~Ailanthus Altissima~

Welcome All Ye Weary Travelers!

2008-04-23T20:30:46Z

~ Public Writing Journal ~

_{"Friends might be there when you fall, and sometimes they'll help you pick up the pieces. But a lover understands why you fell - how hard it was for you to break. And not only will they help pick up the pieces, but they'll put you back together."~A.L.F.}

This journal is about as low-key as it can get. Friending and Lurking are both wonderful, and completely welcome.

To all of the Anonymous Posters out there: if you can leave your name with your comment, it would be much appreciated - that way I know who I'm talking to. ^_^

NOTE: Comment, critiques, and reviews are all welcome. I like decent criticism. Flames with be doused immediately and fed to Bunny-chan (a.k.a The Monster Of Haebernold). That is all.

[Detective Conan/Magic Kaitou] Formal Attire

2008-04-23T19:19:20Z

Title: Formal Attire
Fandom: Detective Conan/Magic Kaitou
Characters: Three detectives and a thief.
Disclaimer: I want to own the kimonos, but none of the Gosho boys are mine, sadly.
Rating: PG-13 (for interesting choices of alternative lifestyle and naughty words)
Word count: 661 – This was a 15 Minute Fic.
Summary:"Why are all of you wearing blue?"
For the Community 15 Minute Fics. See below the cut for which prompt I'm using. XD

Prompt: Word #18 - Blue

There was a moment of startled silence before the laughter rang out, echoing into the hallways. Hakuba decided that Kuroba sounded vaguely like a hyena when he laughed this hard. Of course, he too was trying to contain his own snort of amusement, so he said nothing.

“Oh god, I can’t believe,” Kaito Kuroba tried to speak, but he was wheezing. “I can’t believe we got you to do this!”

Identical scowls of ill-withheld fury from two different boys tried to bore through Kaito’s skull, in a fairly pathetic effort to murder the trickster with their eyes. Hakuba simply shook his head and tried to stay silent. He didn’t want to incriminate himself.

“Shut,” Heiji Hattori spoke in biting tones. “The Hell. Up.”

He sounded so stiff, thought Hakuba. Probably all that make-up.

“If I had my shoes,” came a child’s voice that sounded far too angry to belong to a child. “I would break all your fingers.”

“Aw, chibi-chan,” Kaito purred. “I feel loved.”

“May I remind you,” Hakuba interrupted in a very professional tone of voice. Very professional. Not snickering at all, really. “That this farce is a necessary evil? You will be in the company of several prominent female Japanese leaders. Since it’s a formal ball, the kimonos were absolutely essential. And besides,” Hakuba smiled in a politely evil manner. “Kuroba will be accompanying you as well.”

“He does this all the time anyway,” Heiji growled. “He doesn’t count.”

“Why aren’t you joining us, Hakuba?” Conan Edogawa muttered mutinously, shifting uncomfortably his unwelcome outfit.

“I have been firmly told by Kuroba that I have no feminine build whatsoever,” Hakuba said, his amusement finally shining through.

“It’s true,” Kaito said in a voice that indicated that this was the only reason he hadn’t tried to get Hakuba into a fancy kimono. By the sullen tone of his answer, Hakuba deduced – rather sharply – that this would not stop him from trying. “Shoulders are too broad.”

Clapping his hands, Hakuba pointed at the clock. “Well, since Kuroba only needs five seconds to get into his own get up, I suggest you head out to the car.”

The Eurasian teen detective smirked as he watched one Heiji Hattori and Conan Edogawa trudge outside. The former wearing what amounted to a furisode, colored in deep blue – near indigo – with white cherry blossom patterns curling around the entire ensemble. The younger of the two looked – sadly – adorable, with a lighter sky blue kimono made for a young girl. Designs of white cranes swept up from the bottom of the bottom of the small costume. Hakuba watched the two stoically put on their geta and march into the car without disrupting their make-up. Or hair. Kaito would kill them if they messed up their hair.

For two boys – one of which was a kendoist – they looked remarkably like two girls.

“Good work, eh?” Kaito said amiably as he appeared in a royal blue kimono, once again in the furisode style. There was a silver kitsune laughing on his kimono.

“I think the word is astounding, actually,” Hakuba replied, putting on a standard chauffeur’s cap. “Who knew Hattori would look good in a kimono?”

Katio snickered. “Hopefully the voice training works for him. Chibi-chan didn’t even have to try.”

“Don’t tell him that,” warned Hakuba as the two of them got near the car.

The mischievous sound of Kuroba’s laughter was hidden beneath a fan.

Hakuba only wondered one thing. “Why are all of you wearing blue?” he asked as he started to drive away.

Conan and Heiji looked to each other and shrugged. “No idea.” Hattori glanced at Kaito.

Kaito smiled, which was an expression that matched the character on his own kimono. “It was in honor of the girl who would’ve actually looked good in a kimono,” he said simply.

Hakuba raised an eyebrow and watched the road, a small grin on his face, as the rest of the trip carried on in slightly oppressive silence.

A/N: A furisode is the fanciest type of kimono you can wear outside of a bridal kimono. Women in Japan only wear it if they are going to a truly special occasion. Kitsune are demon/mythical foxes with a penchant for tricks and jokes. Geta are the sandals you wear with a kimono of any sort.
That is all. XD

[Detective Conan/Magic Kaitou] A Game of Chance...We Think.

2008-04-23T06:21:11Z

Title: A Game of Chance…We Think.
Fandom: Detective Conan-Cased Closed/Magic Kaitou
Prompt: #34 - Chance
Rating: G
Words: 250
Characters: Aoko, Akako, Ran, Kazuha, Conan, Kaito, Heiji, Hakuba
Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Srsly.
A/N: I think I should thank Icka. M. Chif for this (see Guard Dog, chapter…uh, I forgot. Kaiba and Jounouchi playing games. Or something.)…but even I don’t know where it came from. Sure it’s not really about a game of chance – well...ah, forget it. I’m done trying to explain myself.
Summary: It was astonishing to find all four boys in quiet contemplation.

Aoko, Kazuha, and Ran, with the strange addition of Akako, all tolerated nights like these. Mainly because they were full of hilarity; and all four girls loved watching (what Ai had snidely called) ‘their boys’ interact.

Usually, the scene was quiet before Kaito did something outrageous and the night deteriorated from there. In public, it wasn’t so bad, but outrageous seemed to be the word for their motley little crew.

So it was astonishing to find all four boys in quiet contemplation.

What made this more shocking was what they were doing.

Conan Edogawa had in front of him a goban. Saguru Hakuba stared down at a rather old chess set. Heiji Hattori was moving a shogi piece, and Kaito Kuroba, unsurprisingly, was holding playing cards.

Aoko was stunned into silence. So Ran took over for her. “Bwah-?” she managed.

Heiji looked up, and grinned. “Hey, neechan. We’re just playing.”

“Playing …what, exactly?”

“I’m not sure,” Kaito responded happily. “But we couldn’t decide on any particular game – I wanted poker.”

“I preferred chess,” Saguru added primly.

“I was in the mood for shogi….”

“And I wanted go!” chirped Conan (the boys shuddered, but the girls thought he was cute – they couldn’t help it).

“So,” Kaito finished. “We compromised.”

“You’re move, Hakuba-san,” Heiji taunted.

“My knight against your kinsho,” the blonde responded, amused, as Heiji groaned.

Watching them like one would watch a ticking bomb, the four girls left them.

…Sometimes the quiet nights were worse than the loud ones.

[Detective Conan] In Which Sato Admires

2008-04-10T18:08:27Z

Title: In Which Sato Admires
Fandom: Detective Conan/Cased Closed
Prompt: #33 - Hot
Rating: PG-13 (For the singular use of One Word. And Sato's naughty thoughts.)
Characters: Takagi et Sato
Disclaimer: Not. Mine. Though sometimes I wish Takagi WAS mine...
Summary: There was something about being shirtless and doing manual labor, Sato thought almost wickedly, that suited Takagi.

Inspector Sato was feeling the heat. Quite literally in this case, primarily because it was July and she was outside with far too much clothing; she blamed work. A weak hand, which she only realized was hers after a moment of dazed staring, was fanning her in the most ineffectual manner possible.

Damn Megure, she thought to herself heatedly (no pun…um, yes, pun intended), and whatever genius decided that destroying police property was a good way to get our attention. So what if it worked.

“Sato-san? What are you doing here?”

Inspector Sato stared, blocking out all that Tagaki might have been saying.

And stared.

And then stared some more.

“…So that’s why we’re out here, repairing the damage … Sato-san? Are you alright? You look flushed.” Takagi trailed off uncertainly, blushing as normal.

There was something about being shirtless and doing manual labor, Sato thought almost wickedly, that suited Takagi. Not that she would say that aloud.

Maybe.

“I’m fine,” she responded, a little shakily. Summer heat beat down on her head and she fanned herself distractedly once more. “Really,” she added at Takagi’s concerned look.

He nodded and turned back to his work, and Sato admired him from behind. Casually, of course.

Thank you Megure, she thought to herself, and whatever God of circumstance that decided today was going to be a hot day.

[Van Helsing] Vivo Vixi Victum, Pt.1/?

2008-04-10T04:49:37Z

Title: Vivo Vixi Victum, Pt.1/?
Author: Aki-sama
Word Count: 887
Author Notes: This is a little old, but I made it pretty and put it out there for some people to read. XP Van Helsing was a momentary obsession of mine a while back - just cuz I could. Don't know if I'll ever continue, but oh well. XD The title is Latin for "To Live, Be Alive." I thought it was pretty, and I might steal the title for other things later.
Summary: “Van Helsing… that shall be your name. It suits one who fights those that haunt the darkness.”

“Van Helsing… that shall be your name. It suits one who fights those that haunt the darkness.”

He saw a kind face. Light was spilling in through the Basilica.

“Gabriel…, my son….”

Suddenly, it was dark. The night was warm. He huddled under the spare refuge of tree branches. He was waiting.

But he was not alone.

He turned and nodded to a companion, a close friend. The friend nodded back, and slunk into the trees behind him. As his eyes followed his friend, he saw an army of silver and gold. Anticipation flooded through his heart, as fiery as the sun. His eyes flashed with the power of the heavens.

Feathers fell from above and the Archangel Gabriel spread his wings.

It was dark. The night was warm. The Vatican is an empty place in the middle of the night. Above ground, that is.

A young man was patiently throwing bottles of chemicals against a brick wall far below the Vatican’s holy ground. He threw these bottles patiently, because he was waiting for a reaction.

Yes, he had been doing this all night.

Exasperation soon became him, and Carl flung his last bottle with a vengeance.

Ironically, it was the only one that caused a reaction. Unfortunately, it was a reaction that caused the wall to explode.

No, it wasn’t exactly what Carl had been looking for. It was better.

In another part of this underground city, a man, a hunter, screamed through his nightmares.

“Van Helsing?”

His eyes were burning. There were shadows, fuzzy and distorted beyond his eyelids. Ignoring pain and relying on instinct, Van Helsing sat up immediately and opened his eyes. He regretted it slightly.

“Carl!” The young friar turned his head from a bowl of what Van Helsing guessed would be holy water. He looked extremely relieved.

“Oh thank heavens you’re awake! I was contemplating on performing an exorcism, with the way you were thrashing around,” he said with exasperation, setting down the bowl.

Van Helsing raised an eyebrow, “On me?” he asked curiously. His eyesight was starting to blur more, and he rubbed them ineffectually. Carl looked nervously around. When his eyes settled on Van Helsing again he sighed.

“The council was here after I had heard you scream. They watched you as you slept, and had prepared this bowl of holy water for me,” he gestured to the bowl Van Helsing had noticed moments before. Carl looked at his friend worriedly. “Van Helsing, you were speaking in Tongues.”

Van Helsing looked up sharply. The term Tongues was referencing the Gift of Tongues, which allowed certain creatures to speak any language they needed. It was something of a supernatural gift that should only, according to documents, belong to the Fae. For a human to be doing it, even in his sleep, was highly unnatural.

“What did I say?”

“I was the only one who heard you. You spoke in an ancient form of Latin, and also … Aramaic, which was the only part I really didn’t understand.” Carl paused, hesitating to say anything more. Van Helsing noticed at once.

The hunter stretched and cracked his knuckles wearily.

“Carl, it’s been a very long night.” Carl took in the meaningfully loud pops and cracks and smiled very, very tentatively. He took out a scrap of paper that looked as if it had been torn frantically and held it with slightly trembling hands.

“You did this after the council left. I haven’t told anyone,” he handed the paper shakily toward Van Helsing, “You weren’t having a fit either and I thought you had just woken up, but…”
“But what?” Van Helsing snatched the frail piece of paper away from Carl and stared. And stared. He handed it back to Carl. “I can’t read this. Is it some form of code that my brain scrambled together while I was out of it?”

Carl looked very serious as he stared at the parchment, “No,” he spoke cautiously, “That script that you wrote, it is in the lost language of the Angels; Angelic Script.”

There was a very long pause.

Clothes went flying. Shoes came on, coat came on, hat (especially) came on, and before Carl had time to think, he was grabbed by the shoulder and hauled out the door.

“Van Helsing! I really must protest! You should be resting, not gallivanting off to find the council at this hour!” Carl jogged after his sometimes partner, who was at the moment extremely agitated. To say the least.

“What did I say in Latin?” Van Helsing asked as they turned a corner, completely ignoring the protests of the small friar. Carl pouted, feeling unloved. He told him anyway.

“You said something that, from our own slightly bastardized version, translates roughly to, ‘Hold the line! My brothers! Hold the line! Vlad!—,’ and that’s it before you started speaking Aramaic.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” growled the demon hunter as they turned yet another corner, “I don’t know either of those languages, so how can I speak them?”

Carl had given up trying to stop Van Helsing and had decided to be dragged to the council instead. He sighed wearily, “That’s what we all would like to know, I think.”

Van Helsing said nothing but continued down, into the deepest parts of the Order’s head quarters.

[HP/The Dresden Files] Practical Magic, Pt. 1/?

2008-04-09T16:34:38Z

Title: Practical Magic, Pt.1/?
Author: Aki-sama
Word Count: 1,185
Author Notes:
This was a requested write out. Not Beta'd because I don't have a Beta. Until I get one, bear with me. XD
"-Genre: Harry Potter/Dresden files crossover
- Pairing or characters: Harry, Harry, Bob, Murphy, Thomas, Remus, the Weasley mob, Dumbldore.
- Rating- pg- 13
- Any prefered lines or phrases- "Thats what she said."
- Particular scenarios- an explosive action pack scene where more than one building blows up. *Love*""
Summary: “You know the ad says ‘Wizard’ on it, right? I might be a lunatic.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
“No.”

“What?”

“I said ‘no.’”

“Why not?”

“Because …I’m busy.”

“With what, shining that stupid looking skull thing?”

“His name is Bob. Show respect.”

“…Look, I just need a place to stay for a week, and then I’m gone, alright?”

“You can’t stay unless you have money. Lots of it preferably.”

“I’ll clean. And cook. And garden. I can do that much.”

“Kid, how did you find me again?”

“…Yellow pages?”

“You know the ad says ‘Wizard’ on it, right? I might be a lunatic.”

“It’s why I picked you.”

“That says a lot for your respective sanity.”

“Please let me stay.”

“I’ve already got a tenant. And he doesn’t do much as it is.”

“I said I’d cook and all that. I’m used to manual labor!”

“I have no idea what to say to that.”

“….I’ll do the laundry?”

“Alright. Get settled.”

It had only been an hour, and I was already starting wonder why I had ever said no in the first place.

“You need anything else fixed?” the British kid asked, standing like a god amidst my sparkling clean kitchen.

I had never seen such a judicious use of manual labor in. my. LIFE.

“Uh huh,” I began. “While you’re at it could you rebuild the foundation of my building? The rest of the tenants think its sinking on the north side.”

The bespectacled boy stared at me and looked like he was considering my suggestion. “I was kidding,” I added for the sake of things.

“I had a feeling,” he said with a dry tone of voice. “Your house is rather vacant. I thought you said you had another tenant.”

“I do. But he has a job. Unlike you.”

“Are you really a wizard?” he asked suddenly.

I avoided looking at his eyes and answered, “Yes.”

“Not the whole, ‘I can pull a rabbit out of a hat’ sort of bollocks; I mean a real, honest-to-Merlin, magicky wizard.”

“Yes,” I said again, frowning at the kid’s word choice. Whenever someone mentioned Merlin, I think of the one still gunning for my subsequent beheading. “I’ve got a talking skull and everything.”

The boy stared at me once more. I stared at his nose. “You know about Hogwarts then?” he asked in a quiet voice.

I tried, really tried, to hide the incredulous look on my face. I failed.

“It’s a school. In England,” he tried once more. “Really.”

I still shook my head.

Frowning, he started digging through his large trunk. “Does the name Albus Dumbledore mean anything to you?” he asked me in a tired voice.

Ah. “Yes, actually. But I’ve only read about him in books. Why?”

“He taught me. At a school called Hogwarts.”

I put a hand to my forehead and let it slide down in the universal gesture of mental exasperation. “Great. You’re his apprentice or something?”

“Maybe. Whatever I was, I’m not going back.” He stood and brushed his hair back away from his eyes. My eyes were immediately drawn to this sudden, angry movement, and I saw it.

Death. Murder. Kill. Hate. Blood. Destruction.

Holy shit.

“Where did you get that?” I asked, pointing a shaking finger at the small, barely noticeable lightning scar on his forehead.

He started in surprise. “You don’t…you don’t recognize me?”

I shook my head, still stunned by the amount of sheer evil that had taken me and rattled my skin off. “No. Should I?” I asked him in return, keeping my voice steady.

The boy looked pleased. “Well, as much as I’d like to say it’s a relief, now would be a great time for my publicity to work for me.”

“Who are you?” I asked him, starting get annoyed the same way I always do when all I get are vague half-answers that don’t mean anything to me. “And why are you here?”

“I’m Harry Potter,” he said, standing and holding a long stick that I took no time in recognizing as a ‘wand.’ He tried to look me in the eyes again, and once more, I diverted mine.

“And I’m running away.”

“So. To recap,” I began, “This dark wizard named, um, Vlodimart?”

“Voldemort.”

“Right. Voldemort.” What a ridiculous name. It must come with Dark Wizard territory: when you go Dark, you have to get a ridiculous pseudonym. Or you can just use you’re real name, if you were born unfortunate enough. “Anyhow, this dark wizard guy marks your family as a threat, kills your mom and dad and tries to kill you. You survive, the curse rebounded to him and kills him..sort of. Now he’s got himself a new body immune to the original protection spell placed on you, and you’re running away from the good guys because…?”

“I don’t like what they’ve asked me to do.”

We were more at ease now that everything had been settled. Harry, the kid, was sitting on the couch and scratching Mister behind the ears. The cat was melting all over him. I made a face at the big furry puddle and wondered why the evil pet always turned good whenever a guest was over.

“So that’s why the scar reeks of dark magic,” I said, almost to myself. “But what on earth can you do? No offense,” I said plaintively. “But you’re just a kid.”

He looked incredibly solemn at this and I got the feeling that this kid had seen more than he should have. I had experience with that.

“It’s kind of a long story, and I really don’t want to tell you right now,” he answered. “If you can help me figure out how to destroy Voldemort, then I’ll explain.”

“You honestly thought I was a real wizard when you saw my ad.” The idea was astounding – considering what most people assumed at first.

Harry shrugged. “I had a hunch. I dunno, I could tell, for some reason, when I first met you.” I frowned. I always noticed another wizard’s presence, unless they masked it well enough, and honestly, not many knew how. Heck, I didn’t really know how.

“Is that your wand?”

“Yeah,” he said, holding it up.

I reached out a hand to take it and, after a second of hesitancy, he gave it over. I twirled it in my good hand and whistled. “This is some high class stuff. You’ve got a powerful wood, with what’s gotta be a few ‘special’ ingredients,” I said, hiding jealousy and laughter at the same time. “All I’ve got is a drumstick.”

“A drumstick?” he asked me incredulously. “Seriously?”

I shrugged and handed back the wand. “It doesn’t matter what you channel magic through, as long as it means something to you.”

He shook his head. “I’ve never heard of a wizard who doesn’t use a wand to cast spells.”

“You say you went to school to learn all this?” I asked curiously. It was strange that someone so involved in magic knew so little. “For how long?”

“Yes, for five years up until now.”

“Five years and you never learned how to just channel your magic naturally, without a wand or a staff?”

“…Show me.”

============================

[AN: It's all I've really got for now. Will update when inspiration strikes. XP]

Recipe for Me; or "I'm a cocktail?"

2008-04-09T07:56:51Z

The Recipe For Alia

3 parts Imagination

2 parts Originality

1 part Mania

Splash of Nonconformity

Finish off with a squeeze of lime juice

What's the Recipe for Your Personality?