by adayume (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/163629.html)
by Bluejuice (青液) (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/157550.html)
by ms_greency (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/164092.html)
by Seiwa Kaiyura (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/157867.html)
by Chickenteeth (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/158069.html)
by Lord Mune (mirrors http://s2b2.livejournal.com/158294.html)
The coach rattled and jolted as it travelled along the turnpike road. James, having been unable to secure a seat inside, was sitting on top of the coach at the mercy of the elements, the cold December air biting at his fingers and the wind dancing about his ears. He had had to remove his hat, lest it blow clean away, and had instead wrapped his scarf over the top of his head and tied it under his chin to keep warm.
I lost my virginity on the bus on the way to work, getting felt up by this kid dressed a lot like Crocadile from One Piece. Okay, so maybe his coat and my work apron helped cover things up a bit, but it wasn’t hard to figure out what his hands were doing under there if you were paying attention. Not that anyone was paying attention, because, well, it’s the bus. Strangers forced into close space tend ignore each other and keep their AT fields up. So I suppose existenial angst is good for something after all…
Anyway, after he makes me come in my pants, he asks me if I come here often (no, seriously, he did) and he hands me a card with his number on it. It’s one of those community chest cards from Monopoly – advance to go – and that’s when I remembered that I missed my stop for work.
I haven’t seen him since then, and I’ve been trying to figure out if I should call him.
The guy in 20A had red hair, dyed red hair even; nothing that colour could be natural, Bryan thought. He was tall too, as far as Bryan could tell from the cramped airline seats, and — oh — he had the most piercing green eyes ever once he looked away from the window. The rest of his features were handsome enough, even without those striking eyes, and Bryan found himself stuttering for the first time in his career as an airline host.
“Hi. C-can I get you anything to drink?”
I’m living time backwards.
I know this for certain because I was in the middle of doing something, of completing something, and suddenly I was undoing it in the way that I’d done it. And I just kept undoing.
Ame no Shoubumei no Mikoto once quarreled with his sister, Enkanushi. In her fury, Enkanushi called forth a great tidal wave, intending to crush Yasukou Province, home to Shoubumei’s head shrine. Before the great wave fell, Shoubumei apologized and presented sacred sake as a peace offering. Enkanushi accepted, and spared Yasukou.
The problem with Kiran’s fantasies isn’t that they are too vivid. No, he can always tell when he’s day-dreaming (or, in some cases, night-dreaming); the problem is that his fantasies are entire fucking worlds, and he’s always much happier there than he could ever be in real life.
The hallway was a long corridor of empty walls and plain wooden doors, pristine and quiet. Thomas rubbed the back of his neck and slowed his pace in a futile effort to muffle his footsteps. Thick dust covered his shoes and two books were heavy weights in his pocket, pulling his jacket askew and lending further to a general look of disrepute. He should probably care about the state of his person; Thomas could almost hear his mother sighing at him and asking where she went wrong. But the chill had seeped into his bones and at this point in time, he could care less about what he looked like. He had spent yet another morning buried in boxes and stacks of hastily bundled paper hidden in the furthest depths of the basement, but he had the feeling that today his discoveries had made it all worth it.
The temperature that year was higher than usual and no one, whether weatherman or fortune-teller, could explain why. All year round, Nagasaki was generally one of the more comfortable cities in Japan to live in temperature-wise; it got a little bit chillier in the winter and a little bit hotter in the summer, but most days of the year, the inhabitants enjoyed more temperate weather that was likely regulated by the neighboring body of water around the port of Nagasaki. Natsume, first son of the Amamiya family, almost always felt like sleeping no matter what temperature it was, but the hot air made him even more drowsy and even more unable to focus on the work at hand, mindless and easy as it generally was.
“There is a certain someone already,” he said. He had given his name as Aoi, though it was not the same name that he gave to clients during the day; there was a blue rose in his jacket lapel. “I would ask that you do not inquire too deeply.”
The other man, who had introduced himself as Murasaki and kept a violet rose in his own lapel, just smiled. “That is fine with me,” he said. “There is also a certain person in my circumstances. I won’t ask if you don’t.”