She closed her eyes and hid her face in her hands, groaning.

". . . 'Kay."

Subject: Fanfiction

Sat, 14 Mar 2009 16:30:38 GMT

Title: Creampuff Grenades
Theme: Heart Song
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Character Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori
Genre: Romance/Drama
Rating: T
Warnings: Profanity
Disclaimers: I own nothing Eyeshield 21

---

If someone asked him if he had a soft spot for anyone, he would laugh his ass off, just like he had when that fucking reporter had asked if he loved anything else other than football.

Love? He didn't love. Hell, he didn't even love football. He just enjoyed it. He enjoyed the adrenaline rush and brain stimulation; he enjoyed seeing the expressions on the opposing team when they scored the first points; he enjoyed hearing the fans screaming their cheers; he enjoyed gambling with his plays; he enjoyed winning.

But he didn't love it. He didn't love anything.

After all, the fuck would 'love' get him in life? It wouldn't give him his blackmail. It wouldn't get his shipments of artillery delivered any sooner. It wouldn't give him much needed touchdowns. It wouldn't bring him the Christmas Bowl victory.

Perhaps sex?

Nah. One didn't have to love to have sex.

Love was nothing but a bullshit concept that the media simply wrapped up in pink frills and rainbows in order to deceive the public into believing that it was the best thing that could ever happen to a person. Truth was, love was just complicated and stressful, stole away one's common sense and intelligence, and it brought only misery and disappointment in the end.

"Ah! Y-You damn bastard!"

He froze, his fingers halting over his laptop's keyboard.

A crushing, still silence fell over the room.

They all watched the kind, motherly manager glance, horrified, over her shoulder, her bright blue eyes wide in shock as she held her injured finger to her chest, her other hand clamped over her mouth.

"M-Mamori-neechan!" stuttered a startled Sena, gawking at her along with Monta and the Huh-Huh Brothers.

"I-I'm sorry! It just . . . flew out! T-The paper cut me a-and . . . oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it! Honestly! I don't know why I said that!"

But as she babbled on, her cheeks flushed, he could only stare at her. He absently became aware of his heart upping its tempo and his breath quickening. A hot sensation rolled over his skin, forming goosebumps in its wake.

Hearing those filthy, corrupted words coming from such a small, sweet-looking woman who was filled to the brim with unrelenting morals and rules and motherly instincts . . .

'Well, shit,' he thought, slowly blowing a bubble as he watched the team try to soothe the distressed manager. 'I think I just fucking fell in love. . .'

---
[link] - Theme XXXIX: Dark
[link] - Theme I: Introduction
[link] - Theme LXXXVIII: Possession
[link] - Theme XXXIII: Seeing Red

Subject: Fanfiction

Thu, 12 Mar 2009 17:50:33 GMT

Title: Paradise Sandcastles
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Chapter: Prologue
Character Pairings: Hiruma/Mamori
Genre: Romance/Humor
Rating: T
Warnings: Profanity; SDG's Bad Humor
Disclaimers: I own nothing Eyeshield 21
Summary: Mamori wins two tickets for a week-long stay at the Bahamas. She really wants to go, but the problem is that everyone she knows is either too busy to go or simply doesn't want to go. Until the unlikeliest person steps up with his wicked grin and scheming eyes.

"Kekeke . . . when do we leave, fucking ex-manager?"

The pencil fell from her fingers and her head snapped up. She gaped at the electric-blond boy seated in the desk in front of her, positioned sideways in his chair and resting a strong forearm on her own desk. His grin was downright evil – conniving.

She could feel curious eyes on her from the others in the classroom, and her cheeks warmed in embarrassment because of it. She dipped her head a little, pursing her lips as she glared at him.

"What are you talking about, Hiruma-kun?" she grouched. But despite the question, she knew exactly what he was talking about.

Two weeks previous, on her way to school, she'd been approached by two sharp-dressed men who'd been behind a simple, makeshift stand. She hadn't really paid attention to what they'd been cheerfully boasting about – she'd been too distracted by the wonderful scent of delicious, sweet creampuffs drifting from Kariya's bakery stand only feet away – but she did remember absently writing down her name and phone number and slipping the piece of paper into a tin container.

And yesterday she got the call that happily informed her that she'd just won a trip-for-two to the Bahamas after a blind drawing of names.

She'd been absolutely thrilled. She'd always wanted to visit such beautiful beaches and explore the warm and welcoming culture. Her mother had even commented that the timing was perfect – that it would make for a wonderful graduation present.

Only, she refused to let her go alone.

Which was fine. She didn't want to go alone – mostly for safety reasons, but also because it just wouldn't be the same, nor as fun, without someone else to experience it. When she had suggested that her mother come with her, she was disappointed by the answer. Her mother just couldn't call a week away from work.

She'd yet to ask anyone else other than her two friends, who had both declined as well.

She ducked her head a little more, trying to appear inconspicuous as she grumbled under her breath, glowering at him. "Why do you want to go, Hiruma-kun?"

He tried to pull off an innocent, bewildered look, even looking around, appearing mildly offended. But when he looked back at her, his shark grin had grown impossibly wider.

"I've some business there," he replied lowly, the undertone of cruel, dark intentions underlining those words. Then he leaned in closer, boldly challenging her personal space. She frowned harder and edged back slightly. Those intelligent, forest-green eyes watched her intensely, the maniacal grin reducing to a sly, lazy smirk. "And fucking what do I hear? Damn ex-manager has two tickets, but can't seem to be anyone available to go with her."

She turned her head away stubbornly, saying haughtily, "I've only asked Ako and Sara, Hiruma-kun. I've many others I can ask."

"Ho – o? List them."

She slid him a glance, wary of the suddenly confident, almost victorious expression on his sharp, angular features. "I can ask Kurita-san or Musashi-san."

"Fucking fatty's leaving for the States right after graduation – he's been asked to sign onto the Armadillos, you know that. Shitty mohawk's got a business to run."

"Then I'll ask Sena if –"

"Fucking shrimp has practice to do for the new season."

"W-What? That's ridiculous! That isn't until next year! He doesn't have to waste his summer on training."

"Kekeke . . . let me rephrase that: I'll fucking kill him if he doesn't waste his summer on training. In fact, I'll send any of those second-years to Hell if I learn they've been slacking off. I didn't go through the trouble of digging up shit on the whole school board for nothing. One-hundred points minimum each game is my payment. Now . . . anyone else?"

"Mouu . . . well, Suzuna-chan will surely –"

"Damn pixie isn't going to go anywhere that the fucking shrimp won't."

". . . Yukimitsu-kun –"

"– had his fucking fun on the team. He's got college and shit to do now."

"Doburoku-sensei! He'll definitely –"

"Now you're just being desperate, fucking ex-manager. You take that drunkard and you might as well be going alone anyway."

Frustrated and upset, she threw her arms up and cried out angrily, "Fine! Fine, I'll take you, then!"

"Ahem."

She blinked and looked up only to see everyone's startled, confused gazes on her, including the teacher's, who was regarding her with disapproval.

Smiling weakly, she slowly lowered her arms and tried to shrink deeper into her chair. When everyone eventually turned their attention back to the blackboard, she immediately shot a glare at the smirking, satisfied bleach-blond watching her amusedly.

"Fine, you win," she continued in a hiss, leaning in close to him as she glanced around, making sure no one was still watching. Then she set her eyes with his, all seriousness and determination in her voice. "But you had better behave yourself, Hiruma-kun."

"Fucking of course." He crowded close, their noses almost bumping, his black-lashed eyes glittering with something unholy and devious. "Don't I always? Kekeke."

Subject: Fanfiction

Tue, 03 Mar 2009 20:45:07 GMT

Title: Creampuff Grenades
Theme: Dark
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Character Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori
Genre: Romance/Drama
Rating: M
Warnings: Profanity, Implied Things
Disclaimers: I own nothing Eyeshield 21

---

She was glad she'd turned the light off a while ago. If she hadn't, she knew she would have lost all the scandalous nerve she'd managed to gather. The cool darkness of her room felt like a security blanket, hiding her; providing invisibility from the world, from her room . . . from herself. She could see nothing . . . but she heard everything. The proper, rule-abiding girl that she was supposed to be was screaming in utter horror at what she was doing. Her cheeks were burning from a merciless blush as her inner-disciplinarian was weeping and begging her to hang up the phone. It tried to remind her of who she was – what she stood for.

Its voice was drowned out by the male one hissing an order from the other end of the line.

"Do it."

"Youichi, I . . ." she murmured, chewing on her lip as she hesitated, her embarrassment managing to triumph over her inner-wanton. Could she really do this? Could she do this with him? God, how could she trust him to keep it just between them when it was over? What would be the consequences? Would it end up a routine thing if it went well?

"God damnit, Anezaki! Stop playing fucking games with me. It's starting to piss me off. You going to do this or not?"

"Y - ! No! I mean - !" She made a sound of pure frustration. Gripping the phone tighter in her slightly clammy hand, she glared at her dark ceiling with a sense of forced determination. "Yes. Yes, I am. Just . . . don't be so . . . aggressive! I haven't done this before and I'm . . . and you . . ."

The hard force in her voice had trailed off into a weak, pitiful murmur. Her bravado was all bluff. She couldn't do this. What if she didn't do something right? What if he laughed and poked fun at her because of it? Had he even done it before?

"Kekeke . . ." the cackle was a bit raspy, and even sounded breathless, but it didn't carry the taunting tone it usually did. "I'm fuckin' hard as a rock, Anezaki, and damn near done with you being a chicken-shit. You fucking hung up on me the last three times. You going to do it fourth? If so, I'd really fucking like it if you'd tell me first. I don't like being left fucking literally high and dry."

She played with the hem of her delicate, white nightie, trying to ignore the ugly guilt rising up in her. It was true; she had done that . . . but it wasn't as if she hadn't had a reason! She'd been scared; he scared her, all that self-confidence and arrogance . . .

But . . . she really could only blame the first time on him . . . They'd been studying together via phone on their college exit exams. It'd dragged well into the night because of their tendencies to get sidetracked and go off-topic, such as her complaints about some of her teachers; him, about a slow shipment of highly-purchased heavy artillery.

At one point, while he'd been gleefully boasting about his new M1A1 Abrams Main Battle Tank, she had stretched. It'd felt so wonderfully delicious after having been lounging on her bed in the same position for nearly an hour. The sensations of tension draining from her muscles and her stiff joints popping had dragged a long, sighing little moan from her lips.

She remembered the abrupt stop of words on the other end. When she had worriedly asked if he was still there and if everything was all right, there'd been a long pause before he had spoken in a soft, oddly husky voice, "Do that again."

She knew what phone sex was because of her friends would talk about it. A partnership-masturbation stimulated by only sounds, words, and one's own imagination. Not to mention, it was one of the safest methods of sex other than cybersex.

But having phone sex with Hiruma was . . . a very large leap. In the full year that she'd been with him, they'd never really gone beyond anything other than a few stolen kisses, and even those had been hard to come by seeing as they hardly saw each other. He was too caught up in his college football; she, her academics. He had to be captain, quarterback, coach and manager because he supposedly couldn't find anyone competent enough to take over the lattermost two, and despite all his usual aggressive tactics to get her to work for him like she had in high school, she just couldn't do it. She'd taken on so many classes, not to mention as a student teacher back at Deimon High, that she was lucky she could even manage a normal, daily routine. By the end of the day they were so beat that it was only their hours-long conversations over the phone that kept their relationship pieced together.

"Last time or I'm quitting this game, got it?"

She swallowed hard, her mouth having gone dry. She could hear the weariness in his tone now.

". . . Open your damn legs."

---

[link] - Theme I: Introduction
[link] - Theme LXXXVIII: Possession
[link] - Theme XXXIII: Seeing Red

Subject: Fanfiction

Sun, 01 Mar 2009 10:25:12 GMT

Title: Coffee to Go
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Theme: Expectations
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori/Musashi
Genres: Romance/Drama/Humor
Rating: T-MA+
Disclaimer: I own nothing Eyeshield 21 nor do I own any of these themes.
Warnings: Profanity

---

"R-Really?"

He continued to gaze quietly at Youichi. Sharp green eyes watched him back, an aware and calculating expression set deep in them.

"T-This is . . . well, great . . ."

What was that bastard conniving now? He knew that look . . . It was clear that he was twisting his mind around something – formulating a plan that was most likely unethical and unholy and in no one's best interest but his own.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the school's morning bell ring in the distance.

No one moved, however.

He reluctantly dragged his eyes from the former quarterback's steadfast ones to regard Mamori. She was still standing in the doorway, looking rather unsure and anxious, her hands wringing themselves in front of her as she looked between him and Youichi.

"We have to get to our classes, but . . . ," she murmured gently, trailing off, her light blue eyes settling on him. "Can we talk more on this sometime later? I . . . we . . . I think we should talk about what's to be, you know, expected . . . You know, rules . . ."

"Of course," he replied casually. She gave them both one last, quiet look before finally turning and scampering out.

He watched her go with a small smile. She was precious thing, being the little worry wart she was. She was clearly aware that things weren't resolved just yet, and he recalled her worry over the friendship between Youichi and himself. He smirked slightly, closing his eyes in weary exasperation.

Nothing was going to happen to his friendship with the spiky-haired nuisance. So they argued – what true friends didn't? Sure, it had grown a bit tense now, especially when either saw the other around Mamori, but it was to be expected. Deep down, they both knew that only one would win the prize of Mamori's full attention.

No, this wasn't a truce; this wasn't a settlement; this wasn't going to be real sharing. Only one was going to come out the victor. The loser would have to take his loss in stride and respect the other on his win. There was no room for sore losers here.

He took another sip from his cooled coffee, patiently waiting for the bleach-blond to speak up.

" . . . No fucking one-on-one dating."

He raised an eyebrow and glanced up. He was being glared at silently, a sneer almost visible on the fair-skinned, narrow features.

He shrugged a shoulder and retorted coolly, "That goes for you, too."

"Tch. You can't take her first fuckin' kiss, either."

"And you can't be her first, period."

" . . . Deal, shitty old man, but only 'cause you and I already know that we're capable of both being her first. Kekeke."

He smirked slightly as the cackling ex-quarterback pushed himself up from the table and exited the clubroom.

That last comment had been a cheap shot, but he didn't mind.

As payback, he would just keep it a secret that he'd already given Mamori her first kiss.

---

[link] - Theme LXXIV: Are You Challenging Me?
[link] - Theme XXV: Trouble Lurking
[link] - Theme XII: Insanity
[link] - Theme XC: Triangle

Subject: Fanfiction

Fri, 27 Feb 2009 19:59:52 GMT

Title: Creampuff Grenades
Theme: Introduction
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Character Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori
Genre: Romance/Drama
Rating: T
Warnings: Profanity
Disclaimers: I own nothing Eyeshield 21

---

"Stop it!"

"Kekeke!"

"Stop it! Gosh, why are you being so stupid?"

She scowled at the boy with spiky, death-black hair and strangely-angled, deep green eyes. He flashed her another wicked grin . . . and then attacked her face again with the feather. She shrieked angrily, again batting a hand at the offensive object as it tickled her cheek and ear.

"Stop it!" she shouted again, her temper flaring higher. They were sitting in the sandbox together near the back of the school's play yard, for the most part ignored by the other children who played at the swings and monkey bars or played games like Tag and Hide n' Go Seek.

"No way," he taunted, smirking. "You're way too much fun to mess with, girl."

"My name is Mamori, thank you very much," she snapped, glowering at him as she struggled against the urge to smack him upside the head with her little plastic shovel.

"Tch, 'Mamori', huh? Like a damn o-mamori? You were named after a shitty protective charm?"

She gasped, staring at him wide-eyed. "Don't use such bad words! And don't make fun of my name!"

She pursed her lips when he rolled his eyes and looked down at the sand, his hand scooping up the fine grains and letting them fall smoothly through his fingers.

"I'm not. It's kinda, I dunno, fitting now that I think about it. I see you defending that weak kid nearly every day."

Despite feeling a little flattered by the strange kid's words, she immediately felt her protective, motherly instincts raise its head when he spoke the rest and she clenched her small fist around her shovel's handle, her eyes narrowing. "Don't you dare make fun of Sena."

He suddenly grinned at her, baring his shark-like teeth again. His eyes locked with hers and she was mildly startled by the quiet, almost approving look in them. But then he continued to speak, his tone mocking her. "Ho-o? Or what? Gunna beat me up, too, damn girl?"

She scrunched her nose and tilted her up chin stubbornly. "Don't cuss! And don't call me that!" And then suddenly the feather tickled her face again. "Ack! STOP IT!"

"Kekeke!"

---

"Stop it!"

"Kekeke!"

"Mou, you're so immature, Hiruma-kun. Ack! STOP IT!"

Musashi glanced dryly over his morning newspaper, a dark eyebrow arched high. Across the roulette table sat two steaming mugs of coffee, some homework sheets and game plans strewn about, an open laptop, and the recent issue of Football Monthly. Behind those sat a thoroughly harassed-looking manager who was glaring heatedly at the bleach-blond quarterback lounging back lazily next to her, his elbow braced on the table and his cheek resting in his hand as he grinned back at her evilly.

When she reluctantly turned her attention back to her work, he lifted his arm . . . and assaulted her cheek with a feather.

She jerked away and whipped her head at him, her face bright with a flush of agitation. "Stop it!"

Musashi's other eyebrow rose as he continued to watch them quietly. The pierced extortionist cackled madly, his face-splitting grin widening impossibly more.

"Fucking make me, shitty manager."

"Don't curse, Hiruma-kun! And for the last time, don't call me things like that!"

Sighing, he shook out the wrinkles in his paper and went back to reading, or at least tried to as Hiruma continued to rile Mamori with a mere feather.

Seriously. Was it really that difficult to just man up and ask her out?

---

[link] Theme LXXXVIII: Possession
[link] Theme XXXIII: Seeing Red

Subject: Fanfiction

Mon, 23 Feb 2009 01:39:54 GMT

Title: Slave
Chapter: Three
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Character Pairings: Hiruma/Mamori
Genre: Romance/Drama
Rating: T
Warnings: Hiruma's Infamous Vulgarity
Disclaimers: I own nothing Eyeshield 21
Summary: What exactly were the terms of the bet that Hiruma and Mamori had made that day in the classroom? And what will be the results of Hiruma having lost that bet?

Sena had endured a lot surprises in the last few hours: the special training after school when it was supposed to be their break day. The tiny, confusing celebration when he had opened the door. The appearance of a helicopter. The gun-forced ride in the helicopter. Then being required to wear surgical masks for the next three days, not allowed to be removed under any circumstance.

However, this . . . this was a surprise on a completely different level.

A very bewildering and terrifying level.

"Am . . . I really seeing this, Sena?" stuttered the former baseball player standing next to him, his voice lightly muffled behind the mask, his eyes as wide as the running back's as they took in the scene before them.

Across the field, Mamori was pointing at their clearly agitated captain, vehemently telling him to do something. They couldn't hear what was being said, but they understood that it had to do with his precious AK-47 Assault Rifle currently resting against his shoulder. It was obvious that she wanted the weapon to join the others in the massive pile that was stacked in a wheelbarrow behind her.

"Is . . . this a sign of something bad?" Sena squeaked, awed when the quarterback actually gave in and tossed the gun at her.

"No. It's just a bet that Hiruma lost."

Sena looked up as Musashi casually strolled up to them, picking at his ear offhandedly.

"A bet?" inquired Juumonji as he and the rest of the team joined them to observe the scene. They could only stare in stunned when Hiruma started to walk away, but was abruptly pulled to a stop when their small manager firmly grabbed a hold of his jersey. They watched her hold out her hand expectedly, clearly demanding something else from him.

From what they could see, even though the lower half of his face was completely hidden by his own surgical mask, they could tell that their quarterback was pissed.

"What bet?" Sena finally inquired as Hiruma violently whipped out something that looked suspiciously like his Devil's Notebook and slapped it down into the outstretched hand.

"Something about the team showing up on their day off," Musashi replied calmly, then turned and started walking away. "I'd get moving, by the way."

"Eh?" Sena said, turning to stare at the retreating back of the kicker. "Why?"

"FUCKING BRATS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! WHO SAID YOU COULD TAKE A BREAK!?"

"IIEEE!" he cried, quickly running away with the rest of the team when their seething captain stalked back onto the field, clearly looking like he was going to start collecting heads. Their heads, to be exact.

For Sena, whatever bet the man had lost, he seriously hoped that the team wouldn't be punished for it.

---

Mamori looked up, dusting her hands off on her simple white apron, happy to see the silent quarterback still helping her clean up the clubroom. After the helicopter's appearance, everything had been thrown around the room, making it look like a small tornado had intruded.

And what better time to start exercising her power as a slave driver than to force her slave to help reorganize? It was his fault anyway, so it wasn't as if she was asking a lot from him.

"You know," she began, picking up scattered football magazines and stacking them in a neat pile on the table, "you really shouldn't take your frustration out on the team. They didn't make the bet or force you to take it. You knew perfectly well what would've happen if I'd won, Hiruma-kun."

She heard an annoyed grunt, but no words. Well, at least he was taking the bet seriously.

She walked up to him and gently took the box of binders from his arms, smiling kindly up at him. He looked away jerkily, his feline-like eyes narrowed irritably above the mask that concealed his sharp nose and mouth. She tilted her head slightly, still smiling. "Oh, don't be like that, Hiruma-kun. At least you still get to talk on the field."

She turned away and walked the box to the book shelf. "Which, by the way, you should really thank Doburoku-sensei properly for. After all, I never did think that the bet would interfere with your job as captain."

She finished lining the binders on the shelf and turned to the "mute" quarterback who was currently wiping his hands off on his slacks. He seemed to ignore her, instead stalking across the room to straighten a small stack of boxes in the corner.

Dragging her eyes from him, she looked up at the clock. It was getting a little late, being half-past six. She figured it was time to call it a day. She still had homework to do and game plans to go over after all.

Smiling, she untied her apron and began making her way to the broom closet, calling out, "All right, you can stop now. It's time to head home." Then she paused, a thought striking her suddenly. A sugary-sweet smile slid across her lips before she added in cheerfully, "I think I'll have you walk me home! And now that I think of it, tomorrow I want you to walk me to school, too. Oh, and you can walk me to my classes as well! After all, my slaves are absolute gentlemen."

She bit her lip, a grin trying to break through when she thought she heard him hiss a curse under his breath.

Oh, this was going to be so much fun!

---

Chapter II
Chapter I

Subject: Fanfiction

Fri, 20 Feb 2009 18:12:51 GMT

Title: Coffee to Go
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Theme: Are You Challenging Me?
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori/Musashi
Genres: Romance/Drama/Humor
Rating: T-MA+
Disclaimer: I own nothing Eyeshield 21 nor do I own any of these themes.
Warnings: Lots of profanity

---

The fuck did the shitty mohawk think he was doing? He was actually saying yes to this stupid ass idea?

And more importantly . . . what the hell made him think he'd fucking share?

Anezaki was what he wanted – no, needed – in a woman. Intelligent, stubborn, feisty, easy on the eyes. To hell with romance and love and all that pink shit. He didn't want a love life. He just wanted someone who could give him a challenge, and she challenged him day in and day out. She challenged his authority; she challenged his ideas; she challenged his control; she challenged his rebellion against society's restrictions; she challenged his unethical activities; she challenged his existence.

He wanted her like that. He wanted a companion who would fight back and give him a run for his money. He didn't want someone who would cower at the sight of him. He didn't want someone who would beg and plead with him to have mercy. He didn't want someone who would be easily broken into obeying.

Unless it was in bed.

And it gave him a nice chill of delicious anticipation just thinking about that . . . He was a kinky fucker, and he knew her goody-goodiness would be appalled at the things he would try on her . . . so she would challenge him in bed, too.

No, he wasn't going to fucking share. Especially not with someone who had a dark little fetish of his own that might actually scare her off.

A sneer slowly curled his lip, his gaze locked in battle with the dark, lazy one from across the table. He opened his mouth to say something insulting, to belittle the damn carpenter . . . when something suddenly changed in those dark eyes.

They narrowed slowly at him, the rest of his face obscured by his lifted mug coffee. A black brow lifted. Something glinted in that cool look.

He snapped his mouth closed again, immediately recognizing what it was.

So . . . that's what the hell was up.

His sneer eased into a reluctant smirk.

That damn old man.

"Shit . . . guess I'm in, too."

If the shitty bastard wants to play games . . . then he'll play also.

---

[link] - Theme XXV: Trouble Lurking
[link] - Theme XII: Insanity
[link] - Theme XC: Triangle

Subject: Fanfiction

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 20:51:03 GMT

Title: Coffee to Go
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Theme: Trouble Lurking
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori/Musashi
Genres: Romance/Drama/Humor
Rating: T-MA+
Disclaimer: I own nothing Eyeshield 21 nor do I own any of these themes.
Warnings: N/A

---

He was asking for trouble just for even thinking of humoring such ridiculous idea. Both of them? Was she out of her mind? How did she come to the conclusion that dating both of them was going to solve anything?

He dragged his eyes from her and landed them on Youichi, watching broodingly as the bleach-blond dropped a few more taunts.

He felt a small smirk tug at his lips, peering at her over his coffee mug as he brought it up. He took a slow sip of the hot bitterness, watching her wage another mini-war with quarterback, scolding him for cursing and making fun of her.

He knew why he wanted to be with her: she was what he wanted in a woman. Sweet and caring and always smiling; strong and passionate and protective; bright and inquisitive and organized. Beautiful. Her fair-skinned, angelic looks were very alluring – bright blue eyes with long, dark lashes . . . the unusual, light color of her hair, styled to frame and accentuate her softly rounded features . . .

He couldn't believe he was actually giving it thought . . . but could he actually share her with the genius bastard? What would be the consequences of doing such a thing? Sure, it would cause a bit of a disturbance with others, but they were soon going to graduate, so to hell with any obnoxious rumors that might happen.

"All right."

He nearly snorted his coffee, amused by the expressions. One was shocked and delighted.

The other was shocked and pissed.

He lifted a dark eyebrow at the seething and incredulous Youichi across the table. He hid his smirk behind his mug, taking another lazy sip.

Yup. This was going to be interesting.

---

[link] - Theme XII: Insanity
[link] - Theme XC: Triangle

Subject: Fanfiction

Thu, 19 Feb 2009 18:53:07 GMT

Finally! Finished with my first Hiruma/Mamori Fanmix/soundtrack to my fanfic "The Devil's Contract". Holds spoilers from the manga as well as spoilers for my fanfic. Artwork is copyrighted to wonderful artist Bestia (Kaya Kizaki).

The music links work, just not in Internet Explorer at the moment. Try using the Safari or or Foxfire browsers 'cause IE sucks ass. -_-;

"Get Off Of My Back" - Bryan Adams
- He's about had it with her nagging him about how he runs his team, especially when they're only three games away from the Christmas Bowl, damnit!
[listen]

"Hit Me With Your Best Shot" - Pat Benatar
- She's fed up with his tyrannical attitude, always using her when he needs her and then ignoring her every opinion. Gosh, when will he grow up?
[listen]

"On My Own" - Three Days Grace
- He's pissed with that shitty kicker butting in. Damnit, he already knows he's in deeper than he wants to be with the fucking manager. He doesn't need the old geezer telling him that!
[listen]

"All You Wanted" - Michelle Branch
- She moodily broods over the enigmatic and thoroughly annoying quarterback, wondering why he's the way he is and why he treats her so badly. Why can't he be close to her like he is with Musashi-san and Kurita-kun? Is she really that bothersome?
[listen]

"Next Contestant" - Nickelback
- That fucking hockey player! The shit is he doing asking her out? The hell is she doing accepting?! Damnit, does the shitty mohawk ever shut the hell up? The hell is he talking about, "having lost your chance"? He hasn't lost anything yet . . . he just has to open up his Devil's Notebook . . .
[listen]

"Faint" - Linkin Park
- He's triumphant with his blackmail mission . . . but not so much by the look of hatred in her eyes. Fuck . . .
[listen]

"Fall Apart" - Earshot
- Damnit, she's not talking to him! She's not even rising to his taunts anymore. Only thing that shows she even acknowledges his existence are the damn hand signs during practice. This was what he wanted! No more nagging, bitching, harping . . . So why the hell was is he so aggravated?
[listen]

"Changes" - 3 Doors Down
- He stares solemnly at his phone, her name on the screen. He wants to call her, but what the hell would he say? Would she even pick up . . . ?
[listen]

"Falling Inside the Black" - Skillet
- The Tokyo Tournament is tomorrow and he's about to go out of his mind with the fucking manager. He can't go into the game like this. He has to go in with a clear head! Where's that fucking address book . . .
[listen]

"Rock You Like A Hurricane" - Scorpions
- He was in her room, in the middle of the night, pinning her to her bed . . . and stealing her first kiss!
[listen]

"Everytime We Touch" - Cascada
- It felt good, slapping him right across the face and screaming at him to get out. Even the sting in her hand felt good. But much to her distress . . . his lips . . . and his hard, warm body holding her into the bed . . . had felt good, too. Argh, she wanted to slap him again!
[listen]

"Riot" - Three Days Grace
- C'mon, fucking crowd! Get louder, damnit! I want these shitheads distracted by your noise!
[listen]

"Frozen" - Madonna
- He's acting like his recent break-in and kiss never happened! . . . And he even snaps at her when she brought it up, telling her she was just being dumb . . . Damnit, she was tired of his antics and mind games! . . . Her heart just can't take anymore!
[listen]

"Animal I Have Become" - Three Days Grace
- Shit, he did it this time. He preferred the hate over the hurt in those damn blue eyes . . . Fuck off, damn hockey player. He already knows she's too good for the likes of him. She's too good, period . . .
[listen]

"Time Of Dying" - Three Days Grace
- Fuck, this is what he gets . . . for going into a game without a clear head . . . Shit, here comes the pain . . .
[listen]

"Bad Devil" - Devin Townsend
- He was so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! . . . But despite her angry thoughts and flowing tears, she could feel a smile blooming across her face anyway, her heart beating just a little faster . . . He was amazing . . . walking back into the field with a broken arm and looking like he felt not even a pinch of pain . . .
[listen]

"Last Resort" - Papa Roach
- He had only one shot at this; one pass and then his arm would be useless . . .
[listen]

"Whispers In The Dark" - Skillet
- He needs to do something about this shit. They were going to the damn Christmas Bowl - his dream was reached - and he felt nothing. And he fucking knew why, too. Damn woman. That balcony door better be unlocked this time . . .
[listen]

"If Walls Could Talk" - Celine Dion
- She should have known he was going to break in again. If her mother ever knew that a scary-looking blond boy had been sneaking in and out of her daughter's room at night, accosting said daughter, she'd have a fit! Still . . . he felt wonderful . . .
[listen]

"Kiss From a Rose" - Seal
- Well, shit . . . he hadn't expected to take it as far as they had . . . but it's too late now. He didn't feel any regrets or guilt though, so he must have done something right. Damn, she looks angelic even when she's sleeping . . .
[listen]

"New Sensation" - INXS
- Kekeke . . . stop blushing, fucking Anezaki. We don't have time to think about last night. We got the fucking Christmas Bowl to fight in! YA-HA!
[listen]

"Beautiful Stranger" - Madonna
- . . . She was in love with him . . . and instead of being appalled, she felt ecstatic. She loved his obnoxiousness, his intelligence, his rebelliousness, his crazy optimism, his willpower . . . Oh, the utter chaos she would end up causing if this got out! Still . . . she had to tell him! He needed to know! Maybe she could just ask him to keep it between the two of them . . .
[listen]

"One Week" - Barenaked Ladies
- She glared at him. He grinned back. Chaos continued on around them.
[listen]

Subject: Fanfiction

Sat, 14 Feb 2009 19:36:18 GMT

Title: Gunsmoke Signals
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Challenge: 30_distractions
Theme: Arguments
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori
Genres: Romance/Drama/Humor
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing Eyeshield 21
Warnings: Profanity

---

They were at it again.

And it looked and sounded even more violent than the day before's.

Sena shook, terrified, in a corner of the clubhouse, watching as his mothering manager stood, toe-to-toe, with his bleach-blond captain, screaming. And the aforementioned was raging back, looking just as deadly, if not deadlier with his white-knuckled grip on his gleaming black assault rifle, as her.

If it hadn't always seemed like they were going to jump at each other and start clawing one another's throat out, it could been seen as hilarious and ridiculous the things that started the whole ordeals.

Monday, it'd been on how he wore his uniform. Tuesday, it was on her cleaning skills. Wednesday, on his cursing. Thursday, over her nagging. Friday, his excessive gum-chewing.

Today, it was clearly on a missing creampuff.

"I said I don't fucking have it!"

"Then where is it?! Huh? It didn't just walk off, you jerk!"

"The fucking hell should I know what happened to it? Maybe you fucking horked it down like you do everything else!"

"Excuse me?! Are you saying I'm fat?"

"Well, you sure as hell ain't getting thinner by stuffing your face with all those fucking pastries. Don't you fucking exercise? You're starting to make the damn fatty look skinny!"

"Oh, and you're the one to talk about weight, right? You look like you need a few pastries in you!"

"Shit, and I'd probably do it if I didn't think you'd eat my fucking hand first!"

Sena shuddered and drew closer to the towering, muscular figure of the team's kicker. He glanced up at the darkly-tanned man, whispering behind a hand, "Ano . . . what's wrong with them . . . ? They've never been like this before. And it feels like it's getting worse, too . . ."

The kicker responded by smirking faintly, picking at his ear, his voice deep and calm as he spoke. "Don't you know what today is?"

He blinked, dropping his hand slowly. Today?

He glanced around, trying to find some sort of hint of what Musashi was implying. When he didn't, he looked back up, murmuring an answer he knew wasn't correct, but it was the best he could do. "Um . . . February the fourteenth . . . ?"

"Valentine's Day."

His eyes widened in sudden revelation. Oh, that's right! It was Valentine's! How could he have forgotten? Well . . . that would definitely explain the chocolates Suzuna had given him earlier, as well as the bottle of protein tablets Shin had randomly . . .

He froze.

. . . Had – had Shin given him a Valentine's gift?!

"Mmm, I think today has a lot to do with all the fights this week. All that sexual tension has clearly reached its breaking-point . . . ," the older looking second-year observed lightly, still idly picking at his ear.

"Kekeke, did you just curse, fucking disciplinarian-and-all-around-innocent-angel? What a fucking hypocrite! I think I'll just put this in my little notebook here an–"

SMACK!

". . . And it just broke."

Sena gawked, part him still freaking out over Shin's gift while the other part was stunned and horrified by the sight of his mothering friend striking Hiruma right across the face with an open hand. The slap silenced the quarterback extortionist immediately, the force of it having snapped his head to the side as the Devil's Notebook fell from his fingers.

"Put that in your little notebook, you – you bully!"

He squeaked and shot behind Musashi, getting out of the way just in time when she pivoted on her heel and stormed past, her shoulders stiff and her fists clenched angrily at her sides, a sound of aggravation marking her departure as she stomped out the door.

Swallowing, he peeked out from behind the safety of Musashi's heavier frame, peering cautiously over at his captain. He felt a chill crawl up his spine seeing Hiruma still standing in the same position, eerily silent.

Then a sense of danger seemed to thicken the air when his hand slowly curled into a tight, slightly trembling fist.

His heart jumped in fright when his spiky-haired senpai suddenly turned toward the door, slamming the weight of his AK-47 down on the table with a loud bang, the power of the action actually shoving the table back a few inches.

When his captain stalked by, he shivered and shrank deeper behind Musashi, terrified by the calm, dark rage on those sharp, fair-skinned features, the emotion as naked as the brightening red mark on his cheek, and he could have sworn he saw something almost cruel and lethal glint in his emerald-green eyes before he disappeared outside.

Almost immediately after his exit there was a shriek of outrage . . . and then abrupt silence.

"Mamori-neechan!" he gasped, jumping toward the door, his heart pounding in dread. He'd never seen Hiruma so angry before; what was he going to do to her? Would he actually hurt her? He didn't want to believe it – despite all the things he did, it never crossed his mind that Hiruma might actually be capable of physical harm . . . but . . . if he did, he would stop him! No one, not even someone he respected and feared so utterly, was going to lay a hand on her!

But he stopped dead at the threshold, expecting to see some form of a physical fight on the vacated, dusty school grounds. Instead, his mouth fell open and his eyes bulged, watching just in time to see his tall, lean senpai shift Mamori's captured wrists into one, long-fingered hand and yank her roughly against his body, his other hand wrapping calmly around the front of her slender neck.

All the while kissing her. Hard. Until she finally stopped struggling.

He stuttered, his overwhelmed mind short-circuiting as it tried to process what he was seeing.

And just when he saw her lean into him and slowly lift up onto her tippy-toes . . . the door slid closed with a secured click, blocking out the astounding sight.

"That's enough of that. Give them some privacy now. They deserve it."

He continued to gape, godsmacked, at the door, unable to do anything but nod wordlessly . . .

---

[link] - Distraction XXII: Enticing Scent
[link] - Distraction XXVI: Headache
[link] - Distraction XXIII: Bitter Taste
[link] - Distraction VIII: Running Water
[link] - Distraction VII: Hug; Tackle; Glomp
[link] - Distraction VI: Kiss
[link] - Distraction XXV: Out of Place
[link] - Distraction I: On the Phone

Subject: Fanfiction

Tue, 10 Feb 2009 17:15:54 GMT

Title: Coffee to Go
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Theme: Insanity
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori/Musashi
Genres: Romance/Drama/Humor
Rating: T-MA+
Disclaimer: I own nothing Eyeshield 21 nor do I own any of these themes.
Warnings: Profanity

---

They were gawking at her like she had just morphed into a fluorescent pink bunny.

Earlier, when she had slammed open the door, more to steel her frantic nerves rather than announcing her arrival, she found them sitting at either end of the roulette table, calmly drinking from their mugs of steaming coffee, one reading from a newspaper; the other, the recent issue of Football Weekly.

"I want you both as boyfriends."

The words had flown right out of her mouth before she could stop them, her rush to just speak her thoughts before her conscience decided silence her; to put a halt on such a totally outrageousness situation from happening.

But now, as they stared at her, blinking owlishly, she wasn't too sure she had thought it out as thoroughly as she probably should have.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, watching worriedly when the former quarterback and carpenter glanced at each other, and then back at her.

"Is this some sort of fucking joke?" Hiruma slowly inquired, arching a delicately-shaped eyebrow as he absently tossed his magazine down onto the table, the look in his sharp, emerald-green eyes a bit cold and cruel.

She wanted to flinch, but instead she titled her chin up stubbornly, her shoulders tensing as she matched his glare with her own. "No, I'm not joking, Hiruma-kun."

"You can't be serious," Musashi continued, backing up Hiruma's similar disbelief, his mouth set into a hard line within the circling shadow of his black stubble, his dark brown eyes expressing something almost . . . harsh.

The quiet reprimanding tone she heard in his deep voice made her blush hotly, suddenly feeling furious with him, scolding her like she was a child.

She glared angrily at him as her hands curled into fists, her voice like a snap of a whip. "Of course I'm serious!"

"Kekeke! Who'd have thought that fucking Miss Goody-Goody believed in polygamy?"

She had to restrain herself from smacking the cackling blond against the back of his head. She could feel her eyes stinging and she looked down to stare at her shoes, her control on her resolve cracking like thin, fragile china.

She should have known better, bringing such an outlandish idea to them; should have known that a thorough mocking was going to be order because of it.

". . . Why?"

She glanced back up, her eyes immediately locking with the soulful dark ones that were studying her quietly. Even Hiruma had quieted down, sliding her glance.

She absently moistened her lip, her gaze flicking back and forth between the brown and green ones.

"I . . ." She paused, heat rising into her cheeks again, this time from her previous, selfish thoughts rather than from humiliation. How should she answer such a loaded question? Should she tell them the complete truth? That she couldn't be with just one? That she would, she knew, just end up in the future leaving whoever she choose due to the neglected needs only the other could satisfy? That both were lacking what the other possessed?

She opened her mouth, her words formed neatly and sitting on the tip of her tongue, ready to be spoken . . . when, at the last second, another thought forced itself to the front just as her voice rose up.

"Why do . . . why do you want to be with me? What makes . . . what makes me so special that you two would . . . would –"

She choked on her last words, hot tears building up in her eyes. '– would want to throw away such a wonderful friendship just to be with someone who shouldn't be anywhere near as important . . . ?'

---

[link] - Theme XC: Triangle

Subject: Fanfiction

Mon, 09 Feb 2009 16:49:51 GMT

Title: Coffee to Go
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Theme: Triangle
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori/Musashi
Genres: Romance/Drama/Humor
Rating: T-MA+
Disclaimer: I own nothing Eyeshield 21 nor do I own any of these themes.
Warnings: N/A

---

It was wrong.

The simple statement had been haunting her mind like an agitated ghost ever since she came to the one idea that would solve her current dilemma without hurting anyone's feelings. Her current dilemma had been like a sucker punch to her morals and ethics and her kind heart, but most importantly: her reputation.

She wasn't being vain or selfish. She wasn't!

All right, perhaps she was. She was practically dragging the two along, basking in their attentions without really hinting who she was more interested in. But there was a reason for that.

She liked them both.

She liked them both a lot.

And there just wasn't any way she could choose one over the other. If they didn't want to run with her simple but scandalous idea (and she was very sure they wouldn't), then she would have no choice but . . . to choose neither.

After all, taking one over the other would be like owning an AK-47 Assault Rifle and not any ammo . . . or it would be like wearing a tool belt without any tools . . . or even worse: it would like a creampuff without any cream.

The two complemented one another's differences perfectly, fitting together like two puzzle pieces.

On one hand, she had a mature man with strong work ethics and great responsibilities he took care of without hesitation. His loyalty to his father, his future construction business, and the team clearly ran deep, and she was awed by his effortless ability to balance all three on his shoulders without cracking under the pressure. And despite his size and weight in hard, tanned muscles, sculpted from being a hard-working carpenter, he was surprisingly gentle whenever he embraced her or latched her to his side by dropping a heavy arm around her delicate shoulders. As well as despite his usual nonchalant and calm attitude, he was unexpectedly very perceptive of her moods and needs, seeming to know exactly what to say and do to keep her smiling and cheerful.

On the other hand, she had a man who was devious and lawless and always on the move, always needing to achieve newer and higher goals. He was a free spirit - no one could cage him; no one could tame him. He was born to be wild and out of control. His sense of morality was as unorthodox as his appearance and behavior, and his personality was as vulgar and crude as the words that fell seamlessly from his lips. But he was genius. And she admired that, just as she did his stamina and unflinching optimism (as violent and crazy as it was) when it came to him chasing his goals. And while she firmly disapproved of the methods he used to acquire his objectives quicker, such as blackmail and spying and arsenal intimidation, she knew, begrudgingly so, that she also admired him for that as well, being that it took cunning and courage and immense intelligence to pull it all off; he had to know every loophole backwards an forwards, keep a close eye on his enemies, and cover every single one of his bases so that no one would ever turn the tables of extortion and control on him.

Musashi was the one who satisfied her emotional needs and provided an unyielding stableness in everything. Hiruma was the one who inspired her to aim high in her ambitions and to never give up on them.

And together . . . they made the perfect man.

She pursed her lips determinedly as she stalked, stiff-legged and rigid-backed, toward the American Football clubhouse, her hands curled into tight fists and her eyes narrowed as she struggled to hold onto her fading bravado.

She was going to lay down her terms once and for all: It was either both of them or neither of them.

No if's, and's, or but's.

---

[link] - Theme XII: Insanity

Subject: Fanfiction

Wed, 04 Feb 2009 23:41:14 GMT

Title: Gunsmoke Signals
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Challenge: 30_distractions
Theme: Enticing Scent (Running Water, Part II)
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori
Genres: Romance/Drama/Humor
Rating: MA+
Disclaimer: I own nothing Eyeshield 21
Warnings: Profanity, Vulgarity, Brief Sexual Content

---

A small, wry smirk crossed his lips and he stepped under the hot spray of the shower, sighing heavily as he pushed his long fingers through the waterlogged spikes of his bleached hair.

Rinsed, muscles relaxed from the heated water, and the pressure of his thoughts reduced to quiet nothings, he lazily smacked the water dials, spinning them until they tightened and closed off the valves.

"Fuckin' dick," he yawned, stepping out of the shower stall.

And right into an unseen wall of peaches.

He reared back, blinking in surprise at the abrupt attack of the sweet, fruity scent.

"The hell . . . ?" he growled, his nose wrinkling as he irritably waved a hand around, batting away the invisible assault before walking through it.

Unabashedly nude and dripping, he strolled over to the white towel lying across the countertop and picked it up. He set about the task of drying himself, a difficult feat with only one hand. It never failed to piss him off in the end; it took twice as long and he never fully got his back dried.

"Tch," he grumbled, roughly scrubbing his hair.

If there was ever a time he needed fucking Anezaki's mothering help, it would be to assist him in drying himself off properly.

Anezaki.

He yanked the towel from his head frustratedly and glared at himself in the mirror's reflection, his eyes narrowed and mouth pulled into a hard frown, spiky blond hair going every which way in dishevelment.

Damn woman; always on his fucking mind. Pissed him off.

He knew he needed to focus all his attention on the team, to prepare them up till the last second before the Christmas Bowl, but goddamn, she always managed to make it to the forefront of his mind! What with her fuckin' pink mouth, those fuckin' blue eyes, those long thighs . . . tiny fuckin' waist . . . damn good tits . . .

His cock gave a hungry twitch, his blood thickening in his veins as he reveled in the image of Miss Goody-Goody giving into his corruption . . .

"Fuck . . . I need to get laid," he growled irritably, tiredly scratching the back of his head as he sneered down at his newly lifted erection. And what he wouldn't enjoy more than to have Anezaki get rid of the problem for him . . . preferably on her knees, wrists cuffed behind her back, all forcibly submissive and ready to exploit; to do whatever he wanted . . .

A vivid, heatedly sexually image exploded up into his mind: his hard cock pumping in and out of that small, hot mouth, one of his hands clenched in her soft, brown hair, holding her still as he greedily fucked her throat . . . those pouting pink lips stretched around his thickened width as she hungrily sucked him off . . .

He grunted with disgust when his cock began to throb.

Moodily, he tossed the towel back down on the sink and stalked impatiently out of the shower room.

Yeah . . . he really needed to get laid.

---

"Kekeke, you look like shit, fucking manager."

Those were the very first words out of his mouth after having slammed open the clubhouse door, the ever dramatization marking his arrival.

She tensed at his taunting, offhanded remark, her grip tightening on the playbook as she fought against the quick rise of a blush and the sharp, hot poke of irritation.

It was everything she could do to not look at any of the team members, especially the Devil himself when he started lurking around, barking orders and announcements. She could feel everyone's curious gazes on her, and she realized then that they, too, had noticed her unkempt appearance. But she didn't acknowledge any of them; instead, she stared determinedly at the 'x's and 'o's arranging the Shotgun formation on the page.

She already knew she looked a sight; she didn't need Hiruma's input to confirm it.

She'd found out that morning, much to her dismay, that no amount of makeup would cover up the dark, sunken circles under her eyes, nor could it give her pallid cheeks a healthier looking color. Ever her hair was frizzy and slightly tousled.

All because she hadn't gotten an ounce of sleep the night before. If wasn't the terrible paranoia, distress, and fright of what she would expect to see or hear from Hiruma that kept her up, if was the darkly passionate images in her dreams . . .

A certain cruel, electric-blond extortionist trailing hot, biting kisses down her neck . . . long fingers rolling and pinching her hardened nipples . . . strong, hard thighs knelt between her softer ones, forcing them open and wide . . . a roughened hand delved deep inside her tiny panties . . . his voice, so throaty and raspy . . . hissing dark, erotic threats . . . telling of the things he was going to do to her; what he was going to force her to do to him . . .

She swallowed hard, her mouth having gone dry as her heart pounded in her ears. Oh, God, what was she going to do? Was she now going to be haunted every night by dreams of sexual touches and words by the most undesirable man ever to grace her life?

Her only saving grace was that he clearly didn't know about her . . . seeing him . . .

She hadn't seen any signs or posters of blackmail, nor heard any rumors or seen any odd looks sent in her direction. All day, she went on without any confrontation or hint that her innocent misdeed had been acknowledged by the school's personal demon. So this was clearly a sign he didn't know . . . right?

And even now, after school and stuck in a room with him, he hadn't said anything about it, neither bluntly, cryptically, or otherwise.

He hadn't even brought up anything about the folder. Somehow, he must have missed that she had left it last night, so she basically hadn't left any proof of her being in the clubhouse when she took back.

Which meant he didn't know.

He didn't know.

Which meant he would never know!

Her mind was reeling and her heart was pounding with such excited relief that she didn't even notice that she was being stalked from behind.

"Fuckin' manager!"

Right in her ear.

She shrieked, startled, and nearly tossed the playbook over her head as she sat up immediately. She shot the devious blond a frightened look, leaning as far away from his shark-toothed grin as possible. For one wild moment she thought she had somehow been found out because he read her mind.

His face-splitting grin fell into a sly, satisfied smirk before straightening up again, towering over her easily. Even without the bulk of the protective gear beneath his red-and-white jersey to make him appear larger, he still felt overwhelmingly imposing. Even the vulnerable sight of his arm still encased in a thick cast and resting in the plain white sling did nothing to take away from the dark intimidation he seemed to effortlessly exude.

"Get your head out of your ass, damn mother, and pay attention," he drawled as rounded to the other side of the table, unknowingly doing her a favor by giving her his back when he turned to face everyone.

She exhaled the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and bit her lip, eyeing the playbook page. She mentally reprimanded herself. She needed to relax . . . or he was going to start suspecting something . . .

"And shitty goatee, stop dicking around with that fucking –"

She looked up when the vulgar order was abruptly dropped and saw his shoulders visibly tensing beneath his red-and-white jersey. Her heart started to pound again as she sensed something immediately wrong. The foreboding feeling only strengthened when he wordlessly and deeply inhaled the air around him.

Being that he stood in front of the table, all she could see was his tall, broad-shouldered back. His face was completely turned away, even when he suddenly cocked the gleaming black AK-47 Assault Rifle that'd previously been braced against his shoulder and started firing into the ceiling, the sound explosive and violent, equal to his voice.

"GET ONTO THE DAMN FIELD, FUCKING BRATS!"

And with bewildered and terrified yelps they did so, evacuating the clubroom in one massive flood of Devilbat colors. Their departure made the room seem suddenly larger.

But something in the way Hiruma just remained in the same spot, not chasing them out as he slowly lowered his weapon, caused a sickening chill brush over her skin. Something was wrong . . . and being alone with him was only making the feeling worse. She needed to get out to the others.

Quickly grabbing up her notebooks and play sketches, she shot up from her chair and was near to bolting across the room . . . when she looked up to see Hiruma giving the door a vicious yank, slamming it closed with a loud bang. Dread settled like dead weight in her belly when he made a show turning the bolt lock until it landed with a resounding clack.

'Oh, please, no . . .' she mentally whispered, her eyes wide with rising panic. She backed up until the edge of the table bumped up against her bottom.

"So . . ."

She stiffened, the tone of his voice sending a bout of anxiety crawling up her spine. It was low and cool; controlled.

". . . You enjoy the fucking show?"

---

[link] - Distraction XXVI: Headache
[link] - Distraction XXIII: Bitter Taste
[link] - Distraction VIII: Running Water
[link] - Distraction VII: Hug; Tackle; Glomp
[link] - Distraction VI: Kiss
[link] - Distraction XXV: Out of Place
[link] - Distraction I: On the Phone

Subject: Fanfiction

Wed, 04 Feb 2009 15:44:58 GMT

Title: Gunsmoke Signals
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Challenge: 30_distractions
Theme: Headache
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori
Genres: Romance/Drama/Humor
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing Eyeshield 21
Warnings: Profanity, Vulgarity, Pervertedness

---

He slowly exhaled into his gum. It expanded past his lips, forming a pallid-blue, sticky elastic bubble that ceased growth just beneath dark-lashed, emerald green eyes. The feline-like irises were lazily fixated on the small rear moving to and fro on the other side of the clubroom. It was small and heart-shaped and female, was cupped appreciatively in the tight, form-fitting capris pants that ran down to shape long, toned thighs and stopped just above slender, fair-skinned calves.

'Damn,' he thought absently, a sharp eyebrow lifting as he idly started a new bubble when the previous popped.

He had to admit, the fucking woman had a nice figure, which surprise the shit out of him what with the amount of creampuffs she devoured on a near daily basis.

He leaned back slowly, his gaze never leaving the object of its intense attention, his chair tilting back, until it was balancing all his weight on its back legs. He threaded his fingers together and rested them on his chest, and he kicked his own legs up onto the roulette table, taking in the view.

She was on her hands and knees, scrubbing something fierce off the floor near the bookshelves, clearly unaware that the position was giving his eyes something worth analyzing thoroughly.

She was humming something, too. He probably could have figured out what it was had she not been doing it so off-key, and he was seriously tempted to make a snide remark on it, just to piss her off.

He felt a little, devious smirk tug at his lips as his bubble popped again.

Yeah, he liked it when she got on his ass about random shit; liked that feistiness.

Speaking of which.

He rubbed the back of his head, finding the small knot forming there and grimaced slightly, feeling that it was still tender. It was the result a hard smack across the head from yesterday. Fuck, it'd given him such a headache afterwards, too.

Letting his hand fall away, he tilted his head to the side a little, taking in the view from a different angle.

Yeah, he was very much aware of their relationship and how it had evolved. First, she'd been the harpy who had the dick and balls to stand up to everything he did; from his extortion abilities, to his artillery, to how he wore his school uniform.

Now she was an important member to his team, supporting him as the commander he rightfully was as well as keeping his ass in line whenever he got a little too . . . enthused about things.

He lifted his hand again and studied it.

Broad-palmed. Tapered, long-boned fingers. Narrow but solid, strong wrist.

He glanced back at the tight, female butt just begging him to . . .

. . . His shark grin was the product of unholy thoughts and wicked things as he wordlessly let the chair drop back down onto all fours before getting up and walking silently up to his team's motherly manager, his hand lifted and fingers splayed wide, looking as if it were a brandished weapon.

Perhaps it was high time that their relationship evolved another step . . .

---

OMAKE:

"Sena . . . is . . . that a hand print on Hiruma-senpai's face?" Monta hissed into his ear, gawking ahead of him.

He turned around, blinking. Sure enough, on the other end of the field, talking to Musashi, was their deadly outrageous captain, and as clear as day, there was a perfectly formed, red imprint of a hand across his cheek.

"Keh heh," Monta snickered, grinning as gave an elbow nudge to his side, "Wonder what happened, eh, Sena?

"Yeah . . . ," he murmured, distracted the sudden memory from earlier, when he'd nearly been bowled over by Mamori when she had stormed out of the clubroom with him just on the other side, her cheeks pink and her eyes spitting fire, one of her hands rubbing one side of her bottom as she stalked by . . .

"Oi, Sena, you okay?" Monta suddenly asked, staring at him curiously.

He silently nodded, his eyes nearly bulging.

---

[link] - Distraction XXIII: Bitter Taste
[link] - Distraction VIII: Running Water
[link] - Distraction VII: Hug; Tackle; Glomp
[link] - Distraction VI: Kiss
[link] - Distraction XXV: Out of Place
[link] - Distraction I: On the Phone

Subject: Fanfiction

Mon, 02 Feb 2009 04:51:50 GMT

Sporked the first section of the epic-long, epic-fail Hiruma/OC fic called "Eyes of Blue". You can catch it over at my community --> http://community.livejournal.com/i_spork_idiocy/1005.html

Also heavily inspired to finish the second part of "Running Water", which is not that far from being so. I should really should start warning people that it's becoming very dark and sadistic, bringing out the streak I know/feel Hiruma has, but has never had emphasis put on it other than one episode in the anime. Consider the content near rape, non-con, blackmail-persuaded sex with a twist at the end. I'm going to try to make it as appealing and in-character as possible. :]

The tied-in 'shots are also heavily influenced by Nickelback's song "S.E.X.", so it will be used in the fourth installment. You can listen to here --> http://www.themusichutch.com/listen.php?songid=53409

Subject: Sporking

Sun, 01 Feb 2009 05:29:01 GMT

Finally got around to making my own community for sporking, called i_spork_idiocy. Everyone is welcomed and anything is sporking territory!

Tired as hell, too, but I'm happy that my dragon eggs are finally hatching, lol.

Subject: Rant

Wed, 28 Jan 2009 04:18:25 GMT

So, I watched The Zeitgeist again because Blackwing.Rose hadn't, so we watched it "together" and I realized why I'm truly writing Apocalypse Melody. The movie caused me to cry again and I wanted to tear something a part from the hate I feel toward our "leaders", thus fanning the raging need to take some form of action. I plan on doing a Clique/Fanlisting of the movie/movement and I plan on making copies of the movie and stuffing them in people's mailboxes. I can't sit around anymore and just let shit happen. I have to do something.

If you haven't seen this movie, WATCH IT --> http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-594683847743189197

It's about the real truth behind religion, government, 9/11, money, and the secret ambitions of those we don't see or hear about. The more people there are that become aware of the shit that's going on right under our noses, the better the chances we have at a future absent of control, enslavement, and total corruption.

On another note: Don't spam my story entries with comments that are irrelevant to anything in said entry. You know who you are. Want to get on my ass: send me a damn private message and do it there.

Subject: Fanfiction

Mon, 26 Jan 2009 17:46:31 GMT

Title: Gunsmoke Signals
Author: ShadowDemon-Gengar
Challenge: 30_distractions
Theme: Bitter Taste
Fandom: Eyeshield 21
Pairing: Hiruma/Mamori
Genres: Romance/Drama/Humor
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing Eyeshield 21
Warnings: Profanity

---

It was like a bitter taste on her tongue, watching the powerfully intelligent, psychotically optimistic, and composed Hiruma rip the locker room a part. It was bitter, causing hot tears to well up in her eyes; it was bitter, causing her hand to tremble as she brought it to her mouth.

They had just lost to the Oujou White Knights . . . by a single point.

The ever-sought-for dream of playing in Christmas Bowl was shattered.

Hiruma was shattered.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Each harsh, shouted curse was accented with a banging kick or punch against a locker door.

He was like a wild animal, attacking anything in his path as he stalked around the enclosed room, going around and around, passing her for the two-dozenth, the scent of rain and sweat and mud and grass brushing under her nose as the air was violently shoved around.

She could feel her heart breaking for him, aware that she couldn't possibly comprehend the ripping disappointment and utter rage he was expressing.

But she could sense something else in the way he moved; could hear it in his voice.

He hated himself. He didn't blame anyone but himself for their defeat. He knew they had done their best, pushing themselves to their physical and mental limitations. But it hadn't been enough. And he blamed himself.

He saw himself as a failure; a failure to his friends, his team, his dream; a failure as a leader, as a captain, as a quarterback. He loathed himself.

And she couldn't stand it.

He was a hero. They were all heroes. They were a team that had been underestimated time and time again because of the lack of experienced players and game time. Their victories were always dismissed as luck and miracles. But they proved everyone wrong in the end; proved to the world that it took more than just training and discipline to win – it took heart and spirit and determination and willpower. It took the friendship and support of everyone else on the team. It took the need to believe that nothing was ever over until it was truly over.

Hot tears threatened to spill over and she fought against the scalding, thick lump in her throat; fought against the urge to vocally sob her misery at seeing him like this.

No one else was beating themselves up so horribly like he was.

It wasn't until she found herself standing right next to him that she realized she had moved. She listened to and watched him vent the ugly, dark emotions on the victimized lockers in front of him, his fists slamming over and over against the gray steel, leaving deep dents in the wake of his vicious onslaught.

It was only when she noticed the cuts, gaping and bleeding, on his knuckles that she knew he finally needed to stop.

She wordlessly brought a small hand up and rested it on his naked bicep, the muscles beneath the warm skin hard and toned from the demands required to be a quarterback. For a moment, he didn't seem to realize she had touched him, continuing to spit vulgarities and pound away on the yielding locker doors.

But it didn't discourage her. He needed her; she knew he did. He needed her need to soothe the hurt. Even though everything else screamed 'Danger! Stay away!', she knew that if she walked away now – if she left him to himself like his violent body language ordered her to – it would only make things worse . . .

She quietly ducked under his arm and squeezed herself in between his towering body, broadened by bulk of his protective gear, and the pulverized locker doors, before she slid her arms around his tapered waist, bringing her smaller, softer body flush against his, not caring that he was wet and muddy from the earlier storm. She rested her cheek on his heaving chest.

His heart was pounding out an angry, adrenaline-induced rhythm and she tightened her arms around him, squeezing her eyes shut against the hot sting of her tears, desperately fighting the urge to let them fall. Someone had to be strong here, and it wasn't going to be Hiruma.

There was a last, ringing clang of flesh meeting metal with ruthless force . . . and then all was quiet, the harsh, ragged breathing above her the only sound left in the dreary, dim locker room.

She glanced up, swallowing hard against the burning lump in her throat, when she felt his muscles drain themselves of the back-breaking tension and rigidity, and felt him grow heavier in her arms when he leaned his defeated weight into her.

Above her, he had his arms folded and braced against the deeply dented lockers, half his face buried against them. All she could see in the play of shadows and dim light was the grim frown turning down his lips.

It was over . . .

---

[link] - Distraction VIII: Running Water
[link] - Distraction VII: Hug; Tackle; Glomp
[link] - Distraction VI: Kiss
[link] - Distraction XXV: Out of Place
[link] - Distraction I: On the Phone