I Wanna Be Emo

coricomile @ 2007-12-26T10:48:00

2007-12-26T15:49:14Z

Title: Glitter in His Hair
Pairing: Matt/Jeremiah
Rating: R
Summary: He is a poster child for this party, this rave, and you want him more than the drugs in your back pocket.
A/N: Back from the dead, what?

He’s there, in the back, with glowsticks in his hands and glitter in his hair. There’s a gas mask, painted black and silver and red, hanging around his neck, thudding against his bare chest every time he jumps up. Dozens of candy-colored, beaded bracelets crawl up his arms, glowing in the blacklights. His lips are open, his chest pulsing with the off-beat rhythm of his breathing. A child-sized backpack, one shaped like a frog, is strapped on across his back. He is a poster child for this party, this rave, and you want him more than the drugs in your back pocket.

The music is blasting through the speakers, the floor vibrating in time to the bass. A nameless DJ is stirring the crowd up, her dreadlocks in her face and bouncing against her tiny arms. You can see the meth written in her cheekbones. There’s so many lightshows going on around you that you can almost forget you’re in an old warehouse, right outside of Chicago. Some kid in pants he could fit into three more times is working a pair of glowsticks on shoestrings in the center of a small audience, his small hands shades of purple-grey where the circulation is being cut off.

You skirt past him, eyes and ears and brain filled to the bursting limit with the noise of the colors around you. Your poster boy is bouncing up and down, his long legs kicking out in front of him in a dance that any kid can do, rolling or sober, and you can already smell the Vick’s that’s smeared inside that gas mask, even though you’re still so far away. You wonder if he’s already rolling, or just waiting for the party to pick up a little more. He’s got a pocket full of Blow-pop suckers and bottles of water shoved into the many pockets of his too-big pants.

There’s sweat hot on your back and neck, sticky and not all yours. The press of people around you, the gyrating, never still sea of arms and legs and glowsticks is familiar, and your confidence might be coming from the bong you hit before you caught the bus, or maybe it’s just the atmosphere, but you know you run this terrain. You know you can’t be stopped here, and you’re pretty sure you can get at least a blowjob out of this. Poster Boy’s got a nice pair of pink lips, and, from closer up, you can see the glaze over his eyes from the drugs. It might be too easy, but challenges were made for people who gave a damn.

You sidle up next to him, and the Vick’s scent is overpowering, right next to your mouth and nose. The glitter in his hair catches the blue and red and green lights flashing over your heads. You touch his wrists.

“Want a lightshow?” You have to yell over the music, mouth next to his ear, even if that means rocking up a little to make yourself taller. He nods, and hands over his glowsticks. You have a pair in your back pocket, but touching his hot hands is a better way to start out.

And maybe you’ve practiced your lightshows at home with deadened sticks from a party long past, but they get the job done. Poster Boy’s eyes are wide, his face still, lips jut a little slack. The movement of curling your wrists and fingers feels good, the barely there heat from the glowsticks familiar in the best of ways. The DJ’s playing a happy hardcore mix, and Poster Boy’s hands are twitching in time, the rest of him staying put for the end of the lightshow. He’s had more than one hit, and your task is getting easier by the second.

“Show’s over, Poster Boy.” You hand him his sticks back, curling his fingers over them. That’s how he’ll introduce himself later, at the next parties. You’ve given him his new name, and you know it by the way he looks at you.

“Jeremiah.” His voice is hoarse. He’s been yelling.

“Matt.” You hug him, the usual greeting, and you can feel that his heartbeat is skyrocketing.

There’s dancing, and backwards glances, and touching that’s only half inspired by drugs. He’s talking to you in speed-tinted words, jumbling them together, voice vibrating as he bounces around. At some point, he’d pulled one of the suckers from his pocket. The white stick is glowing between his lips.

There’s a DJ switch. You press against Jeremiah, your shirt sticking to his arm. He pulls the sucker from his mouth, staining the center of his lips strawberry red, and you smile. His lips taste like Vick’s smells, mixed with the sweetness of his sucker and the bitter twist of melted drugs on his tongue.

Your fingers are twisting in the frayed straps of his ridiculous backpack, pulling him closer. The glowsticks in his hands are making indents on the back of your neck, his bracelets sticky with sweat. The music’s vibrating up between the both of you, and you have to admit to yourself once again that you wouldn’t give up raving to save your life.

Jeremiah’s cheeks are mottled red and pink, skin almost hotter than the damp air around you. You pull him toward a pair of stairs, rusty filthy things, and he stumbles over his own feet trying to follow. Both of you crash into the iron. The stairs are pulsing in time to the bass on the speakers.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know you should be working a build up to this. That it’s too easy to take advantage of some kid with a drug cocktail sitting like a bomb in his stomach. And, as Jeremiah’s big, warm hands slip under your shirt, you wonder if he’d be this easy if he were sober. Grabbing a handful of his hair, you remind yourself that it doesn’t matter.

Poster Boy’s throat is pink-red under the straps of his gas mask. You dig your teeth into one of the marks, sucking the salty skin like candy. He’s making noises that hum under your mouth. You’re hard, and he’s pressing his hips against your side, and the two of you are back in high school, groping behind the bleachers.

You lean back against the iron stairs and undo your pants with one hand. He’s still kissing you, and you think that you would want him to wear the gas mask if you had somewhere to fuck him. Instead, you settle on pushing him down onto his knees, burying your hands into his hair. The glitter sparkles in the strobe lights.

And Jeremiah’s sucking your dick like an old pro, letting you move his head back and forth, hands braced on the stairs for leverage. You shamelessly fuck his mouth, watching his pretty face contract the few times he gags. It’s quick, and you can feel the orgasm coiling in your stomach sooner than you’d like, but there’s people heading your way, and you know can’t let it drag out much longer.

Jeremiah’s face is flushed, lips slick with spit and cum, cheeks damp with sweat. He pulls himself up, leaning against you for support. The neon lights flashing around you are distracting, and your head hurts from the music and knocking it against the stairs a few minutes ago. You pull the little bottle of drugs from your back pocket, shake it in front of Poster Boy’s face. He opens his mouth, and you drop on happy little pill inside. Not that he really needs it. You take the other one, cringing at the bitter taste.

“I’ve got to go.” Jeremiah’s breath is hot on your ear. “Nice meeting you.” He grabs your hand and lops his fingers through yours. Quick, practiced, he slips one of the candy-colored bracelets onto your wrist and grins. Your hands are covered with glitter.

It’s not until later, when you’re dancing again, your glowsticks making your arms glow green and blue, that you really look at the bracelet. It’s pink and powder blue and candy orange, and homemade by the knot that sticks out. A strobe light flashes, and you see the tiny numbers written in permanent marker. A phone number. You laugh, and it might be the ecstasy making you giddy, but it gives you a new reason not to kill yourself that night.

coricomile @ 2007-08-07T22:11:00

2007-08-08T02:11:54Z

Title: Sandstorm
Pairing: Vaan/Balthier
Rating:PG-13
Summary: And Balthier wondered if, given enough time away from the desert sun, Vaan would be more like him.

Vaan's cheeks felt too warm against Balthier's fingertips, his skin dry and wind-worn. His bleached out hair looked unnatural against the skyline as the Strahl flew through the sky cities, his skin too dark against the pallor of Balthier's arm laying across his stomach.

And Balthier wondered if, given enough time away from the desert sun, Vaan would be more like him. Leaner, no longer required to travel long distances by foot, fighting the entire way. Paler, closer to the sun, but away from the heated waves. More, if he dared to think of himself that way anymore, aristocratic?

Would Vaan's body temperature sink down to the same level as his? Would he become overheated in the barren temperatures of the Giza Plains instead of complaining of the chill? Would the heat that radiated from him die away to that of an average person? Would that even be possible?

Would the smell of sweet cactus blossoms still linger in the soft spots behind his ears, the tender crook of his neck? Or would the stale, clinical smell of the sky penetrate through? Would he no longer taste like a sandstorm in the heat of the night?

Balthier pressed his lips to the smooth line of Vaan's jaw. He still smelled of desert grown cacti and ever raging sands. Vaan smiled a little, bemused, and turned his head to the side, brushing his lips against Balthier's. Balthier pulled him closer, held him tighter, pressed their bodies together. He could feel Vaan's lips curl up at the edges, hear the beginnings of a laugh to young to belong in his bed.

Hot, broad fingered hands, free from their daily metal cages, rested on Balthier's back, their heat bleeding through his shirt. Baltheir pulled back for a moment, eyes narrowed, feeling the heat-stamp being left behind. He studied the slight sunburn over Vaan's cheeks, the hiding freckles underneath the tan.

"What're you doing?" Vaan's voice was the same dry, crackled thing it always had been, silenced down to a whisper. Balthier patted Vaan's cheek and smiled faintly.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep." Balthier kissed the furrow between Vaan's eyebrows, ignoring the confusion written clearly across his face. Vaan shook his head, his lips parted in the beginning of a word before he thought better of it. Baltheir guided him to rest once again against his chest, fingers curling in Vaan's hair.

He would tell Fran to sidetrack them to the Westersand in the morning. It wouldn't do to let his little sandstorm fade away.

coricomile @ 2007-07-14T17:52:00

2007-07-14T21:54:03Z

Title: Nickles and Dimes
Pairing: Fred/George/Ron
Rating: R
Summary: You knew that you were only theirs on the surface. Knew that, underneath everything, they would choose one another over you. And, most of the time, you were okay with that.

You knew that you were only theirs on the surface. Knew that, underneath everything, they would choose one another over you. And, most of the time, you were okay with that. You were okay with watching them speak to each other in their own silent language of eyes and twitches of the corners of the lips and faint flutterings of fingers, leaving you out in the cold. You were okay waking in the morning alone with only the distant sounds of their voices as company. You were okay with it because you needed them more than anything else in the wizarding world, and if that's what you had to put up with, then so be it.

You knew that, at night, when the three of you crawled into the rickety bed in the tiny apartment abouve their shop, you were theirs. You knew they loved you then. They loved you with their hands, similar but for the varying scars, loved you with their lips against your skin and their eyes, the same blue as yours. You were their in-between, the separator of their bodies, always trapped in the middle like a barrier. And you refused to have it any other way.

You refused to relinquish Fred's fingers in you hair, refused to give away George's lips pressed to your throat. And you knew they were thinking of each other, of bodies different from your own. You knew that, if their twisted little morals would let them, they would be here without you, tangled up in one another, rutting like animals. And you refused to let it cut your heart out. You battled it like a disease, unrelenting as poison.

You knew that there could never be anyone but you to be this buffer between them. You knew because only you had the same cut of red hair, the same sun riped, freckled skin, the same basic build. The same perverseness that had led you to this, to their bed. And so you didn't worry. You didn't fret over the coming school year, when you would be miles and miles away, stranded at Hogwarts without your life support, because you knew that only you could fill the space between them. Knew that they couldn't find anyone to replace you.

And when holiday breaks would come around, you knew that the Burrow would be empty but for Ginny and your parents. Knew that your mother's heart would break because you couldn't be taken from this London apartment for any longer than absolutely needed. And that part of you inside no longer cared. It was dead, left behind the moment Fred's slick, hot mouth had pressed against yours, the moment George's hands slid around your waist to grip your hips like a lifeline. And you had let your loyalties die along with it.

And, maybe, just maybe, you didn't care any more. Maybe all you wanted any more was your brothers' hands leaving finger-shaped bruises on your hips and thighs and wrists. Maybe all you wanted were the sharp pains of teeth digging into your throat and chest, the little bruises that lasted for weeks. Maybe you didn't want to think about the war that was going to kill your best friend. Maybe you didn't want to think about how the one truly powerful man you had known and looked up to had been killed almost easily. Maybe you didn't want to think about where the war was going to leave you once you were found. And, maybe, just maybe, you didn't want to think about how utterly alone you were without Fred and George.

You knew it wasn't going to last forever. That, someday, they would step over that final line and you would no longer be needed. You knew, and you tried not to care. Tried not to think about it. And if you felt your heart break every time Fred looked at George in the quiet, peaceful way of his, or every time you caught sight of George's thin palm resting on Fred's shoulder, well, so be it. You could deal with it. Because, even if you were their only on the surface, they were yours, inside and out.

coricomile @ 2007-03-29T11:53:00

2007-03-29T15:54:08Z

Title: Fool For Love
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: R
Summary: Betrayed. Beaten. Broken.

Blood. Oh his hands, in his hair, on his tongue. Blood staining his ancient hands red, red, black. And, oh, it was sweet. Sweet revenge. Sweet redemption. Bittersweet agony and fear and lust and betrayal. Betrayed. Beaten. Broken.

There was earth-rocking pain in his head, electricity picking apart his brain. He roared against it, his throat tearing in ways it hadn’t for decades. For a century. His voice breaking his own ears. There was the charge of lightning in his skull, ricocheting around and in and destroying something that had become a part of him.

There was a pair of brown eyes staring up at him blindly. Brown, brown, bloodshot. Dirt in a red sea. Smart mouth that never knew when to stop hanging slack. Muscles torn from stomach and bicep o lay on the floor. Dead heart in his hand. Red, red, black.

He was drunk on the taste of a human lover’s blood, lustful for this body that had been destroyed. Real love isn’t brains, children. Grey matter sprayed over the walls. It’s blood. Red, red, black. Blood screaming inside you to work its will. Betrayed. Beaten. Broken. Insane. In love. In denial.

In tears.

coricomile @ 2007-03-05T12:11:00

2007-03-05T17:12:11Z

Title: Digital Loop
Rating: PG
Pairing: Roxas/Sora
Summary: This belongs to you.

The world was dark. There were no lights from shops or houses, no late-night tram running. Twilight Town was silent in its sleep. Roxas kicked a stone into a wall. The echo was deafening. A bird flew from its nest where it had been disturbed, crying only once. There was no stir from anything else.

The Sandlot felt empty without Seifer’s presence, lonely without the crowds just waiting for a Struggle match. There was a soft sound of the grass bending gently under Roxas’ large, clunky shoes as he walked. A ringing sound took up place in his ears to clear out the silence.

He had a destination in mind, somewhere, in the back of his head. He let his body guide him, taking in the scenery that he had seen hundreds of thousands of times before. It all looked so different in the dark. So translucent and unreal.

His legs were sore from a practice match with Hayner earlier that day. A long patch of gravel burn ran from ankle to mid-calf from a good swing the other boy had gotten in. It had taken them over an hour to comb all of the pebbles out of the raw skin. Olette had scolded both of them for at least twice that.

A glitter of silver caught his eyes when he had come to the center of the tram common. He turned to it and followed, his gait leisurely and calm. The silver thing floated and shined ahead, always just in the distance. Roxas trailed behind it like an old friend.

A warm breeze ruffled through his hair, his bangs tickling his forehead. Roxas ducked under the hold in the wall of the common, his feet sinking into the soft soil of the woods. For a long while, he stood there, looking from tree to tree, noting that the sides of his vision were fuzzy in a digital sort of way. The fuzziness grew as he walked closer and closer to the mansion.

The outskirts of the mansion were covered in a thick, white fog, only the building itself clear. Roxas ignored this for the moment, his attention focused instead of the wisp of silver that had just slipped into a crack by the mansion’s door.

Roxas’ palm was shocked by the cold of the door handle, his arms straining against weight that had never seemed to be there before until, finally, the doors gave way with a loud groan. A cloud of dust exploded in his face, and he sneezed three times before he could take a step into the foyer. Through them, he saw the silver thing slip into a room on the side. He followed to the basement.

The basement was a dark, damp thing that held an old chill. A blue green glow came from the corner of the room- a computer with many monitors. Before it stood a young boy, no older than sixteen, his face washed out to an unnatural white.

“Who are you?” The boy looked lost, confused. His hand was held out at his side, and Roxas knew what he was doing. His own palm tingled, and, then, he felt the weight of the keyblade falling into his hand.

“Roxas.”

“Why do you weid the keyblade?”

“Because it won’t leave me alone.” Roxas tightened his fingers around the hilt, letting the blade rest harmlessly against his leg. “Why don’t you have yours, Sora?”

“How do you know me?” Sora’s fists were clenched, one foot defiantly in front of the other.

“I don’t know.” Roxas couldn’t look away.

“Do you live in this world?” Sora stood straighter, looking around himself, as if for the first time. Roxas nodded. “Do you know the way to Destiny Islands?”

“I’ve never been anywhere but here.” Roxas’ stomach was turning, and he knew Sora was why he had been called from his sleep. He knew Sora had been the one haunting his dreams. “I think… I think we were supposed to meet here.”

“You feel it, too?” Sora, one hand curled in a loose fist against his heart, finally looked up far enough to meet Roxas’ eyes. And they both knew, then, somewhere deep inside, who they were. Roxas took the first step forward. Sora met him in the middle.

“This belongs to you.” Roxas touched his lips to the other boy’s, pressing the keyblade into Sora’s palm. He let go.

When he pulled away, he was home again, waking from his bed to follow a strange silver thing that had woken him. His flesh buzzed, his lips tingled. And he didn’t know why.

coricomile @ 2007-02-18T15:59:00

2007-02-18T20:59:49Z

Title: Plastic Cup Politics
Pairing: Roxas/Seifer
Rating: R
Summary: "You're mine for three hours." Seifer kicked the auto-timer again. Roxas clenched his teeth at the numbers. They had been pre-set. Seifer had known without a doubt that he would win. "Starting now."

The back of Roxas' head cracked into the brick wall behind him. His vision danced and blurred from the impact, and his hands instantly balled up into fists against an opponent he couldn't see. Big hands fisted his shirt and lifted him up until the tips of his shoes were all that touched the ground.

"Get off!" Roxas shook his head a few times to clear it, angering as he saw Seifer below him. He kicked at the other boy's stomach, clumsy with dizziness. Seifer shook him once.

"Shut up, loser." Seifer dropped him down heavily onto his feet. The soles of Roxas' shoes didn't absorb the shock, leaving his legs stinging and sore. One of the big hands was still pressed into his chest to keep him against the wall. Roxas felt the sneer that was building up on his lips before he could check it. Seifer shook him again.

"Is the Disciplinary Committee into beating up kids for the hell of it now?" Roxas checked over the other boy's shoulder. Alone.

"Don't act innocent, lamer. You're always guilty of something." Seifer held his head higher, looking down over the arch of his nose and into the coldness of Roxas' glare. After a moment, he spoke again. "I'm not here to beat on you-"

"Are you sick?"

"-Unless you give me a reason." Seifer smacked the side of Roxas' head with his free hand- open- as a warning. Roxas swore quietly when his teeth sank into the vulnerable flesh inside his lower lip. He lifted a hand to his mouth, slipping a finger in to check for blood. Seifer was quiet. Roxas toyed with the new wound for a moment, awkward.

"...Am I your hostage or do you have a point?" He dropped his hand back down to his side and bit back the urge to sigh. "Or did you just feel the need to make me bleed?"

"Do you ever shut up?" Seifer looked down the alley, toward the Usual Spot. Roxas followed his example. No Hayner. No Pence. No Ollette. Alone. "I've got a challenge for you, and 'no' can't be your answer."

"Thanks for the opt-out." Roxas shoved the hand off of him, coldness sinking into his skin from where the warm skin had been. "What is it?"

"Struggle. You. Me. One game." Seifer crossed his arms, head bowed down.

"For?" Roxas was waiting for the catch.

"I'll tell you when you lose."

"Then why would I want in?" Roxas felt uneasy under the boy's heavy stare. He shifted from one foot to the other, his hands jammed into his pockets for lack of anything better to do with his hands.

"Because if you win I won't smear Hayner into the ground for smashing up the foyer of the old mansion in the woods." There was a self-satisfied smirk on Seifer's lips that made the blood in Roxas' veins run cold. His heart skipped a beat, stomach clenched.

"...That's not fair." He balled his fists up again, blunt nails scraping his palms. Seifer laughed.

"I don't have to be fair." He shoved Roxas' shoulder, not even bothering to look smug when Roxas braced himself too hard against the expected pressure. "Tomorrow. Sandlot. After dark. Do we have a deal?"

"...Fine." Roxas felt his stomach sink as Seifer turned and walked away. He wasn't ready for this, no matter how hard Hayner had been training him.

---

Dusk had set on Twilight Town a second time, and Roxas stood in the empty Sandlot clutching his Struggle bat. His heart was pounding a rough, frightened and uneven tattoo in his chest. Slowly, he made his way onto the ring, his bag of marbles setting uneasily in his pocket. Only a few breaths later, Seifer appeared. He, too, was alone. His bat dangled from one hand menacingly.

"Ready to get stomped?" Seifer hopped up into the ring, swinging his bat over his shoulder, as if he had already won. Roxas crouched down, sick inside and more than ready to just be finished.

"Not if I can help it." He bristled at the sharp, loud laugh that assaulted him. Seifer was laughing. "Come on!" The laughter paused. Seifer took his position, too.

"One minute Struggle. Winner with the most marbles." He kicked the auto-switch to start the timer. "Go!"

Roxas lunged forward, aiming to connect with Seifer's stomach. He was blocked and sent reeling backward. He caught his balance in just enough time to dodge a swing aimed at his neck. He shouldered Seifer's side, catching two marbles on his way past. Only another ninety-eight to go.

A streak of white coat to his side let him know that he was about to be sent to the ground, and he jumped the blow that would have caught his knees. In the air, he pushed off the front of Seifer's shoulders, leaving two half footprints of dust on the white coat and knocking the larger boy to the ground. Four red marbles had spilled onto the ground. Roxas looked from the marbles to where Seifer was getting back to his feet and dove forward.

His bat connected with hip and thigh, aiming for pockets that would house the marbles. He felt the tip of his bat smack the pouch and tried to memorize where it had been. Pain crashed his thought process, ricocheting from the middle of his back to his legs and arms. Marbles flew, and he cursed.

Twenty seconds. Roxas rolled off his knees, scooping up as many of the marbles that had been scattered as he could. Seifer's bat connected with his arms and, when he didn't let go, his chin, spiraling him back once more. Ten seconds. Seifer had most of his marbles in his pocket. Desperately, he charged forward bat held like a ramming rod. The tip connected solidly with Seifer's exposed stomach, just as the buzzer sounded. He had lost.

Roxas threw his bat away from himself, frustrated and angry. Seifer laughed at him again, bent to one knee to catch his breath. Roxas clenched his fists until they hurt. It took everything in him not to rush forward and smash his knee into the smug face that was watching him.

"Owned you, lamer." Seifer crossed his arms over his chest as he stood, head held back. "Time to pay up." Roxas braced himself as a hand reached out toward him. It fisted in his shirt and yanked him forward. He stumbled over his own feet, landing against Seifer's solid weight. Cold, rough lips were pressed against his before he could push himself away.

Roxas felt his eyes widen, but saw no more than he had before. His vision was blurred from his close proximity to the other boy, a sea of black cloth and blonde hair and green eyes. He was stunned still, the pressure of Seifer's hands, now on his arms, grounding him. Seifer pulled back, his fingers tightening and pinching the cold flesh of Roxas' forearms.

"What the hell was that?" Roxas shook free from the hands and staggered backward. His lips still had a soft tickle from the touch. His head whipped around to check the Sandlot. They were still alone. No one had saw Seifer kiss him.

"I won." Seifer's self-satisfied smirk was infuriating. "I told you you'd know the stakes when you lost. And here we are." Roxas was silent. "You're mine for three hours." Seifer kicked the auto-timer again. Roxas clenched his teeth at the numbers. They had been pre-set. Seifer had known without a doubt that he would win. "Starting now."

"What if I refuse?" Roxas tried to judge the distance between himself and the exit closest to his home. Seifer knowingly stood dead center.

"Hayner gets stomped. And you'll be the one who could have spared him." Seifer turned, his coat cracking behind him. "Your choice. Either way, I'm not hanging around here for you to make up your mind, loser." Roxas stared after him, warring with himself. Pride or Hayner? His feet pounded the ground as he ran to catch up.

Roxas stared at the ground as they walked. Silence hung heavily over their heads, both too proud to break it. Roxas looked up when Seifer took an unexpected turn. They were headed toward the train station. Slightly alarmed, Roxas hesitated as they climbed the hill.

"Where are we-"

"Just shut up and follow me." Seifer turned again before they reached the top of the hill, into a dead-ended alley. "If I find any of your little friends here, I'll make you wish you never came to Twilight Town." Roxas chose not to mention that he had never lived anywhere else, watching Seifer shove a large crate out of the way instead. A small hole, large enough to crawl through, was smashed into the wall. Seifer bent to his knees and went through. Knowing he could run, but choosing not to, Roxas follow suit.

On the other side, ten minutes away, there was a ruins of a town Roxas had never known about. Buildings that looked similar to the ones in Twilight Town had been demolished into rubble, a few support walls still in place to hold up the memories of houses and shops. Cobblestones had been torn from the ground, no longer in a distinguishable path. A few had been tossed through windows, laying among shattered glass and deadwood windowpanes.

"What is this?" Roxas walked forward cautiously, examining a burnt picture frame that lay next to a close wall. The photo inside had been bubbled up and distorted from heat, blotting out the face of a blonde haired little boy. He glanced around when silence met him. Seifer was near the center of the destroyed town.

"This is where I was born." The flat of Seifer's palm rested against the brick of a mostly intact cathedral. Roxas felt something tug at him, somewhere deep inside. "I was too young to know what was happening when this place was attacked. You had probably just been born." Seifer looked over his shoulder at him. "Twilight Town took the refugees in, but there were only twenty survivors, if that." He shook his head. "No one remembers who did this. No one knows who attacked or who countered to save what few were saved."

"But how-" Roxas paused. "Why would no one remember?"

"Because they did it at night. No one saw anything." Seifer pushed away from the wall. "Just shadows."

Roxas couldn't help his stare as Seifer picked his way easily through the dark ruins. He knew this place as well as he knew Twilight Town. And he was sharing it.

Seifer was black spot against the inky sky. Roxas tripped and stumbled his way after him, no longer sure how to get back home. They ended up inside an old basement. A bare, lonely light bulb held all the light in the world, illuminating a dusty couch, a beaten bed. Two stained blankets had been tossed onto the floor in a heap, their faded colors telling their age. Upon closer inspection, Roxas could see black lines of burnt cloth on every piece of furniture. Seifer had scavenged through the old houses to fill this place.

Seifer sat on the bed, subdued. His arms rested on his knees, the muscles tense. Had it been anyone else, Roxas would have said he was nervous. As it was, Roxas stood awkwardly in the middle of the basement, uncomfortable and only a little scared now that they were completely alone and hidden away.

"I'm not gonna hit you again." Seifer was untying the laces of his boots casually, looking up at Roxas in a way that Roxas couldn't name. Had it been Hayner, he would have said reassurance. "Just... come here."

Roxas clenched his fists again. So, this was it. He took heavy, slow steps until he stood in front of the older boy, his body suddenly very, very cold. Seifer's hands, hands that had been on him violently millions of times before, were gentle on his hips to guide him forward. He flinched. Something to foreign passed over Seifer's face too quickly to be read.

Seifer's fingers were warm as they slid underneath his shirt, sliding over the skin of his stomach right over the waistband of his pants. Two hooked his belt loops and tugged until he knelt beside the mattress. Seifer kissed him again. Roxas closed his eyes. The raw patch on the inside of his mouth from where he had bit it two days ago ached fiercely as a warm, slick tongue ghosted across his lower lip, patient, waiting for consent that was forced.

Roxas, unable to do much else, kissed him back. There was an ill feeling in his chest, his mind stuck on overdrive. There was no way to back out and keep Hayner safe. No way to talk Seifer out of anything. And if he played along like a good boy, maybe there would be no repercussions. No way for Hayner to know what Roxas had done for his safety.

Seifer tilted Roxas' head back with two fingers. Throat bared, Roxas tried not to shake as teeth and lips and tongue touched his skin in ways that he had never experienced before. His shirt was pushed open and back, stuck around his wrists, pinning his arms behind him. His heart stuttered.

Seifer's warm mouth on his chest felt better than Roxas wanted to admit. His head hung shamefully. His knees were beginning to ache, and, from where he was sitting, he could see the telltale outline of Seifer's erection.

"Come up here." Seifer pushed his coat off and unbuttoned his vest. He was tan, the soft lines of his muscles visible through his warm skin. He wrapped his arms around Roxas' waist and guided him forward with minimal pressure. Roxas bit his lip against the feeling of skin on skin, eyes still closed.

For time longer than Roxas could keep track of, Seifer just touched him, silent. His fingertips slid from hairline to cheek to jaw to shoulder to hand. His eyes traced the curves and angles of Roxas' chest and hips. Roxas had almost relaxed against the solidness of Seifer's body, hoping that there would be no more than this.

"Just lay here. I'm not asking you to do anything else." Seifer rolled them over slowly, as if handing a feral animal, his fingers back on Roxas' stomach.

"Wha-" Roxas muffled his protest as the button of his pants was undone, a vision of Hayner quieting him. His pants and boxers were tugged down to the middle of his thighs, exposing him. He felt a blush spread across his body as he glanced at Seifer staring at him openly.

The mouth was on his stomach again, tongue trailing a cool wet line to his hip. Teeth sank into the soft skin there, the gentle tongue suddenly rough across the captured flesh. He was leaving a mark, a reminder. Roxas looked away, teeth clenched to fight against his shame.

The mouth slid lower, and Roxas choked out a gasp. He gripped the soft leather of Seifer's coat beneath him, trying to remember not to enjoy it. Seifer was petting his thighs, green eyes looking up at him in, had it been anyone else, affection as he worked his mouth with awkward enthusiasm.

Roxas' stomach clenched, a telltale sign of what was going to happen in only a few moments. He could feel tears welling up, just behind his eyes, but he refused to let them out. He had agreed to this, he had lost, and this was his punishment. And if he was liking it far more than he should? Another weakness of his heart.

Roxas' orgasm hit him hard, and his hands went to Seifer's head of their own violation, knocking the black hat off. His fingers tangled in blonde hair, pulling, trying to rid himself of his disgust, of his anger. Of his weakness. As soon as he could, Roxas rolled away from the other boy, yanking his pants back up.

"Roxas-" Seifer reached out a hand to touch Roxas' cheek, but the younger boy turned his head away.

Long moments later, Seifer had pulled his coat back on, his vest still abandoned on the bed. The outline of his erection had not faded, but he didn't say anything about it. Instead, he handed Roxas his shirt and put his boots back on.

Confused, but not upset about the sudden change, Roxas yanked the dirty shirt over his arms and buttoned it up. He followed Seifer back through the ruins of the town and, then, back into Twilight Town.

"Go home, Roxas." Seifer, his blonde hair falling into his face, turned toward the train station. "It wasn't worth it."

Roxas turned and ran, afraid that, if he didn't leave as soon as he could, Seifer would change his mind. When he reached the back alley, he fell to his knees and threw up.

---

Seifer walked through the ruins of his birth place, head bowed. His chest ached terribly and no amount of violence was going to take the ache away. The glint of a picture frame caught his eye. He brought his boot down on it, the glass that hadn't already been destroyed shattering. The photo broke apart, too fragile to take the abuse.

"Alone again, Seifer." He sank to the ground, head in his hands. Roxas had shoved him away for the last time. He wouldn't harm Hayner tomorrow, not in the coming week. He would hold to his promise. But, soon, Hayner would pay for taking Roxas away from him when they had been children. He would hurt, and Roxas would know why, and he would know what he would have to do in repentance. For some reason, the ache in his chest didn't go away.

---

A/N: In my world, Struggle is played with marbles. Why? Easier to explain than orbs.

A/N 2: So, I'm very anti Riku/Sora, very pro Seifer/Roxas. Fandom does not treat me well.

coricomile @ 2007-02-13T15:05:00

2007-02-13T20:07:17Z

Title: Breathe
Fandom: Yu Yu Hakusho
Character: Hiei
Prompt: Lack of God
Rating: PG-13
Summary: His insanity was all he had. His God was in his head. And there was no heaven, no hell. Only the purgatory of life.

Just keep breathing.

If you keep breathing, you can live.

...Why do I want to live?

Hiei's eyes opened to the darkness. Alone. Safe. No voice in his head any longer. Not until he went to sleep again. Maybe not even then.

Hiei clenched his fist into a useless fist as he sat up. His bandages had worn the skin beneath them raw, the burns replaced by flesh too young to deal with the savage treatment it had already been met with.

Outside, an ocean swelled and ebbed in the night. Hiei could hear it, listened to it as he calmed his breathing. In. Out. In. ...Out. Breathe. Just... breathe. A motto. A mantra. A voice in his head from a demon he never met.

Curled in on himself, he unwrapped his bandaged arm. The raw flesh protested. Hiei refused to care. His fingers rubbed circles on the inside of his wrist, his eyes unable to stay focused on the swirl of tattoo around his forearm. The feeling was beginning to come back to him. In a few weeks, a month maybe, he should have control of it again.

It's not soon enough.

Hiei curled onto his side, nursing his injured arm carefully. In. Out. In. ...Out. He closed his eyes, murmered a memory of a lullabye never sang to him in his mind. Let himself slip back to sleep.

Why do you run away?

Why do you keep chasing me?

You would have died without me.

Maybe I wanted to.

Maybe you did. But you didn't, in the end.

I couldn't. You wouldn't let me.

Just breathe.

And his dreams were full of living nightmares. His head full of too much death for a demon of such a young age to have known. And he fell for miles from his cold, cold birth world of winter, just like the snow. There were demons that betrayed him, and only one that had loved him. And there was blood on his hands that could never, ever be washed away.

Breathe.

His insanity was all he had. His God was in his head. And there was no heaven, no hell. Only the purgatory of life.

...I don't want to.

coricomile @ 2007-02-07T12:13:00

2007-02-07T17:15:18Z

Title: The Hands of God
Character: Koenma
Rating: PG
Summary: His were the hands of God, and Yusuke would not be dropped from his safety net.

Koenma closed his eyes. He hated watching while Yusuke made such tactless advances. Against his will, his peeked at the screen in time to watch the young detective land a staggering blow to his opponent’s head, snapping the twisted demonic spine apart. A little ‘oomph’ echoed in Koenma’s office as Yusuke landed on his feet next to the corpse.

Koenma turned the screen off. For a long, quiet moment, he sat motionless in his chair, his child’s hands sprawled open in his lap. He held Yusuke’s life in these hands, these small, inefficient sacks of bones and blood. And he dangled the child over death on a daily basis. Koenma turned to his desk. There was paperwork to be done.

He had been signing death papers since he had been old enough to write. That had been several centuries ago, and Koenma had become used to the cramp in his fingers, the ink stains on his palms that never seemed to wash away. There was a rhythm to the constant flow of papers that came to his office by ogre, and, given time, he could lose himself in it.

Sign page four, cross out the future spirit’s name on page seven, stamp page nine. Humans. Demons. Same paperwork, same process. He controlled fates through default. There was no veto to a dying soul, no way to refuse the natural order of his father’s plans.

There was a knock on the door. The rhythm had been broken. Botan stepped into the room quietly, her hands clasped together in front of her. Koenma set his pen and stamp down carefully. A splatter of ink escaped onto the desk next to the papers.

“And?”

“yusuke’s fine. Yukina’s taking care of his wounds, and Kurama and Hiei are covering his tracks in the demon world.” Botan fingered the arm of her kimono nervously. “We couldn’t find the Manor of Sleep.”

“Do you think yusuke is up to another hunt?” Koenma sank down into his chair, rubbing his forehead to spoothe the worry lines.

“In a few days. He deserves a break.”

“I know, Botan.” Koenma was quiet after that. Eventually, Botan exited the office.

Slowly, Yusuke’s failure heavy on his shoulders, Koenma returned to his work. The rhythm had been interrupted and would not be put back in place again.

Koenma carefully placed each form into it’s proper place. George would come the next morning to shuffle his finished documents away to the file caverns where, uselessly, they would sit and dream of rotting away.

The sounds of life from the outer hallway had stopped hours ago. Still, Koenma set in his uncomfortable chair, no longer bothering to fill out his papers. He was finished for the day, spent with anxiety and, most of all, fear. Soon, he would wander his way to the reports office to write up another notice for the missions board for where he was going to send Yusuke next. Then, he would make another little tape to send out with Botan in the coming week.

Slowly, Koenma slid down from his oversize chair. A jumble of uncompleted papers were knocked to the floor as he bumped into his desk. He was more tired than he had thought. Haking his head in self-deprecation, he bent to pick them up. As his fingers slid over the grain of the top paper, he froze. A familiar name was penned in at the top in his father’s hand.

Urameshi, Yusuke.

“No.” Koenma sank to his knees. “Please, no…”

Cause of death: Demon ambush.
Location: The Manor of Sleep.

Koenma’s small fists crumpled the death certificate. His pacifier fell to the floor. Slowly, his legs shaking, Koenma stood. He refused to let Yusuke die again. Not so soon. Not while he was in the prime of his second life. Not while… Not while his deity’s heart beat solely for the man-child that knew no fear.

He would destroy the paperwork and abort the mission. When Yusuke was stronger, the mission would be reassigned. For now, Koenma would stall. His hands were the hands of God, and Yusuke would not be dropped from his safety net. Not yet.

coricomile @ 2007-01-27T09:25:00

2007-01-27T14:26:18Z

Title: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Matt/Jeremiah
Summary: And, in his sleep, he died a little.

His head was fuzzy from the alcohol, woozy from the weed. His arms were stung with pinpricks of pain from being trampled over by spiked heels and clunky tennis shoes. There were fading, sickly hickeys painted across his chest, over his exposed ribs and hipbones.

There was a voice in his ear, tinny, familiar. Far away. Big, rough hands were cutting into his wrists, jarring his shoulders from their sockets. Black ink blots of dizziness exploded and fell like snow in front of his eyes as his head bobbed uselessly forward, almost cracking into his ribcage before falling back again.

The world was a blaze of upside down colors, dancing and spinning making bile rise up in his throat. He hacked a cough, and the big hands were holding his head up, tilting his back forward just a little bit. He shook, coughletts, and was back in his haze without blinking.

The hands lifted him up, juggling his back and forth, unable to hold his weight without his help. He groaned at the ball of sick gathering in his stomach, closing his eyes to block out the spinning world. Warm cotton and silkscreen on his back, the silkscreen scraping deadened skin cells away as he was turned, hefted off the ground into the cradle of awkward arms. The world suddenly went black.

- - -

Matt washed the flakes of rusty blood from Jeremiah’s ears and lips, skirting gingerly around bruises and cuts. He looked like hell, his skin fevered and pale. Greasy black hair curled over sweat-ridden skin, peeking behind red-tipped ears. His head rested against Matt’s thigh, lolling to one side listlessly.

Jeremiah’s body was boneless, a heap of skin and bruises, laying on the floor where he had been dropped./ this was a broken thing., a shucked off husk of a man. There was no hint of the Jeremiah from years ago, the Jeremiah he’d been so in love with. There was just… this. A mess. A heap. A nothing in grey skin.

“You said you were gonna stop, Jere.” Fingers skittered across the tight drawn flesh atop Jeremiah’s overexposed cheekbone. A sigh. “You fucking promised me, you asshole.”

“Still love me?” The first action in over an hour. Bloodshot eyes turned into snake slits.

“Yeah, Jere.” Matt stared at a spot on the stained carpet. He tried to blame Tony, tried to force Jeremiah’s sickness on the band’s breakup. The last hope for a happy life Jeremiah had had.

“Last time, Matty. Promise.” Same lie. Same emptiness.

“Please, Jere.” Lack of hope. Giving in.

Jeremiah pulled himself up, crawling like a child into Matt’s lap. Matt tuned his head away, eyes closed. Tried to remind himself that Jeremiah had a low alcohol tolerance, was trusting and had been slipped roofies more than once before. Tried to tell himself that he was the one that had changed.

“Love you.” Jeremiah’s stale breath on his neck.

“Yeah…” The knowledge that they weren’t who they had been years ago. “Goodnight, Jere.”

Matt lifted the featherweight of this frail, self destructive shell and carried it into the bedroom. He touched the fevered skin of Jeremiah’s forehead, holding on to hope by a fine thread. And he knew, now, just like he had known for a long time, that it was over. That there was nothing left.

And, still, he pulled off his shoes, crawled into the bed. He gathered up the flesh and bone that used to belong to someone beautiful, someone so perfect, that he had been in love with years and years. And he slept. Slept and dreamed of the days when things had been okay, and Jeremiah was still Jeremiah. And, in his sleep, he died a little.

coricomile @ 2007-01-26T22:15:00

2007-01-27T03:15:42Z

Title: Knowing
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Yusuke/Kurama, Hiei/Kurama
Summary: You knew, somehow, that you were walking on knife-edge by entertaining this crush. Not that it would stop you.

You knew, somehow, even before they came into your life, that they were together. Whatever that meant to demons. You knew, deep down, but you didn't care to acknowledge it. They were your teammates, your companions. Nothing more. Nothing capable of having a life before you.

You knew, somehow, that he was spoken for, even before you crawled into his bed next to him. Not that he pushed you away. You knew, deep down, that he meant nothing but polite friendliness when he let you curl up beside him. He wasn't awake when you touched the easy swell of his lips, the coarseness of red hair that you had thought would be much, much softer. He didn't hear you murmur- half to him, half to yourself - silly little teenage words of endearment. Sometimes, you wonder if he really was awake but too polite to open his eyes for fear of embarrassing you.

You knew, somehow, that he would be possessive of the only being in all three worlds that had shown him unending affection. Not that he would say it out loud. You knew, deep down, that you were tempting fate each time you lingered too long in their company, too close to his one and only. His face never showed any sign, never gave him away. Oh, but his eyes, they held all the bitterness and contempt of the Demon World, all aimed straight at you. His body hovered closer to the man-child you refused to admit was his, his fights chosen carefully with you to tell you where you stood in their lives.

You knew, somehow, that you were walking on knife-edge by entertaining this crush. Not that it would stop you. You knew, deep down, that something was going to go wrong somewhere along the line, and that you were the one who was going to be burnt. You wormed your way further and further into his life, pushing his little lover to the outskirts as far as you deemed safe. He just smiled his polite little smile, laughed at your sad little jokes, and listened to you babble nonsense in an effort to keep his attention. He let you stay longer that your welcome allowed, let you touch his shoulders and back and hands under the guise of friendship. And you abused his kindness viciously.

You knew, somehow, even before they came into your life, that they were together. That they were that cliche of soul mate, with no room or need for another. You knew everything, deep down, but refuse to admit it to yourself. You knew, but it didn't stop your heart from snapping in half when you walked in on them together.

You didn't know that, sometimes, Kurama would lay his head on Hiei's chest for hours, just to listen to the offbeat rhythm of his heart. Didn't know that Hiei could look so comfortable, so at ease, with anyone laying in his arms. Didn't know that his fingers- fingers that could snap the resilient bones in the necks of any living being in mere seconds- could be so infant gentle on the flushed curve of Kurama's cheek and jaw. Didn't know that small, sweet touches were the only way he knew how to say I love you. Didn't know the small smile of perfect contentment that Kurama wore as he lay in bed with his lover. And that broke you more that you wanted to admit. You had never even broken past his shell of politeness.

And you backed out of the room quietly, closed the door behind you. You hadn't been invited, anyway, so there was no need for you to stay. You knew that you could no longer lie to yourself, tell yourself the little fantasy tales that you had been inventing for far too long. You knew, and knowing always caused you such pain.

coricomile @ 2006-11-22T10:06:00

2006-11-22T15:06:43Z

So, once again much has changed since I've last posted. Another quick update.

+Got with Lucas... again.
-Got ditched by Lucas. Again. [For the last time, damnit. I donm't need him anymore.]
+Am back together with Chris.
-Chris' dad hates me with a passion.
-Almost got into a wreck... with Chris driving.
-Lost my license for 30 days for going nine over the speed limit.
+Chris and I plan on getting an apartment together over the summer.

Not much happening other than that. I've been fightning with my parents more, but I guess that's to be expected. Don't know. Too much high school drama. I'm getting sick of it.

coricomile @ 2006-10-31T07:22:00

2006-10-31T12:31:20Z

It's been a very, very long time since I've last posted. Let me give you the run down on my life, quick style.

-Chris and I broke up.
+Started with Lucas again.
-Lucas ditched me last night.
+Got accepted into AIP. Start in October of 2007.
-Got a speeding ticket and go to court tomorrow.
-Many fights with Erin.
-/+ Been taking Stacker 2 for sometime. I've only had a few dizzy spells, and have only lost one pound becuase I've been eating like a cow.
+Plan on buying my first ever corset soon.

So, yeah. I'm a tad cranky, but that's okay. It's nothing new.

BMI: 26.7
Height: 5'7"
Current Weight: 170.5
Highest Weight: 131
Lowest Weight: 169
Short Term Goal: 150
Long Term Goal: 120 [110 at lowest.]

coricomile @ 2006-10-02T22:25:00

2006-10-03T02:27:32Z

Pictures Chris' dad took of us before my surprise birthday party. There's more, but these are the ones I really like.

The last one's my favorite.

I'm thinking about getting extentions put in my hair. Maybe. Don't know yet.

coricomile @ 2006-09-27T12:12:00

2006-09-27T16:13:16Z

I want to be 150 by November.

I will be 150 by november.

No matter what I have to do.

coricomile @ 2006-09-23T09:32:00

2006-09-23T13:39:54Z

I haven't updated for a while. I've been busy with work and school. Haven't written in a while either. Quick update.

+/- School started.
- Got into a major fight with Erin.
+ Went to the Ohio Caverns with Chris yesterday. ^_^
+ My birthday's in two weeks.
+ I got accepted to the Art Institute of Pittsburg.
- Chris' dad and step-mom might be getting a divorce.
+/- Trying to lose weight for homecoming. It's been semi-successful. I want to be 160 or less come October seventh. I currently weigh one seventy four.
+ Having a Halloween party. My cosume's come in and everything.

I just saw Billy's profile on Myspace. I didn't recognize him. He's changed so unbelieveably much that it's crazy. He's not as... beautiful as he was to me before. It's... odd.

Rancid concert

2006-09-08T16:29:29Z

Went to see Rancid last night. More details under the cut.

So... sore. Hurting. Still bleeding. Let me go over the night for you.

We get to the venue, Chris gets patted down, and we head to the floor. This is where I had my first 'scene kid' freak out. Dear scene kids, please stop going to concerts to stand on the side lines and be snobby. If you don't like the band, why waste the $25? Rich bastard kids. Waited for about an hour for the first band to start.

This first band was the Bloody Irish Boys. They were pretty good with two exceptions. 1) All of the hooks and melodies sounded basically the same. Picture a Flogging Molly/Dropkick Murpies song and you've got the basic idea. 2)Each and every song was about beer and/or getting drunk. [I did like the song with the chorus Beer is good/Beer is great though.] A mosh pit broke out within the first minute of the song. And guess who was on the side of this? Yes, yours truly. I always seem to pick the best spots. :>

The Bloody Irish boy finish their set up, and then it's time for The Explosion. More moshing from the kids beside us. Some fat dude who was probably double my size kepy leaning on the kids in front of him, grabbing my chest, and being a general asshole. I wanted to hurt him. But I couldn't. May I note that I was standing behind a.k.a pressed against one of the top ten hottest guys in the world? Yes, he was one of those "punk" prototypes, but hey. To each their own, right? If I had been single, I may have played the drunk card.

Speaking of which: Dear alcoholics: Please do not bring your giant cups of beer into the crowd. It's only going to get spilled and make people angry. Or try to elbow you just right to get it to go all over your face. Like me.

Anyway, the set's sort of dead until they played Here I Am, the single which, yes, was the only song of theirs I knew. Cue the beginning of the fun. I had my first circle pit experiance. :> Loved it, will be doing it again sometimes soon. And then, their set was over.

So, as the Rancid crew is setting up, the hole that had been opened since the beginning in the crowd for the moshers closes up. God damn headlinermongers. Support the opening bands! That's what they're there for! Bastards.

Rancid starts up with a low grade projector slide on a backdrop. The pushing and shoving starts, and I'm in heaven. Except for Chris holding on to me. I hate being held down at concerts. It just... bothers me. So, all is going good, and then, someone's yelling, and Chris is on the floor, getting trampled. So me and this guy help him up, and he's not looking so good. Not bloody or anything, but just not good. And Chris has a history of passing out, and he told me earlier that day, for the first time, that he's claustrophobic. And the guy that helped him up askes him if he wants out. Chris said no. So the guy asks me. And I say yes. So, from almost front row, we fight our way to the back, with the guy leading the way for us. That, right there, was a real memory of the punk mindset. He helped his bretheren out. That can't be said for half the fucking... idiots there, who were more concerned about getting that much closer to the stage. You bastards have no right to even think about being called punks.

So, we go out the open door for a breather, and I can hear the band, and I feel bad for feeling upset that I'm not in the crowd anymore. When Chris caught his breath, we went back inside, on one of the platorms, and watched the rest of the concert. On that platform, I was maybe three feet, if that, away from Lars fucking Frederickson. Cue my fangirl squeals right now. Murh.

Other than Chris' episode, the night was good. I got punched in the ear- yes, the one with the new piercing- caught my orbital on someone's shirt, got kicked on the side of the eye by some crowd surfer. I also spit my gum into some twelve year old's hair, nutted someone, and got into two fights. Over all? Amazing.

Kind of wish I would have brought Cody. I think he would have enjoyed it more than Chris. But it maes me feel... good... that he suffers through things he doesn't like for me.

Once again. I <3 Rancid.

Curse of Curves

2006-08-23T10:40:51Z

Height: 5'7"
Current Weight: 173.5
High Weight: 231
Low Weight: 173.5
Short Term Goal Weight 1: 140
Short Term Goal Weight 2: 120
Long Term Goal Weight: 110

I can fit my fat ass into a 9/10.

coricomile @ 2006-08-19T00:17:00

2006-08-19T04:18:18Z

I want a Spike t-shirt. A non-ugly Spike t-shirt that doesn't have Buffy on it.

If you loved me you would make me a Spike t-shirt.

coricomile @ 2006-08-07T01:21:00

2006-08-07T05:28:32Z

Went to youth tonight. Lucas was there. Isn't it funny that he only shows up when I post that I'm going to ber there on Myspace? He kept making passes and touching me and stuff.

I was trying to piss him off and told him nice scar (Erin left a scar under his eye when she punched him sophomore year) and he said he could leave a nice scar on my lip. I told him he wished. And he said 'don't I?'. He also kept looking at the scars he left on my neck. ~~Kelli said he was checking me out when I bent down to tie my shoe.~~

I had to leave early because I needed to be at work at eight. Lucas kept shoping me his phone so I'd know the time. Finally I asked him if he was trying to get me to leave. He said that he really didn't want me to leave at all. And, ever since Is aid I missed the asshole, the 'good' Lucas has been dissapearing. No more good wannabe Catholic boy, no more happy-go-lucky. He said to give him anopther week to go back to his old ways. ~~And said I was right when I said he'd never change.~~

...Lucas wants me back.

Tired today, but happy that way.

2006-08-03T10:34:47Z

So I've lost three pounds in three days. Band camp may be hell, but, if it keeps making me loose weight, I'll keep going happily. It might also help that I'm only eating lunch, which is backwards from what I normally do when I'm at school. Meh. Don't care. Once schools stats again I only plan on eating dinner, anyway. Or maybe just breakfast to burn it off during the day.

For something completely different, I'm getting my industrial done on Saturday. Chris is coming to watch, and I plan on at least showing him photos of other peircings. Maybe he'll pick up on the hint. When I lose another six pounds to make a total of 60, I can go in for another one. I really want a septum or anti-eybrow but I know that, with my mother, I'll probably have to settle with another ear peircing. I'll figure it out when the time comes.

...I'm a senior. And it doesn't feel any different.

coricomile @ 2006-07-27T00:05:00

2006-07-27T04:16:09Z

We had a movie get together today. It was fun. Nived came. I come bearing pictures.

I actually liked the way I looked today, so i took a few of myself. ::Shame::

Chris and Erin. ~~Look at those guns. He has mus-cles.~~

Devin [Nived] and Cody messing with my bass.\

Crappy photo of ShiAnn.

Kristin, Erin, Andy

Erin molesting Kristin and Andy laughing while half-heartedly trying to stop her.

Kristin.

Devin trying to teach Erin Smoke on the Water on my bass.

Devin being a camera whore.

Chris. ~~Look at those arms!~~

Picture Devin took of my ass when I wasn't paying attention.

We made cookies.

I made Devin stir.

Cody trying to look tough.

Other pictures:

Me in the dorm room at Duquesne.

Chris in the car.

He rode four hours with my mother to Pittsburg.

He closed the night before at work.

And then that night.

And only got two hours of sleep.

That's why I love him.

Dear Lucas

2006-07-25T03:32:28Z

After wanting you to the point of needing you for the last three months, I've finally realized it.

I don't need you.

You scarred me, you changed me, and you helped bring about a long bout of suffering that I'm glad I went through. And I have to thank you. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have what I do now. I wouldn't be who I am now.

You were so important to me at one time, and I still say, even if you don't accept it or even care about it, that I could have been in love with you, even on a superficial level.

And you're right. I was attracted to the asshole. He was the one that I needed to hold on to then. When I was weak and a danger to myself. When I really wanted to fucking kill myself. And I'll thank you again for the support, even if you didn't know or care that you were giving it.

My heart doesn't ache the way it did for your memory when I'm around you, now. You're not the same as you were, and I don't need who you were anymore. I think I'm okay now.

coricomile @ 2006-07-23T08:37:00

2006-07-23T12:43:12Z

001. smile	002. laugh	003. sweet	004. flirt	005. kiss

006. sexy	007. lust	008. tease	009. love	010. embrace

011. shy	012. sassy	013. fun	014. crazy	015. silly

016. happy	017. sad	018. fear	019. pain	020. jealous

021. good	022. evil	023. promise	024. secret	025. memories

026. truth	027. lie	028. heal	029. breathe	030. hope

031. sleep	032. dream	033. wake	034. peace	035. fight

036 fate	037. alone	038. confused	039. dangerous	040. mystery

041. name	042. family	043. baby	044. young	045. nerdy

046. dirty	047. hands	048. feet	049. heart	050. broken

051. lost	052. found	053. win	054. lose	055. prize

056. sun	057. rain	058. beach	059. mountains	060. city

061. home	062. work	063. play	064. fire	065. ice

066. cold	067. hot	068. star	069. light	070. dark

071. angry	072. stress	073. distort	074. forgot	075. remember

076. eyes	077. time	078. music	079. dance	080. pretty

081. spring	082. summer	083. fall	084. winter	085. animal

086. beauty	087. trust	088. forgive	089. omg	090. wtf

091. red	092. blue	093. green	094. hello	095. goodbye

096. Artist‘s Choice.	097. Artist‘s Choice.	098. Artist‘s Choice.	099. Artist‘s Choice.	100. Artist‘s Choice.

coricomile @ 2006-07-23T00:53:00

2006-07-23T04:54:20Z

Me.

Chris and me.

Aaron in the ugliest shirt ever to be tie-dyed.

coricomile @ 2006-07-22T10:18:00

2006-07-22T14:19:04Z

Randomly met At The Drive In yesterday at the Warhol underground cafe'. chris is sitting beside me reading my journal.