Hey ya'll. I've been thinking about posting some stuff for a while now but I'm so protective of my writing considering I write very much with an intent to publish. So this all is just little things I do when I'm bored to get the juices flowing. It ranges from totally random, to fanfiction ideas, to character studies (especially with abandoned rp chars to keep them fresh), to new ideas. I'll post regularly...hopefully.

Also, feel free to post in here and tell me which ideas you like. Anything you want to see me continue? Even if you don't want to give a real comment, do let me know if you've stopped in here to read. I'm curious if people come in here.

Kat

(wrote this today based on a picture...possibly from a manga? Calvin is a disenfranchised character.)

Russo grabbed Calvin’s hand and dropped to his knee. Calvin shook as a cold washed over him. He wouldn’t...he would do such a thing, would he? Calvin convince himself that he didn't see the coming scene. But then Russo did. “Will you marry me, princess?”

Calvin’s eyes went wide. Even though he expected it, the shock of hearing such words sent his mind into a numb panic He was a man. Oh dear god, he was not a princess. Calvin stood there frozen, a look of horror going by unnoticed on his face. Dear god. He kept opening his mouth but he couldn’t make words come out. Suddenly, Russo brought Calvin’s hand to his lips. The warm wetness sent a thrill all the way down to Calvin’s toes and he snapped.

“Don’t touch me! I’m not a princess and I’m definitely not yours!” Calvin yelled as he yanked his hand away. He held it to his chest as if holding diseased flesh. Russo’s smile faltered, but only for a second. He stood up slowly. Calm motions, as if to balance out the storm playing inside of Calvin. He wanted to back away, but he couldn’t do that either. Somehow, he couldn’t run away from Russo because there was something in his eyes. The warm brown filled with love and acceptance was what scared Calvin most.

“It’s okay. I’ll make you fall in love with me, Cal. You’ll see...one month and you’ll say yes.”

“And if I don’t?” Calvin whispered.

Russo’s smile turned a little sad, but it didn’t falter. “Then I’ll leave you alone for good.”

Calvin nodded. He found himself relaxing slightly because in one month, this entire hell that Russo had made his life since the year started would finally be over. The was no way Calvin would ever become someone’s princess. Russo was insane and that was the end. Good bye, no love. Russo stepped forward and pressed a kiss to Calvin’s lips. Then he was gone, out the door without a second look back.

(Also written recently based on a picture. Jex and Ashton are the main couple in my novel Janus. Marea is the woman who ditches Ashton at the altar in the prologue and she never really comes back in the story. I felt like writing her side of it. There's probably no room for it in the novel itself.)

Snow drifted down to her hand and she felt her mind wander. This wasn't like rain at all, though she understood rain was only warm snow. How could snow feel so dry? The white spots collected in her palm and caught on the fine hairs of her arm. All down her raven colored hair, the snow added to the natural star studded appearance she was born with. God-given, blessed. God's kisses were the snow, so why did she feel so alone?

Marea's hand dropped against the lace of her bonding gown. Her glass slippers didn't slip on the marble swirls in the path, but she felt herself tilting forward anyway. Just an illusion...no, this was all a dream. She thought Ashton was the one, but then she saw him in his bonding clothes with the knife and ring and it all fell apart. She knew she hurt him, but she could not complete the ceremony when it would be a lie. Her own bondmate lay elsewhere and his did as well. One day, he would be grateful, but today they would both cry. As the tears prickled in her eyes, she turned and ran.

(Been meaning to update this. And I should be shot for posting such useless and short things. )

The door lies just behind me. What lies beyond the door though, is all a mystery. Won’t you play with me? Hop, skip, just a little roll. Watch the blood drain slowly. Isn’t it beautiful. I swear--I’ll whisper it in a child voice--that no harm will come to you. Because really, isn’t this fun? I’ve worn this dress for one century so I’m sorry if it’s turned a little pink. White you say? Well I am innocent like this white, white skin of mine. I’ll hold out my hand and you’ll come. You’ll see, when your time comes you will take my hand and together we’ll go through the door.

So, let’s play for a while first. You are after all...

...My dolly.

(Based on my novels, Eclipse. It's not a romance story, but in my head...I think if these two were together at the final moment, this is how the scene would go. We'll call it...fanfiction of my own writing.)

We Share the Same Ground

Stratous stared at the other boy as he circled slowly. Terro’s hair shone red in the light of the eclipse and he accented the look with a flash of teeth. Each slow matching step they took bought them just a bit closer. When the blazing black mass sat behind Stratous like an extravagant neon sign, he stopped. “This could be our last chance be together like...this.” An arc of lightning danced out of his hand. He half smiled with his long blonde hair sweeping in the gathering breeze. Half serious, half challenge. Terro answered the look with a smirk and ground his foot into the ground enough to create a ripple of aftershocks.

“You mean this could be our last time to find out who’s the most powerful?”

Stratous answered with a far more serious look. “If that’s what you want.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Terro complained, a pout growing on his lips. He dropped his heel down into the pavement, cracking it. “You’re the one who started this all. Who’s better? Who’s a stronger person? If you want to say something else, come out and say it. I don’t know why you always say things in such a half-assed way!”

“Seriously?!” Stratous snapped his arm out and a faded bolt of light lanced through the sky. Already their powers wavered with the merging of the two skies. One second, Stratous gathered electricity on his fingertips, a second later, cold weakness seeped into him. Without the power of the element in him, what would he be but a frail youth? A sigh ghosted over his lips and the tension dropped off of Stratous’ shoulders. He stuffed both hands into his jacket pockets. “I mean that we will lose the forces after this. No more lightning. No earthquakes. The marks on our bodies will disappear along with everything that has defined our lives this past year. In a few hours we will be different people, so I thought...” Again he couldn’t bring himself to finish the words he really wanted to say. Fists clenched in his pockets, he turned his eyes away.

Terro closed the distance between them in a second. He whispered only three words. “You’re freakin’ retarded.” He grabbed the taller boy’s chin roughly and pulled him down. Their lips crashed together. Stratous’ eyes went wide, but Terro didn’t even pause. His hand held the slender blonde in place as he thoroughly kissed those pale, chapped lips. After a minute he pulled back and lifted his golden eyes to stare into Stratous’ nearly red ones. The baffled face, eyes wide with awe, and his stilled breath said he didn’t understand.

“Shit.” Terro stepped away with his face warming. He raised an arm to pull at his hair as much as hide half his face. Why did Stratous have to make him feel self conscious like that? They’d been spiraling toward this moment since the day they met and here they were, on the same plane, able to touch and feel, and knowing it wasn’t a dream. How could Stratous be so dense? “We’re not different people and never will be,” he ground out. “Face it. You’re just upset because you’re gonna to be stuck in the same world as me!”

Finally, Stratous’ face broke out in a smile. His laugh hit the wind so that Terro found himself grinning too. Stratous reached for Terro’s hand and for a second, he just held it. With all of the delicateness of a teenaged brat in love for the first time, he kissed Terro on the cheek. Surprisingly, the thrill of touching sent an entirely different kind of electricity coursing through him. If that was the case...

“That would be stupid. Because I could never hate being in the same world as you.”

Hello. Hello. Stopping by to have a look.

aw really? Thanks for stopping by!

(It's been a while since I put anything here. As much as I love this, I have no idea what to do with something written in 2nd person.)

You never thought much about the why’s. That just wasn’t the way you did things, or rather, you just did them. And you didn’t mind that. You’d come to accept that there were no good answers long ago, maybe ten years past, but you have a hard time remembering times exactly.

This story started when you were seven. Even though you don’t talk about it (you tried once, to a therapist, and were deemed troubled), you think often of the events that happened that day. With your spiderman backpack, you were just prancing home from a night at your friends house next door when you found the door to your own house locked. It shouldn’t have been at 8am. Your mom always rose early and that made you love her even more.

But, being seven, you didn’t think much about it. You just rang the doorbell. It echoed along the halls inside, up the stairs, then back down them and outside to you. It seemed as though it didn’t reach anyone’s ears but your own. The house was a big one, so there were a lot of echoes to hear.

“Mommy?” Your voice was weak even to your own ears. It was nothing like the music of your mom’s even if her voice had a bit of a rasp. Nor was it the pure power of your father’s, though his voice always camouflaged it’s power in softness.

No one answered the door.

And in a way, that’s how the story ends. No one ever answered the door. You’re sure that the reason everything after that is a blur, until almost a week later, is that you were seven. It’s a pretty good excuse anyway. You’ve heard often enough that the memory of a child is a fickle thing.

But you are not seven anymore. Perhaps you’re twenty-five, or six. You never were good at time and with no one else in your life to celebrate birthdays with, you just lost track. Your head gets too filled with all these jumbling thoughts. Which are the real ones, which are not? Untrue thoughts, now there’s an idea. As you sit on the church’s steps, you ponder that for a good long while.