Archive of Our Own

Table of Contents:

1. Cellophane | 600 words | AE!Obscureshipping (Shaada x Isis), Apprenticeshipping (Mana x Mahad) | Most of her spells seemed to work out in the end, so Mana was hardly worried when she realized that she could no longer see her arms, or her entire body. | [Award Winner]
2. Sunk | 800 words } Battleshipping (Seto x Jonouchi x Yugi) | "Some people would call that cheating," Kaiba said. "That's true," Jonouchi replied. "I for one choose to call it strategy."
3. Secondhand | 591 words | Tendershipping (Ryou x Bakura) | “My, how you’ve missed me,” he says. “I brought you a present.”
4. The Words that Need to be Said | 450 words | Mizushipping (Priest Seto x Kisara) | A curious vendor
5. Stars | 572 words | Shadowshipping (Yami Yugi x Shizuka) | What wish is there to fulfill?
6. Waterslides | 387 words | Mistakenshipping (Yugi x Mana) | Mana comes back to present-day Domino with Yugi & co after the Memory World arc
7. Truth in Dreams | 433 words | Rishid x Kisara | "You have the right to be happy"
8. Breathless | 514 words | Aptshipping (Honda x Ishizu) | Perhaps they could each save each other, that evening.
9. Double-Date | 578 words | Danceshipping (Anzu x Mai) | It was meant to be a one time thing.
10. Masquerade | 730 words | Antagoshipping (Seto x Bakura) | Bakura has Seto trapped in a grand illusion.
11. Haunt Me | 150 words | Darkshipping (Yami Yugi x Yami Bakura) | He believes in himself too much to ever think he could be going crazy.
12. Green, uplifted | 600 words | Polarshipping (Mai x Jonouchi) | Maybe that right there is what love is. | [Award Winner]
13. Screw the Rules, I Have a Library Card | 507 words | Prideshipping (Seto x Yami Yugi) | He'd just started a new chapter when someone approached the desk, setting down a tall stack of books with a thud.
14. Storytelling | 600 words | Loquashipping (Rebecca x Kisara) | “Haunting implies that the spiritual presence is stuck or unsought,” he replied. “I would welcome a ghost into our house—fascinating creatures, wouldn’t you think?”
15. Amphichiral Knot | 600 words | Awareshipping (Ryuuji x Ryou x Marik) | “You won’t lose anything by being with me,” he tells Ryou. “You’re afraid of that. Of losing everything.”
16. Suzerain | 497 words | Clovershipping (Noa x Kisara) | He can give her wings, but he will not show her where to fly.
17. Slow Burn | 592 words | Rerunshipping (Noa x Yami Bakura) | "I can fix problems you didn’t even know you had."
18. Subject #00 | 600 words | Avatarshipping (Ryou x Change of Heart) | “All tombs come with a curse. Did you think this would be any exception?”
19. Cohesion | 592 words | Mischiefshipping (Mana x TKB) | “Just imagine what else you could make, if your thoughts were clear?”
20. Carbon Copy | 600 words | Rishid x Kisara | One day he entered the library to see a new installation.
21. Let Down Your Hair | 600 words | Foreignshipping (Leon x Rebecca) | Was walking in the woods alone at sundown such a crime? The girl in the red jacket with the axe seemed to think so.
22. High Score | 585 words | Tendershipping (Ryou x Bakura) | "Drive!" he shouted. Ryou was already ahead of him, sending the car all but flying down the road.
23. Temptation | 840 words | Citronshipping (Marik x TKB) | The King paused to gesture towards a closed door. “You are never to enter that room.”
24. Marigold | 600 words | Misguideshipping (Rebecca x Ryuuji) | She only wanted a ride to the airport--not a four-day road trip with Ryuuji Otogi. He can try to leave responsibility in the rear-view mirror, but in the end it's only a change in scenery, not in situation. | [Award Winner]

Challenge Name and Number: #044, Invisible
Drabble Title: Cellophane
Word Count: 600
Warnings (if applicable): None, really.
Pairings (if applicable): AE!Obscureshipping, hints of Apprenticeshipping.
Author's Note: AE, title for the lols. I decided to take things literally with this prompt. This could technically be seen as a sort-of unofficial sequel to Love-Sick.
Summary: Most of her spells seemed to work out in the end, so Mana was hardly worried when she realized that she could no longer see her arms, or her entire body.

The spell had not exactly gone as planned. Most of them seemed to work out in the end, though, so Mana was hardly worried when she finished an incantation, waved her arms in a circle, and realized that she could no longer see them. She couldn’t see her entire body.

She had become invisible.

She had a feeling this wouldn’t be like the time she had made a flock of pigeons invisible—catching them had proven an interesting bonding session for herself and her mentor—or when she had accidentally vanished the Pharaoh’s dinner right as the ladle had emerged from the soup-tureen.

Mana believed that when presented an opportunity one should take advantage of it. So she did, wandering the Palace halls and looking for the perfect chance to use her new-found abilities, whether to scare a servant or eavesdrop on important Kingdom business.

A strange noise from an adjoining chamber drew her interest, and she walked into the room—used for storage, jars and scrolls by the looks of it—to see Priest Shaada and Priestess Isis in deep conversation.

Mana paused, hesitating for only a second. Isis began to pace the narrow room, before turning away from Shaada.

“I can read your thoughts, you know,” he said, his voice tinged with laughter. “You are not as angry with me as you claim.”

“And you’re still wondering why I refuse to speak to you, after saying that?”

Mana clapped a hand over her mouth, struggling not to laugh. The blush on Priestess isis’s face…she looked so frustrated and yet so totally defeated, it was a combination Mana had never seen the woman wear before. One of Shaada’s hands moved to rest against Isis’s shoulder, and when she wouldn’t turn he moved to stand in front of her.

“You cannot push me away,” he breathed. Mana moved her hand from her mouth to her eyes, sure that she was about to witness something she really didn’t want to see, and when Shaada kissed Isis her suspicions were confirmed. She was invisible, but that didn't make her insubstantial, and as she scurried backward in her haste to get away she knocked into an urn. It fell with a clang, and she ran into the hallway as they broke apart, glancing around for the source of the disturbance.

She poked her head into the throne room next, to see what the Pharaoh was up to. She saw Atem, seated—he was bored out of his mind, although he tried his best not to show it. He was even slouching. She knew if he had any idea he was being watched, his posture would be as stiff as a wooden board. Without ceremony, he raised one hand and yawned into it.

She stifled a giggle, considering casting another spell just to liven up the place, when she saw the dark shadows beneath his eyes, and the weary hold to his shoulders. He needed the quiet, and the peace. She tiptoed out of the room slowly, her feet eventually taking her to her mentor’s chambers.

A window was open and she peered into it, watching Mahaado scratch something into a scroll. Spells, likely, more things for her to practice.
She was about to make her presence known when he leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

“She’s actually come a long way,” he murmured, and Mana knew he was talking about her. “She’s a great spellcaster…not that I’d ever tell her that.”

Mana inched away from the window, a huge smile on her face. It seemed her spell had worked out perfectly, after all.

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Notes:

1) The story was originally written on July 18, 2011. The original post can be found here. The story won first place.

Title: Sunk
Genre: Humor
Summary: "Some people would call that cheating," Kaiba said. "That's true," Jonouchi replied. "I for one choose to call it strategy."
A/N: Written for the YGO Rare Pair Request Meme, for Zie Ayton/theprettytomboy, who requested Battleshipping (Kaiba x Jonouchi x Yugi), with the story revolving around a game of Battleship. Since it's been awhile for me since I've personally played the game, I probably took some artistic license in the basic rules. xD Enjoy!

The table was set up, and Jonouchi stared at the tiny rows of blue squares before him, and the six wooden pegs set in a completely random formation. Six ships left, and he'd started out with ten. Two of his submarines and both cruisers had gone down heroically, sunk almost immediately in what Jonouchi believed to be the worst kind of luck. Still, it was all a part of the plan, and he had to stick to the plan. It was a war, after all, his ships against his opponent's, and he had something his opponent would never see coming.

Teamwork.

It didn't sound particularly intimidating when he put it like that, Jonouchi decided, but Kaiba was a master at it, staring at his own screen with a poorly-concealed look of utter triumph.

Actually, Jonouchi figured he wasn't even trying to conceal it.

"Your move," Kaiba said. "Try to hit something this time. I swear, Jonouchi, you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn."

Part One of Plan Defeat Seto Kaiba By Any Means Necessary was complete. By now, Kaiba's ego had been so inflated by his self-assured sense of victory that bringing him down would be just that much sweeter. From across the room Yugi stood up from his chair, folding his newspaper.

"Hey Jonouchi, do you want some juice? I've got apple."

Time to implement Part Two. He had memorized and rehearsed every combination. Juice = Row F. Apple = Column Three.

"Sure," Jonouchi said. "Thanks, Yugi."

"Kaiba? Any juice?"

He was ignored.

"3F," he said.

The look Kaiba gave him was venomous. "Lucky shot, Jonouchi."

"The best kind of luck." He accepted the glass of juice Yugi set on the table and took a healthy swig.

"We went to the store on Tuesday," Yugi continued. "They were all out of bread, but they had plenty of juice!"

Tuesday = Column Seven. Juice = Row F.

Kaiba made his move, miraculously avoiding any of Jonouchi's remaining ships. "What the hell kind of store runs out of bread?"

"7F?" He put just the right amount of caution into it to make it believable, but he couldn't help the fist-pump as Kaiba's expression turned even more confused. Seriously, Jonouchi was wondering why they hadn't done this sooner.

"What did I hit? Submarine?"

"Destroyer."

His gleeful smile grew even wider. "Guess you're not as great at this game as you claim, Kaiba."

"Play nice," Yugi chastised from his chair. of the two of them, he was much better at this acting thing. "It's just a game. Hey, why don't I play the winner?"

Game = Column Four. Winner = Row B.

In just a few short turns, Kaiba had lost all his destroyers and cruisers and was staring at his screen in disbelief. Jonouchi, meanwhile, was milking his victories. "How many is that now, Kaiba?"

"You've never been this good at any of the games before," he said. "Something's different."

"Pshh, that's because when you win you keep picking games like Risk and Tactics."

"Both are required to win at any game," Kaiba continued. "There's a reason there isn't a board game titled Dumb Luck or Idiot-Proof—"

"Can both of you just play the game?" Yugi said. "At this rate I won't get to play until next week."

Game = Column Four. Row = ?

Yugi hadn't given him anything else to go on. Figures, he'd still want him to win at least partially on his own.

"4D?" He winced, waiting for another victory tirade from Kaiba, but what he didn't expect was the sudden, stony silence.

"...Battleship."

Winning gracefully was for people like Yugi. To Jonouchi, now was certainly a time for celebrating. He flung his arms to the ceiling. Plastic pegs went flying. He accidentally knocked over the glass of juice with an elbow. No remorse; he had won, and it wasn't like they had ever actually outlawed cheating. "I sunk your battleship, Kaiba! I win! I'm awesome!"

"There's a first time for everything."

"In your face! I rock at this game!"

"It was a fluke."

"There can only be one winner and it's me!"

"...Best two out of three?"

Jonouchi considered it for approximately half a second. "Nah. But I'm surprised, you're handling this better than I would have thought."

"I refuse to believe it. He must have helped you," Kaiba insisted. "Well, did he?"

Jonouchi's smile cracked just slightly.

"I can't believe it. Some people would call that cheating," Kaiba said.

"That's true," Jonouchi replied. "I for one choose to call it strategy."

"...I hate you both."

Yup. No remorse at all.

"Well," he said, "I'll just have to beat you again next week when we play Clue!"

Omake:

"Well," he said, "I'll just have to beat you again next week when we play Twister!"

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Notes:

1) Inspired by a true story—I used to do this exact same thing to win at Battleship when I was little. I also used to cheat at Skee-ball and Monopoly. I should probably stop talking now before my good image is completely tarnished. xDD

2) I am fully aware how incredibly OOC this is, but as the main intent was the humor, I hope you don't mind. xD I don't think Yugi would ever intentionally cheat like this, but considering he let an Ancient Egyptian Pharaoh play games under his name...

3) This story was originally written on August 1, 2011. The original post can be found on my livejournal here.

Challenge Name and Number: #046, Reality
Drabble Title: Secondhand
Word Count: 591
Warnings (if applicable): None
Pairings (if applicable): Mild Tendershipping (Ryou x Bakura), angst.
Author's Note: Could be seen as a tie-in/sequel to Discursive.
Summary: “My, how you’ve missed me,” he says. “I brought you a present.”

From within, you can see all of the colors as they are meant to be seen. It’s the way the world naturally is, yet inside your own body there is none of the vibrancy of that life, the past life when you could see the blue of the sky or the tan of an ice-cream cone for what it was.

It turns your favorite seasons to ash—the burnt leaves of autumn just burning, the spring rain nothing but the most rudimentary wetness, still enough to choke on even though you aren’t allowed any more but the barest feel of it. The color of rain, the smell, those are gone from you. You’re left with only your memories of how the world used to look like, before he came and took all of that away from you into his own control.

Even the ugly sights, smells, sounds are not yours to have. You get the echo of exhaust, the dull din of tires screeching, of women screaming. It’s too muted, but it’s all you get so you hold on to it as tight as you can. It’s better than nothing, after all, and you know nothing for he has shown you both and chosen for himself which one you should have.

You may be shy and you may be solitary, but you are not a coward, so the next time he decides to show himself to you, you walk straight up to him and shove him as hard as you can. He doesn’t take but a single step back.

“My, how you’ve missed me,” he says. “I brought you a present.”

You don’t care for his presents anymore; they tend to be things you don’t want and could never use. Things like your friends’ minds in comas. A towel to wipe the blood from your hands. Threats. Promises, on occasion. Embraces. You don’t want any of them.

“The outside world!” you cry. “I want it back! Describe it to me, give me some small part of it, or give me nothing at all!”

“Ah, but I will not,” he says. “Everything you are is dependent on me, and why should I change that?”

As he breathes, you breathe, although yours are shallower and harsher. You feel sick. “Why?”

“Do you really have to ask me that?” His smirk is like the edge of a knife.

An apple tree grows in your backyard. You used to watch it from your window, the bright red sharp against brighter green, and you’d always get to eat the first apple. If you could see anything else again that was real, you would choose this. The faces of your friends and family are unchanging in your mind, but you were surprised at how fast images of nature could fade.

He gives you this cold, almost aristocratic smile, like he knows what’s better for you and is doing you a favor by cutting off your air supply like this and giving you only secondhand sensations. You can never have anything real for yourself, you can only be given someone else’s scraps, his scraps, the feelings and impressions that he has discarded. You’re only good enough for what someone else no longer wants.

You think that he does this to you so that eventually you’ll have no choice but to believe it.

That is your reality.

He reaches for something from behind his back, and you find you can’t take your eyes away as he shatters your world once more.

Without a word, Bakura hands you an apple.

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Notes:

1) The story was originally written on August 12, 2011. The original post can be found here.

Title: The Words that Need to be Said
Written for: Nuit Songeur
Pairing: Mizushipping (Priest Seto x Kisara)
Prompt: A curious vendor
Word Count: 450
Notes: Semi-AU, written for the YGO Rare Pair Requests Meme. This and the following five drabbles were written in August 2011 and can be found here at ygo-rare-pair on livejournal.

Kisara clutched the few coins to her name in one hand, browsing the city markets in hope of finding something suitable for her midday meal. People strolled among the market stalls as vendors shouted out the various goods for sale. Fish, breads, jewelry—almost anything could be purchased at this market, if one had the money and the inclination.

She leaned over the counter of one stall before being drawn away by the vendor at a neighboring stand. There were different trinkets spread over a wooden stand, from arm-cuffs and jeweled necklaces to perfumes and clips for one’s hair. She gave the vendor a thin smile, knowing that while there was no possibility she would ever have enough money for such things, she could at least appreciate them at a glance.

“Hello my dear!” the vendor welcomed. “Can I interest you in some baubles for yourself? Or perhaps a trinket for a male friend?”

She coughed, blushing crimson under the hot sun. “No, there is no such person. And no thank you, I can’t afford them.” She offered an apologetic grin, and the vendor, realizing the futility, turned towards another shopper.

“And you?” he asked. “Care for a trinket for your lover?”

The man he had asked spluttered and straightened, startled by his reaction to the question as much as the question itself. “Mind your place. I am the High Priest of the Pharaoh!”

Leaning forward, the vendor gestured between the two. “Perhaps you could buy a jewel for this lovely woman, then. You would not deny that she would look even more stunning with any of my shop’s wares.”

If possible, the two blushed even deeper, and Kisara turned away awkwardly, catching a glance of the one who called himself a High Priest from under her lowered eyelashes.

She made it all of three steps before she felt a hand on her arm, pulling her back with surprising lightness. She turned, surprised, to see the same man. The lightness of his touch was due more to hesitation than to strength, as was obvious by the broadness of his shoulders and the visible muscles in his arms.

“I agree with him,” he said, and Kisara found herself blushing for an entirely different reason.

“What?”

“You are beautiful, but you do not need insignificant jewels or trinkets to show this. What you need is a good meal. Would you allow me to buy your lunch? I would be honored to share a meal with you.”

Kisara smiled broadly, and nodded. "Thank you..."

"Seto," he answered. "High Priest Seto. Forgive me, but I must know your name."

"Kisara," she said. "Just Kisara."

At that moment, there was nothing else that needed to be said.

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Title: Stars
Written for: Ragnarok_08
Pairing: Shadowshipping (Shizuka x Yami Yugi)
Prompt: What wish is there to fulfill?
Word Count: 572
Notes: Written for the YGO Rare Pair Requests Meme

It was rare for her to find a moment of peace and quiet on the blimp, when everyone either wanted a piece of her time or wanted her to spend time with them. Shizuka wasn't even a duelist, and wondered how much busier and crazier her life would be if she was one of them. She didn't want the pressure her brother and the others faced every day, and was content to support them in whatever way she could, even if it meant doing her best to keep Otogi and Honda out of trouble. They seemed to find it even with her best help, anyway.

The nighttime air was cool as she leaned against the railing of the upper deck. She had never been this high up before, and the air was clearer and the stars brighter in the sky. With the stars above her and the twinkling lights from the city underneath, it almost looked to her like she was surrounded on all sides by the same luminescent, sparkling brilliance. It was like the inside of a diamond.

A slight cough drew her attention, and Shizuka turned. It seemed Yugi had the same idea she did, to escape the commotion and crowd of the tournament and seek a moment or two alone with nature.

Except now neither of them were alone. And it wasn't quite the same Yugi—it was him, but it wasn't. It was the strange spirit that dueled for him; she'd gathered that much, although no one had ever told her exactly what was going on. It was the sort of thing she supposed none of them knew too much about.

"I'm sorry," he said, withdrawing away from the railing. "I'll leave, if you wanted to be alone."

She smiled; somehow with him there beside her it didn't feel crowded. It felt calm.

"No, it's fine. Stay."

He did, and as he leaned his arms against the railing she glanced at the Puzzle, its chain peeking out from around his collar.

"You look unhappy," she remarked. "Why?" Feeling suddenly abashed, she added, "unless you don't feel like talking. It's okay."

"You might be able to help," he said.

Now she knew for a fact she was speaking to the other Yugi. He carried himself differently, his shoulders were straight instead of slouched, his chin lifted. His was a calm, poised confidence, where Yugi's own was more unassuming.

"What can I do?" she asked.

"When the Puzzle was completed, it granted its solver a wish," the other-Yugi said. "Yugi's wish...made him happy. My wish has yet to be granted, and waiting for that moment is taxing. What would you wish for, if you could?"

Shizuka only needed to think for a moment, turning her face up to the stars. "I don't need anything. I'm perfectly happy with what I have—I have my eyesight, and my brother, and our friends. There is nothing more I need to be happy."

Instead of the stars, she turned to look directly in his eyes. "So instead I would wish for whatever you needed. You know, to help speed up the process."

The look he gave her was one-half genuine surprise, one-half gratitude. A light laugh escaped his lips.

“Thank you, Shizuka.”

She smiled at him. “It’s nothing,” she said.

They both turned and in companionable silence turned towards the railing, knowing it was anything but that. Together, they looked at the stars.

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Title: Waterslides
Written for: aramis_chan
Pairing: Mistakenshipping (Yugi x Mana)
Prompt: Original prompt: waterside. But, in a rare moment of idiocy, I accidentally read it as 'waterslide.' Hence, the slightly crack-y way this turned out.
Word Count: 387
Notes: Written for the YGO Rare Pair Requests Meme. Total, shameless, fluffy AU. Somehow, Mana comes back to present-day Domino with Yugi & co after the Memory World arc.

“Come on, Yugi!” Mana called, waving at him from across the pool. “This is so much fun! You’ve got to try it!”

Sheepish, he made his way to her as quickly as he could. “You shouldn’t shout, it’s rude,” he said.

“Sorry.” She didn’t sound it, and the huge grin on her face never wavered. “There’s just so much left to catch up on! What are we going to do next?”

“What would you like to do?” he asked.

“I love…waterslides!” she shouted, beaming at Yugi. The act flipped something inside his stomach. “Let’s do it again!”

Somehow, he knew what her answer would be. So far, they’d gone to the park, to a fast-food joint, the arcade, and now they’d finally ended up at the water-park. The others didn’t have the same patience for Mana’s boundless enthusiasm, and there were still a few hours left before the water-park closed. Yugi personally didn’t like swimming, but Mana earnestly took to the slides.

“Can we do this again tomorrow?” she asked.

“There’s even more to show you,” he said. “There’s movies, and bowling, and—”

“Hey,” Mana spoke up suddenly, looping an arm around Yugi’s shoulders. “This is almost like a date! Right?”

Perhaps he had swallowed some water back when Mana had dunked him in the pool, and it was only now making his way out of his esophagus. It didn’t matter that that had been ten minutes ago. It was the only explanation for his sudden, red-faced, coughing episode.

“Mana!” he exclaimed. “That’s—that’s—I mean—”

She grinned at him, totally unruffled. “Tomorrow, then?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

She began to drag him towards the slide, her arm still draped around his neck. “Come on, Yugi, the waterslide is calling!”

He couldn’t say no when she made him go on the inner-tube slides, or the giant body slides, or the racing slides, which he won. He couldn’t say no when she asked him again, later that evening, to take her on a “proper” date the next day. “Whatever that meant, here,” she said.

He sighed and agreed, not even bothering to hide the slight grin on his face.

She asked him, “Why are you smiling?”

“I just really, really like…waterslides,” he said. He couldn’t think of one without thinking of Mana, after all.

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Title: Truth in Dreams
Written for: yllimilly
Pairing: ???shipping (Rishid x Kisara)
Prompt: 'You have the right to be happy'
Word Count: 433
Notes: Written for the YGO Rare Pair Requests Meme. I think this one's probably the best of the bunch. =D

It is quite the odd dream he finds himself in. At least, he assumes it is a dream, because the Egypt that lies before him—and it could be no where else but Egypt, he recognizes the bright, hot sun overhead and the warm sand underfoot—is nothing like the Egypt of his youth, but rather an older, more archaic Egypt. Things seem sharper, the sand dunes smoother, and as he turns to the woman standing beside him he knows once and for all that it must be a dream, because no one this perfect could exist in reality.

She’s beautiful and pale, white all over from her skin to her hair, with eyes so shockingly blue that when she turns them towards him he feels as if he has seen the sky itself reflected within their depths. At first he can’t even find words to say.

“Rishid,” she says, and he feels as if the heavens themselves have moved just from her lips speaking his name. Never mind that the way she says it is almost deprecating, but he ignores such things. He is within a dream, after all, so he can.

“Rishid, listen to me.”

Anything she says. He snaps to attention, removing his focus from the sand and sky and placing it before her. “Yes, miss?”

She laughs. “It is Kisara, Rishid. You know that.”

If she says it, it must be true. “Of course, Kisara.”

“You’re losing yourself in your quest to stop him, you know. You can temper your brother and assist your sister without foregoing yourself in the process.”

“Why tell me this, Kisara?” he asks. Of course he believes her, he would believe anything spoken by a mouth that beautiful, but his mind is not clear enough to realize that any day there is the possibility that Marik might snap again and that day could be tomorrow. That Domino could be a battleground for them all, and Rishid would prefer not to fight at all.

Instead, he offers her a tight, thin smile as she speaks.

“Because, Rishid, you have the right to be happy.”

If she says it, it must be true. “I am not sure I know how to find it,” he confessed, “or how I will know what it is once I have found it.”

Kisara reaches out a hand and grasps one of Rishid’s own. Hers feels cool and soft, and he wraps his fingers around it. He would keep such a thing safe. He would treasure such kindness.

“Do not worry, Rishid,” she says. “For I am here to help you.”

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Title: Breathless
Written for: elficiel
Pairing: Aptshipping (Honda x Ishizu)
Prompt: Wind
Word count: 514
Notes: Written for the YGO Rare Pair Requests Meme

The banquet at the Domino Museum was in full swing, and most of his friends had shown up for it—Honda spied Otogi dancing and Jonouchi standing at the back of the buffet line. Anzu shifted uneasily on her toes beside him; it was clear that she wanted Yugi to ask her to dance, but the poor, oblivious man was busy chatting to Ishizu, praising the exhibit and asking about a few of the Egyptian artifacts.

Trying to be inconspicuous, Honda yawned into the cuff of his jacket.

“—really, 4th century? That sounds fascinating, I’d love to learn more—”

“Yugi, dance with me.” Clearly she’d had enough, and Anzu seized Yugi’s wrist, dragging him into the crowd. Honda could do math well enough to know that this left only himself and Ishizu still standing there.

“Bored, Honda?”

Ishizu’s voice was crisp and low but still feminine. Only a female could do that with their voice, anyway—mock a person without actually sounding like they meant anything by it.

“No, it’s not that the gala itself is boring. It’s just…everyone else has someone to be with, and with no one to talk to—yeah, I’m a little bored.”

“You can talk to me, you know,” she said.

“As long as it’s not about 4th century Egyptian artifacts—”

She narrowed her eyes before realizing that he was joking. “Tell me something about yourself, then. What do you like to do?”

He said the first thing that popped into his mind. “Motorcycles. I like motorcycles.”

“Do you know that the fatality rate for motorcycles is four time higher than for cars?”

He needed a savior from this conversation. “No. I didn’t know that. Thanks for sharing.”

“My brother rides them,” she continued, by way of explanation.

“Where are your brothers, anyway?”

“Everyone else has someone to be with.” Ishizu repeated his earlier words, the slightest of grins turning up the corner of her mouth.

“They’re not so bad, motorcycles,” Honda told her. “Just feeling the wind in your hair, it’s absolute freedom. There’s nothing else like it in the world. That’s probably why your brother likes it. Have you ever…?”

Her expression changed instantly, and if Honda had to give it a single word he’d have called it dumbfounded. “Oh no. I would never.”

Perhaps they could each save each other, that evening. “Do you suppose you’ve been at this party long enough so you could leave without anybody caring? I’ll show you what you’re missing.”

The fact that she hesitated alone was enough to give Honda hope. “Come with me.”

She offered him a smile, and the way that one simple act seemed to light up her entire face was extraordinary.

“You’ll feel the wind in your hair, the rush of the speed, the thrill of the road—” Honda knew he didn’t need to wheedle; he already had her. Ishizu’s smile grew, and the effect made Honda breathless.

“Alright. I will.”

“Let’s go, then.” Like a gentleman, he offered her his arm, and when she took it they left the banquet together.

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Title: Double-Date
Written for: hamimifk
Pairing: Danceshipping (Anzu x Mai)
Prompt: It was meant to be a one time thing
Word count: 578
Notes: Takes place post-canon. Written for the YGO Rare Pair Requests Meme

It was meant to be a double-date. Anzu and Yugi, Mai and Jonouchi, together at a restaurant fancy enough that Anzu wondered just how long Yugi had to save to be able to afford it. She had arrived first, coming from her dance practice, and she sat by herself in a small, comfortable bench by the restaurant's entrance for nearly fifteen minutes while she waited for her date.

Every time the door opened, Anzu's head would snap up, only to watch another couple or family enter. It was never the ones she was expecting, so when the door opened the next time she didn't even bother looking. It was only when someone sat down next to her on the bench that she glanced over, surprised, to see Kujaku Mai, dressed in something much less casual than the blonde's typical apparel. Anzu had to admit she looked stunning, and wondered again why someone would ever have chosen her when there was a woman like Mai available.

"Bad news, Anzu," she said by way of greeting. "The boys have ditched us. Apparently, one of them got an invitation to some new-release video game...I don't know all the details, but I know we're on our own. I'm sorry if you've been waiting long."

Apparently she only had to wonder why anyone would choose her when there were video games to be had. She laughed, but instead of sounding cheerful it came out as despondent to her ears. "No, not long," she said. "I suppose I should have guessed that something would go wrong."

She made to stand up, but Mai's hand on her arm stopped her. "Why can't we still have a good time? We've still got the reservation, right? Come on, it'll be my treat."

Anzu blinked and nodded, allowing herself to be led to the front podium, where Mai loudly commandeered them a booth near a window. Anzu ordered something vaguely inexpensive, not wanting to impose, blinking widely again when Mai put in their wine orders and added an appetizer.

"Honey, I'm not going to let anyone stop me from having a good time," she said. The drinks arrived, and they clinked glasses.

"I agree," Anzu replied. "Men are so stupid, anyway. Or at least our men."

"I'll drink to that." And they did. Anzu couldn't remember a time she had had as much fun, and the two talked long after the plates had been cleared and the check had been paid, content to just relax and spend time together.

She finally looked at her watch and flinched, sighing ruefully and swinging her legs out of the booth. "It's so late! I should probably head home...thanks for the wonderful evening, Mai."

"It was nice, wasn't it?" She looked thoughtful, and swirled the remainder of her drink around in its glass. "Same time next week, then? I'll let you pick the place, I suppose."

"What?" Perhaps Anzu hadn't heard her correctly. "Wasn't this a...one-time thing?"

Mai slid out of the booth to join her. "I think I had more fun tonight with just you than if the boys would've been here."

She nodded, feeling blood rush to her cheeks that had absolutely nothing to do with the wine—only a glass!—that she'd just consumed. "Okay, then."

"Let me know the time and place, and I'll be there," Mai said, swinging her purse over one shoulder and walking towards the entrance, leaving Anzu to catch up on slightly shaky legs.

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Challenge Name and Number: #047, The Seven Deadly Sins
Drabble Title: Masquerade
Word Count: 730
Warnings (if applicable): None.
Pairings (if applicable): Antagoshipping (Seto x Bakura), implied Euro/Candle
Summary: Bakura has Seto trapped in a grand illusion.
A/N: Extended Edition. This is different from the version posted here at YGO Drabble - this one is the unedited, longer version. Slightly AU-ish. Features pretty much all of the sins in some format, but highlights Pride/Wrath/Sloth. Inspired by a mask I picked up in Venice. Catch the Monte Cristo reference? xD

In the background, Seto watches the others dance, standing in the shadows of a series of arched columns lining the perimeter of the checkerboard-covered dance floor. All of the dancers are swathed in rich dresses or cloaks to the floor, flashy colors of gold and red, jewels glittering from the necks and ears of the women or the cloak-clasps of the men. Seto himself wears navy, and as he touches his fingers lightly to his face he reminds himself once again that he is the only one at the entire masque who is mask-less. The others seem to be trying to outdo each other with the ostentation of their masks, imitating animals or mythical beings, and as they spin and dance together the colors blend together until he feels dizzy just from watching it.

Which is how a dancer on the opposite end of the room is able to catch his eye, glancing at Seto only to hide behind a column as the other catches sight of them, moving closer and closer with each glance. A woman in a mask of green silk decorated with peacock feathers asks him for a dance, and Seto turns her down, crossing his arms over his chest and completely losing sight of the masquer who had first inspired even the barest sense of curiosity in him.

A hand grasps Seto’s shoulders before a pair of lips forcefully press against his own, and he is stunned into immobility, watching the masquer’s mouth curve up underneath a blue-and-silver mask before they whirl away into the crowd. His scowl is brutal, and he surges forward into the mass of dancers, bent on following and finding the one who thought it was acceptable to steal a kiss from him.

The whirling dancers don’t even seem to notice him, until the green-masked woman is thrown into his arms as the dance partners are exchanged. He raises his hands to whip off her mask, watching stunned green eyes and askew brown hair forming a familiar face before him. Anzu Mazaki. He pushes her away; she is not good enough to be the one he is looking for.

A masked man in a suit of black-and-white, serving drinks; Seto grabs his mask to reveal Jonouchi, then pushes him to the floor for good measure, spilling the glasses of champagne. A cough draws his attention away to the blue-and-silver masquer, holding a half-empty flute. It is raised towards that same mocking mouth and drained.

Seto makes to take a step forward but the masquer is already pushing him against the nearest column, pinning his back to it before removing their mask themselves. The face takes shape—white hair, unwavering smirk. “Hello, Kaiba,” he says by way of introduction.

“You-!” He can’t say anything more profound before Bakura is in his face again, leaning too close for comfort, the smell of champagne on his breath. “Get off me!”

“Of course, you wouldn’t have minded had it been someone else, correct?” He releases Seto, only to pull him into the shadows behind the columns, the mask on his face once again. His own hands grab Seto’s and pull them to the mask’s edge. “Come on, you know you want to know what lies underneath.”

He slips his fingers underneath the plaster and tugs the mask free, revealing far more innocent looking eyes. “Kaiba—”

Of course he was right, the bastard, and as Seto feels Ryou’s lips on his he manages to enjoy it for a fleeting second before the eyes turn cold again and he is faced with Bakura, wearing the most smug of expressions for a mask.

“How do you destroy someone, Seto Kaiba?” he asks. A grunt of protest is his only answer.

“Ah, yes, that's how you would carry out such a job, isn't it? Pull the trigger and be on your way. But not with me. I see you, with such restraint, so unmovable. I want to break you.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m crazy, yes, but I’m not the only one!” Bakura grins, showing a line of perfectly even, white teeth. Bakura’s teeth. The next moment, his face is Ryou’s again, and Seto he does not object when Ryou asks him to join the dance.

The poison is sweet enough, but now he wants only more.

When Seto Kaiba wakes, he remembers only the masks but not their wearers.

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Notes:
1) The story was originally written August 22, 2011.

Title: Haunt Me
Challenge: #2 at YGO Drabbles
Word count: 150
Pairing: Yami Yugi x Yami Bakura (Darkshipping)
Author's Note: Vaguely AU-ish. Originally written August 22, 2011 and posted here on my livejournal.

He believes in himself too much to ever think he could be going crazy.

At nights the oddly dressed spirit sneaks into his kitchen, sitting on the counters and watching him from the corners of his eyes. He’ll walk to his bedroom but the spirit is already there, sitting by the corner in the only chair. Yami doesn’t remember ever extending the invitation, but the spirit has made it clear on more than one occasion that he doesn’t need Yami’s permission to do anything.

He asks him once why he chooses to haunt him. The spirit gives him an odd smile but no answer. That evening he is tossed into a furious nightmare, seeing flashes of events re-lived from the ancient past, a time when he could not save the spirit and the spirit refused to let him.

He thinks he might be going just the slightest bit crazy now.

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Challenge Name and Number: #048, The Seven Heavenly Virtues
Drabble Title: Green, uplifted
Word Count: 600
Warnings (if applicable): None.
Pairings (if applicable): Polarshipping (Mai x Jonouchi)
Summary: Maybe that right there is what love is.
A/N: Takes place post-canon. Of the virtues, this features Kindness, Humility, and Temperance. I hope you enjoy.

“I want to show you how much I love you.” In all her years of knowing him, she had never seen Jonouchi this serious about anything other than herself. Even in his most lethal, momentous battles he had still kept a smile and made his opponents believe his strategy was all luck and carelessness; they were wrong.

So when Jonouchi hands her the velvet ring-box, she moves to set it back in his hands. “If this is what I think it is, you had better reconsider the delivery.”

“It’s not.” His words come fast, spilling out of his mouth as he pops the lid. “It’s just a ring, Mai. Not the ring, but I wanted you to have something that shows the world that you’re mine.”

And she loves him, so she takes the ring and slides it onto the first finger of her right hand. It’s gold, and that makes her feel slightly better about wearing it, and it’s in surprisingly good taste. She wonders briefly why he’s spending such money on jewelry when if he still wanted to spend money on her they could have done something together. The options are plentiful, but instead she has a thin gold band with a red stone in it wrapped around one finger. She’s constantly aware of its presence, and finds herself spending inordinate amounts of time staring at it, which is how she first discovers the band of color.

Where the ring had been, a thin line of green stains her skin. She doesn’t understand. She feels angry, confused. One of those could even be the truth.

She can distance herself from the cheap ring and the cheap boyfriend, but the green band on her finger is still stubbornly there, and when she gets tired of staring at it she collects the perpetrator in her pocket and visits Jonouchi.

He barely gets the door open when she is in his face, holding up the ring. “Explain yourself!”

“Huh? What…?” He closes the door behind her, watching her tapping one foot against the linoleum. “Hello to you too.”

“The ring!” She holds it up again, and he takes her hand and studies it. “It’s not real! You gave me some cheap, fake ring!”

“Of course it’s not real,” he says. “I thought you knew that.”

“It turned my skin green!” she shouts, wondering why, seconds later, he looks so strangely pleased by it.

“Does that matter? It’s still a ring. You’re still my girlfriend. If you want something nicer I’ll go and get it, but I thought for now this was good enough. It’ll make the jewelry I buy for you later that much nicer.”

Feeling slightly ashamed, she apologizes almost too softly to hear. He folds his arms around her, and behind his back she slips the ring back onto her finger.

When she is alone again she holds her hand out, observing the ring—no one else can see the band of green on her finger when the ring itself covers it.

Slowly, she takes the ring off her right hand and moves it to her left, sliding it onto her fourth finger. She thinks about how much she’d like a green band there, something to stain the skin and render it almost permanent. The green mark is closer to the skin than a ring could ever get.

It’s almost winter, and she could hide it with mittens. The ring doesn’t quite fit on that finger, but that’s even more of a reminder of what it is, and what it isn’t.

Maybe that right there is what love is.

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Notes:

1) The story was originally written on August 30, 2011, and can be found here. The story won first place.

Title: Screw the Rules, I Have a Library Card
Written for: Azhdarcho
Pairing: Prideshipping
Word Count: 507 words
Prompt: #152, Library, and #35, Brave New World
Notes: Clearly an AU. I was inspired by prompts found at the non_fandom_100 index.

Behind the counter, a book open on the shelf before him, Yami flipped through the pages as his previous customer walked away, a thin stack of books tucked under her arm. On Wednesday mornings the library traffic was the slowest of the week, and he'd only had to help a few people find books or check them out. Between customers, however, he helped himself to a book, making his way through the classics. He'd always preferred the older novels to the more recent publications, and the summer was practically made to read.

He'd just started a new chapter when someone approached the desk, setting down a tall stack of books with a thud. Yami bookmarked the spot with his elbow, looking up at the stranger, finding himself thoroughly displeased with what he saw. The man was clearly not a morning person by the way his mouth seemed permanently set in a frown, and his brown hair was mussed and long around his face. He brushed it out of the way with a hand, extending the other towards Yami, presenting his library card.

"I'd like all of these," he said. Yami glanced down at the titles; there were a half-dozen books in the stack, all dystopian novels and philosophy. He often based his regard of his customers on their choices of reading material, and from this interesting combination, Yami's esteem of the discourteous stranger went up a few notches. He scanned the library card, and he was a stranger no more. Seto Kaiba's name blinked back at him on the computer, next to a single word in red. DENIED.

"It seems you've reached your limit, Mr. Kaiba," Yami told him. "You can only check out so many books at a time, and it says here you've already got ten outstanding books!"

If his expression hadn't been a frown before, it became one now. "So? I want these books."

Yami arched an eyebrow, aware of just how much intimidation he held as a library assistant, and using every ounce of it. "I'm sorry, but you're not going to get them. Bring back the ones you checked out last time"—he glanced at the screen again—"you still have two weeks before those are overdue, and then you can check these out."

"I'll just read them here, then." Kaiba gathered the books back into his arms, and before he left he turned snidely back towards Yami. "There was one book I wanted, by Huxley. Wasn't on the shelves, but the computer said it was in stock. Might want to find it."

Alone again, Yami glanced down at the open book before him. There was no way Kaiba could have known from the simple type and the chapter heading, but he tilted the cover forward, curling his arm around the spine. Of course, the one book he happened to want was the one book Yami himself was reading. At least he couldn't complain about Kaiba's taste in books.

He flipped the page, and continued reading.

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Challenge Name and Number: #050, Time Travel
Drabble Title: Storytelling
Word Count: 600
Warnings (if applicable): None
Pairings (if applicable): Sort-of Loquashipping
Summary: “Haunting implies that the spiritual presence is stuck or unsought,” he replied. “I would welcome a ghost into our house—fascinating creatures, wouldn’t you think?”
Author’s Notes: Sort-of AU. This was originally going to be my Staunchshipping for the FF YGO Contest, but I’m reusing the idea here. I might expand on this in a future fic, I’m still in love with the idea. =D “Time travel” used more figuratively than literally. Enjoy!

“The house you’re living in is haunted.”

The big house stood high upon the hill, and Rebecca had been excited at first to have so much space for just herself and her grandfather, so much old history and older furniture covered with dust to excavate and uncover. And when she was introduced to her classmates, they all seemed to know everything without being told and refused to speak more to her than a few words of unsolicited legend.

“They say someone died in that house, long ago.”

Rebecca looked them straight in the eye and said, “They’re wrong.”

In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder if her classmates were right. She considered asking her grandfather, who believed that ancient stories and magic held worth, but could think of nothing to say over dinner and instead pushed her food around on her plate with her fork.

After a week she grew tired of her classmates ignoring her. Her class all ate together, and she arrived early enough to sit in the middle of the long table, setting out her lunch and waiting for the inevitable question.

“Hey Becky, seen any ghosts yet?”

Rebecca leaned forward, glasses slipping further down her nose. “In fact, I saw one last night.”

The two on either side gasped as the entire table grew silent, straining to hear the words Rebecca spoke so matter-of-factly.

“The ghost tiptoed down one hallway and I followed,” she began. “I saw her seated at the bench in the lounge for a second before she vanished completely.”

“The woman who died?”

She glanced up slyly. “Who else could it be? She had long white hair—everything about her was so white and pale. She died…of a broken heart,” Rebecca decided, knitting together the story as she told it, reveling in the way that everyone was focused entirely on her. Now that she had their attention, she would do anything to keep it.

“There’s an old piano in that room,” she continued, “but it’s always been out of tune.” She paused for dramatic effect, sweeping her eyes back and forth across the table, noticing how all thoughts of eating were forgotten over the validation of both fear and fable that they’d long believed held truth.

“This morning, I tested it and it was in perfect tune.”

More gasps and sighs, and when her grandfather came to pick her up after school she asked him about ghosts.

“Haunting implies that the spiritual presence is stuck or unsought,” he replied. “I would welcome a ghost into our house—fascinating creatures, wouldn’t you think?”

When she did her homework in the lounge, she kept one eye focused on the work and the other drawn towards the bench in the corner. When the sun had dropped from the sky, she left her door half-open so she could see into the hallway from her bed. When she was nearly asleep, she saw an odd light stretching around the door, and by the time she had rubbed her eyes to clear them, glasses propped obliquely on her face, she saw a woman standing there, wispy hair floating in a nonexistent breeze.

“Y-you’re real.”

The woman smiled and stretched out her hand, whispering, “Can you save me? Can you help me move on—”

When Rebecca woke, she couldn’t figure out if what she had seen was a dream or not.

Still in her pajamas, she crept into the lounge, moving to the piano and locating middle C.

The note rang clear and true, and she tried the whole chord; it was in perfect tune.

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Notes:
1) The story was originally published on September 20, 2011 here.

Challenge Name and Number: #051, Dragons
Drabble Title: Amphichiral Knot
Word Count: 600
Warnings (if applicable): None
Pairings (if applicable): Awareshipping (Ryuuji x Ryou x Marik)
Summary: “You won’t lose anything by being with me,” he tells Ryou. “You’re afraid of that. Of losing everything.”
Author’s Notes: Abstract, sort-of post-canon.

The look in his eyes is almost predatory. Clouded behind that it is difficult to see from his place wrapped in a different set of arms, but Ryou looks up regardless and meets the other’s gaze. He is curious, in the same way that his curiosity drove him to investigate an ancient, cursed Egyptian artifact and a thousand different ways to overcome a possessor with his claws sunk in tight.

“We’re out of soda,” he says, despite the fact that Marik was the only one drinking it; Ryou’s own glass is filled with water. They make the fast food joint comfortable, reclining on red cushions of fake leather with empty plates settled haphazardly on formica tables, and as Ryou grasps Marik’s glass to refill it he gets another look from the black-haired, near-stranger in the corner, his perfect skin split with lines of black down one cheek and wrapped around his eyes. It’s a look Marik probably wishes he could pull off. It’s a look Ryou himself hasn’t seen in years, not since they’d run in the same circles, the dueling circles, but while in geometry one might run on forever, theirs did not.

At his own booth in the corner, Ryuuji sips a milkshake. Ryou takes the refilled soda and drinks it, finding the taste bitter. Ryuuji grins at him again as if he knows it, his face in profile, teeth slipping over his lips like fangs.

Marik needs his drink, and Ryou needs to feel less suffocated by whatever that look is making him feel. He lets it go, then, lets them all go, and each and every look vanishes into nothing, with barely an impression left in his mind.

Or so he tells himself.

Too quick for him to be prepared for it, and he answers the door one day to find Ryuuji standing there, leaning with one arm propped against the wall, managing to look both nonchalant and driven, with both his body posture and his eyes.

“How’d you know where I lived?” He’s changed addresses multiple times, but always still on his own, no matter how many times Marik has asked to move in with him. The current number sits at five.

“Phone book.” Short and simple, and Ryou invites him inside because it’s the polite thing to do. He watches the way Ryuuji regards his décor—he tries to hide the distasteful look towards the furnishings, but offers a photo of Ryou and Marik no such treatment.

“What are you here for?” he asks.

“You.”

Short and simple, and Ryou swallows, a thousand different protests on the verge of formation. “What?”

He can’t deny it, he wants to, but he can’t. Can’t, can’t, can’t, and each protest becomes a string that forms together into a giant knot, the strings tucked together and expanded, with no hope of ever becoming untied. “I can’t.”

“You won’t lose anything by being with me,” he tells Ryou. “You’re afraid of that. Of losing everything. You’ve lost it before. You know the feeling.” He meets Ryou’s eyes again, the contact so startling and deep, all jade green, and it’s enough to convince him. “I’ve known it too.”

Ryou excuses himself to the kitchen to get tea, and Ryuuji takes the opportunity to turn the photo face-down, pressing the glass cover into the wooden table.

His eyes may be green, but in his dreams they are always red, burning red like a dragon’s, curling him in and never letting go. He takes the tangle of knots and burns it to shreds, into nothing more than a vapor on the air.

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Notes:

1) The story was originally written on September 22, 2011 and can be found here.

Challenge Name and Number: #053, Miracle
Drabble Title: Suzerain
Word Count: 497
Warnings (if applicable): None
Pairings (if applicable): Clovershipping (Noa x Kisara)
Summary: He can give her wings, but he will not show her where to fly.
Author’s Notes: Abstract, post-canon. The true miracle is that I actually got something written for this! xD

He stands on the edge of the tower’s window, staring down hundreds of feet to the ground. It’s morning, always morning, the time passing so slowly that it’s a wonder they’re both not crazy yet.

Kisara sits nearby in a chair of wicker, draped in white chiffon. A nice touch of the programming, he thinks, to fill their static, drab little world with such colors and textures. Restless, he jumps inside and walks past her, wondering if today she’ll speak to him again. She smells fresh and clean; they both do, it is impossible for a virtual construct to sweat. He knows that’s what he is, he knows his purpose and his definitions. He knows that when he awoke so long ago, hoping his data had been preserved somewhere, it was with her leaning over him, a shocked, almost hopeful look on her face. He knows he is trapped by the programming.

He made the mistake once of telling her he used to be a programmer. Then you can save us, she told him, you understand such things, you can build wings for us to fly on, as far away from here as we can!

It is useless! There is no escape! We are stuck! He had shouted at her then, and had hurled a lamp out the window to prove his point, watching it fall and sparkle into nothingness. And where would they fly? She made no secret about her knowledge of the ancient duel monsters and her lack of knowledge of anything contemporary. He made no secret that even if he could find a way out, he would do it for himself and not for her. He hates the way she looks at him for guidance, sometimes, so beseeching and dependent. If she were more like him they would not have these problems.

He sees snatches of code flash before his eyes when he blinks; she used to ask him to interpret. Instead she asks him with her eyes to take her with him, to let her follow him from their digital prison to another pocket on the server, working their way to some greater form of authenticity.

“I could fly, once,” she speaks up then, drawing her knees close together and looping her arms over both. “I was a dragon—if I wanted to, I could fly and never touch the earth.”

“I’ve never flown,” he admits. Not even on planes, and it’s not regret that fills him now, but anger. It is the perfect motivation, to acknowledge superiority in something he has never before done. He blinks rapidly, his eyes stinging, and studies the programming.

As what passes for nighttime falls over the sky, she wakes to see him standing on the edge of the tower’s window. He spreads his arms, and she watches as black feathers seem to sprout from his arms and he falls.

She smiles, then, and returns to sleep, searching for him in the data behind her closed eyes.

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Notes:

1) The story was originally written on October 21, 2011 and can be found here.

Challenge Name and Number: #056, Mirror
Drabble Title: Slow Burn
Word Count: 592
Warnings (if applicable): None
Pairings (if applicable): Rerunshipping (Noa x Yami Bakura)
Summary: After so long inside the Ring, he starts to forget when he's not inside his own mind.
Author’s Notes: Abstract-ish, canon-ish. Hope you enjoy!

After so long inside the Ring, he starts to forget when he's not inside his own mind. Thousands of years is too long when more time is spent tucked away than it is on the surface, over so many different lifetimes, that after a while they begin to run together like so many watercolor paints.

He sees ghosts in nothing and everything, behind every closed door and closed eyelid. For the longest time it was the ghost of the Egyptian Priest he'd killed, but eventually the man had left him in favor of other haunts, and he'd learned to ignore the shades of the monsters crawling out of doorways and the screams of those he'd consigned to the Shadow Realm.

One ghost in particular is more daring than most, and Bakura first notices him because he acts so differently from the others. The shadows linger just out of vision, but this one makes a habit of staring at him, of watching him at every turn with sharp eyes and thin lips pressed together into a pointed smile without the barest hint of teeth.

The next day he is gone, and Bakura turns towards his games, plotting and planning and twisting and dreaming until the Pharaoh he has fought for so long is dead and buried for real this time, his skull smashed underneath Bakura’s foot. He replays the moment over and over again in his head, breaking the bone to dust beneath his feet, laughing until he needs to stop to breathe.

The green-haired ghost continues to stare at him, moving closer and closer, until those thin lips part and he begins whispering in his ear.

“Are you sick of going 500 miles-per-hour in the wrong direction yet?” His voice slithers all around him, and Bakura imagines the breath grazing the shell of his ear. “If you are, I can help you. But all help comes with a price.”

“And what is yours?” Bakura turns, for once acknowledging him as more than a ghost, as a real presence in this world. The green-haired man stands unmoving, and as Bakura leans closer he can see his reflection in the mirror of the other’s eyes.

“What shall I ask for? Hmm, the options are so plentiful…” He sighs, tapping his chin with a single elongated finger.

“I have no time for this. I have to defeat the Pharaoh.” Bakura cannot break first, not when he is so close to his goal; not when he has been so close for so long, not when the opportunity is before him, surrounding him from all sides. Not when he has waited so long. Not when he might have so long to wait.

“I can fix that for you. I can fix problems you didn’t even know you had.” For the first time, his razor-sharp grin shows a flash of teeth.

The next day, the green-haired ghost is nowhere to be seen. Bakura wonders if it was a one-time offer. He searches for him, angry that he has somehow found a way to escape his grasp. There is nowhere he cannot reach, nothing he imagines cannot be made real. One glance at the Ring around his neck is enough to confirm this.

Later, he is back, whispering, “How dangerous is the thought that none of this is real? How dangerous is the thought that it is?”

After so long inside the Ring, he starts to forget when he's not inside his own mind. Today he cannot see the ghost again. Today is real.

Or so he thinks.

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Notes:

1) The story was originally written on November 18, 2011 and can be found here.

Challenge Name and Number: #062, Crack
Drabble Title: Subject #00
Word Count: 600
Warnings (if applicable): Dark-ish
Pairings (if applicable): Avatarshipping (White Wizard Bakura x Change of Heart)
Summary: “All tombs come with a curse. Did you think this would be any exception?”
Author's Notes: Features the ultimate crack-ship. AU, archaeologist!Ryou.

He was the first to enter the tomb in thousands of years. The chamber had been plugged with sand and stone, and the entire site had lain buried, undetected, but all of the legends had spoken of a deep power hidden in the middle of the desert, something that could change the face of the world. Kicking up a cloud of dust, he stepped into the chamber. He didn’t know where to look first—the carvings and hieroglyphics in the stelae, the pallets, or the gold—even coated in dirt and grime, it still shone, almost blinding from the thin light of the doorway.

He took another step into the tomb. He didn’t want to blink, for fear that when he closed his eyes, the sight of the city he uncovered would disappear, and be lost again to the sands.

“Ryou.” Someone was singing his name. “Ryou.” They did it again, right in his ear.

They were leaning over him, filling his vision with blonde hair and heavy, white clothes. The fabric of it was rough against his arm, and there was something else, something strange behind their back—

Dark wings, pitted like leather, growing from behind her shoulder-blades. It was a woman, he could see now, smiling as she reached forward with both arms.

“Come with me, Ryou.”

He sat up. All around him was white; he was clothed in it, the bed he was tucked into was spread with it, and the walls and floor were so close in tone that they seemed to blend into one another, stretching out forever, as far as his eyes could follow.

“Where?” The unspoken: where are you from? Where would you take me?

Her wings snapped out on either side, all sharp angles. The invitation of her extended hands remained, dangling limply. “Home.”

He slumped against his pillow, too weak to question her further.

My home? Or Yours?

She was seated on the edge of his bed when he woke again. A pressure on the top of his head drew his attention, and as he raised a hand it brushed the edges of a hat, pulled low over his bangs.

“The tomb,” he remembered, suddenly. “I’d discovered the city of Kul Elna.”

“That was weeks ago.” The woman’s voice was high like a laugh.

The room had shifted, and he was no longer surrounded by white, but in an impossibly long hallway, lined with gold-hued bricks. “My research…I have to get back to it. I have to get back to the city.”

“You can. You will.” Once more, she held out her hands. He took them, and the two stood; Ryou leaned on her for support as they walked. “Come on, you’re getting closer.”

He started to realize just how little feeling remained in his limbs. His feet dragged against the floor, clad in white slippers. “What’s this?” The dread grew, knotting deep in his stomach. “What did I do?”

“You released my master into the world. You read the inscriptions on the tomb, didn’t you? You know the legends.” She smiled at him, wrapping him in one darkened wing. “You became the host…his host, and mine. You enabled us to enter this world, so we’ll bring you to ours, as thanks.”

She continued, “All tombs come with a curse. Did you think this would be any exception?”

He remembered the beeping of machines and a nurse dressed in a sharply creased white dress, her blonde hair pulled back behind each ear.

“No, I won’t. I refuse.”

She pulled him forward, closer to the darkness. “In your world, you’re already dead.”

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Notes:

1) The story was originally published on January 26, 2012, and can be found here.

Challenge Name and Number: #066, Rebellion
Drabble Title: Cohesion
Word Count: 592
Warnings (if applicable): none
Pairings (if applicable): Mischiefshipping (Mana x TKB)
Summary: “Just imagine what else you could make, if your thoughts were clear?”
Author's Note: AE. I hope you enjoy!

Mana stared at her hands, determined to make them cast the spell properly this time. She could manipulate the sand cupped in her palms into various shapes, streaming it through the air to hover, motionless, but anything more advanced seemed beyond her reach.

Her instructor wasn't helping matters, try as he might. For their lessons, Mahaado often stood behind her, enveloping her in the long reach of his shadow, and offered a stringent assessment of her technique and progress as she worked at their lessons.

Mahaado had told her, “You must learn so that one day you may defend the Pharaoh and his Kingdom as I do.”

The sand wavered limply in the air before dropping back to slip between the cracks of her fingers. The pressure was getting to her, none of it was helping her learn any faster. As long as she practiced her magic in the rooms or courtyards of the palace, the reality of it was too hard to grasp.

So, one day, she decided to do something about it, slipping outside to the city beyond, alone, dressed in plain clothes in varied shades of brown to blend in. Sand was ubiquitous in Egypt, after all, and as long as she had access to it she could practice anywhere.

Mana eventually settled beside a building, out of the way of most who traveled the busier streets but still close enough that she could hear their voices, let the chatter wash over her and calm her in the way that strict commands and expectant silence could not. She gathered a handful of sand and began to work with it, shaping it and trying to solidify it. Mahaado had done it for her, once, creating a lump of clear glass without imperfections.

A voice, deep enough to be undeniably male, broke her reverie. “What’cha doing?”

Mana looked up to see a man standing there; he looked to be about as old as Mahaado, but the speaker was rougher-looking in all ways, from his ragged clothes to the dirt smudged over his nose and cheeks, seeming to highlight the prominent scar crossing one. He dropped down beside her without invitation, leaning against the wall at their backs and propping one arm up on a knee.

“That’s magic, isn’t it?” he continued to ask. “You’re a magician. Like the ones that work for the Pharaoh?”

She knew it wouldn’t be smart to tell him that she was one of them, but confirmed his first question. “Magic, yes. I’m working with sand.”

“Good choice of weapon.”

“Weapon? No, I’m only to learn defensive magic,” she said. “And what do you know of magic, anyway?”

“I know enough to know why it’s not working for you.” His smug grin grew wider as she gaped at him, disbelieving. “You’re trying to solidify it, aren’t you? But it’ll never work unless you have a clear image in mind. What would you like to make? Here…” And he grabbed her hands, settling them over the ground to shape the sand there. “You see the shape? Can you transform it?”

She nodded, and in a puff of smoke, a thick blade of glass appeared before her, its edge ugly and jagged.

“Congratulations, magician,” he said to her, closing her fingers around the top. “Just imagine what else you could make, if your thoughts were clear?”

She did not want the knife. “You keep it,” she told him, drawing her hands away and moving to her feet, stumbling away to the sound of the man’s laughter ringing in her ears.

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Notes:

1) The story was originally published on March 5, 2012 and can be found here.

Challenge Name and Number: #068, Technology
Drabble Title: Carbon Copy
Word Count: 600
Warnings (if applicable): none
Pairings (if applicable): Rishid x Kisara
Summary: One day he entered the library to see a new installation.
Author's Note: Semi-AU, could be seen as post-canon? I hope you enjoy.

The building was absolutely beautiful, with giant cavernous ceilings and windows that stretched to align with the sky, letting in soft light and, on rainy days, the sound of raindrops and the sharp crack of lightning above the rafters and tall bookcases.

Rishid was grateful for the windows on most days; the library’s traffic was slight, and when there were no customers to help or books to re-shelve he could spend his time reading. He would gladly read all day and night, if the changing light did not jolt him from his reverie and remind him that he had to lock up, eat, and sleep, in order to return the next morning to do it all over again.

As with most things in the city, the library operations had been privatized to Kaiba Corporation, who were determined to integrate technology with the existing record-keeping systems, digitizing books and documents from the city’s registers, keeping it on-hand in the event it was needed, letting it rest in digital storage instead of gathering dust on physical shelves.

Not that Rishid would have given the shelves the opportunity to collect dust, he kept the place clean—far cleaner than his own apartment, he had to admit, but it was clear enough which place he truly considered home—and one day he entered the library to see a new installation. A circular device was set in the middle of the entrance, projecting blue light from which formed a woman, hovering above the ground with translucent arms outstretched in salutation.

“Welcome,” she said, bowing her head slightly. She was fashioned in varying shades of paleness, from her hair to the ruffled hem of her dress. “Is there anything I can assist you with?”

“Who are you?” Rishid stared at her in wonder, circling the holographic disc set into the floor.

“I am the interactive AI,” was her answer.

“I asked who you are, not what,” he said, and was rewarded with a smile.

“My creator named me Kisara.” He did not have to ask who her creator was, he could see the KC logo emblazoned into the device, plain as day. “I was created to catalogue and manage data, as well as complete any tasks you assign me.”

He was beyond impressed, and told her so. “Are you already familiar with the library’s systems?”

She looked thoughtful. “I need to run routine maintenance before I can sync myself with the servers. As you are aware, this is the first day of this project. But I am confident things will run smoothly.”

The next day, Kisara greeted him when he entered the library for work with an, "Is there anything I can assist you with this morning?" There weren't any patrons that early and all he had to do was re-shelve books, but he smiled at the flickering hologram and said, "Yes—you can keep me company."

The AI gave him an odd look, but followed him dutifully as he carried a stack of books towards the shelves, her long hair shimmering behind her to reflect the names of a thousand different titles with a thousand different plots; Rishid had read them all, and saw his own life echoed in the texts. He hoped that his own would have a happy ending.

Beside him, Kisara smiled.

“Have you read this one?” he asked, selecting a favorite.

“Not in the way that you do,” she said, “but I have memorized its contents.”

“I think you’ll gain something through a different approach. May I read to you?” She nodded, and he opened the book to the first page.

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Notes:

1) This story was originally published on March 26, 2012 and can be found here. The story won first-place at ygodrabble.

Challenge Name and Number: #082, Hair
Drabble Title: Let Down Your Hair
Word Count: 600
Warnings (if applicable): None.
Pairings (if applicable): Foreignshipping (Leon x Rebecca)
Summary: Was walking in the woods alone at sundown such a crime? The girl in the red jacket with the axe seemed to think so.

Leon whistled as he walked through the forest. Sometimes the birds whistled back, and that made the walk home from his brother’s house a little less lonely. The birds weren’t whistling today, and even with the silence he barely dodged as a girl jumped out from behind a bush and swung some kind of weapon at the place he had been standing moments before.

“What’s your problem?” He got a good look at the weapon. “Is that an axe?" Leon jumped back as the girl in red struck out at him again; her aim was poor, and he was grateful for the extra seconds when she embedded the axe deep in a tree and had to yank it loose.

"Look at those wolf ears! You're clearly dangerous! And you were following me!" she shrieked and advanced on him, switching the axe to one hand when the hood of her jacket slipped over her eyes.

"There's only one path through this forest! And don't flatter yourself, I was visiting my older brother!" He remembered the snacks his brother had packed for him, and hoped a peace offering would help diffuse the situation.

"Would you like some cookies?"

His eyebrow began to twitch at how easily the girl seemed to recover her sanity, storing the axe somewhere on her person, but as she snatched the cookie with one hand and wound her other through one of his arms, he resigned himself to whatever she had in mind. It couldn't be worse than being attacked out of the blue with an axe, right?

He was wrong, as she began to pet his ears, dragging cookie crumbs through his hair. "Hey, that cottage in the forest wouldn't happen to be yours, would it? How about I walk you home?”

Leon sighed, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. “Sure. If you don’t mind visiting the house of a wolf.”

She spoke through a mouthful of cookie. “I don’t mind at all!”

Once they arrived at his house, the girl had somehow bullied her way inside, and Leon found himself acceding to her demands for tea.

“I’m actually lost,” she admitted, watching the steam rise from her teacup. “I only came to the forest to find the princess. It’s always been my dream to meet royalty.”

Leon’s ears twitched. “What princess?”

“The one hidden away in that tower, with the really long pink hair!”

His ears twitched again. Long pink hair…tower…recluse…

Leon knew of only one person who fit that description.

“You sure you’ve got your facts right? It sounds like you’re describing my brother.”

“Really? I just assumed…” She looked thoughtful for a moment, before standing and regarding him with a worryingly bright smile. “If your brother is a prince, then you must be one, too!”

He backed away as she began to approach him. “Really, didn’t you say you wanted to meet my brother?” He kept a watchful eye out for that axe, just in case.

“If he’s a prince, why does he isolate himself in that tower? Does it have anything to do with why you have those ears?” She gasped, throwing herself towards him. “You’re under a curse, aren’t you? Well I, Rebecca, will promise to free you from it—isn’t that how the stories work? If you save a prince or princess from a curse you get to marry them, right?”

Leon’s knees wobbled and he leaned against the wall, looking at the starry-eyed girl who had his shirtfront clenched in her fists, making declarations of loyalty and affection.

“Brother…save me.”

Somewhere, deep in the forest, Siegfried von Schroeder sneezed.

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Notes:

1) The story was originally published on April 8, 2013 and can be found here. It was inspired by that one line from Enchanted (“the poor wolf was being chased around by Little Red Riding Hood around his grandmother’s house, and she had an axe”).

Challenge Name and Number: #88, Teach
Drabble Title: High Score
Word Count: 585
Warnings (if applicable): Super crack AU.
Pairings (if applicable): Tendershipping (Bakura x Ryou).
Summary: "Drive!" he shouted. Ryou was already ahead of him, sending the car all but flying down the road.

Ryou had the car waiting when Bakura crashed through the first-floor window, hitting the ground running. Ryou pushed the door open as he jumped inside, sliding into the seat and slamming the door as gunfire filled the air.

"Drive!" he shouted. Ryou was already ahead of him, sending the car all but flying down the road. Bakura's shoulder slammed against the door and his hand grasped the handle near the roof to stabilize him.

"You should be wearing your seatbelt, Bakura," Ryou said calmly, turning a hard right on the next street. The road was bumpy enough, and as he glanced again at his partner in the passenger seat, he saw the glass shards sticking to his jacket and dirt smudged in his hair. It was a surprisingly good look for him. "Did you get it?"

"Of course." Bakura rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. From inside his jacket pocket he pulled out a thick gold necklace, as old as it was valuable, set with a ruby nearly the size of an egg. He dangled it from a finger, still transfixed by the way the jewels caught the car's artificial light. "We'll have to cut this one down before we can sell it. Stones this large are too recognizable otherwise. We’d probably get caught, and we can't be having that."

"Bakura, talking about what he can't have?" Ryou laughed, pressing his foot farther down on the pedal, finding the sound of the engine thrilling as it jumped further into action. "I would have thought it impossible."

"Nothing's impossible. You know that."

They heard the sound of a second car, fast approaching, and Ryou glanced in the mirrors to track their actions. “We’re not out of this yet. Stop talking and do something helpful, would you? If we lose this game I’m blaming you.”

Bakura had tuned out the sharp chatter and electronic noises of the arcade, but at Ryou’s reminder he frowned sourly, the neon light above him washing everything in an acidic shade of green.

“You’re no fun.” He couldn’t drag his attention away from his screen or controller for long, jabbing away at the buttons as their cars continued to roar down the streets of the digital city, chased by pursuers from the digital mafia. Beside him, his back straight, Ryou clutched the controller tightly in both hands. His thumbs passed over the buttons, and the car swerved neatly across the street. Bakura’s car followed on the screen, the maneuver not as neat, but he still kept time.

“You’re doing well,” Ryou noted.

“I have an excellent teacher.” The cars made a sharp right, and Bakura took the inside lane to pass Ryou. “I only learn from the best.”

"Thank you…but do you have to make up stories for every game we play?" he asked.

"Ha, making them up! You have much to learn, Ryou. But don’t worry, you’ll learn from the best,” Bakura said, and with a sly smile they both went back to the game.

The brightness of the arcade dimmed, and the beeping of the games around them became the blaring sirens and resounding gunfire of the cars chasing them on the busy highway.

“Get us out of here,” Bakura said. “Show me what you can do.”

The car veered sharply through the traffic, using a large truck for cover. Horns blared as a car tried to swerve behind them, flipping over in the attempt.

“Don’t worry.” Buttons clicked in rapid pace. “I’ll show you a high score.”

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Notes:

1) The story was originally written September 23, 2013 and can be found here.

Challenge Name and Number: #093, New Beginnings
Drabble Title: Temptation
Word Count: 840
Warnings (if applicable): None
Pairings (if applicable): Citronshipping
Summary: The King paused to gesture towards a closed door. “You are never to enter that room.”
Author’s Notes: Vampire AE AU based on the Bluebeard myth. This is the full version–the shorter version can be found at ygodrabble here. Thanks for the idea eyyysidisi!! I hope you like it!

They had nicknames for him, in the villages, from the violent and bloody way he’d stolen his power from the previous ruler seemingly overnight. The Thief King.

Not that Marik would ever call him that to his face.

The job was simple–cleaning the Palace, empty on most days of all but its ruler–and Marik had heard that the King was in need of new servants after the disappearances of the last.

When the King met him at the front gates, Marik followed him around the lower level of the Palace, asking about a tour.

“Today, you will sweep the floors. All of them. That will be your tour.”

The King paused and straightened, gesturing towards a closed door, set deep into the side of the wall. “Except that room. You are never to enter that room.”

Marik saw that it had a lock, and commented on it; how could he enter the room, even if he wanted to?

The Thief King reached beneath the collar of his robe, and pulled out a slim metal key. “True. But it is still a lesson you should take to heart.”

He saw his employer rarely. Still, he became acutely aware of the King’s presence, from the sound of heavy footsteps down the halls outside a room he was cleaning, or the carelessly tossed cloaks Marik would pick up in his wake. He saw no one else around the building, save the diplomats the King would meet with in the evenings, as Marik was leaving, when the sky was growing dark. But he considered himself paid to keep the King’s secrets in addition to keeping his home, so when his neighbors asked about the King he offered little in response.

One day he heard a noise coming from behind the locked door. He thought it might be the King, until Marik found him in a room surrounded by scrolls and papers. His cloaks that day were a dull red, and when Marik reached for one, tossed over a chair, the King stopped him before his fingers could even grasp the hem.

The next day Marik stood in the courtyard, staring up at the line of windows, wondering if one of them looked into the locked door. A cloud passed across the sun, cloaking the wall in shadows, and Marik saw the King step up to one of the windows. Their eyes met, and Marik quickly looked away. When he dared to look back, the King was gone, and instead his eyes saw only the sharp glare of the sun.

The rumors about the King grew both more bizarre and more blasphemous. They said he sat on a throne of golden treasure and the bones of those he’d conquered. They said, as they’d never seen his face, that he was not alive at all, but dead, and had been dead for some time. That they paid fealty to a dead king. Marik knew the last to be a lie, but it was still a surprise to him at how easy it was to imagine it all as true.

“I’m going on a trip,” the King told him, a ring full of keys in one hand. “You will look after the Palace in my absence–and you will do well to remember what I told you.”

He passed the keys to Marik, who noticed one particular key among them. He remembered his promise–but he also remembered the noises he'd heard, with increasing frequency, coming from behind the door.

He lasted an entire day before he gave into temptation, the floors swept and the furniture polished until he found himself standing before the locked door with no more tasks to perform.

He opened it and slid inside; it was darker than he would have thought, and he left the door cracked for the added light.

It was the smell he noticed first. Something strange he remembered from the King’s clothes. There was a puddle on the floor–when he stepped aside, his sandals made a pattern in the dry stone beside it. A chill went down his spine–it was not water, but blood.

His eyes adjusted, and he gasped, dropping the ring of keys. Hanging in chains on the walls were two men he’d recognized as prior servants to the King, with fresh cuts on their arms and necks. One made a sound, and when Marik turned, he saw the imposing figure of his King, leaning against the wall.

He stepped towards Marik, and fished the keys out of the blood from where Marik dropped them.

“I told you not to enter here,” he said, slowly. “Humans are as predictable as they are dishonest.”

Marik looked again at the wall, and the empty space that was undoubtedly meant for him.

“Still, I am glad for it,” the King–the Thief King–continued, and Marik felt something sharp against his neck. “I have been dying to taste your blood.”

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Challenge Name and Number: #100, Turning Point
Drabble Title: Marigold
Word Count: 600
Warnings (if applicable): None.
Pairings (if applicable): Misguideshipping (Rebecca x Ryuuji)
Summary: She only wanted a ride to the airport--not a four-day road trip with Ryuuji Otogi. He can try to leave responsibility in the rear-view mirror, but in the end it's only a change in scenery, not in situation.
A/N: Takes place a couple years post-canon. I hope you enjoy!

She calls him a week prior, asking for a favor, a ride to the airport since she doesn't own a car—and hadn't she done enough programming for his company that he owed her this? He agrees with a quickness that surprises even her, and Rebecca thinks she's seen it all when it comes to Ryuuji Otogi.

So when he drives past the highway exit, continuing on route 40, with the excuse that her conference doesn't start for another four days—days she'd reserved for sightseeing—he gives her an easygoing smile and puts his foot on the gas.

“I've always wanted to do this. I've got the time, for once, and I did promise I'll get you there in time. It'll be a different kind of sightseeing. You're with me, right?”

“That sounds awful.”

“Then I'll drive you to the airport in Flagstaff,” he's quick to say. “If you want to leave then, you can. Or we can keep going.”

It's two days later, and they're in a cheap diner outside of Oklahoma City, seated on either side of a yellow formica tabletop and drinking coffee. There's a strange relaxation in Ryuuji's shoulders, even though the last time he slept was a few hours on the roadside early that morning. It's evening now, and he'd ordered breakfast for the two of them.

“It's backwards,” Rebecca tells him, rearranging the contents of the tabletop—box of sugar packets, napkin holder, plastic vase of orange flowers.

“That's what normal people do on these kinds of trips, right?”

Rebecca snorts. “Who would know? We don't exactly fit the bill.”

He shifts in his seat. “I suppose not.”

They'd passed no fewer than a dozen billboards advertising DDM before they'd even left the city limits, and Ryuuji hadn't commented on one. In the past, he'd always shared every step of his games' success with her, but now, it was clear something had changed.

“It's just nice for a change, to step away, to be someone other than yourself,” he says slowly.

She can understand it, but then she remembers the Orichalcos and the duels that steal souls, and it suddenly sounds so terrible to be anyone but who she is. And looking at Ryuuji, she can see the roots of unhappiness seeping through his expression, and the weariness beneath that. Some of it has lightened, over the time they'd spent on the road, stopping at every landmark that catches his fancy and filling the backseat of his car with knickknacks and memorabilia. She takes photos of them both—he had smiled in every one. And not once had an assistant bothered him with business matters, or a fan rushed him for an autograph. She wonders, if after a few days, he will start to miss that again.

“You don't need anyone's permission for that,” she says. “You know that, right?”

“I'm getting there.” Two plates are set down in front of them, and Rebecca busies herself with noisily digging into her eggs. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Hey. You're with me, right?” She throws his own words back at him; they'd always made a good team, and it doesn't surprise her that this would be no different.

The waitress, wearing an apron in the same sunny orange as the flowers on the table, pauses a few steps away before turning back. “Oh my gosh, you're Ryuuji Otogi! Can I have your autograph? I can't believe the CEO of Dungeon Dice Monsters is eating in my diner!”

Ryuuji slides so seamlessly back into the smile Rebecca recognizes most, and agrees.

“Right.”

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Notes:

1) The story was originally written on July 15, 2015 and can be found here. It won first-place at ygodrabble.