Pumpkin Bread

Sorry...

Sun, 14 Jun 2009 06:37:11 GMT

Dear Fans,

Sorry I have not been writing, I've been working on the last term of my b.s. in college (finished now), getting into grad school (in a lull- need transcripts), having surgery (paid and done. healing wonderfully) having roommates (always challenging, especially if you like them!), getting laid off (>< in March), looking for a new job, and balancing some family politics.

Most of that is finished or toned down. My bills are jittery, but still good. I've lost a ton of weight (260 to 235), and am contemplating a exercise plan. I got my Californian license finally (woot! Also another thing that's been stressing me out). I celebrated my 1 year anniversary to my wife (we had a great time!), and life is OK. Not happy dancing in the streets, but pretty fair to middlin'.

For those of you still reading ( I have no idea why), my garden is doing good. I separated my irises- which means splitting the bulbs to get more plants- and replanted them in a section of my garden. That's ready for next year! I have been pruning my roses, and I'm trying to make new bushes from cuttings (no word yet!). I also found a wild morning glory in my yard, which, after a wilting incident, i have revived. It's climbing my fence, and I am hoping for blooms. My hibiscus actually gave me seedlings, and I'm hoping to have a colored one come up. Lots of work to do yet, but not til winter, when i can rearrange everything :) I also added some succulent cacti.

Anyway, don't know when I'll write more. I've actually been reading various fiction and working on an original novel.

Gin: Stop yammerin', kiddo. They want to go read pron.

Author: Oh, yes. okay.

Gin: Bye bye!

Cruelty

Sat, 24 Jan 2009 07:33:35 GMT

b>Author: Paperpendragon</b>
Title: Cruelty
Rating: G
Pairing: No sexual or romantic pairing
Warnings: No spoilers, no real contrardictions to cannon. Liberal use of relative shinigami ages. Fits into my “Innoence” arc of “Reflections of Blood”
Summary: Kuchiki starts showing his colors during a play date with Ichimaru.

When I came to pick Ichimaru up, I was surprised to find Ichimaru waiting on the steps of the Kuchiki manor. He was wearing coveralls in dark blue and a white t-shirt, but they were stained and dirty. The little blue haori was in his hands, folded neatly, and dirt was all over his face and hands. The small boy didn’t even look up at me, just stood up. For the first time, he didn’t ask to be carried, just started home.

I frowned thoughtfully, but walked beside him. He didn’t use speed or steps to get him. He just walked. When we got home, he went inside, bathed, and crawled up on the couch. Usually he watched me doing my paperwork, but tonight he cuddled in his favorite blanket and refused dinner. His manners were impeccable, but Gin, with his high metabolism, usually was hungry and never refused food before.

after I finished my paperwork and dinner, I sat on the couch and read my newest acquisition, a particularly hard to find Chinese scroll of philosophy on Mencius. After a few minutes, he crawled into my lap, depositing his head on my lap and his arms around my big knees. He waited until I was done, dozing fitfully. When I put the scroll down on the side table, he offered the haori. It was stained, and torn, ripped apart in places by claws or low level demon arts. I kept my face calm.

“What happened, Ichi-chan?” He fidgeted, rubbing the side of his face against the top of my knee cap. He fidgeted a bit more, then answered softly.

“Kuchiki-san said I was stupid and ugly. So he ripped up my haori, Aizen-sama. I’m really sorry, Aizen-sama, I tried to stop him.” He rubbed his face on my knee again, and I blinked. I didn’t keep cats, and I had not found any, but sometimes, my Ichi-chan acted like he’d been raised by them. Better than wolves, I suppose.

“It is alright, Ichi-chan. I am sure you did your best.” That tear strained face raised to mind.

“Am I ugly?”

“No, Ichi-chan. You are a beautiful child.” He smiled and rubbed his face again before he fell asleep in my lap. I carried him to bed, and tucked him in. I frowned, noticing the red flush. When I pressed a finger gently to it, he moaned. I called Unohana, pacing my apartment while she travelled.

After she arrived, she smiled gently at my over-protective manner, but then frowned when she saw him. She made me wait outside the bedroom, and I paced more. It was strange. I had picked him up on a whim, and it was strange to be so attached.

When she came out, I restrained the urge to pounce on her. She looked worried, and for the first time in my long life, I wrung my hands like a worried parent. It was rather strange.

“Aizen-taichou, he was a bit sun burnt. I have put aloe on his sunburn, and he will recover within a day or so.”

I frowned at her tone, but refrained from lashing out at her.

“Aizen-sama, he is an albino. You must keep sun block on him when he is outside and keep that limited. Unfortunately, night will be the best time for him. Should he display spiritual power, it will help his vision, which is poor. I am sorry.”

I actually sat down in relief at something so simple. I didn’t think mentioning his hunger- an indicator of spirit power- was relevant right now. He was just dead, and there was no need to reveal it to her.

“That is a relief, Unohana-taichou. Being an albino is not such a power for the souls of the dead. It is easy enough to manage. Others have worse conditions. “ I smiled weakly at her, and she squeezed my shoulder.

“Take care of him, Aizen-taichou. He is a lovely child.” She smiled sadly and departed.

I went into the bedroom, dressing in pajama bottoms. Then I shut the east facing window and opened the western one. Sitting on the bed, I pulled him into my arms and held him gently, planning moving to new quarters. There was a building that faced north south that needed renovation near the office.

Perhaps all the years of enternity would be filled with something other than books after all. Books have a special smell and provide food for the mind and soul. But books could not love.

Dancing in Heaven

Tue, 20 Jan 2009 03:19:14 GMT

Title: Dancing in Heaven
Author: paperpendragon
Pairing: AizenxGin
Rating: PG.Disclaimer: COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
A/N: Just a reflective piece, no real purpose other than to lube the writing gears again.

Ichimaru Gin has shown me many faces, but reflective was not one I expected from him. Child, rebel, traitor, spy, fukutaichou and Captain, he always has worn a smile. But now, as the days of my campaign winds down, he has ceased his smile. From his pokes and jibes about taunting my men, to his careful stalking of Tousen, he has always smiled.

But now, as Ichigo Kuraosaki languishes in my dungeons, Rukia is murdered, and his human friends watched closely by my men, Ichimaru seems distant from me. Even Urahara has accepted his new status, in a room not far from Kuraosaki’s. My dungeons are rooms, not traditional, but it cuts down on escapes and rescues. Now that I have attained Heaven, I must order everything below. The silly shinigami cannot seem to order their own lives unless someone holds their hands.

But, I digress. Other than a request to not execute Ukitake or Renji, he has asked for little more than rooms next to mine, a subtle recognition of our relationship. Tousen I executed myself, after he outlived his usefulness.

Ichimaru seems to have perfected moving silently, and tracking him down in the palace I have built in Heaven is difficult. I was surprised, really, that nothing inhabited the place. All we found when we opened Heaven were corpses of gods long dead. I look through the gardens, but cannot find my Ichimaru. He has worked hard in restoring them, claiming he was bored. They flower now, with every rose, foxglove, iris, and orchid he can coax into existence.

But though his hand is everywhere, the man himself- god now- is nowhere in evidence. Giving up- for it is the third night he has eluded me, I cut through the ballroom. I freeze, watching a pale figure dance across the floor is a slow waltz. He dances as if he has a partner, his eyes closed, the only light that of the stars as they stream through the skylights. His hair now falls to his rear, swaying as he moves. I walk silently closer, watching him as he moves, frowning. He seems so lonely, but for now, the shinigami hate him too much to allow him to return to more exciting places. Waiting for my moment, I step into place as he turns, dancing with my precious Ichimaru. For the rest of eternity, he is mine, and now, no one can take him from me, except himself.

there is no sense telling my defeated foes that love may have been the most important reason of all, for no one would believe an evil man could love such as this.

Sat, 15 Nov 2008 07:56:10 GMT

The Queer Papers, #1
Subject: LGBTQA
Author: Paperpendragon

LGBTQA. It sounds like a bloody disease, something somebody puked up, or some weird acronym a Techie, bless their adorable hearts, made up. We’ve tried to be all-inclusive, politically correct. We don’t want to offend or exclude. We are the Lesbians, Gays, Bisexuals, Transgender, Questioning, and Allies.

And that’s exactly where we went wrong. We embraced the political correctness of the mainstream media. Or symbol is a rainbow colored flag. It kind of draws the line in the sand, and no we’ve softened the blow.

Get over your stupid acronym, folks. We’re queer. We’re homosexuals, homos, fags, queens, whatever our label is, that four letter word, a kissing cousin to “fuck”, with a little “ing” attached. We’re fucking queer. We’re loud, noisy, and we do not repent.

The queers should embrace non-violence. But we should not embrace being politically correct. We should be educated, we should be trashy. We should be big, beautiful, anything we won’t. I’m not an LGBTQ. I’m not your little box. I’m a damned queer.

The Queer Papers, #2
Subject: The Gay Agenda Revealed!
Author: Paperpendragon

The Gay Agenda. We’ve all heard it, in the mouths of right wingers, moral groups, even queer folks. We queers will say it with a grin, sometimes a smirk, and a chuckle But what is it, really?

We want to be loved for who we are.
We want to not be afraid.
We want to go about our lives without worrying about harassment, violence, and murder.
We want to not worry about financial, legal, and medical emergencies.
We want to survive the teenage years, which are four times as deadly for us because of suicide.
We want to be considered “normal” even if we’re considered “rare”.
We want to be happy.

There you are. The gay agenda, that so frightening prospect, is what most people actually want. Just the chance to be happy, free of violence and hate, the chance to have any job we want. The chance to be who we are.

Give 'Em Hell on Saturday!

Tue, 11 Nov 2008 00:11:31 GMT

Heyo,

Pissed off about Prop 8 passing? Let's piss off some heterosexuals by clogging traffic! who ah!

http://www.jointheimpact.com/

[To Find a Protest Near You]

Hail to the Chief, and Half-Mast Flags

Thu, 06 Nov 2008 06:23:18 GMT

Congratulations to all my fellow blue, donkey voting Americans. Thanks to all you dang foreigners that cheered us along. Hail to the Chief, Obama. Keep yourself alive for us.

Prop 8 passed and banned gay marriage here in California. The suicide rate of LGBTQ youth is four times the rate of heterosexuals. Wonder how high it'll spike now? Thanks, all you Yes on 8 people, for telling us, once again, we're freaks, immoral, and less than human.

Apparently, it's OK for straight people to cheat on each other, screw everything that moves, and be total jerks. But just cause we like the same sex, we're so much worse when we do it.

So do me a favor. If you voted Yes on 8, stay out of our bars, strip clubs, and drag shows. If you want to protect your traditional families, well, stay out of our traditional gay life. If you're going to make us the freaks, by all means, let's indulge our freak, shall we?

half the damn reason we're so flaming is to PISS. You. OFF!

OMFG.

Sat, 18 Oct 2008 18:25:41 GMT

Lancaster, California has a musical road. It plays the theme to the "Lone Ranger". I drove it last night, and I swear to God, it works. It's been reinstalled after a fight almost as viscous as the election at a new location.

OMFG.

Nov. 4

Tue, 14 Oct 2008 18:38:27 GMT

To all citizens of the U.S.

Vote, you people! Especially you 18-24 year olds. If everyone in that age group voted, we could vote whoever we wanted into office. So, to all my fans:

Vote, Vote, Vote! If we loose this election again, I'm blaming every 18-24 who was too lazy to vote.

Vote Obama!

Shadows of War (Hey! I can still Write, Ma!)

Sun, 28 Sep 2008 19:59:43 GMT

Title: Shadows of War
Author: paperpendragon
Pairing: AizenxGin
Rating: PG15. Violence, sexual relationship, and rape only mentioned in passing.
Disclaimer: COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
A/N: Dedicated to my wife, for patience, tolerance, and understanding during a college class that violates anti-torture laws.

A/N: For my old fans who know me. Newbies/uninterested may skip. I've had a really rough time with work and school, so the no writing. This was inspired by my newest class o' crap, Crimes Against Humanity. I'm sure you see the connection?

Also, never fear, I have honored "Gin-nip: Catnip for Gin" and baked Ichimaru Gin pumpkin bread in honor of the fall season. Happy Fall, everyone! (I also had my wife eat some. now she gets the attraction!)

In the years of World War II, has it came to become called, life changed dramatically for all. But for the shinigami, ageless creatures protecting the balance between life and death, it simply meant more work. The crimes, fears, and terrors of the war created more Hollows. In 1939, conditions had already become so deteriorated, that each Division took a turn at being stationed, in its entirety, in the human realm, for three months. Students were rushed through the Academy as fast as possible, to replace those who fell. Some Hollows even seemed to incorporate the deadly gases being used in the war, or have limbs that mimicked machine guns.

The rotation shrank to a tour duty of two months in 1940, and then again in 1943, as the work become even more ferocious, killing more and burning out even more beyond the causalities. In 1945, as the war drew to a close, the shinigami were worn nearly to mere shadows, speaking only when necessary, sleeping little and forgetting to eat to sustain their sprit energy. Third Division was concluding its tour late, as arguments broke out over which Division would replace them- Fourth was healers and down fifty percent in personal, 5th Division had injuries in seventy five percent of its personal, and 6th Division had made no offer to take up the rotation early. So it was that 3rd Division was still in the human realm on August 6th, 1945, instead of having left on August 1st, 1945.

The first Soul Society knew of Hiroshima was a great flash of light that connected the realms for a breathless moment. Ichimaru Gin looked towards the light, opening his hidden, red irises in curiosity, before ordering his members to retreat inside. Helping one of his unseated officers inside, Ichimaru Gin was still outside when the flash vanished, and so did he.

Captain Aizen Sousuke rose from his sickbed, having sustained severe injuries from his last tour, just three months before, and came to organize 3rd Division. As the younger captain’s original sponsor, he said, it was his duty to take up in Ichimaru Gin’s absence. Over half of 3rd Division went missing, accounting for every single one that was outside when the flash of light, later known as the bombing of Hiroshima by the United States, ended. The Americans, occupying Japan after the surrender the first month, actually increased the Hollows as millions starved, raped, or brutalized by the invaders. Bodies of the missing 3rd Division members began showing up, the first one on Ichimaru gin’s birthday, September 10. The lower ranked members reappeared first, and theories were circulated that higher the spirit power, the longer they had taken to die. The bodies continued appearing over the next year, until only Ichimaru Gin’s body was unfound.

The anniversary of Ichimaru’s Gin’s disappearance approached, and Aizen Sousuke ‘s Division rotated back in. The surge of Hollows was beginning to slow, but Japan and its unseen shinigami were slow to recover from years of war. Wandering the streets by himself, Aizen Sousuke went to the street where Ichimaru Gin had last been seen, putting a vase with flowers on the spot, a bouquet of snapdragon, Narcissus, irises, foxglove and a lone rose of deep, blood red.

As he turned to leave, an unfamiliar voice, scratchy with pain and disuse sounded behind him.

“Gunna leave, jus’ like that, Aizen? You’re so...so mean.” A fit of coughing followed, and Aizen whirled, finding a filthy, skinny human staring at him intently. The boy or man- they were too dirty to tell, had long, filthy brown hair, wore a tattered white kimono with whimsical, abstract designs, and was barefoot. The man- definitely grown, as he was over two meters tall, just a centimeter shorter than Aizen himself- threaded over to Aizen.

”C’mon Aizen, forgot me so soon?” Eyes matching that single rose opened, smiling up at Aizen. “M’m just a bit dirty. Clean me up and take me home, be good as new.”

Aizen yanked Ichimaru Gin’s human form against him, kissing those filthy lips and yanking that dirty hair in his hands, bruising in his intensity. A brief, white flash blinded out the surroundings and Ichimaru gin stood in front of him in his spirit form, the human form he had been imprisoned in for over a year dissolved, though he was just as filthy and clothed in the same way.

“Awww! Them Americans say love sets you free, but damn, Aizen!”

Fri, 04 Jul 2008 04:43:36 GMT

Oi...sorry guys, canceled y-Con, too expensive. Anybody need two tickets, early bird/pre reg price? Two, forty bucks!

To Be Told of Wrongdoing

Tue, 24 Jun 2008 05:46:48 GMT

Title: To Be Told of Wrongdoing
Author: paperpendragon
Pairing: AizenxGin
Rating: Ehh…Probably Pg 15, but let’s call it R, for my covering o’ rear. Innuendos and stuff.
Disclaimer: COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
A/N: Drabble with a good deal of implied perversity. *shakes fist at Gin*
Also, dedicated to ceres_wish, for commenting when I thought all comments dead. Authors starved, you know, vain creatures we are.

Ichimaru Gin was not evil, in the traditional sense. Evil was a strong state of emotion, and usually men who were evil were men of strong passions that broke lesser men. There were those, of course, Ichimaru Gin among them, which said such passions had broken such men. One need only look to tyrants of the past, to watch the suicides, the assassinations, and the paranoia and schizophrenic behavior they displayed right before the end.

The silver hair shinigami always smiled when people assumed that evil men knew their deeds for evil and monstrous. Well, rather he smiled a tiny bit more. Ichimaru gin had watched many corrupt humans, easily classed as monsters in human form. They always thought they were on a crusade, and usually a divine one, at that. Ichimaru Gin knew, however much he was technically innocent of wrongdoing, he knew he’d done wrong all along. He just liked to be told.

To be told with long fingered hands, tousled brown hair, and chocolate eyes, or occasionally gold. Told with slaps and rebukes, with soft, gentle words and punishing handling. He liked to be told very, very much, especially in the soft, bass timbre of Aizen Sousuke. Especially when his wrongdoing was at an implied behest from the same man.

Let Tousen have his misguided, tragic justice. Ichimaru gin preferred to see the truth of himself, to stir the passions of others while feeling nothing but detached amusement, or perhaps, more accurately, amusement a few degrees removed from personal feelings. Let others be mad, let others be evil.

Let Ichimaru Gin pretend innocence and be reproved of wrongdoing by Aizen Sousuke and his long fingered, strong hands.

Post-Script A/N: If you're a fangirl/boy, and you know who you are of my Aizen/Gin madness and writings, be sure to check out and join wunnaplay. This post was brought to you by ceres_wish when she joined it and commented. ^^.

Autumn Graves

Thu, 22 May 2008 00:56:56 GMT

Title: Autumn Graves
Author: paperpendragon
Pairing: AizenxGin
Rating: Pg13 dark themes, prostitution, and witches...
Disclaimer: COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.
Notes: Somewhere before Arc I: Innocence. Narrative from an outside character’s POV; back story about Gin’s family. Sequel to "Fox of Autumn"

Sleep did not come easily after I saw the ghost of my friend’s little boy and the strange man he had called Aizen-sama. I had collected myself, brushed my kimono off, and then hired a conveyance to take me home. I told no-one of the apparitions, and kept to myself. Though I did not speak of it, it continued to gnaw at my peace. Finally, in November, I went down to the three graves in the small courtyard by the river.

The man’s brother, being younger and more fit, had learned well from his brother’s fate. He had his brother’s body cremated and the earth salted, to prevent the ghost from rising. Gifts were left by courier, of fine food and wine to keep the spirit happy and content. He tried to find the woman, but no-one in the district, despite the admiration for his intentions, would not tell him where to find the woman who had caused us all so much grief. He had desired to help her and the child, the rumors said; according to a servant of his, I was told he desired to lock the woman away and adopt the monster child for himself, holding it blameless for its parents’ sins.

Only after the woman died did he find her corpse, wasted from madness, grief, and arsenic. He had the woman cremated and interred beside her husband, salting the earth of her grave as well. It was said that without doing so, her wretched ghost would keep haunting the clan. The small child, though the brother searched, was never found. The bedding found in the attic and the small kimono scraps were cremated in the body’s place, and a monument marked between the parents’ graves to keep them separate yet bound for eternity.

The graves, even after thirty years, are well maintained by the clan head. With the man’s death, the younger brother inherited fortune, money and the clan. I blink in the bright winter sun, pulling my thick shawl around my shoulders to cover my shudder. Though the man and woman’s graves have become weathered and the flowers refuse to grow, the small boy’s grave is as bright as the first day, the wild snapdragons clustered thickly around it in vibrant purples, yellows, and reds. It has an air of playfulness, as if the spirit remains to ask if you’d play a game.

With a sigh, I read the epitaph one last time – For One Who Suffered Blameless – Ichimaru Gin. Bending as gracefully as my old knees allow, I place my gifts into the snapdragon blossoms. The little fox figurines are made of wood no bigger than a crab apple, painted with silver and white markings. I paid dearly for them made, but I hope to avert the spirit from pursuing me again. With a grunt, I rise and turn away, moving slowly out of the cherry grove that shields the three graves from sight.

*********************************************

As I was sitting beside Mother’s bed for the death vigil, she related to me a story of the District that has passed into legend. A whore who thought herself above even the geisha, a charming man turned to beast, a haunted house long burned down, and a small child she called the fox of autumn. The story was most incredible, but I listened with respect as she told me the secret location of the grave, and how the master of the Ichimaru clan had warded off a bad fate. He had asked for anyone to bring him the child, and eventually, Mother had come forward to tell him her story. Her alone, she said, had been entrusted with the grave, out of all who asked.

Mother had opened an okiya some ten years prior, closing her brothel to the surprise of all, and opening the Autumn Fox Okiya. She never confessed her motives to any, though she was careful to keep in contact with all of her friends and business contacts in the District. She assured them she was not better than them, but that she had a debt to repay, and could not continue the brothel. Eventually she was believed, though she made it more than clear than her geisha were not whores and were not to lose virtue in any sense, or they would lose more than their places. She did loan several struggling brothels money for a share of revenue, but she herself would not be involved in the running of a brothel.

After a week of proper burial rites, I set my feet to the path Mother asked of me. I have run the Okiya as she wished, though she is no longer her to please. She took me in – a girl with as much beauty as a pig at the age of six, against all opposition. I was wandering the strets, filthy, dirty, and smelling to the skies when I asked her for a yen to buy supper. My mother had been a whore, and after she had died, I had no one. When the old lady in the beautiful kimono had walked towards me, I had asked for a yen, because I was very hungry.

”Please, pretty lady, I don’t want to steal anything. I just want something to eat, I promise I won’t touch your beautiful clothes…”

I don’t even know how foolish it was to ask it of her, but I did. She took my hand, she took my life, and she took me to the okiya, and gave me a new life. At first, I was only a maid, but I was clean and fed. I never had much beauty, but she trained me in anything I thought to ask a question about. Now I am Mother of the Autumn Fox Okiya, when I should have rightfully died in a gutter. This is why I obey a dead woman’s instructions when others tell me I may do whatever I wish.

I have invested in the okiya and other ventures, but never a brothel. Among my best assets is the patronage of a kimono maker, whose shop and equipment I own. Every investment she asked of me has been successful, though there have been bumps along the path.

Now September has arrived, and the biggest burden she gave me is due. I set out at dawn with a single mule, walking on my own two feet. The mule plods along the streets under the weight of a kimono, potted flowers, small, silver chimes, ivory fox figurines, and origami cranes. When I arrive at the cherry grove, I wind my way down to the three graves, exactly as she recalled. The child’s grave is pristine, yet his parents’ graves have weathered until they look over a hundred years old. I do not touch the weeds of the parents’ graves, but set to work weeding the snapdragons, pulling out the dead plants, and transplanting the replacements. The old wooden foxes are lined up at the foot of the grave, as if someone was playing with them and then put them away neatly.

My task takes several hours, the cranes perched on the sides of the grave. The ivory foxes I placed by the old wooden ones, and the kimono I folded at the bottom of the grave. It’s a man’s kimono, in green with silver leaves and foxes chasing around the hem, for the life he should have had. I get up, murmur a prayer for his happiness and smile.

“Until next year, Ichimaru-san.” I lead the mule to the top of the grove, brushing off my kimono. A silvery peal of laughter comes from behind me, and heart in my mouth, I slowly look over my shoulder.

On top of the grave, a six year old child sits, pale skin competing with the moon for paleness, silver hair unruly across his forehead. He’s wearing a strange haori of dark blue with white circles and prisms along the hem. He smiles at me, waving his hand.

“Bye-bye! Play with me again next year!” I smile and nod, then bow slowly to the strange child.

“Of course, Ichimaru-san. Happy birthday, Ichimaru-san.” He brightens, and then giggles again.

”Arigatougozamasu! You remembered!” I smile carefully through the pulse pounding in my mouth.

“Mother told me of the fox of autumn, and to remember him.” He grins at my comment, clapping his little hands together.

“I always knew Aizen-sama was right!” With that, he giggles again, and I am left in the grove alone, unsure of what I have just seen, although I have no doubts of whom.

It's a Great Day For a White Wedding

Mon, 12 May 2008 04:39:28 GMT

Official memo from the Department of FanGirl and FanBoy Public Relations
From the Desk of Paperpendragon

Greetings, my many and wonderful minions. Although you have been most faithful and have pleased me well, I am proud to announce, from your ranks, i have chosen a wife to produce the heirs to the kingdom. She does not seem afraid of the pedestal's height, and all is well.

We grabbed our towels, chanted don't panic, and proceeded to the wedding chapel on May 9, 2008. I have made an honest woman out of a wicked fangirl.

I am also pleased to announce Mrs. Paperpendragon and myself will be attending the Yaoi-Con Ball in September to present her to the public. Please mark your calenders and RSVP immediately.

Regards,

Mr. Paperpendragon

Post Script: Find the literature references and get a cookie!

Lowering of the Age Limit/Recruit People!

Fri, 04 Apr 2008 02:25:57 GMT

Hello All:

Since most of my work now contains nothing graphic, I've lowered the community, wunnaplay from "Explicit Adult Content", to "Adult Concepts". So, if you're not joining for that reason, sign up!

I'm pleased to announce I will be attending Yaoi Con with my wife this year, who, if you're into Buffyverse, you know as maryfic.

We've reserved our rooms and are buying passes in the next week to the Con.

Hope to see my fans there!

~Paperpendragon

The White Tower - Moonlit Shadows

Mon, 31 Mar 2008 14:44:18 GMT

Title: White Tower – Moonlit Shadows
Author: Paperpendragon
Pairing: AizenxGin, GinxRenji, ByaxGin
Rating: Mature- violence, gay relationships, mentions of torture and injuries, innuendos.
Summary: Sequel to “Scarlet Bones”
COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.

A/N: By request. Please also help maryfic think of drabbles for the table. IO've also made my hotel reservation for yaoi con...

Byakaya Kuchiki found that refusing to remember was more helpful than lying to himself, though others would have noted it was simply lying by omission. Driven to visit the silver haired shinigami again, he refused to acknowledge the search both sets of guards performed on him. If he refused to know, if was as if it had not happened.

He entered the cell again, noticing with grim satisfaction that it and its contents were clean and sanitary. I do not know, Aizen-sama, he seemed upset that I caught him…was that not the point of the game? He refused the memory, refused to remember Ichimaru Gin’s lost innocence. TGo remember meant to ask why he had not protected it.

He knelt by the futon, checking Ichimaru’s weak pulse, turning his head aside to see the bruises and feel dry, papery skin flushed with heat, and removed the blankets to see every rib in sharp relief. The moonlight gleamed on healthy ivory skin writhing eneath him, as he used almost viscious force in the wake of his grief for Hisana. He traced his fingers down Gin’s ribs, then felt the muscles tense, stir, and then finally relax once more.

“Saaa…come to visit the dead?” The whisper was thin, reedy, as if Ichimaru’s age were finally showing instead of illness. Byakaya said nothing, opening Ichimaru’s mouth to see his swollen tongue and tonsils.

“Not gunna say nothin’? Maybe I’ll compare notes with Hisana-san when I see ‘er.” His laugh was cut off midway, the force of the slap Byakaya had automatically delivered reddening his cheek. It would bruise tomorrow, without a doubt.

“Tha…That wasn’t nec..necessary, Byakaya-san. You and I, way too close for slappin’ around. Dontcha think?” Byakaya raised his hand again, and then lowered it to his lap. More nights with moonlight streamed through his mind.

“The last night before we left…you were real violent. I was bruised for weeks from ya. Aizen-sama complained a lot.” He chuckled, and then his grin widened. “He thinks when he captures Soul Society, he’d give ya ta me. And watch.”
Byakaya fled the tower with confusion shaking his mind and his hands. When Renji returned from his errand to fourth division, he wondered but did not ask why his captain had gone home early for the day. His third seat informed him Kuchiki-taichou had also said he would not be in tomorrow. Renji frowned, but went on with his paperwork and duties, knowing Kuchiki would resent any intrusion into private matters.

White Tower- Scarlet Bones

Mon, 24 Mar 2008 04:29:18 GMT

Title: White Tower - Scarlet Bones
Author: Paperpendragon
Pairing: AizenxGin, GinxRenji, ByaxGin?
Rating: Mature- violence, gay relationships, mentions of torture and injuries, innuendos.
Summary: Sequel to “Ivory Shadows”
COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.

A/N: Bya by request, will be in the next chapter, but I had to build up to it.

When Renji trekked to the tower, he told himself no lies. He was attracted to the silver haired shinigami as a moth to flame, his curiosity a shining, deadly thing that honed his lust for thin, pale limbs. He had learned from Unohana-taichou than Kuchiki-taichou had visited, and it had been the very afternoon Kuchiki-taichou had been thrashing the new recruits and anyone who had given him lip that day. He did not come to see what had upset Kuchiki-taichou so, he came to satisfy his own need to see Ichimaru Gin. Gin had never been his friend, had been occasionally his lover, and often, his humiliator and his enemy.

He endured the strip search at the gates, then a second, more intrusive one in front of the cell door. When he unlocked the gate in the bars and crawled through, he found a fourth division shinigami – whose name he could not for the life of him recall – finishing his cleaning duties. With a wave of dismal, he crouched near the other man, who was tucked smartly into his futon. The skin showed every rib, every bump of spine, the way the blanket was lying giving the fact away before the flesh did.

“Ichimaru-taichou…” Renji sighed and looked around, trying to focus on any one object, and failing. The cell was clean, almost surgical. Only the fixtures and the bed decorated it, apparently, Gin had tried to strangle a guard a few days back with his sheets, and they were wary of giving Ichimaru anything else to damage others, or himself with. Renji chuckled at the thought.

“You know, Ichimaru-taichou, they put it in that order. ‘Don’t give him anything he could hurt others, or himself, with.’” A weak chuckle that turned into a cough answered, and then, Renji found himself staring into eyes the color of blood, the color of his hair, and the color of death.

“H’ppy bir…birthday, Ren..ji.” Ichimaru smiled at him then, and Renji felt confusion crash over him like a wave. Ichimaru’s health report had said dangerous fever, abuse, and near starvation. He shouldn’t have remembered who his name was, let alone Renji’s birthday.

“Saaa…don’t tell me I got it wrong…It’s…August. August thirty-first?” Renji nodded, and Ichimaru grinned, the ear to ear grin Renji remembered sending younger shinigami screaming.

“Good, Renji-san. This is my present..ta ya. Don’t…share it…” he seemed to need a moment to catch his breath, “with Bya-chan. ‘E’s been dyin’…ta know.” Renji chuckled weakly, stroking the shaggy silver hair away from the hot, dry forehead.

“Sleep now, Ichimaru-taichou.” Renji sat beside the bed, his hand over the other man’s, watching him fall into sleep with a puzzled frown.

Memories/Fixing the Journal Up

Thu, 21 Feb 2008 20:51:53 GMT

I've reorganized a bit around here. All the writings are stored in memories, so everyone can find everything.

It goes:

Gin's Novel
Spiral Shell Temptations
White Tower
Uncategorized

I've added the Epilogue, called "Water Moon Reflections" to the Gin's Novel category. It is *not* chapter 17, sorry for all I told it was. Bad memory.

"Spiral Shell Temptations" is Rose Tinted Water, Wind Chimes, Strawberries and Cream (formerly Spies in the Afternoon), and Golden Rope. Those are in order, by the way.

"White Tower" is White Tower, Golden Tears, and Ivory Shadows. Death themed origami was posted with ivory Shadows, so it's there also.

"The Name of God" is the two parter about Gin running into his mother. "The Name of God" and "Playing God".

Uncategorized lists: A Simple Miscalculation, Best Kept Under the Rug, Candy, Cat-nip for Gin, Dances at Midnight, Gin's Alphabet and Forms of White, Halloween, Hotohori in Chains, Learning, Memories of a Ghost (guest appearance by Jack the Ripper), Misinterpretation, Rain, So Cold, Stars, Stealing Ichimaru, The Object of Obsession, Ship of Dreams, and finally, Stars.

I'd recommend looking at it my description so it's alphabetized.

I edited a couple words here and there, but mostly, I stuck to saving it in memories and fixing the coding for paragraphs so everything was spaced properly.

I have a Bya-centric request, a Jack the Ripper fic request, and I have not forgotten White Tower, or the Name of God...

Hopefully, there's something you missed now in memories so I won't be eaten alive....

Paperpendragon

Tue, 05 Feb 2008 03:39:03 GMT

Community for my fics and fangirling/fanboying:

http://community.livejournal.com/wunnaplay/

Found more fic I forgot to transfer, I'll try to put it up soon.

Cross Posting: RIP 02/04/08

Mon, 04 Feb 2008 23:55:01 GMT

Due to some pissy authorness, I'm not cross posting to any other journals anymore. I don't get comments like I used to, and frankly, I can't be bothered.

I'll be switching to friends only journal style if I get worked up enough about it, and possibly might just make a community journal for my stuff and my recommendations. Start friending and commenting, or no paperpendragon for you, dangnabbit.

I'm broke and don't get paid, so it's the least I should get for people getting enjoyment. My muse is my property, and he ain't cheap ;)

Ivory Shadows and Death Theme Origami

Mon, 04 Feb 2008 06:26:48 GMT

Title: White Tower - Ivory Shadows
Author: Paperpendragon
Pairing: AizenxGin, ByaxGin?
Rating: Mature- violence, gay relationships, mentions of torture and injuries, innuendos.
Summary: Sequel to “Golden Tears”
COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.

When Kuchiki Byakaya walked to the White Tower, he told himself it was to insure that escape was impossible. He steadfastly ignored the inner voice that told him he wanted to see the fox-faced shinigami for much more personal reasons. That voice, strangely, sounded in a familiar drawl, unheard for many months.

His feet whispered up the stairs, the guards not subjecting noble flesh to a through search. That inner voice drawled that maybe they should, my how careless of them. Byakaya pushed it to the depths of his mind, refusing to identify the voice’s owner. A stolen memory of pale, white flesh and glistening silver stole through his mind, and Byakaya blamed the chill of the owner for his shudder.

The guards at the entrance to the cell insisted, politely, but firmly, on patting his clothes and removing his soul slayer. The inner voice seemed to be smile and sigh at the same time. Awww, I guess they’re doing their job, unlike their companions. He could hear it now, polite, yet mocking talons scratching at the edges.

Byakaya entered the room, nose wrinkling at the smell of infection, illness, and waste. His fingers manipulated the controls without orders from his mind, making the toilet and sink flush, then enter the cleaning cycle. He was at the door, his hand drawing a ring of keys from his sleeve, when he thought to question his actions. A traitor needs no care…why am I providing such? Another flash of pale muscle and silver silk flashed through his memories, a flush heating his equally pale cheeks. Without pausing to consider further, he unlocked the small gate set into the bars, squatting and crawling through. H relocked the gate behind himself, and then stood with a sigh.

Fourth Division needs to relearn its duties. He went to the futon, mentally reminding himself to ask Captain Unohana to send someone to attend to the cleanliness of the cell. He unwrapped the thin, bruised limbs, allowing his fingers to splay over the underfed, near skeletal, chest. Moans filled his ears and memories of moonlight filled his eyes before he shoved the memories back to the core of himself, where he kept things best forgotten.

He brushed the silver strands, as fine as spider’s silk, away from a fevered forehead, rewarded by a glint of unidentifiable color behind pale eyelashes. From a distance, they looked dark, but it was merely the thickness of the fringe that gave it such an appearance. They were as pale and fine as the hair flowing from the top of his head. Welts covered that pale chest in an angry cascade of red and purple marks, several sluggishly oozing clear fluid, most a mere few hours old.

“You should tell them what they want to know. They will kill him regardless.” His voice sounded dull, mechanical, trying to hard to be neutral. A long moment held its breath, then passed, and a familiar laugh and polite drawl, unheard in months, replied.

“I won’t sell out my Aizen-sama. Like I sol’ you out.” A smile tugged the corners of the fox’s lips, as predatory as a coyote’s grin as it opened on its prey. Fire rose in Byakaya’s cheeks, the shame and humiliation undimmed by the passage of years.

“Betcha she even liked it, ya know. You and me.” Byakaya’s face darkened further, but before he burst into rage, Ichimaru laughed again.

“Aww, c’mon, Bya-chan. I lied.”

Hours later, Renji found his captain thrashing the new recruits to sixth division with singular displeasure, and he hesitated to intervene when his captain was in such rare form.

Title: Death Themed Origami
Author: Paperpendragon
Pairing: None
Rating: PG13
Summary: For Phoenix.
COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.

Tousen knew his presentation on the new tactics of Soul Society wasn't going well. The arrancar had started biting and slapping each other, which, while not unusal, seemed a little more viscous than normal.

Aizen was staring at him as if he had a piece of something disgusting and possibly wriggling mass up his nose, which he could somehow see with his x-ray vision.

And Ichimaru Gin was making origami. Not just any origami, mind. Death themed origami. A little shinigami figure which looked amazingly like Hitsugaya was busy murdering a Tousen figure with a trowel. Several paper Hollows were feasting on what looked like Kurasaki Ichigo's exposed bowels via his ripped open stomach. And yet another Tousen figure with a stake through his heart with an unfamilar female figure in tasteful, fashionable leather clothes crouched on his chest.

Ichimaru Gin had been watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Golden Tears

Tue, 22 Jan 2008 05:21:21 GMT

Title: White Tower - Golden Tears
Author: Paperpendragon
Pairing: AizenxGin, KiraxGin, (one sided)
Rating: R- violence, sex, gay relationships, mentions of torture and injuries.
Summary: Filling out the old story, "White Tower", possible a story arc.
COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.

Kira trembled, his shoulders sagging, before he squared his shoulders and approached the new structure by the edge of the lake. The ivory tower was pristine, new, and unyellowed by time. A memory of skin flashed through his mind before he pushed it down ruthlessly. It had been built by rukongai’s citizens, with the shinigami supervising and carefully installing devices to contain spirit power. Though he hadn’t seen the secret designs, he k new several devices were in each level of the tower, from the underground foundations to the peak of the spire.

The blonde approached the guards at the only door into the tower, allowing himself to be disarmed and searched. The tower had gone up in a matter of weeks, its only inhabitant, had been transferred to a room near the top of the tower. This had been accomplished in the dead of night, the prisoner wrapped tightly in muslin sheets, a spirit sucking hiding the man’s eyes. Kenpachi had generously tested the blindfold, the device improved over Kenpachi’s own eye patch design.

He walked up the steps, which tortuously twisted back and forth up the length of the tower, identical doors appearing at regular intervals on both the left and right. None were marked. It took Kira two hours to work his way up to a door that sat at the end of a landing, the only distinguishing feature four guards, two for each side of the door. He endured another, more through search, having to strip completely down for the guards. Finally, he was admitted into a large, airy room. There were several windows in the room, but they were a foot tall by a foot wide, spaced three feet apart, fully twenty feet off the floor. The windows faced north, so daylight illuminated the cell every hour the sun was in the sky.

The room was divided, but unequally. The side Kira stood on was only a fourth of the room, the other three fourths divided by virtue of floor to ceiling bars. They were made of a strange metal alloy that made Kira feel ill even five feet away from them. The bars were spaced only three inches apart, and were fully two inches in diameter per bar, cast out of a single piece.

Kira frowned, hanging towards the door, which had been shut behind him as soon as he had cleared the door frame. The precautions seemed overmuch, when he looked at the thin figure on the futon at the back wall of the cell. The futon was thick, a covering sewn onto the mattress with tiny stitches. The blankets were thick as well, and nearly impossible to tear apart. There was a toilet sunk into the corner by the front of the cell. It was flushed by a control on Kira’s side. There was a sink beside it, similarly controlled and sunken into the floor. There was a low table bolted to the floor, with a variety of books, a violin, as well as paper, paints, and ink.

But the silver haired shinigami was barely in a condition to notice. He lay bundled on the futon, the blankets flung off his chest and tangled with his skinny legs. Kira gasped, putting a hand to his mouth. His captain was barely a hundred and twenty five pounds, and bruises showed on all of his exposed flesh, in a sickly rainbow of black, purple, green, and yellow. Bandages crisscrossed his chest, his lower arms, but not his ankles, which were in stiffened bandages serving as casts. The word from the Commander-General was he was to heal without assistance unless it threatened his life as part of his punishment for the betrayal of Soul Society.

Fever gave his an under wash of rose, a cruel joke that made him look rosy with health. Kira edged closer, getting a reward of color through thick eyelashes. The rasping breathing hitched, stuttered, and then became shallower.

“Came ta gloat, Kira-chan?” The words were slow, and harsh. Kira had heard his screams from the Shrine of Penitence the night of his capture, from which Ichimaru’s throat had still not healed. Kira winced, marshalling himself before speaking.

“I…I came…because…it was…I…” Kira’s courage failed him in the midst of his confession. His cheeks flushed with shame. He had struggled with himself for weeks, and now he was failed in his mission. He lowered his eyes, sighing.

“I ain’t yer captain anymore, Kira-chan. Ya ain’t got to..” Ichimaru had to struggle to pump air into his lungs and his voice was laced more than its usual sarcasm as he continued.

“..gotta…report to me no more.” Ichimaru got it out in a rush, and then struggled once more to get his breath. Lines appeared by his mouth and the corners of his eyes, and his ageless face seemed to be touched by mortality at last.

“Ichimaru-san…I led them to you. I…I hunted for you for the Commander-General. He..I closed the trap on you and masked Renji-san’s raitsu.” Kira felt hot liquid running down his face. Ichimaru had betrayed Soul Society, and he had betrayed his heart. The traitorous organ mutinied against him with his captain. His former captain, he reminded himself sternly.

There was silence for many minutes before a wheezing laugh broke the still air.

“Aww, cute..cute Kira-chan thinks…I loved him!” Ichimaru lapsed into a coughing fit as the tears froze to Kira’s cheeks. He stared at the remains of his captain, who smiled even through the coughs that flecked his lips with scarlet blood. He calmed, exhaustion deepening the lins on his face, but his smile was wider.

“Kira-chan, you always follow th’ rules. You ain’t even livin’, really. Ya already dead inside. Only…one person could hur’ me with betrayal.” He rolled the last words syllables around his tongue, as if tasting the word, his eyes hidden but trained on the agony on Kira’s face.

“…Mat…Matsu…moto?” Kira whispered his voice crackling with pain. Surely it was his vocal cords as they broke apart into shards in his throat, not his heart.

Ichimaru’s laughter shredded him, the smile widening to its fullest.

“Stupid Kira-chan. I don’t love that red-headed bitch. Only mah cap'n.”

Kira never remembered how he got back to his apartments that night, or where he got the bottle of sake he found empty the next morning on his floor.

Announcements

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 02:10:05 GMT

Hello All, Loyal and New Fans Alike:

Sorry I haven't been writing. We've had a lot of stress in RL, which caused a muse strike. Aizen and Gin are still sipping margaritas in Jamaica.

To make up for the lack of new writing, I've been finishing the process ofclosing my old journal begun over a year ago, and moving some fic I forgot last time over, so there's about eight new stories if you didn't follow me two years ago.

I'm open to ims on any of my listed messengers.

I'm hoping to start writing in Feb.: We're dirt broke right now (If you want to donate money to a starving college student, let me know, I do have Paypal *g* but most of you are as broke as I am).

We're broke becuse we're moving at the end of the month, to a house that has cheaper rent.

We're behind in all bills, because of said move, and because I am only working 18 hours.

Anyho, if you've read through all of this boring stuff, 'll drop the big news:

I am tentatively announcing my attendance at Yaoi Con 08. I will be wearing Gin's haori and a sign that says "Paperpendragon". Maybe. I might be convinced to do a full Gin getup, but I doubt I'll have that much spare.

Hopefully I'll see you guys there!

Winter Nights

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 01:53:11 GMT

Title: Winter Nights
Author: Paperpendragon
Pairing: ShunJyuu
Rating: Mature for nudity, insinuations of sex, past and future.
Summary: Shunsui keeps Jyuushiro warm.
COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.

It’s a quiet afternoon, cold and windy. Shunsui doesn’t feel like going outside for excercises or feel a need to show off to the new recruits to his division, but he feels the need to be near warmth. He heard from 13th Division that it was one of Jyuushiro’s bad days, and told Nano-chan he was going to see him. It is one of the few excuses she actually lets him get away with.

When he arrives, Jyuushiro is wrapped in a thick yukuta, in his enormous four poster bed. He had insisted after they graduated the Academy on buying Jyuushiro the bed, as the white haired shinigami spent too much of his time there to sleep in a bedroll. He’d had scraped together the money by asking the old man for a loan, and spent months paying it back. Numerous thick quilts have come and gone from the bed, all of them in soothing earth tones. The current quilt on top is one of his favorites, a great big quilt with a pattern of blue, interlocked rings on a background of white. Shunsui has never told Jyuushiro it is given to couples on their wedding night to ensure a good marriage; Jyuushiro finds the pattern soothing and is fond of it because Shunsui gave it to them on the anniversary of their first kiss this year. It’s all he needs to know, really.

Jyuushiro is buried under that and four other quilts, a fire going in the fireplace hot enough to make the room roasting. Jyuushiro sits up with effort as Shunsui enters, pale and shivering, his voice sleepy and wavering.

“Shun-kun? Is that you?”

“Yup. I was cold, so I came in from the rain. I thought I’d use you as a heater!” Shunsui takes off his pink kimono, then his haori, draping them over the back of a comfortable leather chair he sleeps in when Jyuushiro needs to rest by himself. His hat is placed on the seat, and the pinwheels and hair tie follow.

“Socks off or on, Jyuu-chan?”

“Off. Take it all off. Clothes are itchy today.” Shunsui nods and strips down completely, draping his robes over the armrests and placing the socks on top. He gets into the bed quickly, not bothered by the temperature, but knowing the rush of colder air will both his beloved white haired shinigami. He settles, moving so Jyuushiro lies between his thighs, his chest supporting Jyuushiro’s back.

“Knock, knock, Jyuu-chan.” The game is old between them, since Shunsui discovered the jokes decades ago.

“Who’s there?”

“Orange.”

“Navel?” Shunsui laughs. Jyuushiro always guesses, but he never gets it right.

“No. You say, ‘Orange who’?”

“Orange who, Shun-kun?”

“Orange ja glad to see me?”

Jyuushiri laughs, squirming a little to get comfortable. Shunsui feels guilty when Jyuushiro’s laughs turn into violent, bloody coughing. He holds his lover gently and rubs his chest with his left hand, the other hand picking up the damp towel on the bedside table to blow the blood from Jyuushiro’s lips. When the fit subsides, Shunsui kisses a temple, sighing softly.

“I’m sorry, Jyuu-chan, I shouldn’t make you laugh.”

“...It’...okay. Best medicine.” Jyuushiro gasps out, his right hand raising, looking for a mate. Shunsui gives him what he seeks, squeezing the fingers gently in his larger, coarser hand.

“I’ll stay with you for a couple of days, it’s not often I can convince you to sleep naked with me.”

“That’s my line…because you rarely let me sleep.” Shunsui gives him a lazy, perverted grin.

“Oh, my fair one, I will ravish you in due time, have no fear of that.”

“Just don’t get syrup in my quilts again.” Jyuushiro says sternly, looking slightly cross. Shunsui had ruined his favorite quilt not two months ago with chocolate syrup. He couldn’t help that Jyuushiro’s skin tasted best with chocolate syrup.

"Yes, Jyuushiro-sama, Master of the Quilts, no syrup.” Shunsui tells him with mock submissiveness, relaxing against the pillows. He’ll never admit to anyone that he likes cuddling naked with Jyuushiro above all things, including sex with Jyuushiro. No-one needs to know what Jyuushiro understands in the comfortable silences they share.

Stars

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 01:47:10 GMT

Title: “Stars”
Author: Paperpendragon
Pairing: AiGin
Rating: 13 and up, for language.
Summary: Aizen goes star-watching.
COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.

You lay between my spread legs, wearing a pair of battered old blue jeans and a thick, fluffy gray sweater. The evening is cold, as it is early fall. The day was crisp and clear, and the night as turned chilly. You are restive, turning your head to rest your face against my thigh. I am wearing a pair of black slacks and a white dress shirt, along with along, black business jacket. One of your hands reaches up to grab my purple tie, and you yank my face closer to yours.

“You look real gay, with th’ purple tie.” I laugh and lean down further to kiss your temple.

“Is that so?”

“Mmmhm.” You reply, wrapping the tie around your pale fist. Under the light of the harvest moon, the grass is a dark sage color, and your jeans and skin look paler in comparison.

“Little uke, mind your mouth.” You laugh and jerk on my improvised leash.

“Oh, dontcha know, the uke holds all the power ina relationship?” I blink at this new logic and lean closer.

“How is that, Uke-chan?”

“I can hurtcha by a look, wound with a word, and yer dominating behavior is a reaction to me. Ah determine ever’thin’ you do.” I blink in startlement at such a theory.

“Huh. You’ve been reading too much Freud. Next you’ll tell me I have penis envy.” Your lilting laugh carries in the night air, down the grassy hill and beyond, like a homeless ghost seeking a home.

“Oh, I dun think so, yer penis is just fine. Real big. Tastes good.” I laugh, and you release my tie, shifting again.

“Why we out here, ‘gain?”

“I wanted to look at the stars.”

“Why? They just little lights, can’t do anythin’.” You don’t even look at the dark indigo sky with its twinkling lights. I stroke your silver hair, looking up at them.

“Do you think they burn, Ichi-chan?”

“Mmm. Prob’lly. All light burns.” I look up at the little twinkling stars that seem just out of reach when I stretch my fingers towards them.

“Aaa.” You seem bored with the discussion, and you still don’t look up.

“Why don’t you like the stars, Ichi-chan?” You laugh and look up at me.

“‘Cause my star is right ‘ere.”

Cat-nip For Gin

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 01:41:55 GMT

Title: “Gin-nip: Catnip for Gin”
Author: Paperpendragon
Pairing: AiGin
Rating: Mature for Ichimaru molesting Aizen and implied sex.
Summary: Ichimaru finds something about Aizen irresistible one evening.
COMMUNITY DISCLAIMER: All characters depicted in sexual situations in this post/fanfiction/fanart (including material in the comments) are fictional and are intended to be and considered to be by the author of said material of the legal age of consent in the United States state of California, regardless of what age these characters may be in the material they are derived from.

I come home late, and find you waiting in my apartment I sigh, stripping off my stuffy socks, my haori, and peel off my robes to the waist to bare my chest. I feel sticky and unbearably hot. The Women’s Association of Shinigami insisted on having a bake sale in the middle of a heat wave during the height of summer. Every eligible bachelor that could cook edible cakes was pressed into service, including myself.

The apartment is stifling, though every fan I own is on in the apartment. You’re wearing only a pair of light blue boxers, your skin glistening in contrast with my dark navy couch. Your head is tilted back on the armrest and you snore just loudly enough to be audible. I leave you to your heat induced cat nap. Experience has taught me not to wake you, you are irritable when disturbed. The heat makes you lash out enough to make life miserable for the both of us.

I go to my study and sit at my desk to do the paperwork that has piled up. You sleep for three hours, the buzz of the insects making it difficult to stay awake. It cools a degree, and that is enough for you to wake. I feel your presence behind my back, but in deference to the heat, you do not actually touch me.

“Tha’ gives me a ‘eadache, just watchin’ you.”

“If you did it regularly and wore your glasses like a good boy, it wouldn’t.”

“I dun wunna, s’borin. Th’ glasses ya bought me, make me look like a girl.”
Your accent is a caricature of itself, the heat making your syllables elongate and slur more than usual. It is only long intimacy that makes me able to interpret what you are saying.

“They look nice on your face.” I reply mildly, starting as you come close, inhaling my scent from my neck. The gesture is strange; you know exactly what I smell like. Your spidery hands settle on my shoulders, and then run down over my biceps to my elbows. What are you seeking on my skin, Gin?

Your tongue follows your left hand, tasting the salt on my skin. You inhale deeply, and you make a strange sort of mewing sound I haven’t heard you emit since I took your virginity an age ago. Your chest vibrates with the sound, the sound on the threshold of being unheard. I hold still, wanting to hear it again, but whatever has drawn your interest, movement might disturb.

A long moment passes as your longue explores the inside of my elbow. I retrain the sound threatening to spill from my lips. You move on, and halfway to my hand, I feel your chest vibrate with that sound again, the mew muffled against my skin. Your tongue makes it to my fingers, and you drape yourself over my back to get at the new taste you have discovered.

When I finally wear you out enough that you sleep, I lie in the bed with you and watch you sleep, propped up by my elbows. I allow a smirk to curl my lips, my hand moving over your ribs. You shift in sleep, moaning softly, but you are too exhausted for another round.

I must find an excuse to make pumpkin bread again, and very soon.