cykstar

Thu, 26 Nov 2009 05:11:55 GMT

...OH GOD.

JUST.

JUST.

WHY?!

Like the actual film isn't insulting enough, but at least this song was nice and sweet.

DAMN YOU MILEY CYRUS.

Thanksgiving Break (Yes please thank you)

Wed, 25 Nov 2009 05:25:32 GMT

I finally have time to fill fills on the hetalia kink_meme and also to further think out my poorly written Persuasion paper.

Damn it, Jane Austen, why are you so hard to comprehend?

Apparently they did Emma before, which I hear is much longer and much harder.

Like Persuasion is hard enough. Damn it, Anne.

I wish I had the energy to scan sketches (and by sketches, I mean stupid animu drawings har har wut).

Which reminds me, my school's Art Club is selling holiday cards and my piece was chosen among the five to sell. I feel so proud. One step closer to my dream (?) job. I don't really know what I want to be, but hey, selling myself out is all I need for now.

Blogging is strange. Nothing to write about my boring life (and no one's reading this, ha ha). Actually that means I can write whatever I want.

Damn New Moon Twilight saga, so horrible. The only thing redeemable is Jacob's body (just...yes....). Princess and the Frog needs to come out ASAP.

In which I bore the world with my personal life

Sun, 22 Nov 2009 08:16:26 GMT

I might as well make of this journal and make it part personal blog, part fic/art blog. MIGHT AS WELL.

As you can tell from the title, it's personal. Yet, public. Ha HA I'm not funny.

Things I've done today:

1) NOT reading Persuasion (please shoot me I just don't want to read it and write the damn rough draft).
2) Hetalia kink_meme lurking (instead of...filling like I should).
3) Saw New Moon (easily BEST COMEDY of the year).
4) MST3K
5) 1n2d
6) Tried watching Maiden Rose (bl alert, major bl alert) and stopped watching it after the first sexy tiem scene. It's rape, to say the least. Because, you know, forcing a smaller man into non-consensual sex is TTLY SXY GYS.
7) Normal day stuff
8) See my adorable shih-tzu dog get a boner while defacating in the open air (he hasn't been out in a while poor thing) and for some reason drool this unfathomable amount of saliva, have leaves stick onto it, and even somehow getting the spit all over his head. It felt great trying to clean it off.

Things I should be doing:

1) Reading Persuasion (I'd like the book more if we weren't reading it for class).
2) Sketching more and more and more and mooooore until I feel like stabbing myself.
3) Studying
4) Kink_meme fills
5) Sleeping

I hope college life is more focused. I just can't stand trying to write a paper and solve math equations at the same time. It's disturbing and it makes my mind tumble. I guess I had it coming taking on 4 APs at a time, but oh my GOD so help me.

I'm planning to apply to School of the Art Institute (they already accepted my portfolio so the rest of the process should be easier somewhat) and have no real plans to apply elsewhere. I'll probably do early deadline, see if I get in and if not, American Academy of Art in Chicago. They've got some great alumnis (Alex Ross anyone?). And really, art school means nothing unless you make the most of it. I've only taken one drawing class outside of high school and I need to learn more technical skills. I'll stay up a week if that's what it takes. I'm excited (though I wonder if I'll be surrounded by pot head and drunkies...). And sorta luckily a lot of my friends are applying to schools within the Chicagoland area, so if I'm lonely I can call em up and see if they're available. I don't want to commute though. I feel like I'll miss out a lot on making new friends and also studio time. I wanna stay with as many roommates as possible, because I kinda have trouble making friends, kinda. If I REALLY want to be friends with you, I'll constantly bother you if we have class together everyday and if we sit near each other. But ususally I'm really shy and reserved, and wait for people to just come to me. And I guess I'm lucky there are more extroverts than introverts around me. My goal is to become more social and make friends with my roommates (if I get in).

And scholarships I loathe you and your absences. The only special thing about me are my academics (I'm actually not doing as well as I should be doing. My best year is Freshmen year and after that downhill. I'm still getting a 4-4.2 which is fine with me. It'll probably put me at an advantage for merit scholarships).

Which reminds me, I should be money searching. My parents are great in that they're willing to pay for my tuition (I have some friends whose parents aren't and they'll have to work off loans for...forever). But they're also stupid because they didn't know what to do with financial aid and all until I told them about it. They won't help me search for anything. My mother claims she's constantly tired, and I don't question that (because she is tired having to drive my dad to work twice a day to a location which is at the very least 30 minutes away and at the most 1 hour). It's just that whenever I see what she's doing, she's watching Korean dramas or variety shows on the computer.

THAT'S LIFE FOLKS.

And Single Ladies by Beyonce is stuck in my head again. ARGH.

[Fanfic] Red Ribbons

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 04:45:55 GMT

Title: Red Ribbons
Author: Me
Rating: PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Japan, Korea; JapanxKorea
Warnings: Some gore, maybe some OOC
Summary: Kiku remembers a girl with ribbons in her hair...
Time Frame: From the Josen Period (perhaps around the 15th or 16th century) to WWII, to present time.

Kiku remembers back when he was young, he saw a beautiful young girl dressed in a large dress. Her skirt’s hem folded underneath, the voluminous skirt curving up underneath her chest, just under her breasts. Her top was short, reaching just above where the skirt ended, long sleeves covering all but the tips of her fingers, and the shape of her neck.

Her face was slender and a bit wide, hair brushing against her cheeks to hide that fact. Her lips were plump and pink, nose high and round, eyes large and entrancing.

And on her hip was a simple, beautiful butterfly ornament, slapping against her skirt, flying with the wind.

He watched her for a moment, as she looked back at him with enlarged eyes. Her hair was long, reaching just below the middle of her back, ribbons tied at the top of the braid and at the end. It was only a second until she gritted her teeth and ran faster than he could speak.

But that one second left a mark on him, a mark he couldn’t forget.

And he wouldn’t see her again until a couple centuries later.

***

Her hair was shorter the second time, the braid reaching just between her shoulder blades.

Her features were much more mature, a young woman blossoming in the sunlight. Her face became shapely, slender, coming to a point at her chin. Her eyes once round, now two half moons settled magically on her face.

What stayed was the color of her dress, the ribbons in her hair, and the ornament that hung on her hips.

“Wait!” Kiku reached out, grabbing her arm before she could run away. “Don’t run, I want to talk.” The similarities are uncanny. She looked just like the girl centuries before. A perfect descendent, a reincarnation perhaps?

The girl shook her head quickly, covering her neck and face with her long sleeve, and with strength greater than a woman’s, pulled her arm away and ran far from him.

Kiku ran after her, dodging regular citizens and ignoring the cries of his delegates to come back otherwise he would get lost. He followed her by her hair; the ribbons that tied her braid were tossed widely through the wind, gripping each strand in desperation. It was his red string, tied to his finger, and he followed it lest it gets snapped.

She turned once to see him, an annoyance in her eyes, and quickly made a sharp right. She jumped high, grabbing onto a stonewall and clumsily pulled herself up and over.

Kiku followed, opting for the more practical solution of going through the small entrance just beside where she climbed.

They ran through the street markets, the girl opting for acrobatic stunts that could break her legs and Kiku opting for the easier solutions of simply running around their obstacles. She wasn’t slowing down, never faltering, even though Kiku could hear her breathe heavily and quickly.

They ran into the forest, dark and magical, trees overlapping each other.

She ducked underneath branches and jumped when she could, and Kiku did as well.

Kiku grunted as he unknowingly ran into a thick fallen trunk, and he grasped the dying tree tightly as he tried to regain composure.

The girl looked back once, a triumphant smile on her face.

Before she disappeared over a cliff of sorts.

Kiku stared incredulously; disbelief wracking his body senseless as he clumsily climbed over the tree trunk and ran over to where she fell.

He sighed in relief, finding that there was a pond below. He looked down to where the girl was as she stumbled up from the pond, her dress heavy as it took in water. Her hair was wet, glimmering under broken sunlight and her face had an alluring feel as she slicked back the long bangs. She looked up, breathing heavily still and walked to the edge of the pond, not running, almost like she was giving up. She climbed up onto the grassy banks and began squeezing the water from her dress and hair.

Kiku quickly jumped down into the pond, not finding a way around it without venturing through thick globs of trees. He walked up beside her, finding her to be tall, nearly his height.

“Will you tell me your name?” He asked, not knowing how to approach her politely. She must know him, having run away from him as if he was a well-known perpetrator. Perhaps it is the way he is dressed, or perhaps she is the same girl from years ago. As if that was possible.

She looked at him, peeved, and pulled away the ribbons in her hair. Her hair unraveled, the braid undoing itself and swinging away from her like a black curtain. She gripped her hair, squeezing it tight, water pouring onto the grass. She tossed her hair back, again pulling back the bangs from her face and sighed tiredly as she looked back at him, arms crossed.

Kiku gulped. “Do you know me?” He didn’t understand why he felt so comfortable around her. Maybe it was her nonchalant attitude, how she treated him like a companion rather than a stranger.

She nodded.

“Can you tell me your name?”

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

She shrugged, tied the ribbons around her wrists and walked away.

Kiku watched her walk for a bit, seeing her lift her skirt so it would not dirty any further. “Are you going home? Let’s talk for a bit.” He wanted to know more about her, why she intrigued him.

The girl shrugged again, having given up on trying to hide who she was.

Kiku grinned and ran up beside her. “Do you want me to carry you? It might be easier.”

The girl stopped walking and glared at him. After a moment’s worth, she rolled her eyes and continued walking. “Follow me.” She finally spoke.

Water, it was like water, flowing from her lips like cool silken river water. Kiku gulped, covering his red face with his sleeve.

Why—How did she make him feel this way?

After all, they’ve only met twice…right?

The rest of the day the girl led him to various markets, showed him their chickens, their trinkets, their simple cloths and how the women sewed them together. She led him to a ceremony of sorts; women with towering hairs and beautiful faces passed him slowly, glanced up at him with seductive smiles. She pulled him away from the gisaengs, taking him to food markets and feeding him pancakes, kimchi, foods that could make his tongue fall off and foods that could make his heart melt.

She took him up a mountain as the sun began to set, through small trees and picked up flowers on her way there.

Sunsets were always beautiful, but Kiku did not watch the sun set in the horizon.

He watched her as she placed a hibiscus in her hair, and another one in his.

She was almost eye-level to him, her hair now braided back with two ribbons. She smiled, patting his shoulder in friendly gesture.

And he kissed her on the cheek, not knowing what struck him to do such an act. It was not like him to be so flirtatious, so upfront with his feelings. Yet he had to, at least that’s what he felt.

The girl gaped at him, her entire face red, her ears an even deeper crimson. She punched him in the chest and ran away, the flower in her hair flying off and fluttering onto Kiku’s head.

Kiku had fallen onto his back, the punch much harder than he had expected. He watched through the flower’s petals the sky turn dark and blue, and closed his eyes as he thought of the beautiful blushing girl who punched him in the chest.

***

He wouldn’t see her again until he became an Empire.

She was here, in the same room, crying over a broken country as she clutched the covers closer to her bleeding body. Candlelight spilled over her like golden sand, glittered on her skin, spread around her. The butterfly ornament lay forgotten, away from the candlelight.

Her cheek, where he kissed her, was scarred and bleeding, purple with bruises and stained with tears.

Her hands were engulfed in her sheets, her wrists bleeding, covered. They would remain covered for the rest of her life, hiding scars she did not want revealed. The fist that she used to punch him in the chest was twisted and marred, recognizable as a mass of human flesh and not anywhere near a hand.

And she looked at him with hair long and free, draped over her shoulders gracefully, eyes fiery and narrow, like open slits on her skin. Here she did not look like a girl, nothing like that fair maiden with ribbons in her hair and a bulbous skirt.

Her body was without curves, chest completely bare, arms and legs somewhat muscular, her body completely without fat. Her shoulders were broad, her neck as well.

Her face, however, remained the same. A high nose, sharp jaw, and those beautiful (dear god oh so beautiful) eyes that once shone like stars and are now dark and bleak without any wonderful life.

Kiku nearly dropped his sword as he made the connection.

The girl he fell in love with was Im Yong-soo.

***

They bond long broken strings over a bottle of sake, another bottle of soju.

Kiku drinks sake slowly, and drinks soju in one shot. Yong-soo does the same, as he continues to down the clear drinks.

“You know…” Yong-soo points at Kiku, intoxicated, but still conscious enough to understand his surroundings. “Back when we were kids…kinda…I used to dress like a girl and run away from the palace. They FREAKED!” Yong-soo throws his arms in the air to illustrate how extremely nervous his boss and advisors were. “They FREAKED like crazy.”

Kiku smiles in his cup, downing the soju in one shot. He knew, for many years he already knew. “Really? What did you wear?”

“Simple hanbok and two ribbons in my hair.” Yong-soo sips his sake. “Everyone kept mistaking me for a girl. It was awesome. I was able to actually walk down a street without people freaking over whether I would trip on a pebble for get touched by peasants.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair. “I had to stop after a while, though. Things started to get rough.” Yong-soo places his sake cup quietly on the table and leans forward on the table. “Do you remember kissing a girl on her cheek? That was me—“

Kiku took this chance and leaned forward, holding Yong-soo’s chin with his right hand. He kisses Yong-soo gently, feeling soft plump lips tickle his own, feeling them sink into his own as he pressed forward.

Yong-soo feels all breath within him escape, and his conscious slips as he just almost collapses onto the table. He closes his eyes, indulging the warmth, following Kiku as the Japanese man withdrew. His eyes are still closed when Kiku sits back in his chair leaving Yong-soo standing up embarrassingly with his hands pressed flat on the table. He opens his eyes, his entire face red (his ears an even deeper crimson) and sits back down in his chair with a cough. “Well…I guess you do.”

Kiku laughs silently in his cup of soju, and looks down at his hand.

Red strings all around, and one shines, glistening like silken strands pulled from the sun.

Yong-soo lifts his hand; the sun-like red string follows.

Notes
*Red string in Japan (and perhaps other countries but I wouldn't know) is a concept where you and the person you love/destined to be with are connected by a red string. Something along those lines.
*Kimchi--pickled radishes or other vegetables. Extremely spicy and smelly, it is an iconic food loved by a great majority of Koreans and it seems even foreigners like it (Being Korean myself...I extremely dislike it unless it's put in dumplings or pancakes).
*Pancakes refer to not breakfast pancakes, but these pancake like foods where it's a mixture of flour, assorted vegetables and at times seafood. There are a lot of varieties.
*Soju--Korean alcohol, clear, and very strong (over 20% alcohol content)
*Hanbok is the traditional Korean clothing and comes in many varieties.
*Back then in Korea, red and gold was only worn by the king.
*Hibiscus--the ones I refer to are Rose of Sharon or mugunghwa clowers which are Korea's national flowers and represents Korea's perseverence throughout the years.
*The butterfly ornament is something like this: http://buddhapia.com/files/korean_culture/1986/07-3/7-3-10a%20copy.jpg aka norigae

[Fanfic] Progression

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 23:50:15 GMT

GerxEng for no reason. It’s just amusing to imagine them together. It also gives me an excuse to get back into the swing of fanfiction. And write porn (cough, what, cough)

It began with a kiss, reaching over a table covered with spilt water glistening under the electrical lights of the large meeting room. The papers begin to sink, blending with the wood, darkening from a brilliant white to despondent gray. And the water soon spilled over the sides, on their expensive leather shoes and the expensive Persian rug.

But the kisser didn’t care, holding the man’s tie roughly in weathered hands. He forces his tongue into territories he did not understand, did not comprehend. He stands shakily on the tips of his toes, his victim much taller than he. And as he pulls back, he breathes heavily, hands shaking from gripping too hard, veins pushing through his skin on the back of his hands.

He lets go, the tie crumpled in an indistinguishable mess, as much of a mess as his hair. He turns, eyes wide, staring at the intricate patterns of the rug. “…Sorry about that.” Is all he can say, smoothing back his hair hastily. “Sorry, Germany.”

Ludwig’s hands are attached to the edge of the table, face frozen from shock. He takes a couple steps back, the bottoms of his shoes squishing into the wet rug, water seeping up and back down into the fibers. He touches his bruised lips, runs a tongue across the roof of his mouth. The sensation of the foreign tongue lingers on his teeth.

“God, look at this mess.” He coughs, gathering the wet papers together carefully. Suddenly, a document rips under his touch and he roughly swears. “Bloody hell.” He hisses, balling all the wet papers together into one large mass. “I’ll just have my assistant print it again.” He slaps his hands on the wet table, the water rising, splashing against his face. “We’ll meet again.”

Ludwig returns to reality, realizing the meaning behind those words. He first looks at the ball of wet paper, and then at his partner across the table. “Again? England?”

Arthur walks over to the corner of the table with the wet mass in hand, picking up a small wastebasket and dropping it on the table. He gathers the wet papers and drops them into the bucket, a wet drop resonates in the silent room. “Again.” He looks up sharply. “Get over here.”

Ludwig purses his lips, fists balling at his sides. “It’s getting late, I better get out of here.”

“Get. Over. Here.”

Ludwig stares at Arthur, who looks as if he will jump over the table if Ludwig does not comply. So the German slowly walks around the long table, each step noisily sinking into the rug, and he stops, as he stands tall before Arthur.

Arthur looks up, raises an ugly eyebrow, and grab’s Ludwig’s tie once more. “A shame. It looks like an expensive tie.” He grabs Ludwig’s hips and draws the larger man near, pulling his head further down so he can capture cherry reds.

It’s not gentle, only rougher.

*********

“You fuck like a ninny.” Arthur runs a hand over Ludwig’s chest. “Like some half-witted virgin. No passion whatsoever.”

Ludwig glowers at him, “You’re one to talk.” He wants to say, but instead he turns to his side. “I’m not even sure how I got here.” He mumbles under his breath, pulling the covers over his head, almost ashamed of his situation.

“You’re fairly quiet for a German.” Arthur laughs haughtily, staring at the lump under the sheets. “I fucking hate you for being big.”

“Can we stop talking about this? You’re starting to sound like France.”

“Don’t compare me to that pervert. He fucks whatever moves.” Arthur draws closer to Ludwig, wrapping his arms around Ludwig underneath the sheets. “I choose my lovers carefully. Don’t we all?”

Ludwig thinks back to his first time. “Yes.” He sighs. It was like a nightmare. Horrible. “Doesn’t mean they all end well.”

Arthur then pulls back the sheets, gently, resting his head on Ludwig’s neck. “That’s the past. We can’t dwell on the past.”

“And yet we do.” Ludwig pulls away, sitting up on the bed. His feet tangle in the clothes on the floor. Ludwig does not remember when they came off, when his skin was bare to the cold air and his head resting on his pillow. He pulls up his pants, securing them tightly around his waist and turns.

Arthur looks vulnerable, for just a moment. Something like lost flashes over his eyes before it melts into frustration. “You’re not fun at all.”

“We’re all not fun.” Ludwig replies, thinking back to a time he was passionate, lovingly so. “Not after…” Determination kills his mood. The red, black, and white, all shaped into that obscene flag causes him to grit his teeth. Lost, all lost.

Arthur narrows his eyes. “You leave, this will be the last time we see each other.”

Ludwig lazily covers his shoulders with his white shirt, grabbing his suitcase on the way out of the room. “Sure.”

*********

Love is a misconception.

Yet.

Ludwig bites his lips. This feeling seems so foreign, so unusual in a way. His hands are placed gently on Arthur’s body, caressing when needed, fondling, touching, creating ecstasy. He breathes heavily, heat all around him causing him to sweat. His hair is freed from their bonds, lightly brushing against his brow.

Arthur opens his eyes slightly, watching Ludwig through the haze of his mind. He looks so determined, almost as if to make a statement of sorts, to prove himself worthy. “What happened…to…f-fucking like a ninny—AH.” Arthur gasps as he climaxes, pressing his abdomen further into Ludwig before collapsing back onto the bed.

Ludwig gasps for air as well as he pulls back, eyes wide with a sort of horror striking them. He’s done it, whatever he was meaning to do.

“Where…are you going?”

“Shower…”

Arthur lies exhausted on the bed, last moments striking up his spine before his body relaxes. He stares up at the wall, his chest still heaving for some breathe. “It’s nothing,” he whispers, “It’s nothing like that at all.” Nothing like those feelings he threw away long ago, nothing like palpitating organs and churning pits. Nothing.

Ludwig turns on the cold water and nearly screams as the icy water blasts onto his back. He relaxes as he becomes comfortable under the cold, and began turning on the warm. The water grows hot, his skin becoming pink and red. He holds out his hands, the hands that held Arthur in that way and wonders why, just why.

Why does this all feel so wrong?

*********

They go out for breakfast on an early misty morning.

It is a small private diner near Arthur’s home, well known for its delicious hot drinks and surprise breakfasts.

Ludwig looks at the plate before him. He recognizes eggs, and what seems to be a type of meat. However, the black links he did not recognize, nor did he care to come to realize what they are. He eats everything but the mysterious meat, and relishes on a hot cup of black tea. It is bitter, but soothing.

Arthur eats everything on his plate, and places two cubes of sugar in his tea. He stirs the liquid and sugar together with a small spoon, taping the small utensil on the side of the chinaware and places it on the side. He lifts the teacup, letting the steam heat his nose, taking in the aroma of the bitter drink, and takes a careful sip. “FFF—I burned my tongue.”

Ludwig looks up from his tea, amusement glittering in his eyes. He coughs, hot tea bubbling down his throat, his lack of attention causing his throat to not understand the command “swallow”.

They cough together for a while, the waitress bringing them cold water and the other early patrons laughing quietly to themselves over the two men.

“So,” Arthur finally speaks as they gain composure. “Did you enjoy your breakfast? I hope it is not too different from what you normally eat.”

Ludwig smiles politely, “No, I enjoyed it.” At the very least, it wasn’t Arthur’s cooking.

Arthur looks up from his cup of tea, his eyebrows furrowing in a look of dissatisfaction. “Stop smiling like that. So fake, you…” He refrains himself from swearing in public.

Ludwig folds the cloth napkin from his lap and onto the table. He reaches to his back pocket, taking out his black leather wallet and checking to see if he has enough Pounds to pay for the meal. “I’ll pay.”

“No, no, a guest should never pay.” Arthur waves his hands in protest. He immediately takes out a bit of cash, rushing over to the diner owner and paying right then and there.

Ludwig blinks, putting the wallet back into his back pocket and sighs, leaning back in his chair. He looks around the diner.

The diner is dimly lit, depending mostly on the morning’s dim white light to spill over the tables and chairs. Condiments (sugar, salt, pepper, and such) are arranged carefully on the edge of each table. People begin to fill the diner little by little, and the small place becomes louder with time.

Ludwig closes his eyes halfway, the diner becoming a scene from a dream. It is blurry, misty, as if he is part of this dream, part of this mysterious place and wonder. He closes his eyes, thinking of many things, among them being Arthur.

“Oh my God, stop embarrassing me and get up from your stupor.”

Ludwig blinks and looks up to find Arthur standing above him, crossing his arms angrily. “We need to get back now and continue what we started before.”

“Right. Of course.”

*********

Ludwig flips his phone close, ending the conversation. He looks at the time on his phone, finding it to be too late, and sighs tiredly. He leans back on his chair, eyes closed, hands rubbing them roughly.

Behind him he hears the door open to the room he is currently residing in. He is still in Arthur’s home, still here, still here.

Arthur comes in with a tray of tea and simple cookies. “I heard you talking for almost two hours now.” He closes the door behind him and walks over with the tray. “Corn tea I discovered from the East. Smells and tastes like cereal.” Arthur places the tray on the small desk in front of Ludwig.

The room is quaint, not small, but not immensely large. A small desk where Ludwig works resides not too far from the full size bed. An armoire and set of drawers decorate the rest of the walls, along with a walk-in closet and television. The bathroom is nearly hidden, resting beside the bed, its door small and old in comparison to the rest of the room.

“Thank you.” Ludwig nods to Arthur, taking off his reading glasses and placing them carefully on the desk. “There are always problems at home, around the world. I feel so overwhelmed.”

“That’s what vacations are for.” Arthur smirks, pouring tea into two cups. The tea set is intricately decorated with light blue designs, vines and floral patterns twisting around the curvatures of the porcelain surface.

The smell of corn wafts from the teacups, the heat of the drink condensing on Ludwig’s skin. He picks up a cup and sips it carefully, testing the temperature, and takes a gratuitous sip. “Just like corn.”

“Of course.” Arthur nibbles on a cookie, “It is corn tea, after all.”

Ludwig nods, setting the teacup down on the small desk. He leans back on the large office chair, resting his head back on the soft padding. His body relaxes into the crevices of the leather, eyes closing, head nodding slightly to the right.

Arthur watches him quietly, drinking the rest of his tea. He sets his finished cup on the tray, taking another cookie in his mouth and chewing it slowly. “Are you really sleeping?” He asks. No response.

And then he realizes, though it is just a passing thought, that he has never seen Ludwig asleep. He studies the finer features of the German man’s face; light blonde eyelashes curve up from the edges of his eyelids, nearly transparent in the light of the room, in contrast to the lightness of his skin. Lips curve above a sharp chin, slender jaw line, defined neck and collarbone. His is unmistakingly a beautiful man.

“Nothing like that, nothing at all, just curious.” He thinks to himself, his thin hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Just curious, curiosity, curiosity didn’t kill the cat.” He laughs to himself quietly, leaning over Ludwig’s sleeping figure.

He breathes in slowly, his chest rising with each second. His lips are partially open, dry, chapped, and hungry. His right hand reaches over and grabs the corner above Ludwig’s left shoulder so the chair would not move in retaliation. He leans closer, his shadow swallowing Ludwig whole as he hovers carefully over Ludwig’s peaceful face.

The sight is almost like a ravenous lion descending over an innocent German Shepard. The aura though, is much more different.

Arthur finds himself falling into Ludwig so many times, too many times. And he continues to think so as his lips descend and gently suckle Ludwig’s, face bright red for once in their relationship.

Ludwig’s blond eyelashes flutter, and he stares, first surprised, and then calm. He rolls away an inch, watching a disturbed Arthur realize the circumstances of this encounter.

But before Arthur could mutter a word, Ludwig reaches over, slightly pulling away from the back of his chair and pulls at Arthur’s shirt. The touch looks menacing, but the pressure is light, gentle, well-meaning.

Arthur complies and slowly leans over Ludwig, arms resting on the headrest above. His face is close, his fists balling into tight ghostly white flesh. His ears are bright red, his stomach churning painfully, and his chest squeezing through his ribs.

Ludwig watches Arthur through half-closed eyes, drinking in the atmosphere like cold water. He closes his eyes, tugging at Arthur’s shirt gently, and sighs contently.

*********

A love story must have an end, whether be it heartbreak or death. There is a limit to everything, even the sky, the blue disappearing with continuing altitude.

But this love story is like the stars, endless, always dying, always breathing life. With life there is a gentle calm beauty; with death, an explosion of amazingly beautiful colors and hope.

With them death begins, and a gentle star is born. It shines dimly, but is always there.

Sex is not refused, and even if Ludwig would deny it initially Arthur would always somehow entice the German into bed, into a shower, against the wall.

But this time it is different. This time there is no reluctant fear.

Ludwig wraps his arms around Arthur’s shoulders carefully, his body wet from his hot shower, and whispers, “Again, I’ll do it again, this time right.” A towel is wrapped loosely around his thin waist.

Arthur gulps, his chest beating heavily, his ears deep red. He suddenly starts thinking of his own body, how much it contrasts with Ludwig’s, how he is not as well endowed, and all such unneeded thought. “I-I don’t want to be fucked by some…” He doesn’t finish, as he feels a hand glide down his back gently.

He arches at the touch, leaning back onto Ludwig’s chest. He looks up to see Ludwig still as nervous as ever, but something like a need in those blue eyes.

Every time before, there was a lack of satisfaction, a nasty feeling left in their choice of place. After their showers Arthur would feel despondent over wet floors, against the wall dirtied wallpaper, in bed dirtied sheets.

Here he could feel, not think. Never think; it becomes almost impossible to second guess.

Ludwig is kneeling on the bed, his knees sinking into the soft mattress. He gently guides Arthur onto the bed, the Englishman once sitting now lying looking up.

He is beautiful as he sinks into the bed sheets, into the soft mattress. Glazed over eyes are unseen as his head lulls back towards the headboard, hands gripping roughly onto toned shoulders.

Like a work of art.

*********

They would meet in a local bar, almost always filled with sports fans of all kinds. It was soccer season, the many men old and young gathered excitedly to the television.

Ludwig and Arthur sat with their drinks near the back of the bar, drinking in silence.

“I remember a beautiful woman with brilliant blonde hair, wonderful blue eyes, and a grace that’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.” Ludwig broods over his empty beer mug, “I first saw her on the street, hair fluttering like wind, and a yellow star on her coat. She was married to a handsome Jewish man who owned a successful tailor shop. And because of that she had to leave, die, it was a normal cycle for them at the time. I cried after the train left, a trail of black smoke, and I was given a slap for being so weak. I was, after all, the Third Reich.”

He had brilliance around him, something like repentance, regret—something more like an understanding.

Arthur would not sleep the night after their drink. In his mind he saw the scarred Ludwig gripping his mug near the point of shattering, eyes hazy with mist, folding into himself like a scared child.

“I know you are still bitter, this is why I ask for your company.” Ludwig would lift his head, look at Arthur straight in the eye emotionally. Nothing like desperation, nothing like seeking for forgiveness, “I really am sorry, truly. I will never forget. Never.”

Arthur had looked at him calmly, choosing between disbelief and compassion. He had raised a hand, looking as if he would choke the former Third Reich, and instead patted it gently on Ludwig’s back. “I know. I know.” He repeated his words twice. “At the very least, I know.”

The sounds of soccer fans cheering around them would drown out unforgettable tears, as Arthur felt Ludwig tremble underneath his touch.

*********

Their first time is in that same room with the long table, the wooden furniture still soaked in water.

Clothes barely cling to their limbs, slipping off with each movement and pace.

Arthur pushes down on Ludwig’s chest forcefully, the other’s right leg slung on Arthur’s shoulder. He kisses Ludwig roughly, pushing forward, deeper.

Ludwig clings to the table; pain and pleasure crawling up his spine, blossoming like a flower. He feels water, sweat, and semen covering his skin and he gasps deeply, quietly.

“You’re a fucking tease,” Arthur speaks on Ludwig’s lips, feeling his breath collide with his lover’s. “Always in that pristine suit of yours, those stupid glasses on your face, hanging around that incompetent Italian.” He can barely speak the words as he catches his breath, his lips moving lazily on Ludwig’s, his speech slurring and almost incomprehensible. “You always tried to be a perfectionist when you weren’t anywhere near one. Always failing, always…” His lone, empty shoulder feels cold and bare. He grabs Ludwig’s arm and clamps it tightly on his shoulder, breathing in deeply and breathing out a shallow shaky breath as he continues.

Ludwig’s hair is tousled, hovering, clinging onto his forehead and the nape of his neck. Having lost the support of one arm, he shifts all his weight onto the other, not wanting to fall back on the table.

He thinks back, not remembering the last time he felt so close. Not in terms of friendship, kinship, rather a wholesome relationship where he finds himself so entranced and almost in love.

His last time in almost half a century is with France.

“They may sign with ink, but we sign with something much more…breathtaking, if you will.”

And he admits that Francis is as great as a lover as her brags. He knew how to handle every situation, as nervous as Ludwig was as he had nearly committed to celibacy in those years after those darker years. He was gentle and giving, and Ludwig had never felt rushed. Francis guided him, whispered, never yelled, kissed him in sensitivity and lust. Delightfully memorable.

Arthur…not so much.

He is rough, acting almost inexperienced. His tongue always on his, hands always gripping, yelling commands when he could, abhorrently loud. At times he was confused, pulling back prematurely, staying too long, always wanting to try again just to prove himself.

Ludwig slid his arm off Arthur’s shoulder and pressed his palm to Arthur’s face. He glides his fingers long the man’s jaw until his thumb touching the tip of Arthur’s chin. Ludwig kisses him gently, almost not a kiss, a brush of the lips, and pulls away completely. “Enough.”

Arthur feels rejected, and he pulls away cold, but not humiliated. Pulling his pants up properly around his waist, he stares at the mess around them; stares at everything but Ludwig.

Ludwig adjusts his white dress shirt properly onto his shoulders and slides off the table. He looks at his shirt and notices the back is completely transparent. He sighs sadly, looking for the garments Arthur so willingly pulled off.

“I’m not like that, not like that at all.” Arthur finally speaks, brushing his hair back with his fingers. “I…I didn’t…” Mean to make you feel so uncomfortable, mean to make you feel so inferior, so alone, so isolated from me. “I didn’t mean to give you such a bad time.” Arthur laughs, crossing his arms. “N-Next time it’ll be better.”

Ludwig looks up as he finds his pants. “Next time?”

“Next time.”

Ludwig stares at Arthur, mouth slightly agape.

Arthur stares back. “What? Want a penis in your mouth? Mouths only open for food, communication, and sex, now close it.” He hisses, blushing furiously.

Ludwig continues to stare at Arthur in disbelief, feeling overwhelmed.

But not burdened.

Not burdened at all.

I-I DON’T KNOW WHERE THIS WENT, BUT IT’S DONE.

France and Germany signed a treaty/alliance/some document of sorts (I’m such an ass, wiki it) despite protests from countries like the US and UK. Now they’re both pretty much dominating the EU scene.

So yeah, GerxEng. It’s not in chronological order if you’re wondering (It becomes obvious after a while). I just felt this need to write something after not being able to due to school.

[Fanfic] In Good Hands

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 23:44:37 GMT

Catherine the Great is notable for expanding Russia and help make the country into a great power. Sadly, she had no cares for the peasants.

I requested this on the kink_meme once. No one ever filled (DESPITE ITS AWESOME PAIRING) so I took the liberty to do so.

Perhaps in normal circumstances Ivan would not notice the older woman who wore extravagant clothing and a high powdered wig. Her face was white with heavy makeup, her bosom large with fat and age. Yet she was beautiful, strong, and graceful in her power and mind.

She was once young like the rest, dark hair curling neatly on her shoulders like dark water over pale skin and shining clothes. She married Peter the Third (a man Ivan deeply hated and distrusted), and had a grand affair soon afterwards with Stanisław August Poniatowski with more to come thereafter.

Ivan admired her; a blush would always tint his cheeks when she came into his presence. She helped him grow, flourish, strengthened him physically and morally. How he loved her.

In comparison, he was like a young virgin nervous on her first night with her newly wed spouse.

Ivan pursed his lips, face bright red as Catherine the Great gently stroked his hand, a light smile on her face as she laughed heartily. “Oh my dear Ivan,” she sighed, “Do not be so nervous around me. I should be the one nervous around you. You are, after all, Russia.”

Ivan nodded quickly; his eyes glued to the soft gentle hand stroking his large gloved ones.

“May I touch your bare hands?” Catherine asked softly.

Ivan nodded, slowly pulling off his gloves. He placed the gloves aside, almost off the edge of the table, and lowered fists, white like winter’s snow, on the wood table.

Catherine placed a finger on his knuckles, and engulfed his hands into her own. Her hands seemed large, delicate yet firm, strong and warm around his snowy cold hands. She turned them over, prying his fingers open and they blossomed like sunflowers to a sunny day’s sky. They grew and expanded as his fingers slowly arched back over his knuckles in her hands.

And she lifted them to her lips, a chaste kiss, and looked up at him with a genuine smile.

Ivan looked at his hands with dreamy eyes, looked up at her with those same eyes and fell within her as she cradled him like a passionate lover. Like an endearing mother.

END I can’t write anymore. The imagery is too…strange. Also I’m not good with handling historical figures because my history knowledge is limited to what I’ve learned in school. If anyone would like to continue this pairing (YES/YES?) I will love you forever.

[Fanfic] Posting here because of problems :/

Wed, 29 Jul 2009 20:17:39 GMT

Title: On the Rooftop
Author: cykstar
Characters, Pairings: Russia, South Korea, Russia/South Korea
Rating: R for last minute light smut
Warning: Semi-angst, light smut, YES THAT IS THE PAIRING
Summary: Spending time over the years with good alcohol, a smoke, and a rooftop.

It has not been the first time Yong-soo met with Ivan, no, they’ve had years of history together; his people migrated to Yong-soo’s land, and with this their features have mingled. He saw Soviet Union face to face in 1950, behind his sibling’s charging figure; he saw a lingering smile that illustrated madness and pitiful power, a potent alcohol that would wash over his wounds and burn madder than fire.

Their relations thereafter were largely indirect. Yong-soo saw more of the countries around Ivan than really Ivan himself. But this didn’t discourage him; he aimed for a way to break away from Alfred, because dependency was an equivalent to death to his dying pride.

Therefore, the 1988 Seoul Olympics catalyzed the beginning of their three-part plan.

Drinks are essential; alcohol is the physical form of humanity. Whether it be full-bodied wine, strong vodka, or a sweet shot of soju, there is no difference for there will never be a substitute to delicious mind-numbing alcohol.

Ivan tries soju, finding he likes vodka much better (as it is much stronger), he still finds homeliness in the flavor and the seemingly endless supply given by Yong-soo.

They sit on a rooftop, their very first rooftop meeting, watching the dwindling amount of people below them. The sun is setting, red, orange and deep yellow glitters all over, the land almost unrecognizable in comparison to noon.

Yong-soo generously pours Ivan a new cup, serving his guest out of courtesy, and pours himself a new cup as well. “Here, we drink the entire thing in one gulp. One shot.” He throws his head back, feeling the rice wine drop down his throat and into his stomach. He grits his teeth, breathes in and sighs, pouring himself a new cup.

Ivan does the same, being careful not to eat his scarf along with the drink. “Your country is very beautiful.” He smiles, taking another shot. “Autumn here is so colorful. True beauty.”

Yong-soo pours him a new cup. “Thank you. I’m glad you are enjoying your stay here.” He speaks politely, a light smile on his face.

They drink in silence for a moment, watching the sun setting. And as soon as they see the moon and stars, Yong-soo stands up from his seat, stretching. “We better head in. It’s almost time for dinner.” He’s intoxicated, not enough to be staggering and making a fool of himself, but enough to lose some of his inhibitions.

Ivan, who is used to stronger alcohol, is the same. He grabs the two cups, the lower half of his face buried in his scarf as he looks down. He is about to grab the soju bottles as well, until another hand encloses over the necks before him.

Ivan looks up to see wide brown eyes, not afraid, but something lingers. He looks away, knowing best, and lets go.

But his retreating hand is suddenly grabbed by Yong-soo’s, and Ivan is startled, almost enough to react violently. He stops himself, seeing that Yong-soo just might be a little too close, a little too red. Ivan’s mind races, thinking back to young Asian twins, a battle within the Cold War, and North (who occasionally cries before sleeping, whimpers can be heard from the nation’s door). He could scare Yong-soo, his signature laugh could send shivers down the spines of even the bravest. But those brown eyes, surprisingly large irises in sockets that are long and almond-like.

He is reminded of something, something long ago. Something like him, he thinks, or something like North, he thinks.

And suddenly, Yong-soo pulls back, the hand that was holding Ivan’s is now over Yong-soo’s forehead. “Today, we’re having a nice stew. It’s spicy, and smelly, but it tastes like heaven.” Yong-soo smiles tiredly, grabbing the soju bottles and quickly leaving Ivan alone on that rooftop.

Ivan stands as well, quietly and slowly following Yong-soo. He wonders, just a bit, what exactly all of that really meant. Whether Yong-soo has a lingering grudge, or a new found…

They would meet again in June, 1990; Roh held a summit with Gorbachev in San Francisco, and diplomatic relations would be established the following year.

Drinks are not present in this meeting.

Yong-soo sits next to Ivan, a cigarette in hand. He offers a smoke to Ivan, who politely declines in his deteriorating health.

“It’s…almost the end.” Ivan speaks quietly. He is not like himself—or maybe he is like himself? This vulnerability, or maybe it is a lack of vulnerability; it feels familiar, nostalgic, fits like a glove. It’s almost disgusting.

Yong-soo nods.

“I never imagined that Gorbachev would start something like glasnost, and I would never imagine my people would be so eager to change.” Ivan buries his face in his scarf. He is not wearing his usual heavy coat, opting for a lighter set of clothing in San Francisco’s hotter weather.

“I don’t think we would all have imagined such a great power falling.” Yong-soo sighs, dropping his cigarette next to his feet and crushing it with the sole of his shoe.

“Everyone…wants to leave.” Ivan mumbles meekly, uncharacteristically (or maybe, all along, it was just like Ivan to be so meek). “No one wants to stay with me. After all I’ve done…to try to keep away the…”

“You won’t be alone.” Yong-soo cuts in, a sharp gaze grinding into Ivan’s sunken eyes. “You’re a large nation, full of people, so many resources. You can’t be ignored, it’s impossible, no one can forget Soviet Union Ivan. And if you do fall, you’ll be picked back up, Alfred isn’t the type to abandon. You’ll be fine, it might take a while, but you’ll be fine. And see, look, we’re here, together, talking.” He smiles, a hint of sadness in his grin. “Isn’t that enough?”

Ivan knows there is truth to those words, from a nation who had fallen so far not too long ago. From a nation who was much smaller, but still, somehow, had come back into the world. And somewhere, deep inside his large chest, he can feel something thumping a little too hard, a feeling he hasn’t felt in so long. It’s not exciting, not war or battle or butting heads with the Capitalist Fool; it is calm, soothing, and he almost did it that day, because they were in proximity.

It would have been so simple, because they were facing each other. They are nations, not people, time is but a concept.

But Ivan holds back, because he’s still afraid.

He doesn’t know what will happen next, and he holds his face lightly amidst the smoke coming from Yong-soo’s freshly lit cigarette. Breaths come in shakily as he feels near hopeless.

“Thank you.”

May 25, 2009; North threatens South Korea for following a US plan. Nuclear weapons are no joke; the Cold War clearly showed the terror it has on people. Nuclear weapons are no joke, Bush had blindly charged into Iraq on an assumption.

Ivan and Yong-soo would meet again, one of a few since 1990. Since then, nothing had changed, no moves, no touches. They would speak, chat, have a smoke or a drink, and leave each other in the twilight, something lingering between them.

Yong-soo is built strong, he looks a little older, but he still looks young. He’s like a child almost in appearance, but he’s strong, a tenacity of steel.

Ivan is still a little weak, but bones were made to be sturdy. He’s on his feet again he can still fight. And with the end of Soviet Union, he feels some of his sanity return in folds (or so he would like to think?).

“Do you blame me?” Ivan’s question is out of the blue, in the midst of their talks about taking action on the nuclear problem. But Ivan’s mind was racing, wondering, he had been wondering for years. “Do you blame me for what happened with you and your sibling?”

Yong-soo stares at him with surprise, taken aback. He relaxes, leaning back on his chair and thinks for a moment. “To be honest? For a while, yes. But, it’s all in the past. Nothing I can do. We’re enemies now, I guess.” Yong-soo looks to the side, “North won’t let me come to that part of the house.” He shrugs, “And besides, Alfred was part of it as well.” And he leans his body on the table, looking at the papers scattered on the wood. “Besides…I…barely remember my sibling anyway. Well, before we met, but…” He laughs once, hollowly, “To be short, no, no I don’t blame you. There’s…no point anyway.”

Ivan breathes in the smell of his scarf (newly washed, forced by his sister Ukraine). “I don’t know…if I should apologize.”

“Probably now would be a little too off.” Yong-soo laughs lightly, for the atmosphere, not for his own amusement. He groans, stretching, leaning back on his chair again. “You know what? How about a drink? Vodka this time.”

“Vodka?” Ivan lightens up.

They end the day where they started in the very, very beginning.

Ivan pours Yong-soo a hefty glass full and Yong-soo makes a horrified face.

“I’m not much of a drinker…”

“Nonsense, you drink plenty with your rice wine.”

“…Vodka is kinda strong.”

“One shot.” Ivan quotes, holding up his glass and downing the entire volume.

Yong-soo follows suit, his entire face skewed in almost pain as he chugs the strong alcohol.

Alcohol is a pastime. A drunken state is merely a side effect.

Yong-soo coughs as he finishes, his entire face bright red. “Oh MAN…that’s…really strong.” He hiccups.

“Fifty per cent.” Ivan sighs contently.

“Fuck…” Yong-soo coughs again. “My throat…”

“A true drinker doesn’t complain.” Ivan pours himself and Yong-soo another glassful.

“That’s bull…if I chugged bad wine, shouldn’t I get to complain?” Yong-soo slurs. “Oh…really can’t hold the alcohol.” He sips his newly poured cup.

“Rye vodka. Never thought such a thing would create such a wonderful drink.” Ivan pours himself another glass, as he had downed his latest one.

Yong-soo stares out to the horizon, the sun setting once again. “We’re on a roof.”

“That we are.”

“And we’re drinking.”

“Vodka.”

“And…the sun is setting.”

“It always does.”

“It’s like that time.”

Ivan looks up from his drink. “Last time?”

Yong-soo watches the sun melt into the horizon. “1988 Olympics…you and I were on a roof, drinking, sun setting. And…” He laughs, “Should I say it?”

Ivan chuckles, “You’re intoxicated.”

“Yeah, I am.” Yong-soo sighs, “Back then…I don’t know. I’ve always been trying SO hard to get your attention. Trade with you since you had everything. I dunno, I kinda didn’t at first with the whole sibling thing…no grudge, scout’s honor, but back then…I remember…” His cheeks are red (alcohol?), “Nah, too embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing situations are but time. Irrelevant.” Ivan smiles, wanting to know, wanting his questions about that night to be answered.

“…I wanted to…kiss you.”

Ivan stares at Yong-soo with saucer like eyes, almost dropping the bottle.

Yong-soo glares at Ivan, “SEE?! I didn’t want to tell you because you’d look at me weird like that…” He rests his head on the palm of his hand. “I dunno, but…being with you like that, it was nice. It was scary, because you were a hell of a lot different than before, but I felt like you and I…connections, there was a connection.” He stops speaking. “Now I’m just shaming myself. I’ll go…”

Ivan grabs Yong-soo’s arm roughly, pulling the younger Asian man into his arms.

Ivan has no idea why he is hugging Yong-soo. The action occurred before his mind could conjure a reply. But connections, he knew what Yong-soo meant. They knew what it felt, to be vulnerable for so long, to be fearful for so long.

Connections like a fine thread, thicken with understanding.

Yong-soo holds his breath, heart pounding in his ears.

So Ivan knows. Those wide eyes, brown in almonds, they were not of anger or malice. Not exactly love, not exactly romance, but they saw something. Something was there like the same.

The kiss comes as a surprise, for it was Yong-soo who kissed Ivan. Full circles, things come back in loops, always attached, never gone. It’s deep-rooted and rough, hold nothing back, don’t hesitate.

They make love on the roof, Yong-soo feels Ivan inside of him, painful but amazing all the same. He holds Ivan’s back desperately, his moans muffled by Ivan’s scarf. Sweat sticky on his skin, dries in the open air, on top of that roof. Messes he ignores, no one will tell. He savors the taste, taste of old history, nostalgia.

Ivan knows not to stop, not until Yong-soo screams out. Ecstasy shoots up his spine in little spindles like spider webs, cunning, numbing. His hands touch all over, Yong-soo’s body defined and hard, years of lifting and cardio showing through. He looks wonderful in the moon light, sweat on his brow, eyes glazed over. He drinks it all in, not knowing when they’ll ever have a moment like this.

Yong-soo nips Ivan’s ear before throwing his head back and crying out (he doesn’t remember what, or if he even said anything at all). He feels Ivan huff on his chest, and kisses the top of the mass of light blonde hair. Purple eyes, deeper than azure.

And it is done, Yong-soo remains seated on the roof’s concrete, covered by Ivan’s coat (it’s not the same coat, but it’s warm, smells like Ivan, like sunflowers and vodka) and he looks up as he remembers. “That’s right,” He breathes, “I have a gift for you.” He runs over to his abandoned clothes, digging through his pockets and finally finds the object.

Ivan, who has his pants on, follows Yong-soo carefully. When he sees what Yong-soo has in his hand, his irises are completely drowned in white.

“Sunflower pen.” Yong-soo holds up the childish pen. It’s yellow and green, clickable; a plastic sunflower decorates it, resting on the push tip. “I saw it in a stationary store and thought of you.”

“Sunflowers…” Ivan takes the pen in his hand and turns it in his hands, watching the plastic glisten in the moonlight. “I love sunflowers.”

“I heard.” Yong-soo smiles as he begins to pull on his pants.

Ivan stares at the pen, almost amazed. He remembers sunflowers so clearly, all over a field of green; they had grown tall over his head when he was so small. He barely sees them now the earth is changing. But now…he has a sunflower of his own, one that will never die.

Yong-soo buttons his pants, secured in their place over his hips. “We better get back. We’ve been gone for a long time.” Suddenly he’s enveloped in large arms and a soft scarf. He feels a warm breath on his ear and he turns, almost afraid.

“Becoming one doesn’t necessarily have to be geographical.” Ivan smiles, pulling Yong-soo back onto the ground, away from the eyes of the public.

Russians have migrated to Korea, every since the 19^th century. I’ve heard that some of the most beautiful Korean women are (or were) from the North, closest to Russia. Coincidence?

1950, Korean War. After Korea was split to be dealt with by the USSR and US, North Korea attacked South, almost completely enveloped the country except for the very Southern tip. Though, the invasion was authorized by China.

Korea had been trying to establish relations with Russia for economic reasons and to break away form the US. Russia had many resources necessary to Koreans. Seoul-Moscow relations had three stages: sports, trade, and political relations. Thus, the 1988 Seoul Olympics was the start of the relations.

Soju is Korean rice wine. Vodka is an alcohol made from grains, and sometimes from other ingredients. Rye and wheat vodkas are considered to be the best.

1990: Roh and Gorbachev summit in San Francisco. 1991: relations were established.

Russia and South Korea are working together concerning the North Korea nuclear problem.

I had South Korea barely remember North Korea, because of the dwindling amount of people who remember (well) their lives in the Northern parts of Korea. North Korea is also a great mystery. The hardship is well known, but the country is a scary mystery in what they might do.

[Fanfic] Posting here as a precaution

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 19:41:09 GMT

Title: Two Men in England's House (and One Vomiting in the Bathroom)
Author: cykstar
Characters/Pairings: Germany, England, EnglandxGermany
Rating: PG
Warnings: The first few paragraphs talks about vomiting. Why? Because I'm awesome.
Summary: Germany, who had a bit too much to drink, is taken to England's house by England, who had happened to be walking by.

Honestly, who HASN’T vomited at least once in their life? I used to be sick a lot with stomach flu when I was little, so vomiting came a lot, but it’s something you can never get used to. I haven’t vomited in a long time (thank goodness) but I’ve been traumatized once when I went to the library a little sick and vomited in the middle of a little walkway in the children’s section.

I have one of those toilet rim bidets at home. My parents bought one when they found out that it was healthy to clean your AHEMS. I’ve only used it a couple times, not often, because for some reason the water would push a little too far up. I don’t know if that’s normal or not, but I don’t like the feeling either way.

Apparently, wanker refers to someone who masturbates. Git is like a jerk, and a fanny is the va-jay-jay. WHOO. I tried adding in some British slang, but gave up. It’s too hard for an Americanized young lass like I.

Vomiting is, obviously, an unpleasant task that can be broken down into three parts.

First comes those moments before the actual deed, when your throat begins to convulse and contract. Your stomach pushes itself in, up underneath your ribcage, pushing all your organs away as if to say, “Step aside, emergency situation”. You soon begin to break out in cold sweat as you can feel the bile rise up your esophagus and eventually into your mouth.

Next comes the actual act of vomiting, when you’re bent over the toilet, the ground, perhaps your own shoes. Everything is a blur, and what seems to be a quick task seems to last too long to the actual person vomiting. It’s an unnatural feeling, the contents of your stomach, all of what you ate that day and the acid that’s supposed to break it all down, it pushes itself past your tonsils, your tongue, your teeth, and your lips.

Then comes probably the worst part. You either look at the disgusting puddle or you’re in too much in pain to open your eyes. It’s that empty feeling in the pit of your torso. It’s warm at first, but soon it becomes cold, empty, and lonely. But you don’t want to fill that emptiness, in fear of vomiting once again, so you’re left in shame, vomit in your mouth, on the floor, your arms gripping your stomach tightly as if someone had punched you too hard in the gut.

Germany has his hands gripping the side of the porcelain white toilet bowl, the sounds of his retches echoing in the bathroom, the toilet acting as an amplifier. He heaves once, pulls back smacking his mouth, knowing this feeling, and once again heaves in the toilet, feeling the contents of his stomach empty a little too quickly.

He knew, when chugging that last pint of beer, that it was one too many. He could feel his head swimming, his vision swaying in unnatural ways. But he honestly thought that he could make it back home without any problems, that that last pint of beer was nothing to him. So he had clumsily placed a certain amount on the bar counter (and it must’ve been too much since the bartender didn’t say anything) and stumbled his way out of the bar.

On the way home, he tripped twice, once on an uneven part of the sidewalk, a second time on his own feet. He saw fellow drunks, stumbling their way back home, but none of them seemed as intoxicated as he was.

Ludwig could feel his stomach churn and his senses dull. The lights and buildings began to melt together, and he could’ve sworn he was walking straight when he found himself walking in the middle of the street as opposed to walking on the sidewalk.

His first thought was to go to Feliciano’s house. Hopefully, the Italian would be home. But at the same time, he didn’t want to impose on the gentle Italian (especially if his brother is there).

He thought of going to Austria’s place, as they lived extremely close to each other, and he often slept over in certain times of need. But he knew that Austria also needed his nights alone, especially if Hungary is there.

So he continued to stumble his way home, hoping not to walk in a pole or a car. Or a deer.

“Germany?”

He stopped walking, looking up to the side where the source of the voice was standing before him. He was slightly shorter, had ugly eyebrows per usual. He was sober, that was obvious, or at least hadn’t drunken as much as Ludwig had. He had on a black tuxedo with a small red flower in his chest pocket, and had both of his pale hands stuffed into his pants pockets. He must have come back from one of those formal parties of his with his Queen and the royal family. It seemed silly, lavishly spending the citizen’s money on a single night that wouldn’t affect any of them too much.

It wasn’t the first time Germany had seen England since World War II. No, they’ve met for formal political reasons, economic reasons, and during these types of meetings, they were fairly friendly and civil. They’ve even had a session of tea together. They’ve met for soccer matches, these times more competitive (though to Germany, the Dutch were more of a threat than England, even if England saw Germany as his biggest rival).

However, Ludwig knows quite well that Arthur still holds an undying grudge against him. And Ludwig feels almost offended, like as if bygones should be bygones, but he understands (because he also held an impenetrable hate for such a long time). He hates himself for the past as well.

“Are you okay, Germany?”

Ludwig swayed, just a bit, before falling onto his bottom. It stung, but it felt better than standing.

“Germany!” Arthur ran over, shocked by the sudden action. “Are you sick? Do you need help going home?” He had suddenly pulls back, “You smell like alcohol…” He cringed at the smell of Ludwig’s favorite beer (strong, full of taste, and foamy, these three are a must).

Ludwig coughed once, and looked up at Arthur. “I’ve told you…that I’m sorry, right?”

“…Sorry for what?”

Ludwig coughed again, “I’m…not sure.”

“…You git, what’s going on in that mind of yours? Twat.”

Ludwig then suddenly retches, loudly, and shocked Arthur into action.

“That’s it. I’m taking you to my place. It’s closer from here than yours.”

And that is how Ludwig ended up in Arthur’s house, in Arthur’s bathroom, vomiting away all the toxins in his body into Arthur’s toilet.

He finishes, flushing for the last time (a lot of close calls were made earlier in his horrible adventure). He sighs deeply, the sound echoing in the bathroom. He slowly rises from the toilet and to the sink where he first washes his mouth roughly for a good amount of time. He then began to splash his face with cold water, never looking up at the mirror.

He didn’t like to see himself in the mirror during one of his drunken plunders. It was too embarrassing, as he was one to remember almost everything in a drunken state.

The bathroom, he notes, is meticulously clean. The tiles were scrubbed clean, and it always had the scent of chemically formulated spring winds. It was modern, fairly large, even had a separate bidet (as opposed to Japan, who had a bidet installed on the toilet, and he always found himself accidentally turning it on and causing some unnecessary penetration). The faucet was made of a dull stainless metal, and the sink had a separate bowl in it, for fashion or if it is a more clean design, he wasn’t sure.

It was much different from Italy’s bathroom, which was old and in much need of renovation. The bathroom had reminded him of an old book, smelled of history and dust, yellowing all over and curling at the corners. However, it had always felt comfortable, like he was back in the past where you had to adjust the hot and cold a certain way in order to get the perfect temperature, and bathtubs were like these magnificent boat-like devices, detachable from the room.

Ludwig turns the knob of the bathroom door, the cold metal contrasting with his hot hands, and gently pulls it open, a little ashamed, a little alarmed.

The bathroom was part of the guestroom, so England was expected to be elsewhere. However, Arthur is there (now dressed in a casual t-shirt with sweatpants), hovering over the bed (which looked fat with thick covers and pillows, big enough to hold two, and looked ever so inviting). Arthur is spreading out a separate set of clothing, lamenting over whether he should lend the German a pair of underpants or to tell him to just wallow in his own dirt.

Ludwig raises an eyebrow, slightly amused, slightly confused, and cleared his throat to grab the Englishman’s attention in a more polite manner.

But it seems that doing so freaks Arthur so much that everything he had in his arms fell into a messy pile on the floor. He turns, ugly eyebrows burrowed so deeply into his eyes that it seemed like he had no eyes to begin with. “W-What do you want, you wanker?” He mumbles, almost angrily.

Ludwig walks over to the pile and picks up each article of clothing. “I could ask you the very same question.” He returns, handing the pile of clothes to Arthur.

Arthur snatches the clothes from Ludwig’s hands. “Well, I was just about to give you a spare set of clothes. Don’t get me wrong!” He suddenly cries out, “It’s not because I like you or anything, I’m just doing this out of courtesy.” He purses his lips, dumping the clothes on the bed, mumbling under his breath.

Ludwig hasn’t seen this side of Arthur, and tries to hold back his laughter. It was too much. Arthur, a former world power, was acting like such a child. It was rich.

“I know you’re laughing at me. I can see it.” He suddenly points a finger directed in between Ludwig’s eyes. “I can see it in those stupid sky blue eyes of yours.”

“S-Sky blue…” Were they sky blue? Ludwig never really took a good look at his own eyes.

“…” Arthur flushes.

“Um, anyway, thank you for letting me stay here. I feel better though, so I think I can make my way back home.” Ludwig carefully constructs his sentence, hoping not to offend Arthur. Truth is, he wouldn’t mind staying one night (though he wouldn’t like to stay for breakfast, as he has heard rumors about the Englishman’s cooking). Truth is, he always preferred the confinements of his own house, where he had his own bed, radio, television, and familiar shower.

“No way, it’s already too late as it is. So lay your arse on that bed and stop faffing around.” Arthur grumbles, hissing to emphasize certain words. He shoves a set of soft pajamas into Ludwig’s chest. “There are yours to sleep in. Don’t complain if they’re too tight.”

Ludwig nods; not exactly sure what Arthur had said half the time. He wasn’t used to British terms. All he really knew was “loo” and “fag”.

“Now,” Arthur stalks off with the rest of his clothes. “If you need anything, just knock the door right next to yours.” He opens the door to the room, “Good night.” and leaves, shutting the door a little too loudly.

Ludwig lets go a deep sigh and a big of a chuckle he had pent up inside. The room’s lights are on, illuminating brightly in contrast to the pitch-black night outside. He throws the clothes on the bed and pulls off his pants first, leaving them on the ground (he’s too tired to fold them up). He then puts on the pajama pants, noting the soft feel of the fabric.

The pants are slightly too small, cut off right above his ankles. However, the waist is perfectly fine (maybe a little loose), though his thighs and calves feel a little constricted (And though he won’t say it out loud, Ludwig had better built legs than Arthur and a thinner waist, as he’s more muscle than…not muscle).

He then takes off his button down shirt, letting that fall on the floor next to his pants. He feels sticky, and thinks back through the night, remembering that he had sweated a lot in the bar. The air conditioning was broken while he was drinking, and the lights seemed extra hot and there seemed to be too many people around him.

Ludwig opts to take off all his clothes and take a quick shower. He notes that Arthur managed to leave a pair of boxers on his bed (whether it was intentional or a grave mistake, he wasn’t sure) and walks off to the bathroom once more.

He took a hot shower, hot water almost to the point of scalding. He enjoys the feel of hot water on his skin, and even more the cool moments after the shower. His hair, which was usually slicked back carefully with his usual hair product, was now loose and stuck on his forehead. He stood underneath the water for a moment, his face tilted slightly up, mouth open a little wide. He let the water fill his mouth before gargling and spitting it out.

After about five minutes, at the very most ten, he steps out of the shower, and rubs his hair dry with the large towel that was hanging on the rack. He then wraps the same towel around his waist, looks at the mirror to see his condition (a little tired, a little pale, but not a complete mess) and walks out of the bathroom.

He was planning to quickly put on his clothes, dry his hair even more, wait a little while if it was still wet, and fall into a deep sleep until the morning (or afternoon, depending on how he was feeling).

He wasn’t expecting Arthur to be at his bed again, hands grabbing the boxers that were laid out on the bed (WHAT IS HE…).

Ludwig glares at the back of Arthur’s head, which said owner of that head soon heard the sound of the bathroom door open and a peculiar feeling of humidity filling the room.

When Arthur turns to see Ludwig his eyes shoot out of their sockets (or almost) and his hands soon became jelly as the boxers fall out of his hands and onto the floor.

It was a compromising situation, there was no denying it.

Ludwig was wet, naked (save for the towel), and still slightly intoxicated.

Arthur was red in the face, (was) holding boxers in his hands, and hovering around the guest bed.

“Um…are those mine?” Ludwig points to the boxers on the floor.

Arthur follows the finger and suddenly does a funny dance, arms flailing, feet jumping away from the bed. “D-Don’t think I’m doing something strange! I-I just wasn’t sure if you have everything—AH—NOT THAT I CARE ABOUT YOU OR ANYTHING!” His face is completely red.

“Yes, yes, I get it, I get it, England.” Ludwig sighs, walking over to the boxers and picking them up. “There’s no need to be nervous. We’re both men, right?”

“R-Right…”

Ludwig pulls off his towel.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

“W-What…”

Arthur turns, hitting his head on the door. He ignores the pain and continues to yell out profanity and pleads. “HURRY UP AND DRESS!”

Ludwig, who now wore his boxers and pants, rushes over to Arthur. “Are you okay? You hit your head pretty hard there.”

“ACK, NO, AWAY, YOUR SHIRT.” Arthur flails his arms at the taller nation, but as he tries to run away, he clumsily trips on his own feet and falls onto Ludwig.

Ludwig, who wasn’t expected Arthur’s sudden blunder, had not prepared himself to take the blow and fell onto the floor along with Arthur.

It’s not the first time he’s been in a compromising situation with another man. North Italy was almost always sleeping naked, crawling up next to him in the middle of the night, and snuggling up next to him unexpectedly. So when he finally collected his thoughts (which must have been a while, or at least it felt that way) and saw that Arthur was on top of him…

He won’t lie; at first he was panic-stricken.

Arthur’s face was squashed onto the German’s bare chest. Pushing jealousy aside, Arthur pushed his upper body off Ludwig, looking down at the still knocked out Ludwig. He calculated in his mind the various excuses he could make once the German man snapped out of his stupor. But Arthur found himself examining Ludwig a little too carefully, a little too long.

He noted that Ludwig no longer had his hair slicked back, not a single strand glued to that hard head of his. His hair was free, fluttering over his forehead and temples. It made him look younger, softer, and more reachable (almost like a child? He can’t say).

Despite Ludwig’s muscular figure, he had subtleties like the rest of them. His neck is long, leading down to a defined collarbone and pronounced chest. His arms are hard with muscle, but they are also long and shapely, enough to hug two people at a time. His waist is so thin that even England could straddle his legs around them—

Okay, England thought immediately, he had to get off.

Ludwig soon the opened his eyes, taking note of the Englishman who was still staring at his face. And he did had that moment of terror, but soon remained calm, closing his eyes to reach composure. “Are…Are you okay?” It’s the only thing that comes to mind.

“H-Huh? Wh—Yeah, of course…y-you?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Ludwig notices that Arthur is straddling his hips, hands pressed against his chest. He blushes, just a bit, because it’s natural for anyone to be embarrassed right now (right?).

Arthur is still staring at Ludwig’s face (again), a little too long (again), and then suddenly realizes just the type of situation he was actually in (again). He reels back, head hitting the door once again. He then proceeds to collapse into a fetal position as he rubs his head profusely.

Ludwig watches the scene, slightly amused, slightly frightened. He pulls up from the floor and attends to Arthur, who immediately slaps away the German’s helping hand.

“I-I don’t need your help! It’s not like I’m helpless or anything, you know!?” Arthur huffs, rubbing his head even harder.

Ludwig scowls, “Just let me see, England, it’s not like I’m asking you to submit to me!” He reaches out to grab Arthur’s arms.

Arthur reels back again, face twisted in an annoyed scowl. “Oh, you mean like before!?” He cries out, pulling out deeper meanings.

Ludwig pulls back, surprised, eyes wide. He’s tried for many years to push back those memories, of children and mothers trying to live on the cliff between life and death, of soldiers who lose their lives without merit, and of the millions that would never come back, disintegrated in the dirt.

Arthur momentarily pauses and looks up at the shocked Ludwig. He sees something broken, something that tries to reassemble but it never seems to completely fix.

They stare at each other, knowing that this conversation was leading to bad blood. Arthur slows down the rubbing, looking down shamefully. “…Sorry…my fault.”

“No, no…” Ludwig stands up slowly, almost as if he’s aged too many years. “It’s…my fault…my fault.” Ludwig looks out to the side momentarily, closing his eyes for a moment as his head begins to pound endlessly. They were former enemies, he trying to force England into submission, to finally complete the rule. And even with time do they still hold some malice, and Ludwig understands. There’s nothing that could change the past. But he holds out a hand, in good gesture, in hopes that Arthur just might grab it, even if it’s for a temporary moment.

Arthur looks up at Ludwig, at his sky blue eyes. This man who once had bombs destroy his land, devastate. But he remembers how Germany looked when he fell (twice, even), how helpless he seemed and heartbroken by the leader who abandoned him, and the long lasting realization (his people…oh God, his people) that it was all over. And he remembers the first time, WWI, when Germany was ashamed by the Versailles Treaty. How Germany had to work and work and see his people starve, his children scrapping for food and the littler ones using stacks of paper money as building blocks.

Arthur takes Ludwig’s hand and he’s roughly pulled up from the ground. He stands strongly so not to involve himself in another embarrassing situation.

He’s shorter than Ludwig, not by much, but still shorter (and less muscular but he likes to stop himself there). So he looks up, looks up at painful eyes that seem to tell a lot of stories at once. And in them he saw a story similar to his, how familiar. They had fought the same wars; they have both changed drastically over time (for Germany, an even more drastic change took place for him over the centuries). In a way he felt a connection, like something was there (there was always something there, something connecting all of them). He took Ludwig’s hands, large and calloused with hard work and time.

And without thinking, Arthur pulls himself into surprisingly soft lips and strong arms that do, in fact, easily enwrap him inside a beautiful and dangerously inviting warmth. It becomes addicting and warming, something he doesn’t want to pull away for a long, long time.

The end is left for you to concoct up in your sick minds. I’m one who likes to cut things out for people’s imaginations, because what you come up with in your mind can never be fully fulfilled by other. Enjoy your thoughts. Er, format is weird because I copied and pasted.

The Versailles Treaty that came with the end of WWI had Germany work to pay off debts that were accumulated by the war. France had particularly forced Germany, since the Germans shamed them during the war. Er, my European history is a little wishy-washy since it’s been two years since I’ve studied Europe at all. So I’d say just find a textbook or go to Wikipedia for a more reliable source. I’m not telling because I want you guys to go and research yourselves.

Hetalia fanfic

Sat, 14 Mar 2009 04:36:38 GMT

This is to test the lj-cut before I submit to a community. I swear, lj HATES me.

Also I actually had time to write THIS, but I'm having a writer's block with 42_Souls.

“Let us become one again. Soviet Union has taught me such wonderful things, Yong Su. Back then—do you remember? Back then you fought against me, took away so many of our dearest people. I remember you crying. Do you remember me crying? Don’t you want the tears to stop? For this endless rain to end forever and to never come back? For those sunny days to return and never disappear”

Yong Su sucked on his (Obviously made in Korea) popsicle, chewing on the plastic and spitting out bits and pieces as they tore off from the tip. He squeezed the bottom, sucking in sweet and sticky juices, letting the cold liquid slide down his throat and into the pits of his stomach.

“Yong Su, just cut that thing in half, aru.” Yao stared at Korea, obviously annoyed by the younger nation’s tedious work.

“But I don’t want to, hyung.” Yong Su spoke, the cold treat bobbing up and down as he freely talked with it in his mouth. “It’s much more fun eating like this.”

“You’re getting plastic all over my rugs, aru!” Yao cried out, noticing stray pieces of chewed plastic on the floor.

“Details, details.” Yong Su mumbled, sucking in more of the melted juice.

“Ya, Yong Su…don’t you want to be together again? Don’t you want to play together again? Remember when that damned Japan ruined our people? Remember when that damned America took you away from me?”

Yong Su sucked in and swallowed the rest of the popsicle, chewing on icy bits before setting the plastic container aside. “Yum.” He sighed contently, a satisfied smile plastered on his face.

“UGH, YONG SU!” Yao grabbed the plastic and quickly rushed over to the nearest garbage can. “STOP ruining my furniture, ARU!”

“Yong Su!”

Yong Su suddenly shot up from his seat and crossed his arms, a haughty laugh escaping him. “Let’s go driving!”

“Oh no, I am not letting YOU drive, aru.”

“But you drive like a granny!”

“And YOU drive like—“

“Details, details.”

“LET ME FINISH, ARU!”

“Yong Su, don’t you remember the good days? Don’t you remember eating kimchi with our fingers on sunny days and picking hibiscus flowers from the bushes? Don’t you remember those cobweb like treats the King would give us?”

Yong Su suddenly grabbed his chest, wheezing a little. Bullets ran down his face and his vision slightly blurred. “I’ll be right back.” He excused himself quickly, running to the nearest restroom.

Yao turned, following Yong Su with his eyes. He quietly followed, knowing what it was that bothered the boy so much.

“It hurts me just as well. Yours is still bleeding right? Mine is still wide open. No matter how many stitches I put on, it never closes. Never.”

Yong Su kicks down the door ungracefully and tears off his hanbok top. He sees the red bleeding through his bandages and narrows his eyes, sickened.

Yao is leaning against the doorway, staring at the broken hinges of his bathroom door. “Need help, aru?”

Yong Su places his fingers over the wound, hissing as the mere touch sends waves of pain down his spine. “When don’t I?” he whispers sadly, slowly peeling away the stained gauze as Yao retreats to find the first-aid kit.

Yon Su’s braid flickers in the wind, in the thick smog. Her head is bent slightly back, mouth slightly open as her tongue gently licks the blood from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, never shifting, never ceasing. They remained focused on Yong Su, even as he walked away from her, even as the smog veiled him from her sight.

“I will be weak no more, Yong Su.”

Yong Su stares at his abdomen. It was covered with faded scars; scars that remained yet were disappearing with time. He could remember the searing heat of the blade as it ran across his skin. The pale white skin, lifeless eyes, and unrelenting stance…

Yong Su quickly folded a towel and ran it under warm water. He placed the soaking wet cloth over his bloody wound, hissing as the warm water touched raw flesh.

“Yon Su!” Yong Su cried out, hands reaching out to her. He approached her slowly, desperate, crying. “What are you doing, Yon Su? Our people…you’re killing our family!”

Yon Su holds a primitive sword in one hand and a gun in the other. “Yong Su…we have no need for naughty children, am I correct?” She raises her head, eyes wide and delusional. “Yong Su…Kim Il Sung ahboji is so strong. With him…we can return to those old days. Remember those old days, Yong Su?”

“Eating kimchi under the sun…”

“Picking hibiscus flowers from the neighbor’s bushes…”

“Climbing trees, laying in the grass…”

“Counting stars and sleeping under the moonlight…”

“Playing with hyung-nim and everyone else…”

“While we shared those cobweb like treats we got from the King.”

“Molding clay into pottery..”

“Painting everything we saw…”

“Writing everything we felt…”

“We shared the same pain…”

“The same joy…”

“And now…the same wound.” Yon Su lunged, quickly slashing Yong Su straight down his chest, right above his heart.

At the same time, out of pure instinct, Yong Su grabbed the gun as she lunged towards him and shot her right below the heart.

Nothing was said as they both stared at each other until Yong Su collapsed into the arms of America. “Yon Su…”

Yong Su breathed heavily; relaxing after the pain subsided. The wound remained, scarred tissue running over his heart, dividing his left and right. Whenever he began remembering her smile, her charm, her dilated pupils, and tears of pain, he bled.

And he figured that it was the tears of their dead people.

Yao returned with the first aid kit and gently treated the wound as best as he could. He wrapped the gauze tightly over Yong Su’s chest and sighed. “Does it hurt?” He asked, a quiet question asked every time memories caused them pain.

Yong Su bent down for his hanbok, saw a blood stain and tossed it into the sink to wash.

“Yong Su…Yong Su…” Yon Su sobbed, finally seeing her brother after so long.

She no longer held her sunny charm.

She was much thinner than before, her cheeks sunken in, revealing high cheekbones and a much too defined jaw. Her once soft and plump hands were bony and cold against his strong and warm ones.

Yet her voice sounded exactly the same as the day they ate kimchi one fine sunny day.

Yong Su quickly grabbed her and squeezed her tightly into him, breathing in the unfamiliar smells. “We’ll be together once more. Just a little more time.”

Yon Su trembled. “I’ve missed you…we’ll become one…for sure…under Kim Jong I--”

Yong Su ruffled his hair quickly, trying his best to forget it all. “It doesn’t hurt. Nothing could ever hurt as much as she’s felt.”

Yong Su stood at the divided line, armed men standing in front of him. It was dead quiet in this place; nothing moved and nothing dared to breath.

More than anything, he wanted to cross that line. Even if it meant being pelted with bullets.

Yon Su watched him from the other side of the line. She did not dare cross the line either.

They watched each other from such a short distance. Close enough to speak and too far away to touch.

Yao patted Yong Su’s back gently. “Come on, let’s go watch some Korean dramas, aru.”

“Really?!”

“Yeah, I kinda want to see that Kim Samsoon one again.”

“Hur, hur, better than whatever Japan could come up with!”

Soul Eater episode 45

Tue, 17 Feb 2009 03:31:18 GMT

A lot of major things happened this episode, but obviously even more stuff is gonna happen later.

So what happens first is what we see at the end of episode 44. Maka saves the day, Chrona is awed, Marie is still kinda fighting with Stein, and Medusa is just amused.

Maka doesn't think things through completely and just attacks Medusa over and over again. This gives us a bit of humor with Marie. I saw the RAW, so I'm asuming it's because Marie says they should attack orderly, strategically or that it's hard to take on both adversaries at once. But Maka could care less and just attacks.

Cut to Black Star who is taking down traps, jumping into pits, being all badass and chatting with Tsubaki. We see more of him later. And sadly, we do NOT see Giriko or Justin, but understandably so considering what's to come.

Cut back to our trio vs. Stein and Medusa, Maka and Soul decide to do a group resonance with the piano.

No, no awesome piano scene. We see him go BAM once in a suit and that's it.

We do get an awesome souls connecting scene. OUt of the no where wind and all.

Maka is the first to attack, but Stein blocks all of the attacks that are directed to Medusa, causing the fight to be shifted to him instead. Medusa watches from the sidelines.

It's a sad fight since no one is able to give him a good blow. All during the fight, Maka and Marie call out to him and we see another one of Stein's metaphors with a radio between him and Medusa. That radio looks oddly familiar...

FIrst he uses his soul-electricity thing to knock out Marie, and then Chrona and Maka.

The two are flung against a wall RIGHT UNDERNEATH MEDUSA. She talks to herself again (lawl) and stabs her sword on the wall she's standing on. The sword becomes a moving arrow and travels down to Maka, hovers just a feet above Maka. Medusa says her goodbyes and is about to stab Maka through the chest/abdomen...

But Chrona notices the arrow just before Medusa is about to take the finishing blow and pushes Maka away in time. However, the way the two were positioned (Chrona was leaning against the wall behind Maka while Maka was kinda bent over on the edge of the block thing) Chrona was stabbed instead.

Cue big major GASP WIDE EYED moment (I totally saw it coming but I was pretty excited. I'm sick in the way I enjoy seeing my favorite characters suffer because it brings drama.). Maka is thrown to another block thing where she sees Chrona dangling by the arrow. It's interesting how they animated this part, because Chrona literally looks like a doll just hanging there. Whether it's intentional or not, I don't know, but it adds a nice sort of "Oh God" kinda feeling.

The arrow pulls back and Chrona falls to the ground and Maka rushes over to cradle the girl/boy in her arms. Maka's crying a lot (adorable face. It's odd, they gave her not an anguished mortified face, but kind of like a kid who doesn't get why Mommy has to leave kinda face) and both a fading Chrona and Ragnarok (now dying Ragnarok is SAD) try to consolidate her, explaining that they did this because they wanted to and that Chrona is grateful (actually I'm not sure what Chrona said but I'm sure it's something like that).

Then they DIE...no they don't. Trust me, just keep watching.

Maka is PIIIISSSED off. Scary pissed, too. Soul is trying to calm her down, but it doesn't work as the room he's in is flooding with black blood. He shares and exchange with the devil in his room and eventually is engulfed in the black blood.

Maka continues to attack and is about to land another attack before Marie stops an attack between her and Stein.

Marie takes this chance to use her soul wavelength to calm Stein down. We're back to the radio sequence. Marie is floating naked and she holds out a hand for him to take. Stein takes her hand is pulled back from insanity.

YAY!

Medusa knows she's trapped now that she has Stein, Marie, and Maka against her (oh, btw, Maka somehow snaps out of her anger. I dunno why, but okay, no insane!Maka).

Marie turns into a weapon for Stein to use and they fight.

Now at this time, Rachel, I think, somehow dispells Medusa from her body. Now Medusa is...not a snake, but a floating translucent form of her adult self and it's REALLY confusing. You'd think she'd be a snake again, but no, she's not. She's just as confused herself (I think she explains just how she's pushed from Rachel's body but I'm not a Japanese speaker).

Maka takes this chance to use her...witch hunter? Or was it her demon hunter? Anyway, she slices at translucent Medusa and Medusa is defeated!

Now, what I like about this part is that Medusa doesn't go off pitifully. She goes off with a sadistic smile and a nice speech. Phew, at least BONES didn't make her some whiny bitch at death. Medusa is my fav villian, chyea.

Medusa dissolves away into some black splotches (no soul? Or was that her soul? Doesn't make sense...) and everyone takes a small breather before going to Arachne.

Stein reassures Maka that Chrona will be fine and he'll make sure Chrona will be.

I don't really see how, considering Chrona pretty much lost A WHOLE OCEAN OF BLOOD and Ragnarok kinda dissolved away...yeah...

Oh well, it's anime.

We end here, and if any of you guys read spoilers, we should be seeing Black Star next episode.

Especially since we end with a shot of Mifune and Black Star (not face to face, but it's implied they'll duke it out).

My Thoughts

So there's a lot I can praise and I lot I can RANT about.

An okay episode. Honestly, I should stop getting my hopes up for the Soul Eater anime.

All of it felt very rushed, and I honestly think they should've ended with Chrona's supposed death (and add in shots of what's going on outside Medusa), yet at the same time I'm kinda glad they ended it quickly. I know they only have a few episodes left, so it's understandable.

I've been annoyed by some anime shot laziness, but whatever. What can I do?

My prediction that Chrona won't die was correct. LIKE HELL THEY'LL KILL OFF A POPULAR CHARACTER. Hell, BONES revived Ed from FMA like...3 times!

I'm a bit surprised by Medusa's death (and how there's no FRIGGIN SOUL LEFT). I guess how they set it up, Medusa HAD to die, but I thought it would be a lot more epic like her last "death".

I'm also pretty excited for Black Star vs. Mifune. In the manga...Mifune dies, THERE I SAID IT. But he HAD to die, and a lot of fans didn't like his death, but he HAD to die. If Mifune was just severely injured, he would've got back on his feet and kept fighting. He stopped because he received a fatal wound and could only walk a few steps with the aid of Tsubaki before his AWESOME death. I hope Angela becomes part of the main(ish) cast. That would be awesome (and adorable. Black Star taking care of a little girl, pbth!).

Er, anyway...

Here's to hoping that the last few episodes won't suck! And I said this last entry, but I really hope Maka is the SOLE fighter against the kishin/Arachne. She's just not strong enough at her level. I hope we get this beautiful teamwork sequence with EVERYONE (think Sailor Moon).

Soul Eater episode 44

Mon, 09 Feb 2009 23:44:04 GMT

Holy crap I must post journal to express my FEELINGS!!

About anime. I'm so lame 8D

Edit: OKAY, so LJ-CUT really does hate me. So just highlight the text if you want to read.

Okay so the episode was basically so-so. Obviously since I'm a sub reader, I could only get so much out of RAWs. 5 years of obsession helps with picking out little bits, ya know?

So here be the overall plot.

It opens with Maka and Soul, Maka running through the forest and chatting with Soul (any smart passer-byer would try to stay away from the seemingly schizophrenic girl). I'm not sure what they chat about, but I think her feelings on what they're going to do and I caught "Chrona" in there. They reach a cliff and do SOUL RESONANCE! And then it cuts to our M+C duo. Marie and Chrona finding their way to Medusa's...odd...lair. Marie is direction challenged as always, giving us a bit of comedy relief before the drama that will take place.

They reach her lair, and I don't remember exactly where they cut off to the others, but they do. They cut to Black Star and Tsubaki who discuss what I believe to be strategical plans to reach Medusa. A bit of the battlers, a bit on Eruka and the mouse sisters, and a long bit on Justin and Giriko who are still duking it out. From how they portray it, they're pretty much equal in power and Giriko is going bonkers. Literally, he has this face and it's strange.

We cut back to Marie and Chrona, and I think I'm mixing up orders now, but either before the cut or after they're descending stairs (or blocks) and a block falls down about to crush Marie. Until, that is, Chrona comes in and protects her, using his/her soul/black blood to protect Marie and disintegrate the block (I got all excited and orgasmic).

Cue in long talking scene between Marie and Medusa about...a lot. I think a bit about Stein, a bit about everything. Think typical shounen random talk scenes. Yes it was long, yet it was tedious. There was a point where Medusa sits on Stein's lap like a little child with her daddy. Marie was obviously jealous (and disgusted). Then Medusa directs her attention to Chrona and tries to draw Chrona back using that innocent "I'm your mother" voice. Chrona is conflicted for a while before ultimately choosing her friends over her bitch of a mother.

Medusa is totally unamused (I love her unamused face. It's a mix of "grr" and "whatever") and she stands up saying she'll have to kill Chrona.

FIGHT SCENE. Marie is a hammer. An awesome hammer. She definately deserves to be a death scythe, because she easily deflects Medusa's attacks and even destroys the block Medusa was standing on.

Medusa jumps over to a new block while Stein falls out of view until later (he looks like a stoner who's just there for the lulz.).

Chrona attempts an attack, but all her attacks are deflected. Medusa and Chrona have a one-to-one once more as Medusa uses her arrows to entangle Chrona into this...thing. Ever watched Sailor Moon? That one big scene where all the sailors die one by one? Think of how some of the girls were entangled in that ice. It's like that. BAD analogy but why would I care. MY ANALOGY.

Medusa continues to clobber Chrona, trying to kill her, even somehow nullifying Chrona's black blood abilities (that is, to harden her blood or use her blood as a weapon.) Marie tries to intervene, but out of no where comes Stein who's believes that Marie had died so is in despair and confusion/insanity over basically everything. Again, I was watching the RAW version, since it JUST came out so I'm not sure what he said at all. He mentions water at one point, probably to illustrate how he felt. He explains how he's confused, unsure, all that.

He ultimately concludes to kill, or something. I'm not sure. He just goes inSANE.

Meanwhile, Chrona has been slashed at with Medusa's sword (yes, she creates a sword out of her arrows. It's like one GIANT arrow like in the preview and it looks awkward with her tiny body. It's kinda lame, but whatever, it's anime.) and he/she can't manipulate the black blood. It's kinda odd how Ragnarok basically had only 2 lines in the entire episode. One of them was here where he basically said, "Snap out of it, Chrona!". So Chrona shouts bloody needles (or whatever the move is called) but finds that Medusa is able to just walk over his/her blood unscathed. Of course, Chrona is confused and Medusa explains just what she did (the move I explained earlier was this strange, pink electric shock). Medusa lifts her sword, about to kill Chrona off with one slice (and here Chrona is screaming his/her head off, a scene which makes me wonder just why Chrona was exactly my fav), but, of course, it's very predictable...

Maka comes and saves the day.

HURRAAAY.

I just kinda rolled my eyes because it was REALLY obvious.

And thus, begins the battle of the century. Medusa has a shocked expression since (1) Maka appeared out of no where without Medusa even sensing her and (2) Maka was able to block Medusa's attack. With an awesome battle cry might I add?

My Thoughts

So the episode was an okay. I mean, this whole anime original ending stuff is OKAY. It's not OMG ORGASMIC, nor is it vomit inducing. This episode was fairly enjoyable. Some of its major problems is the LONG WINDED TALKING. Usually I don't mind, but because I don't understand what they're saying and I'm more excited for the fight, I found it very tedious. That's just me. Another is how Chrona does not seem to be developing power wise. He/She used to be one of the major enemies and is now reduced to screaming. I don't expect Chrona to be able to defeat Medusa, I just wished he/she got in some successful moves. Even if it was just one.

Now I really like Maka. She's different (that is, not whiny bimbo) and very adorable (she's a bit of a girl, a bit of a tomboy). But that ending was so predictable. Of COURSE she comes to save the day. Of COURSE she saves the damsel in distress (or...man-damsel...er). And of COURSE she's suddenly able to hold up on her own against Medusa (well, I'm being a little unfair. Medusa's powers have probably decreased and Maka has become stronger). Luckily, we have a second part to this battle. I dunno, I just felt that it would have probably been more exciting if Maka came in and saw Chrona slashed/down for the count/impaled (see episode 45 preview).

There's about 8 more episodes to go. Let's see what happens. I swear if Maka is the only one to defeat Kishin at her current level I will scream. If she dies I'll sue.

Soul Eater episode 45 preview

HOOLY CRAP. Soul Eater always did have awesome previews (that get my expectations way too high).

Big key moments:

Stein battling Marie, Maka, and Chrona. And using his hand over face creeper move.

CHRONA GETS IMPALED. And Maka is craddling him/her in his/her own pool of black blood. And it's not stopping, because remember, Medusa's strange electricity move.

Due to Chrona's sudden possible death (I highly doubt he/she will die. Something MAGICAL will probably happen. Like how BONES screwed FMA up real bad) Maka becomes EXTREMELY enraged. You'll see an expression unlike Maka it'll freak you out. She becomes PISSED and attacks Stein (I think) with all her might.

Meanwhile Soul is becoming engulfed in darkness (insane!Maka mode?! 8D?!)

And I want to say there's more but I don't remember. So just watch the episode dears! I'm real bad at summarizing.

test journal

Sat, 20 Dec 2008 20:09:53 GMT

test journal

for lj-cut

LALALALLALALLALA PIIIEEEEEE

IT WORKED!? SO NO PREVIEW OR GO TO ENTRY THINGIE!?

CRAPPERS MAN

CRAPPERS

Fanfiction time~

Wed, 01 Oct 2008 22:08:25 GMT

Yo nonexistent readers! After that weird Wall-E post (which I still love like crazy) I've decided that I might as well take advantage of this, and shamelessly advertise my fanfictions.

Mostly Soul Eater for now.

How to Deal?

His eyes were what drew her in.

MakaxChrona

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4569099/1/How_to_Deal

The First Time is Never Easy

A tied up and gagged man was laid down before Chrona. It was her first easy human kill.

Chrona centric

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4569119/1/The_First_Time_is_Never_Easy

That's all folks~

Wall-E

Sat, 28 Jun 2008 04:51:58 GMT

Okay, I don't care if anyone doesn't read this.

I NEED A PLACE TO RANT. BAD.

Oh...my gawd.

I.

LOVED.

WALL-E.

Best animated film Pixar has made since Finding Nemo (and Ratatouille...and Monsters Inc...and more, but I'm just trying to reach farther back).

Reasons to love:

(1) Important message about consumerism and the fate of our planet.
(2) Innocent, sweet, and painful romance that involves a lonely Wall-E and an emotionally hollow Eve (but eventually comes around).
(3) The future of humans. Though painful to look at, you can't help but laugh a little.
(4) Amazing animation as expected of Pixar.
(5) Wall-E! Come on, the little robot makes you want to hug your binoculars!
(6) The drama! It's not over the top, it's just right for me. The scene where the SPOILERScaptainstandsupeventhoughhe'sobscenelyobeseSPOILER was dramatic with a comedic flare. Also, Wall-E has to be the sweetest. I love his love struck eyes when he looks at Eve; it's like a devoted man's eyes when he's in a serious relationship (uh, yeah).
(7) It's really funny. Maybe not OMGMYSIDESARESPLITTING, but the slapstick humor fills in the void of any dialogue and really fits.

Reasons to dislike:

(1) If you're tired of the enviromental message, maybe it's not for you.
(2) Your type of genre. It's sci-fi, but not like Star Wars sci-fi. It's just a very plausible future.
(3) Maybe you liked a different movie better.
(4) It's a kids' film (though still very mature).

Those aren't really reasons, but possibilities why people might not like Wall-E. Like, I liked Juno but my friends didn't because they didn't like how the actors talked (which isn't so accurate, but we do that) and maybe just the whole idea of pregnant girl and blahblah...I still like/love the film, it's really good and it's realistic). I keep going "whatthehell'syourproblemGRAAH!" but then, I don't like Twilight and most of my friends do (that or they didn't read it yet. It's not a good book people; read something by Sarah Dessen, she's much better. That ain't no perfect romance if the boyfriend blames the girl for doing things HE did.).

The following are spoilers, so if you want to watch the movie and haven't, STOP. The stuff above are ones that could be picked up from the trailers.

So first, Wall-E. Must I say again? I LOVE THAT ROBOT. He's like a love-struck 5 year old (who gets pierced and electrocuted by the auto-pilot and then crushed, much to Eve's distress). He does seem more human than everyone else (with the exception of the two people who finally stop looking at their screens and realized that they actually have a pool in their ship, and fall in love with each other while watching Wall-E and Eve dance, which was an amazing scene.).

Eve is adorable. I love her laugh, it's so...it's just the kinda laugh that tickles me. It's so adorable. I find it funny she's larger than Wall-E, but oh well. She changes from an unemotional...well...robot to a more human (actually, should i say human? It's like defining a fact that humans have feelings and other things don't.) and loving robot. She even ignores her mission (retreiving the plant and taking it back to the captain) to help Wall-E who was nearly killed (eh...permanately shut down) by the auto-pilot. She's sleek, she's clean, she's shiny, and she can fight.

Their romance? Adorableness just oozes from the screen. That one scene where she watches the security camera footages of Wall-E accompanying her and taking care of her, and how she slowly started to fall (or sorta refall) in love just made me want to squeeze the living daylights out of my cheeks. And again, Wall-E's love-struck look made me go aww (and how he saw her. No wonder he's so love-struck she looks really nice in that foggy view). The scene at the end where Wall-E just lost all of his memories and it's like the tables were turned. Eve trying to put some sense back into him while he just continued with his duty (his precious collection! The poor cockroach. Only this movie can make a cockroach look cute.). And then their second "kiss" (it's more like a little static shock between them, but his reaction the first time was so cute). What I love the most is the innocent romance. Yes, I'll say it again and again, the innocence. The most they wanted was to hold hands, though not the same as two people holding hands, but the concept is there. That part was so sweet and I was holding back tears (since I was with friends and it would be embarrassing to come out bawling like a baby).

And I continue.

Wall-E seems to just spread his love everywhere. From that weird robot with the eye who he waved to (and then waved back feverishly later) to the cleaning robot who was just the thing that saved them from disappearing into space. He brought a whole new character into the monotonous life of the robots (seen by the cleaning robot who actually GASP, went off his line!). One of my favs was the massaging robot who just broke down security robots until he was panting like crazy (weird). Even to people he spreads his love. Like the first person who actually noticed that there was a pool was an obese lady whom he accidentally interrupted her convo (he was trying to get to a sleeping Eve and he accidentally cut off her signal with the floaty screen thing). Then she gets another guy to notice that the same robot was spinning around in beautiful harmony with Eve, and then ROMANCE! And then splashing in the pool, doing something with their feet besides wiggling.

And of course, the captain's triumphant realization. He was the one who started to become facinated by the past Earth, so much that he tried to go back, only to find out that the Earth was destroyed by years of continuous abuse (ahem, like today!). Of course, when realizing that finally, a plant that was growing after 700 years = Earth was habitable again. Then the epic battle between him and the auto-pilot. Though he can't pronounce manual right, he's pretty quick to act and perceive.

The movie ends in a hopeful note, showing a mass of plants that had grown in Wall-E's absence (or maybe they were there before and he just wasn't around there). Wall-E regains his memory and with Eve they share a tender moment (that makes you wonder how can robot love be so adorable?!).

I totally recommend this movie, as it does convey a VERY important message (seriously, we need to act. I know we can't live without electricity, but this is just the beginning. Hell, I can't live w/o the internet (for lotsa reason, I'm an anime fan living in the US), but we need to try to reduce our consumption and make use of public transportation (which I realize is harder in the US, because it's a bigger country than places like Korea or Japan where going across the country would just take 3-4 hours by subway). Also, this movie has a great romance story involved. It's not overbearing, just right, especially being a kids' movie. Sometimes we just need to be reminded that the most important thing for a couple is each other's precense, not the physical stuff, but the emotional.

Sun, 20 Apr 2008 00:24:01 GMT

That last on was fun =) took a long time, but fun.

I wonder if anyone will actually read my stuff *day dreams*...

The next one is...

Chi's Sweet Home

Image from photobucket

Chi is a kitty who got lost from its (apparently, Chi is female as I found out through forums, in which one person said its gender was alluded to be female) mommy. She ends up in a park and collapses, probably from exhaustion, and then the fated meeting begins. A little boy, Youhei, comes running in and falls on the grass in front of Chi. The parents come and finds the pair staring at each other face to face.

Chi wakes up to find herself in a comfortable bed and a strange place with even stranger people. It's the apartment of a family. Dun dun DUN.

Now you'd think it's all dandy fine here, but there are two problems. First, the family can't keep the family, due to the fact that their apartment doesn't allow pets. So they keeping Chi in their apartment is breaking the established rule. Second, Chi misses her mommy. Of course, anyone who got lost from their mother and was suddenly picked up by strangers would feel depressed.

Each episode is just a little glimpse into the family trying to accommodate from the kitty and find it a new home, and Chi's continual attempts to get back home and pee all over the place. Eventually, Chi learns to use a litter box, the family decides to keep her (and name her Chi, which she responds to, and which means pee), and Chi becomes more and more at home with the family.

The series is popular among little girls and middle aged women, or housewives basically. It's a wonderfully adorable series that pulls at your heartstrings.

This series is SO cute, you'll be going AWWW every second. And each episode is only 3 minutes. The manga chapters are about 7 pages long, and I can't find any readily available english scanlations. If anyone has a source, please share! Or at least tell me it's being published here. I'm suffering from Chi withdrawal...

Taking it Easy: Slice of Life

Sat, 19 Apr 2008 00:50:58 GMT

I've always wanted to write up recommendations and get all insightful in stuff (It's a Friday and I just finished a huge research paper for English. I'm running on 3.5 hours of sleep, not bad compared to my friends who had 1 hour of sleep, 1.5 hours, or just didn't sleep at all. Anyway, I need to do something unproductive now or I'll scream). So I present my own anime recommendations starting with a simple genre: slice of life.

Slice of life. A common setting is high school, a time where kids are finding their paths in life and staying up until 2:40 am trying to finish a damn English project. The slice-of-life animes I've watched contained large amounts of humor, but underneath that humor lies deep sentiment and values that could make your heart ache or make your heart swell with happiness.

I start with...

Honey and Clover

One of the best selling shojo titles (or was it THE best), Honey and Clover centers around the lives of five art college students.

Our main protagonist is Takemoto Yuta (The one in the grey sweater), age 19 at the beginning of the series.

He falls in love with Hanamoto Hagumi, or Hagu (The young looking blonder girl in the middle). A pedophile he is not; Hagu is 18 at the beginning of the series. She is a prodigy in art, her abilities ranging from simple sketches to large statues made of clay or wire.

Her caretaker is one of the art college's professors, Hanamoto Shuji, or Shuu-chan. He treats her like his own daughter, he bringing her away from a life of confinement after her grandmother's death. He often thinks back to his college days, back when he lived with two other people, one a good friend, and the other his friend's girlfriend and eventual wife. That story ends with a tragedy.

Other characters would be the ever so crazy Morita Shinobu (the guy on the left). Another prodigy as well, able to draw amazing paintings with soy sauce and carve detailed statues out of gold. He also starts to fall in love with Hagu, but the way he expresses it is...different (he basically chases her with a camera and props, and posts those photos online for money). He would disappear for days at a time, even months, and come back with some kinda "souveiner" and a large wad of cash in his back pocket. Though the silliest character, he is also one of the most mysterious. Watch and you'll see why.

Mayama Takumi (the guy on the bike) is another student and the first to graduate among the characters. He is the most responsible of the group, and a stalker of some sorts. He is in love with Harada Rika, a woman who became crippled after a car accident which led to the death of her husband. His love for her is genuine, where it's not for her looks or status (she and her husband were very well known), but his time spent with her.

Yamada Ayumi (the only other girl, the one with long straight hair) is a progidy pottery student and very popular among the male population of the college. She is in love with Mayama, a one-sided love. She is the center of much of the drama that occurs in the series. Yamada loves Mayama, but he doesn't love her back. She's stuck in cycle of emotional conflict, her tears seemingly endless. Interestingly enough, she is close to Morita, in the sense that they are like each other's sibling. When she cries, he's there to listen.

So after that long, long intro, what makes this series so likeable? Loveable even?

For me, it's the delivery. Every episode is like a painting. It's soft and gentle, but powerful all the same. The added narratives that the characters say (mostly Takemoto) are like poetry that really brings out the feelings of the characters. What makes them special are the rare ones. By rare ones, I mean narratives made by Hagu and Morita. I remember where Hagu's was, but I forgot Morita's. It's almost never known what these two characters are feeling, which makes them so interesting.

Honey and Clover emphasizes on togetherness, but also has the ominous feeling of times where separation is imminent. In the end, we will all go off on our own paths, away from our friends and family.

That's where "Honey and Clover" comes in. How?

You just gotta watch this beautiful and unique series =). Both seasons. Or at least read the manga.

Phew, that took a while. I'm gonna like...go. =D I might post another journal (AGONY FOR ALL) on One Piece. I need to explain the appeal for that one.

The Beginning of the Beginning of the Beginning...

Tue, 15 Apr 2008 04:27:02 GMT

LJ! Whoopiewhoop~

I tried making one a while ago, but apparantly I was under 12 (I was 14). Now it accepts me.

The hell.

Anyway, this journal isn't for my deep inner mind. No, it's for my stupid ramblings and--HA, like I'll let poor people like you suffer through that.

Ignore my horrible humor.

As an anime fan, I've always wanted to comment on stuff and crap like that. I also like to share. Cuz sharing is caring~ however that song went.

I wonder if anyone will bother reading this? Oh well. I can just write stuff like...

...

I can't think of anything. See, this shows how creative of a person I am! Yeah...

So let's see where this goes. I think I might end up abandoning this thing after...1 hour. =D hmm....