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Havesongonrepeatiseatingmybrain
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tammaiya and I are writing Weiss Kreutz On Crack.
Anyone want to play? It's fun.
*
“Yohji-kun? Are you alright?”
“Eh, prachtvoll,” Schuldich muttered without opening his eyes. Oh, that was just glorious. The blond’s teammates were all worried and it was probably hugs and flowers and fucking brotherly concern. And knowing Crawford, the rest of Schwartz had buggered off and left him to regain consciousness on his own. Unfair.
“What did you say, Yohji-kun?”
Ugh, couldn’t the little psycho kid be concerned a little bit further away from his head? Which was hurting like a bitch, by the way. Schuldich lifted a hand to rub at his forehead, and noticed three things at once.
Firstly, he was no longer lying on the hard ground of the warehouse. The surface under his back was soft and yielding and suspiciously bedlike. Secondly, someone had fucking cut his fucking hair. Someone would die, he promised himself ominously.
Thirdly, he was wearing sunglasses.
*
See? Crack. Fun. Mmm.
[Almost!smut update: 2,660 words and counting. Why no, I don't have a life. Nice of you to ask, though.]
I say of, you say a... *hits head with heavy stapler*
*
“But Aya,” he said breathlessly, lowering his eyes in something approximating a demure manner, “you must know the effect you have on me…”
The redhead gave him another glare – for good measure, Schuldich assumed, because if looks could kill then he’d be well and truly digging his own grave by now – and then stalked out of the room.
Schuldich covered his face with Yohji’s pillow and howled with laughter.
*
Addictive crack, even.
...I say revolution and you say die
Ohgod. I hate you. Yes, you. And YOU.
tammaiya and I are writing Weiss Kreutz On Crack.Anyone want to play? It's fun.
*
“Yohji-kun? Are you alright?”
“Eh, prachtvoll,” Schuldich muttered without opening his eyes. Oh, that was just glorious. The blond’s teammates were all worried and it was probably hugs and flowers and fucking brotherly concern. And knowing Crawford, the rest of Schwartz had buggered off and left him to regain consciousness on his own. Unfair.
“What did you say, Yohji-kun?”
Ugh, couldn’t the little psycho kid be concerned a little bit further away from his head? Which was hurting like a bitch, by the way. Schuldich lifted a hand to rub at his forehead, and noticed three things at once.
Firstly, he was no longer lying on the hard ground of the warehouse. The surface under his back was soft and yielding and suspiciously bedlike. Secondly, someone had fucking cut his fucking hair. Someone would die, he promised himself ominously.
Thirdly, he was wearing sunglasses.
*
See? Crack. Fun. Mmm.
[Almost!smut update: 2,660 words and counting. Why no, I don't have a life. Nice of you to ask, though.]
I say of, you say a... *hits head with heavy stapler*
*
“But Aya,” he said breathlessly, lowering his eyes in something approximating a demure manner, “you must know the effect you have on me…”
The redhead gave him another glare – for good measure, Schuldich assumed, because if looks could kill then he’d be well and truly digging his own grave by now – and then stalked out of the room.
Schuldich covered his face with Yohji’s pillow and howled with laughter.
*
Addictive crack, even.
...I say revolution and you say die
Ohgod. I hate you. Yes, you. And YOU.
