We're All Mad Here, Dear Alice

I'm pretty sure this journal is on its last legs...

2009-08-22T05:02:45Z

Seeing as how I forgot my password and all when I finally tried to log back in (over what, like a year after my last entry?). And my email's been switched around like, twice in the interim. Seriously, I don't know what to do with this account, it's just sort of...here. Not doing anything.

/random weirdness

Is Fun Time Now, Yes?

2008-06-25T17:00:32Z

My brain is going. Seriously. I made reservations for tickets to Dracula the night I work. The tickets were like, $45 and non-transferrable, non-refundable. Whee. :D

On a happier note, I think I might finally be busting through my writer's block. I have a whole four paragraphs of the next BB chapter down and have even found the will to start streamlining the next IMR chapter. It's not /great/ writing and it's going slowly, but after like a month and a half of nothing, I'll take what I can get.

Have been incredibly anti-social lately (partly as a side-effect of frustration with writing block woes) and apologize. Am thinking about uploading some more original fic here as well as fictionpress.com. (Am also apparently incapable of writing more than sentence fragments.) Any thoughts?

Oh Snap

2008-05-26T03:52:57Z

Ho shit, I found my password again! Can't promise I'll be all that active, but I will make an effort to keep on top of these things better, I swear. Too many accounts....

sa_dem @ 2007-08-28T22:17:00

2007-08-29T02:54:55Z

Writer's Meme: Sometimes it's ok to pimp yourself out. Post a list of your top five favorite fics you've written, regardless of fandom or the reason you love them. This isn't about the BEST thing you've written, but what you LOVE the most. Then tag five other people to do the same.

Seems like tooting my own horn, but okay, here we go:

Title: Among Friends
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Pairing: Axel/Roxas
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It was Roxas's first time, and the sun was shining through the open blinds.
Notes: We all know fanfic's such serious business; this was just my way of poking gentle fun at how passionate people sometimes get about their OTPs. And poking fun at myself, as well, because this pairing is far and away my favorite and the one I'm endlessly obsessed with.

Title: Closer
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Pairing: Axel/Roxas friendship
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Axel pushes him away, and Roxas pushes back.
Notes: I honestly can't say why I like this fic so much, but I do. Axel and Roxas don't function well without each other in my head, and I think getting to explore Axel falling apart after Roxas left and being almost violently opposed to him trying to come back into his life strikes a chord somewhere for me.

Title: Rape Me
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Pairing: Demyx/Axel
Rating: NC-17
Summary: ...
Notes: This was really my first time trying to write outside my comfort zone in this fandom. The idea of a slightly darker, more aggressive Demyx was too tempting to pass up - and several of you have listened to (and joined in on) my complaints about strict adherence to seme/uke stereotypes.

Title: Rhythmic Heartbeat
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Pairing: Zemyx
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He keeps falling in and out of Zexion's life.
Notes: This fic was inspired by Suzaka's Wanderer. The idea hit me over the head at something like two in the morning, and I dragged myself out of bed long enough to pm her and ask for her permission to use the concept. I just liked writing the way their relationship progressed in this fic, and writing the entire thing in the present tense was something different at the time.

Title: Waiting
Fandom: Kingdom Hearts
Pairing: AkuRoku
Rating: R
Summary: They promised to meet in the next life but they have to find each other first.
Notes: As much as I sometimes complain about this fic and as much as I sometimes get honestly intimidated at the feedback and reader response, I have to say I'm proud of this little monster. I've learned a lot working on it, and watching the way it's grown beyond what I originally envisioned has been a thrilling and sometimes almost frightening experience.

I tag:
chiiaroscuro
slytherinette

I would tag thru_violets, but she tagged me first. So I guess I tag anybody else who'd like to do this.

sa_dem @ 2007-07-31T00:06:00

2007-07-31T04:10:48Z

I have literally no idea where this came from. I was just trying to work past my writer's block, I swear. Many thanks to thru_violetsfor letting me freak out at her during the writing of said fic.

Title: Power Struggles
Author: sa_dem
Pairing: Marluxia/Axel/Demyx
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: sex, threesome, pwp - yes, again

Cross-posted to khyaoi

Three can play this game...

Linkses!

2007-07-29T02:52:02Z

Latest KH fics:

Untitled: http://community.livejournal.com/khyaoi/1144803.html

Your Precious Lies: http://community.livejournal.com/khyaoi/1145511.html

Yeah...that is all. XD

Linkses!

2007-06-27T12:26:05Z

Just the link for my latest KH fic. I went out on a limb here. >.>

Title: Pain
Author: </a></font></b></a>sa_dem
Pairing: RoxasRiku, implied AkuRoku, implied one-sided RikuSora
Rating: R
Warnings: sex
Summary: Riku can't even pretend.

For SKF, because she's great fun to talk to and because the way she writes Riku owns my soul. I did so many things with this I swore I'd never do, first and foremost implied one-sided RikuSora. But if SKF can step outside of her comfort zone and write me a truly beautiful fic with my favorite pairing, I can try and do the same with one of hers. Hope it doesn't disappoint.

Pain

Bring on the angst!

2007-06-25T05:44:57Z

Still exploring Matthias and Da'an's backstory. None of this is necessarily concrete - I'm playing fast and loose with the timeline here, methinks - but it's all in the service of characterization. Or something. The actual story, should I ever develop the characters and world enough to start it, actually takes place quite a few years after these little snippits. That's my excuse, anyway, and I'm sticking to it.

Rating: R
Warnings: violence, language

Matthias wiped his hands absently against his vest, trying to wipe away the stickiness of the blood. The merchant had looked like an easy mark – sweating heavily in his fine silk, cheeks round and soft, water-fat, he’d seemed the ideal target. Matthias hadn’t expected the finely crafted dagger he’d pulled from his sash, or the expertise with which he’d handled it.

Still, where the merchant had experience and righteous anger, Matthias had desperation and the knowledge that he could not die yet. Matthias had slipped the bloody dagger into the money pouch and left the alley at a sprint.

A cry of alarm went up behind him. Cursing, Matthias increased the length of his stride, keeping his head down as he cradled the soft leather against his stomach. A troop of armored patrolman jogged toward him, and Matthias ducked into a doorway blindly, blinking at the woman grasping a basket of laundry in her hands. She looked into his eyes and froze.

Matthias reached for the dagger, pausing when he spied the child tied to her back. Narrowing his eyes, he grasped the handle, ignoring the way the woman was trembling, throat straining with the effort to scream. As he advanced on her, she stumbled back, the first shriek ripping its way past her lips as he slashed at her face, slicing a shallow groove into her cheek. As she raised a hand to staunch the blood, he cut the cloth tying the boy to her back, slipping past her when she dropped the basket to catch her child.

Blood singing in his ears, he crashed through the back door into the small alley, slipping the blade of the dagger between his teeth as his fingers flew over the wall, searching for chinks and holes with which to drag himself to the roof.

The money pouch was too heavy. Cursing, Matthias dropped it to the ground, grabbing up a handful of coins and shoving them blindly into his pocket before he began to scale the wall, hearing the booted footfalls of the city watch close behind him. He cleared the edge of the roof just as the first patrolman crashed through the splintered door into the alley. Not waiting to see if they noticed him, Matthias flew across the rooftop, leaping blindly as he reached the far edge and rolling when he collapsed onto the roof of the next building. Every part of his body screamed at him in pain, but he scrambled to his feet and tore on, the edge of the dagger cutting into his tongue and lips as he bit down in his panic.

The taste of blood in his mouth only spurred his desperate flight, and the sounds of pursuit vanished behind him. Breathing heavily, Matthias descended to the street again, wiping the dagger against his sleeve with a grimace before carefully slipping it into his sash. Sighing, he reached for the medallion, swearing when he remembered he’d left it with Da’an. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he scuffed his feet along the ground as he entered the slums once again.

Jareth’s eyes all but disappeared beneath his angry brows.

“Can’t I send you out even once without you returning covered in someone else’s blood?” he demanded, digging dirty nails into Matthais’s skin as he dragged him further into the shop. Ignoring Matthias’s cry of pain, he struck him across the face, gripping the teen’s chin in his hand as he peered at the bloody ruin of his mouth. “What in the seven hells did you do, boy?” he asked coldly.

Wincing, Matthias tore his face out of Jareth’s grip. Turning his head to the side, he spat a mouthful of blood onto the dirty floor, wiping the back of his hand against his mouth as he eyed Jareth resentfully. Digging the dagger out of his sash, he held it out for Jareth’s inspection. “What can you sell this for?” he asked, words slurred at the edges. Jareth’s eyes widened before they fell closed, and the grizzled merchant rubbed tiredly at his temple.

“You want to act like a slum rat?” he asked, his voice bitter. He lashed out, catching Matthias across the face again, following him when he stumbled back. The dagger fell to the floor, forgotten. Jareth wrapped a bony hand around Matthias’s shoulder, slamming him into the wall with more force than he looked capable of summoning. “Is that what you want Da’an to grow up to be?” he demanded, holding the boy in place as he hit him again. “Is this what you’ll teach him? To steal, to kill, to take what you want with no regard for anyone else?” He curled his fingers in Matthais’s dark hair, jerking the teen’s head up as he brought his face so close Matthias could smell his rotten breath. “Not in my house,” he hissed, shaking Matthias once more before stepping back.

Breathing heavily, Matthias slumped to the floor, curling into a ball and wiping absently at the blood on his face. Jareth watched him dispassionately. “Fuck you,” Matthias wheezed, spraying blood from his lips with every word. Scowling, Jareth knelt in front of him.

“Listen, boy,” he said coldly. “I gave you Vaan, because it was something that needed doing, and it was your right to do it. But this –” He broke off, gesturing at the dagger lying on the ground. “I will not tolerate this. Not when you have your brother to think of. Not when you’d risk your life for something so small.” He reached out and gripped Matthias’s chin in his hand, forcing the boy to look up at him. “Never again, do you hear me?”

Matthias’s eyes drifted from Jareth’s face as he nodded sullenly, and Jareth released his chin. Pushing himself up wearily, he winced as his joints popped, his violent energy departing as suddenly as it had come. “You won’t stop,” he chuckled bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know why I keep you.” Turning his back on him, Jareth limped back into his private quarters.

Matthias remained slumped against the wall for another moment, listening to his breath whistle past his torn lips before he stumbled to his feet, dragging a hand through his hair as he tried to wipe the blood from his face. Feeling light-headed, he swayed toward the small room he shared with Da’an, batting the hanging aside and waiting for his eyes to adapt to the shadows.

Da’an’s mattress was empty.

Matthias blinked at it mutely for a moment before he withdrew from the doorway, rubbing one hand against his temple. He glanced in the direction of Jareth’s room, but quickly decided against seeking help from the old man. Rubbing a knuckle against the bruises forming on his face, he stumbled back outside and craned his head toward the sky.

He couldn’t see anything, but he began climbing anyway, his fingers less sure than they usually were, fighting to ignore the ringing in his ears. Finally, he pulled himself onto the roof with a groan; lying flat on his stomach, he panted softly as his eyes settled on the small form of his brother. Da’an didn’t react to his presence.

Biting back another groan, Matthias shoved himself up on trembling arms and crawled forward until he was beside Da’an; drawing his legs up under him, he leaned back on his hands as he studied his brother from the corner of his eye.

Da’an was regarding the horizon blankly, hands locked around his ankles – the guts of some sort of animal spread on the roof in front of him. Matthias’s stomach turned, but he choked back the nausea, striving to keep his tone light as he addressed his brother. “Hey.”

Dark, hollow eyes settled on his face, but Da’an gave no other sign of recognition. Matthias’s gaze flinched away from the mark on his brother’s face, and Da’an’s fingers twitched. Catching the movement, Matthias turned back and met his brother’s empty gaze. Reaching out a hesitant hand, Matthias laid it gently against Da’an’s scarred cheek. He had to swallow twice before he could get the words out.

“I’m sorry.”

Da’an’s expression remained blank for another second – then he threw himself forward, locking his arms around Matthias’s waist as he buried his face in his chest. The deepest sobs Matthias had ever heard tore their way out his shaking form, and Matthias wrapped his arms around his brother’s trembling shoulders, trying to shut out the wails.

His throat tight with guilt, Matthias buried his face in his brother’s dark hair, rocking him wordlessly. Closing his eyes, he managed to hum soothingly, trying to calm Da’an’s cries. He couldn’t keep him here – he couldn’t provide for him, couldn’t keep him safe. As Da’an’s hoarse wails echoed across the rooftops, Matthias’s eyes turned to the desert, barely visible on the horizon.

Moar Original Fic!

2007-06-22T03:35:10Z

Another little ficlet set in the same world as the last one, but with unrelated characters and a different setting. Just trying to expand and solidify things in my mind - the whole process is still in the very early stages of development. I'm having too much fun here, I swear. Again, concrit appreciated.

Title: Untitled
Author: sa_dem
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: violence, sex

Ariadne tilted her head back, trying to mask her disgust as she peered over the shoulder of the man pinning her to the wall. No one had entered the alley behind them. The sun-baked bricks dug into her back as the drunk traveler breathed heavily against her neck, groaning as he trailed sticky kisses along her throat.

“Are you sure your master won’t notice your absence?” he half-growled, trying to capture her mouth. Ariadne turned her head to the side, quelling a grimace and trying her best to ignore the erection she felt prodding her thigh. The drunkard’s sweaty hand fumbled with the ties to her garments, slipping beneath the light cloth of her shirt to paw at her bare breast. Ariadne swallowed hard and arched up against the sweating foreigner, ignoring his appreciative moan as she slid her fingers beneath her decorative armband. A hazy figure appeared at the mouth of the alley, and Ariadne sighed silently before she trailed her fingers through the man’s sweat-damp hair.

“He won’t notice,” she promised, sliding a hand down to cup his cloth-covered cock. The man groaned hoarsely, releasing her breast to fumble for the tie to her pants, and Ariadne slipped smoothly away from him as the newcomer slammed his fist against the base of the man’s skull. The drunkard dropped to the ground without a word.

“Are you all right?” Calinth asked, brow furrowed. Ariadne nodded, tying her shirt closed before she knelt and felt for a pulse below the traveler’s fleshy jowls. He still breathed. Her fingers dropped and began undoing the fastenings of his money pouch, but Calinth’s calloused fingers closed over her wrist, drawing her gently to her feet. Stepping over the man’s prone body, he loosened her clothing’s bindings, brushing the light cloth aside and running a finger over the impression of the man’s teeth on her shoulder.

“I’m fine, Calinth,” Ariadne murmured, reaching up and laying a hand against his cheek. Calinth’s pale eyes studied her unwaveringly.

“Why didn’t you wait for me to return?” he asked quietly, sweeping an errant lock of dark hair back behind her ears. “Your sign had almost been wiped away by the time I noticed it.” Ariadne smiled and glanced down at her unfortunate mark.

“You don’t refuse a gift the Gods dump right into your lap,” she chuckled softly, slipping out of his hands and kneeling beside the unconscious man once again. She held up his money pouch, heavy with coin. “The fool kept it open when he paid his tab,” she grinned. “Brass roones by the hundreds, silver dinari – even a few gold zithers, Calinth.”

“If I hadn’t returned in time,” Calinth insisted, falling silent when she exposed the thin blade concealed in her palm. Standing, Ariadne cupped his face in her hands.

“No one but you,” she murmured, reaching up and kissing him lightly. “Never anyone but you, Calinth.” Sighing, Calinth wrapped his arms around her, smoothing a hand over her hair before he knelt and helped her strip the man of his jewelry; rings and bracelets disappeared into cleverly sewn pockets and the money pouch was stashed in his rucksack.

They left the man where he’d fallen.

No one paid any attention to the two bondsmen who left the alley a few minutes later, bickering softly about the price they’d paid for a loaf of bread.

Ariadne stretched, arching her back and making a small, pleased sound in the back of her throat when her spine popped. Relaxing again, she settled back against the warm wall, head turned to gaze out at the setting sun. Calinth came up behind her, pressing a cup of mulled spice wine into her hands as he sat beside her. Ariadne smiled in thanks and brushed his sandy hair away from his forehead, trailing a finger down the side of his face.

“What are you doing?” Calinth asked, smiling. Ariadne lifted one shoulder in a shrug, taking a small sip of her wine.

“Looking at you,” she murmured, tracing the line of his brow. Calinth caught her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her palm.

“I’m not so interesting,” he grinned, setting his cup aside. Ariadne tossed back the rest of her wine, allowing the cup to roll unheeded further into the room. They met halfway, lips parting and tongues dancing against each other, and Ariadne wasn’t sure if the wine she tasted came from her own lips or his. Calinth’s sky-blue eyes slid closed, and Ariadne’s heart ached as she slid a hand into his pale hair.

Calinth had not been born a bondsman. He’d shown her, once, using a well-preserved map in Aulius’s library, where his homeland lay, far to the south. Ariadne was illiterate, but even she knew he had traveled an immeasurable distance to find his way to her. He had started the journey chained to ten other fair-haired men. Seven had survived the long journey over the open water. Only Calinth had survived the trek through the southern wastes – the inhospitable desert that stretched for miles between the sea and Kilimar, where he’d finally been sold into Aulius’s household.

Where he had found her.

Ariadne had been kissed countless times, and she’d been forced to spread her legs almost as often, yet when Calinth had pressed a gentle kiss against her temple after finding her curled in a corner crying, it had meant more than any of them.

Ariadne’s dark fingers worked nimbly at the ties to Calinth’s shirt, and Calinth shrugged it aside as he worked a hand beneath her blouse. Ariadne’s nails caught on the uneven scar tissue of Calinth’s back as he cupped her breast.

Aulius had been amused when they’d been brought before him after being caught together. Cupping Ariadne’s chin in one hand, he’d smoothed her hair out of her face as he assured he understood – after all, Calinth had such beautiful eyes.

Members of his house guard had held her down as Aulius whipped Calinth with a flagellum until the skin of his back hung in ragged strips.

For weeks after, Ariadne had treated the raw wounds with acetum and whatever potions she could palm while in the market.

For months after that, she would rest Calinth’s head in her lap as she laid poultices against the bruises Aulius always left on his pale skin.

Ariadne wrapped her legs around Calinth’s waist as he settled over her, letting him nudge her head to the side as he pressed gentle kisses along her jaw. She arched up against him as he entered her with one sure thrust, biting down gently on her earlobe.

Her breathy gasps were the only sound in the crumbling room.

Aulius had been reeling with too much wine that night. He’d used Calinth until he bled, leaving the man in a pale heap on the covers as he sent for more food. Ariadne had been the one to bring it. In his drunken stupor, Aulius had thought it clever to taunt her with what he’d done. Ariadne had taken the slim needle tucked in her sleeve and forced it deep into his eye, watching dispassionately as her master screamed and writhed on the floor before finally lying still.

No guards came running. They were used to hearing screams echoing from their master’s chambers.

Ariadne had forced the potions she’s lifted from the market down Calinth’s throat, smoothing his hair back from his face until they took effect. They’d never looked back.

Ariadne dangled her bare legs over the window ledge, delighting in the cooler evening breeze. She’d wrapped a clean blanket around herself, not wanting to bother with finding her scattered articles of clothing just yet. Behind her, she heard Calinth trying to light the small oil lamp. Finally, the wick caught and he moved to sit beside her.

His pale fingers slipped beneath the edge of the blanket, and he pushed it down far enough to allow him to press a kiss against the bruise the drunkard had left on her shoulder. Ariadne smiled and ghosted her lips over his temple.

“We can’t stay here.”

His voice was quiet, but Ariadne couldn’t help the small frown that tugged at her lips. “I know,” she whispered, gazing out at the lengthening shadows.

“We’ve been blessed not to be caught before now,” he continued, staring up into the sky. “It wouldn’t do to try the Gods’ patience.”

“Will you try to go home?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light. Calinth’s smile was wistful, but he only brushed her hair back from her cheek, a few stray strands falling free and tickling her jaw.

“No,” he said softly. Ariadne closed her eyes at his tender expression. There was silence until Calinth spoke again. “Where would you go, if you could?”

“Rabat.”

Her immediate answer seemed to surprise him, but she only smiled and tangled her fingers with his. “Do you remember? You showed me once.” He nodded, expression serene.

“In the library. I didn’t think you remembered.”

“It’s a free city, isn’t it?” she asked, and she couldn’t keep the wistful longing out of her voice. Calinth glanced at her, surprised, and she raised a hand and brushed self-consciously at the small gold ring set high in the lobe of her left ear. “They say the women of Rabat clip their ears because they think it’s fashionable,” she murmured, toying with it until Calinth drew her hand away.

“It’s a long way,” Calinth said quietly, turning her face toward him. A soft smile ghosted across Ariadne’s face.

“You’ve traveled farther.” Calinth paused, a wry grin spreading across his lips.

“All right,” he breathed, leaning forward to kiss her. “Rabat.”

Original fic!

2007-06-20T04:04:40Z

So, yes. This is actually just a small part of a much larger story that's been slowly forming in my head, and which I may or not actually do something with at a later date. I would really appreciate constructive criticism, as I haven't really played with a world this extensive of my own making in quite a while.

Fic title: Untitled
Author: sa_dem
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: graphic violence

Matthias ran a hand over the back of his neck, grimacing when it came away soiled with a combination of sweat and the dust that clung to every exposed piece of his skin. Wiping his hand absently against his pants leg, he curled a little further into himself, brushing his sweat-damp bangs away from his forehead.

The bar was stifling, almost oppressive in its sweltering heat. A large windstone erected against the far wall stirred the stale air. It was an impressive stone – nearly twice the size of a man, it must have taken a master cutter to free it from its surrounding bed. But it, like its surroundings, had seen better days – the sluggish current did little to allay the choking miasma of smoke and heat.

Matthias gazed longingly at a tall mug of spice beer a serving wench settled onto the table across from him. His hand dipped into his money pouch before he could stop it, and Matthias swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way his tongue cleaved to the top of his dry mouth and hating the effort it took to pry his fingers open and leave the small collection of brass roones unspent.

He had more important things to attend to than his thirst.

Keeping his face down, he studied the bar’s patrons from beneath lowered lids. His fingers twitched when he heard the man’s voice at the door, and he wiped a deliberate hand over his face as the bastard swept the colorful hanging aside and entered, laughing at something one of his companions said. As the small party settled at an empty table across the room, the dark-eyed man – Vaan, from what Matthias had been able to learn – stood on a chair, clapping loudly to draw the attention of everyone present.

“Friends! Tonight is a good night,” he beamed, teeth a brilliant white against his dark skin. “And so that you might think so too, I will buy every man here another round!” A general cheer went up from the surrounding tables, and the man’s smile widened – causing the knife wound cut into his left cheek to ripple and the half-healed skin to tear open in some spots. Matthias saw the man wince. He hoped it hurt like hell.

A buxom tavern girl plunked a full mug of ale before Matthias, but he averted his face until she left, then deliberately poured the drink onto the baked clay floor. No one noticed. His fingers slipped into the folds of his sash, tracing the worn lines of the medallion he usually wore at his neck; he had removed it to enter the tavern – it would’ve been too easily recognized here.

Matthias’s heart knocked painfully against his ribs as an armored patrolmen swept into the bar. Though he had rubbed coal dust against his skin to give it a darker cast, he wasn’t confident his disguise would stand against close scrutiny. And he was finished if the man got a close look at his face. Pushing himself up from the table, he kept his eyes trained on his dusty boots as he made for the door. The patrolman glanced at him as he breezed past, his eyes slipping over the lithe teen – and then his gaze snapped back and rested on the back of Matthias’s head with all the intensity of the desert sun.

Matthias forced himself to keep a steady pace as he left the tavern behind, hands stuffed in his pockets as he stared dreamily at his feet, seemingly so wrapped in thought he was barely aware of his surroundings. He maintained his lazy pace until he turned into the alley behind the tavern. Throwing a covert glance over his shoulder, he sprang into action when he ascertained nobody had followed him. Sprinting to the back wall, tan fingers – which would never be dark enough, no matter how much he allowed the sun to beat against his skin – felt for the small chinks in the dusty bricks, invisible to the naked eye, that provided just enough leverage for Matthias to pull himself up the wall and onto the roof. He’d barely pulled himself over the ledge and tucked into a roll when he heard footsteps at the mouth of the alley.

Laying flat against the warm tiles, Matthias breathed shallowly through his mouth as he strained his ears for the sound of the soldier’s footfalls. The patrolman’s leather armor whispered against itself as he moved further into the alley, and Matthias dug his fingers against the chipped tiles, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath until he thought his lungs would burst. Finally, when the rushing of blood in his ears masked his ability to hear his pursuer, he let out his breath in a near inaudible sigh. As his heartbeat receded back into a soundless rhythm, he tilted his head back against the tiles and listened.

He didn’t hear a sound from the alley.

Carefully rolling over, Matthias slithered toward the edge of the roof on his stomach, finally peering down into the alley with one eye. The patrolman was gone. The tension left his body so rapidly that Matthias almost lost his balance; scrambling back from the edge of the roof, he choked on a hysterical laugh, pulling his knees into his chest as he muffled his relieved curses.

As his breathing finally settled, Matthias leaned back on his hands and considered his next step. He wasn’t giving up that easily – he still had blood to pay.

The sun had long since receded from the sky when Vaan and his small company left the tavern, weaving and singing bawdy songs. Matthias unfolded himself from his perch on the roof, limbs tingling with the sudden movement after such a long period of inactivity. His eyes narrowed as he watched the merrymakers stumble their way through the crowded street.

The knowledge of what they had been celebrating sickened him.

Trembling, he felt for the medallion, choking back the anger as he followed their drunken path from the rooftops, staying low and fast. His sandaled feet raised small clouds of dust, but there were no other signs to betray his movements. Finally, Vaan broke away from the other two, veering into an empty alley to relieve himself. Matthias paused, muscles singing with latent energy, waiting until he was sure his companions were continuing on without him. Vaan fumbled with his pants, laughing and crooning to himself.

Matthias moved.

His feet connected solidly with the ground, and he crouched to absorb the shock of the landing, springing forward a second later as his fingers closed over the hilt of the dagger he’d hidden beneath the ragged hem of his pants. Before Vaan could turn to face him, Matthias grabbed the man’s jaw in one hand, jerking his chin up as he sliced a neat path from below his left ear to his right collarbone, cutting deeply enough to sever his vocal chords. Vaan collapsed with a breathy gurgle; Matthias stared down at the limp form, Da’an’s delirious screams echoing in his head, remembering all the blood, so much blood –

His fingers tightened around the dagger as he dropped to his knees and flipped Vaan onto his back. He wasn’t done yet.

Vaan’s eyes widened in surprise and fear as his lips pursed, trying to form words, but blood only gurgled in his ruined throat. Matthias smiled coldly as he pressed his fingers around Vaan’s right eye, forcing the lid open. Vaan tried to scream, and a fresh curtain of blood spewed from his wound. Clenching his thighs around Vaan’s waist, Matthias ignored the dying man’s struggles as he removed first his right eye, then his left, damning the man’s spirit to wander blindly for all eternity. He cut out his tongue so that he could spread no more lies. He castrated him because he could.

Breathing heavily, he stepped back as Vaan’s body twitched and convulsed in the last throes of life. Wiping a bloody hand against his equally bloody vest, he let the dagger slip through his fingers. Watching the bastard gasp out his last ruined breaths wasn’t as fulfilling as he’d thought it would be. Instead, he felt strangely…empty.

“Murder!”

Matthias’s head snapped up at the cry. One of Vaan’s companions was standing at the mouth of the alley, face twisted in disgust at the grisly scene before him. When his eyes met Matthias’s, his features morphed into an expression of absolute terror. “Demon! Devil!”

Cursing, Matthias knelt and grabbed up the dagger, throwing it even as he began climbing the wall – the man stumbled back as the steel blade caught him in the throat, grasping at air as he fell. Adrenaline sang through Matthias as he hoisted himself onto the roof and began to run. He’d only meant to kill Vaan, though his friend had probably been far from innocent. He’d been celebrating with them, had probably been there – at the least, he had stood by and let it happen. At the worst, he had held the boy down while Vaan committed the foul deed – and he’d probably laughed while doing it.

Cool wind sang through Matthias’s dark hair as he navigated the sprawling rooftops with ease, ears peeled for sounds of pursuit from the street below. Only after he was beyond the inner wall did he descend to the streets again, winding through the maze of decrepit buildings with a confidence borne of familiarity. No one raised a call of alarm. No one even looked up at a boy barely old enough to be called a man tearing through the streets in blood-soaked garments. Still, Matthias entered several blind alleys and double-backed twice before he entered the back door of the run-down shop.

He was greeted with a sharp cuff to the face.

“Fool of a boy!” Jareth seethed, striking him again and knocking him to the ground. “What in the seven hells possessed you to do such a thing?” Matthias scowled up at the grizzled merchant, smearing a sticky trail of blood across his face when he rubbed at his sore cheek. “It was taken care of!” Jareth continued, his bushy white brows drawn so low over his dark eyes they almost disappeared beneath them. “He would’ve been dead tomorrow!”

“It was a personal matter,” Matthias growled, pushing himself up on one hand. Jareth looked ready to strike him again, but he contented himself with sweeping a pot from its shelf. Matthias flinched as the jagged pieces of clay scraped against his leg.

“You have too much pride,” Jareth snarled, fisting a wrinkled hand in his wild hair. “It’ll get you killed one day, and then what will happen to Da’an?” Matthias’s eyes darkened in anger. Catching sight of his expression, Jareth planted a swift kick against his ribs. “Don’t look at me like that,” he glowered. “Dead is dead – that should be enough for you. If you won’t think of the boy, I will.” Incensed, Matthias stumbled to his feet, one arm wrapped around his body.

“Don’t tell me I don’t care about him,” he seethed, leaning against the crumbling wall. With fingers that trembled slightly, he dug the small phial out of his pouch. Jareth’s eyes widened at the purple liquid sloshing against the crystal walls of the container.

“Where did you get that?” he asked softly. Matthias let his head fall back as he struggled to draw a deep breath.

“I went…into the market,” he gasped. Jareth’s expression fell as he took the phial from Matthias’s fingers, and he suddenly looked old and careworn.

“Fool of a boy,” he murmured. “If you’d been captured…”

“I wasn’t.”

Jareth didn’t answer; turning away from him, he ducked his head under a dirty door hanging and disappeared into the next room. Sighing, Matthias followed. The room was small, lit by two oil lamps set on either side of a reclining figure. Jareth dropped stiffly to his knees. “How is he?” Matthias asked, swiping his hair out of his face.

Da’an was lying on a thin mattress with a ratty blanket spread over his thin form. His brow was damp with fever and one pale hand was curled in his filthy bedding; the other skittered across the floor, as if searching for something solid to cling to. Matthias settled on the floor beside him, slipping the medallion from his sash and pressing it into his younger brother’s warm fingers. Da’an winced and shied away from him in his sleep when Matthias smoothed his hair away from his forehead, and Matthias’s anger rose again, hot and metallic in his mouth, at the sight of the raw skin blistered against the edges of the brand that had been pressed into his brother’s face.

Jareth uncorked the pungent medicine with his teeth, spitting the stopper into the far corner of the dirty room. Ignoring Matthias’s question, he carefully slid a hand under Da’an’s neck, lifting the boy’s head and carefully pouring some of the liquid into his mouth. Da’an swallowed automatically, and Jareth lowered him again, dipping his fingers into the medicine and carefully spreading it against the raw skin of the boy’s cheek.

Matthias frowned as the blistered skin faded from an angry, pulsing red and acquired the telltale shine of scar tissue – the brand had been burned too deeply into his brother’s skin for even the strongest potion to smooth it away. “How did they know?” he asked quietly, hands clenched tightly around his ankles. “How did they know we were blood?” Jareth shrugged wearily.

“It may not have mattered,” he muttered. “His skin isn’t as pale as yours, but it’s still noticeable – that may have been all they needed.” Da’an whimpered in his sleep and rolled onto his side, the medallion clutched tightly in his hand. “Go get yourself cleaned up, boy,” Jareth sighed, pushing himself slowly to his feet. “You stink of blood and worse.”

Matthias remained where he was for a moment, studying his younger brother’s profile silently. If the iron had slipped – if Da’an had tried to jerk away at the wrong moment – he would’ve lost an eye. As it was, the mark stretched from his left temple to his jaw line – it was the type used to brand chattel and ex-communicants. Matthias felt his pulse quicken again, but it quickly died away. He felt cold. Numb.

Pushing himself up, he stumbled back out into the street, swiping the dirty rag from its customary hook. Not caring that Jareth would probably strike him for using the drinking water, Matthias began to scrub the blood and coal dust from his skin, glowering at the pale flesh the water revealed. Stripping to the waist, he threw his bloody clothing into the street – the city watch never came this far into the slums, and the other residents certainly wouldn’t care about a few more articles of refuse crowding the gutter. As Matthias bent to rinse his face, he paused, suddenly striking the water to dispel the reflection of his muddy green eyes glaring back at him.

Clutching the edges of the barrel tightly, Matthias tried to choke back the sobs. It should’ve been him. He was the one with the unnatural eyes and the pale skin – he was the one marked as a demon and a devil among men. He was supposed to be able to protect Da’an, dammit; instead, his little brother had been held down, branded as sub-human, beaten, and left for dead. Matthias would never forget the sight of his brother, lying still as death, covered in so much blood…

“Boy.”

Jareth’s voice was quiet, tired, but Matthias flinched against the expectation of the fist flying at his head. The merchant stood in the doorway, wrinkled visage heavy with too many years. “Come inside.”

“It’ll never go away,” Matthias choked out. “Gods help me, that brand will never disappear. What will he do? How can I –?” He broke off when Jareth settled a wrinkled hand against the back of his neck.

“He’ll do what he can. And so will you.”

Matthias allowed Jareth to drag him inside, the merchant absentmindedly boxing his ears for dirtying the drinking water before he shoved him back into the room with Da’an. He reached out in his sleep, and Matthias wrapped his brother’s smaller, darker fingers tightly in his, curling into a ball on the floor next to him and letting his eyes slip closed in exhaustion.

sa_dem @ 2007-06-13T16:03:00

2007-06-13T20:42:06Z

I got interviewed by

thru_violets, and these are my answers!

1) ~~How does Waiting End~~ How do you get in the mood for writing?
~~I'm not telling because I'm evil like that~~. It really varies for me, actually. When I have absolutely horrible writer's block (like now) I eventually just force myself to write something, no matter how atrociously awful it is, to get the flow going and then go back later and clean it up. Sometimes I'll listen to a song on repeat that best represents what I'm trying to get across. Sometimes I get dragged out of bed by an idea and write the bare bones down so I can sleep.

2) What is it that got you into Final Fantasy/Kingdom Hearts fandom?
My own money - had to buy my own PS2 and games before things like bills reared their ugly heads. I'm a relative n00b in terms of Final Fantasy - I've only played from FFX and on, but FFX definitely got me hooked. While I loved the first Kingdom Hearts game, the thing that got me writing and trying to figure out the characters was the plight of the Nobodies in KH2 (and CoM, though I've never had a chance to play it). You know, just that slight little obsession of mine....

3) Jokes about eating them aside, how do you feel about children?
I actually like children - when they're not acting like complete brats and being defended by parents who'd rather be their child's friend than authority figure. ~~But that's a rant for another time~~. I especially like younger children. I was actually going to go in for elementary education before I freaked out and decided I didn't want to be solely responsible for 30+ children for an entire school year. I suppose the children I like best are relatives, because then I have the authority to smack them over the head and let them know they're being brats.

4) Ninjas or Pirates?
I have to choose? Isn't there some law against cruel and unusual punishment? If the pirates we happen to be discussing include Johnny Depp, then I'm afraid I must bid a tearful farewell to the ninjas.

5) What kind of books do you read?
Everything. Literally. I will try any book you shove into my hands. I won't always finish it or like it, but I'll give it a go. I read across the genres in manga (though my consumption has been brought to almost a stand-still by this pesky thing called budgeting). Authors I generally come back to include Dean Koontz and Stephen King (though I tend to prefer his newer works to the older stuff), and I generally read horror, suspense, historical fiction (Takashi Matsuoka has a brilliant trilogy on the clash of cultures when Japan opened itself to the world in 1861), young adult (Tales of the Otori is another excellent trilogy) - pretty much anything but 'chick lit' or romance novels. ~~We all know how fond we are of romance novels~~.

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will post the answers to the questions (and the questions themselves) on your blog or journal.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions. And thus the endless cycle of the meme goes on and on and on and on.

sa_dem @ 2007-06-09T08:05:00

2007-06-09T12:07:02Z

Ever have one of those days where you know you should've just stayed in bed? Mine's off with a bang - got dragged out of the shower before I could finish washing my hair when the water tank began leaking all over the downstairs laundry room. Such larks. =D

sa_dem @ 2007-06-06T22:50:00

2007-06-07T03:05:04Z

Notes: First posting! Prompted by the Kingdom Hearts Yaoi Pairing Generator. Demyx/Axel, with the prompt 'popsicle.'

Rating: NC-17

Rape Me

Demyx was bored.

Of course, being a Nobody, he wasn’t sure if it was technically possible for him to be bored, but it was certainly the closest approximation of boredom he could reach. Eyes trailing over the blank walls, he ambled through the twisting corridors of the Castle That Never Was without a destination in mind, arms crossed loosely over his chest. There was a time Zexion would have tracked him down and given him a stern scolding for frittering away his time in such a thoughtless manner, but the Schemer was no longer –

Shaking his head forcefully to drive the thought away before it could finish, Demyx frowned at the empty corridor stretching before him. Tilting his head to the side, he listened to the last echoes of his footsteps fade into nothing before he sighed, slumping forward and wiping a hand tiredly over his face.

He started and spun around when he heard the portal open behind him; Saix stepped out of the darkness, expression empty as always, but Demyx couldn’t help taking a very small step backward, away from the Berserker. “Number IX.” Demyx nodded, shoulders straightening under the Luna Diviner’s cold stare. Saix held his gaze for another moment before he spoke again. “Axel is still in Twilight Town. You’re to bring him back.”

Demyx hesitated, unconsciously tightening his hands into fists at his sides. “Maybe he just wants a little more time…” he offered hesitantly. Saix smiled mirthlessly.

“Bring him back, Demyx,” he instructed, brushing past the Melodious Nocturne and moving further down the stark hall. Demyx stared after him silently, gnawing at his lower lip. When Saix glanced over his shoulder, Demyx bobbed his head hastily and retreated into the darkness.

He was in Twilight Town in a matter of minutes, striding out of the darkness and smiling into the warm light flooding the top of the clock tower. He wasn’t surprised when he saw the shock of red hair and the familiar black coat; strolling over to the edge of the roof, he bent at the waist and smiled brightly at the Flurry of Dancing Flames.

The smile froze on his face before it cracked and crumbled.

Axel was leaning nonchalantly on one hand, eyes fixed on the horizon – a melting bar of sea salt ice cream clutched in one gloved hand. A large glob of the blue mess broke away as Demyx watched – he tracked its descent silently, watching as it splattered across the steps of the train station.

“What do you want, Demyx?”

Demyx turned his gaze back to Axel, noting the fever-brightness in his eyes, the painfully stiff posture. He sighed and shrugged, allowing a wry grin to slip across his features. “Mind if I sit?” Axel made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat – it wasn’t an out-and-out no, so Demyx settled himself carefully beside the redhead, eyeing the sticky mess in danger of sliding straight off the stick in his fingers. “It’s melting,” he pointed out, gesturing at the ice cream. Axel’s eyes refocused on the sludge at the end of the popsicle stick before he shrugged.

“Guess it is,” he muttered, a strained chuckle escaping him as he threw it out over the station steps. Demyx glanced down, but there was no one below them. “So what do you want?” Demyx ducked his head and grinned, glancing at Axel out of the corner of his eye. The redhead had wrapped one arm loosely around his knee, gaze focused somewhere among the rooftops of the town spread before them.

“You’re supposed to come back with me,” Demyx murmured, grin widening at the smirk that curved Axel’s lips.

“You know I won’t.” Demyx’s shoulders slumped as he sighed.

“Yeah,” he admitted, glancing up at the cloudless sky. “Yeah, I do.”

“So now what?”

“Dunno,” Demyx replied serenely. He laughed when Axel turned and cocked an eyebrow at him. “C’mon, Axel, you know I’m not the guy for these kinds of things,” he muttered, scratching at the back of his head. Axel’s smirk widened before he pushed himself to his feet.

“Well, if that’s all…” He turned back to the clock tower, stepping away from the edge of the roof.

“It won’t work,” Demyx said softly, catching the way Axel paused and stiffened in his peripheral vision. “What you’re doing – it won’t work.”

“Shut up,” Axel spit out, voice curiously flat and lifeless. Demyx ignored him.

“Even if you get him back – even if you defeat Sora – Xemnas won’t take Roxas back. Or you, if you do this.” He glanced over his shoulder at Axel’s back. “You know that, don’t you?” Axel snorted derisively.

“I don’t care,” he sneered, threading his fingers through his hair. Demyx tilted his head as he studied the tense line of Axel’s back.

“Really?” he murmured, almost to himself. Chewing thoughtfully at his bottom lip, he rose to his feet. Axel turned and regarded him with dull eyes, smirk still plastered across his face. Ignoring the small spits of flame dancing around the redhead’s fingers, Demyx came to stand in front of him. “Why?”

“Because,” Axel replied, smirk widening, “Roxas is the only one I like.” A small smile flitted across Demyx’s face.

“Oh.” Demyx tilted his head to the side, Zexion’s admonishments running through his head. “Even if you can’t feel?”

A flame flared to life in Axel’s hand, the heat causing sweat to bead across Demyx’s upper lip, but he didn’t step back. Axel grinned in grudging respect. “Watch me care about that,” he scoffed.

“Why Roxas?” Demyx mused, smiling a little at the scowl that darkened Axel’s features.

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, Number IX,” Axel hissed, eyes narrowing as his chakram flared to life in his hands. Demyx stepped back, his features pulled into a deep frown.

“Don’t act like you’re the only one who’s lost something,” Demyx snapped, scowling when Axel’s eyebrow arched and his customary smirk returned to his face.

“Still sore about that?” Axel drawled, letting his weapons fade and crossing his arms over his chest indolently. Demyx felt his hands clench into fists at his sides, the puddles of rainwater at his feet responding to his frustration, rising in silvery drops and weaving an intricate pattern in the air around them. Axel grinned widely. “You really wanna fight me?” he asked, and a flash of flame evaporated the droplets of water suspended in the air.

With a strangled cry, Demyx summoned his sitar – Axel’s eyes widened for a moment before he called the chakram back into his hands, swinging them from his fingers in lazy arcs. The Flurry of Dancing Flames didn’t try to move out of the way as the geysers sped toward him – he raised one flaming chakram and flung it at Demyx, allowing the water to knock him off his feet as he flung the second one.

Demyx knocked the first chakram aside with his sitar, calling up a wall of water to absorb the brunt of the second weapon’s blow before he swept it aside. Water clones swirled into existence, dancing around him and protecting him from the flames Axel flung at him. While the fire wielder concentrated on trying to break through Demyx’s guard, Demyx’s fingers flew over the strings of his sitar, and water broke over Axel with crushing pressure, forcing the Flurry of Dancing Flames to his knees.

Demyx paused, the water clones still moving fluidly around him. “Give up?” he asked, grinning. Axel chuckled as he pushed himself up; glancing up at Demyx with a wide grin, he cocked an eyebrow at him before he slammed his palm against the ground. Demyx frowned slightly before his eyes widened; he barely had time to glance down before a circle of fire sprang from the ground beneath his feet, engulfing him. The water clones evaporated and his sitar dissolved back into nothing as he screamed, drawing on the last bits of moisture in the air to protect himself from the flames.

When the fire died away, Demyx slumped to the floor, shaking. Glancing at Axel, he took a grim sort of satisfaction in noticing the redhead wasn’t in any better shape. “Well, that was pointless,” Demyx chuckled weakly. Axel grinned and pushed himself up on unsteady arms.

“Shouldn’t be so damn sensitive, Demyx,” he chided, running trembling fingers through his hair. Demyx’s eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t find the will to summon his weapon again.

“Shut up,” he growled. Axel only laughed as he stumbled to his feet.

“Why so defensive?” he asked dryly, coming to kneel before the Melodious Nocturne. “It’s not like you have a heart to miss him with.” Demyx tilted his head to the side, eyeing the redhead narrowly.

“What about Roxas?” he asked evenly. Axel’s visage darkened again before he abruptly leaned forward and pressed his lips to Demyx’s. Shocked, Demyx froze for a moment before he pushed the redhead back, wiping a gloved hand against his lips. “What the hell was that?” he demanded. Axel shrugged.

“Prove me wrong,” he grinned, leaning in again. “Prove you’re so damn devoted to his memory – tell me to stop.” He caught Demyx’s mouth again, raising one hand to cup the sitarist’s jaw as his lips worked insistently against Demyx’s own.

Demyx trembled under Axel’s touch, trying to draw away, but the redhead followed him, wrapping his hand around the back of Demyx’s neck to hold him in place. When he bit at Demyx’s lower lip, Demyx opened his mouth, closing his eyes and shuddering as Axel hungrily explored his mouth. God, this was wrong – Axel tasted wrong, he moved wrong, he even breathed wrong – but Demyx was only (almost) human, and he hadn’t been touched like this since Zexion had been destroyed.

His eyes sprang open when he felt Axel smirk against his lips. The redhead’s eyes were open, glittering with victory as he drew the zipper of Demyx’s dark coat down. Demyx’s mind went perfectly blank for a second – then Axel was stumbling back from him, choking on the water Demyx had forced down his throat. Springing to his feet, Demyx forced Axel against the wall, relishing the surprised grunt of pain as Axel’s back collided with the warm stone.

“You bastard,” he hissed, fingers fumbling with the zipper of Axel’s coat, pressing his lips against the redhead’s and forcing his mouth open. Axel remained too dazed to react for a moment, head lolling back on his neck as Demyx released his mouth and grazed his teeth along the redhead’s throat, finally tearing the Flurry of Dancing Flames’ coat open and pulling his shirt out of his pants.

Axel hissed in protest when Demyx wrapped a gloved hand around his cock – the leather was probably too dry against his skin, but Demyx only raised his head and sealed their lips together again, smiling when Axel bit at him impatiently. Demyx pulled the redhead away from the wall and pushed him to the ground, pumping and squeezing until Axel was arching into his hand, groaning. Demyx pulled away, eliciting a “Fuck no, don’t stop” from the redhead on the ground as he impatiently tugged at Axel’s shirt. Scowling, Axel sat up and pulled the shirt off, tossing it to the side and worming his way out of his pants. He reached for the button on Demyx’s pants, but the sitarist shoved him back down, massaging Axel’s inner thighs as the redhead spread his legs.

“I’m not a fucking virgin, Demyx,” Axel growled impatiently, reaching down and tearing Demyx’s pants open. As he dragged the sitarist’s pants down, Demyx wrestled himself out of his coat, tossing his clothes into a messy pile with Axel’s. Wetting his fingers with his own spit, he shoved Axel back down before he pushed them into the redhead, ignoring the Flurry of Dancing Flames’ strained moans as he spread him open. Axel’s expression was still tense, but he rocked his hips forward impatiently, pulling Demyx closer and throwing a leg over the blond’s shoulder. Demyx removed his fingers from Axel’s body and lifted the redhead’s hips before sliding forward with a soft groan. He only gave Axel a second to adjust before he pulled back and thrust in again, ignoring the way Axel’s fingers dug into his arms.

Demyx stared down at Axel, the redhead snarling obscenities at him even as he rocked his hips forward to meet Demyx’s thrusts, his nails digging into the sitarist’s back deeply enough to draw blood. He ducked his head as a slow smile blossomed on his lips, pulling Axel’s hips up and thrusting deeper until Axel arched up against him, coming into Demyx’s hand with a broken cry. Pushed over the edge, Demyx shuddered as he followed, the frantic jerking of his hips fading into shallow thrusts as he rode out the last waves of his orgasm.

Collapsing on top of Axel, Demyx rested his cheek on the redhead’s sweaty chest. He didn’t resist when he felt Axel’s fingers snake under his chin, allowing the Flurry of Dancing Flames to pull his face up for a hard kiss. “He didn’t mean anything to you,” Axel breathed, though the sneer was absent from his voice. Demyx smiled, pulling back and slipping out of Axel before he bent and planted a light kiss on the redhead’s temple.

“No more than Roxas means to you,” he murmured. Axel didn’t answer.