Byakuran x Evan yaoi fic (M)

Heya guys! Sucky weekends lotsa hw...did I mention that I like yaoi?

Yeap. So, I made a fic for my senpai between Byakuran and her OC, His name's Evan. Here he is, she drew him:

Cute, ain't he? Here's the official summary thingy and the title I just made... It has M-rated stuff in it so... 

*gets slapped*

Oh, and I made all this in my phone, with no italic font and whatnot, so I used brackets, and I'm too lazy to edit it, so yeah.

Of Marshmallows and Skateboard

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn

Pairing: Byakuran x Male OC (Evan)

Genre: Humor, Romance, Hurt, Comfort, Crime

Rating: M to MA (I think...)

Warning: language, sex (mutual masturbation), gore, blood, usual Byakuran creepiness.

Angeal Hewley's Next Best Adv

As much as I hate it, I have to admit that as brilliant as my mind is, it's filled with rampant plot bunnies. Many, many rampant plot bunnies. And I just can't resist...ugh.

So this, is one of them. Another reincarnation fic--see a pattern here? You must've realized by now that I'm kinda obsessed with the concept of reincarnation--featuring one Angeal Hewley from FF7 who is...I'm spoiling dis fic...reincarnated as a puppy in our world.

Yay. Karma at its finest.

I call it: Angeal Hewley's Next Great Adventure. Totally ripped it off from Dumbledore.

This is only the prologue tho. Or a short teaser. Not sure if I'll post it in FF.

I think I'm just gonna post that one fic so far...

And yea, I know haven't updated in months. I'm a lousy author. *hangs head*

Reasons for that being mostly school and maybe a bit of procrastination but we all do that at some point, right? and some mid-life crisis. Apparently, puberty is--pardon my language--a bitch and constant depressive-aggressive mood swings are normal. Yeap.

Sigh. C'est la vie, as the French said.

Reflected In Those Mismatched Eyes 3

Harry knows that he has experienced (and done) some strange things in his relatively short five years of life, but this one takes the cake.

A particularly bizarre, loopy fruitcake.

"I was you?" He echoes, puzzled beyond measure. What is he getting at?

"What do you mean by that?" He questions the strange, black haired young man who is strangely familiar to him.

He is captivating, carrying himself in a gait that seems too elegant to be human. His style of clothing is interesting as well, reminding him of the 18th century style of clothing he once read about in a classical novel in the school library, where he usually hides from Dudley and his gang.

But those aren't the reasons why he is intrigued at him.

It is his eyes, those twin, ever-changing dark-colored orbs that looks identical with his own left eye.

He has a feeling that this person is much more than he seems.

"I know I have just said something absurd, but please stop staring at my face, young Harry. It's considered impolite." The black-haired young man's chiding voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and he flushes, ducking to hide his face in his embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, "I didn't mean to."

The young man sighs, but he seems a tad uncomfortable with Harry staring so intently at his face just moments before, particularly his eyes. Harry can guess why. He ducks his head even more with the realisation, a twinge of guilt seeping into him. He knows how it feels to be stared by people as if he was not something human.

It is a horrible feeling (—cold, cold uncaring—hating—eyes boring into him—the jeers, the mocking laughter thrown at his face—).

The young man interrupts his thoughts once again. "Raise your head, Harry. Your reaction is understandable, and it is not good to submerge yourself in guilt, especially with things that you did not mean to do." Harry's eyes widens, amazed by how easily the man read his thoughts.

The young man steps closer to him, his coat swaying lightly with every step he takes. Harry slowly raises his head upwards, meeting the young man's dark-colored eyes, solemn face seemingly evaluating him. A hand clasps his lithe, bony shoulder firmly.

"My name is Leo Baskerville. We have much to talk about, Harry."

xxxxx

Leo. So that's his name.

Harry tentatively tests the young man's name on his lips. Looking at the captivating, regally dressed Baskerville, he decides that the name suits him.

A royal lion, that's what he is.

The emptiness he saw in his gaze worries him though. Even with the golden flecks in his multicolored eyes, it feels like a part of him is missing, leaving a deep hole in its place.

It is saddening (—maddening—slowly driving him insane bit by bit and he's not altogether aware of it—).

He shakes his head, dispelling his train of thoughts.

"So," he starts tentatively, a bit conflicted on what he should call him. "Mr Baskerville, what do you mean by you were me before I was me?" His question ends up becoming more of a question to himself, his confusion clearly apparent in his tone, brows furrowing in a manner that is considered cute for a child his age.

"Call me Leo, please. To explain that... Harry, are you familiar with the concept of rebirth or reincarnation?"

"Rebirth? Reincarnation?" Harry parrots and tilts his head in confusion, his unruly hair draping over his face with the movement. He has found the word in a few books, but he never truly understood what it means.

Leo purses his lips, wondering how he can explain the concept to Harry correctly.

Reflected In Those Mismatched Eyes 2

Leo Baskerville is torn between laughing hysterically or breaking down in tears with the situation he is in. Whatever it was that he expects from his afterlife certainly isn't this.

No Glen Baskervilles are supposed to be in a situation like this.

Then again, he had always been the weird one. There's no reason that it would change now.

He was forcefully jarred into consciousness by the intrusion of a malevolent soul shard. Disoriented, unstable, and feeling threatened by its presence, he ripped into it with the ferocity of a madman, weakening it to the point of dormancy, almost devouring the whole thing.

And once again, his perception of the world was tilted upside down.

Memories assaulted him, feeding him knowledge of a world where the Abyss is unheard, where chains are non-existent, and where magic plays an important part in it.

He saw the life of Tom Marvolo Riddle, from his birth throughout his ascend in darkness as Lord Voldemort, up to the moment he cast a killing curse to one year old Harry James Potter.

Which, he assumes, is the owner of the soul he is in.

So in the end, Leo decides to laugh and laugh and laugh until his hysterical laughter turns into sobs that wracks his whole body, because he doesn't know what he should do now.

The fact that he recognizes the soul he is inhabiting as his own does not help matters.

There is one conclusion he manages to make from it. But he doesn't want to believe it, not really, no. Too many strange things has happened to him.

But he knows that it is true. He does not have a choice in the matter.

Leo Baskerville has been reincarnated as Harry James Potter.

xxxxxx

He never tries to create a contact with the child, nor does he want to. He isn't needed here, for Glen Baskerville does not exist in this world.

Besides, Leo has never been good with children. It was Elliot's forte.

But it seems that fate has other plans for him.

The child, Harry, seems to be having a dreadful nightmare. One of green lights and a woman who begged for his life. But Leo knows that it is more of a memory than a dream.

It is the memory of the night his parents died.

The mental strain of the memory is too much for the child, distressing him, and he unconsciously seeks for help. As such, Leo has no choice but to meet him.

He stands on the watery, rippling surface of the child's subconscious, waiting for the child's arrival. He is wearing the coat he wore as Glen, his stance as regal as ever.

He does not have to wait for long.

A pitter-patter of steps alerts him to the child's arrival, creating ripples on the subconscious' surface.

"H-hello? Where am I?" A high-pitched, childish voice calls out, uncertainty laced in it. He figures that it makes sense, the child should be about four or five years old now.

But the small figure that greets him somewhat shocks him into silence.

His eyes widens, raking upon the little, frail boy with messy, shoulder-length black hair—malnourished, he noted—wearing clothes too large for his size.

His eyes are obscured by long bangs, with round, thick-lensed glasses covering them. But in the light, he can clearly see mismatched emerald green and dark indigo eyes, flecks of gold scattered inside it.

Whatever that remains of his heart clenches.

The child is far too similar to him.

His reincarnation finally takes notice of him, watching him in both trepidation and awe. "Who are you?"

Leo sighs, wondering how he should explain all this to a five year old. He decides to be blunt with it.

"Believe it or not, Harry James Potter, I am the person who you used to be."

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Reflected In Those Mismatched Eyes 1

Harry Potter is a very strange boy. He knows that.

Weird things always happen around him.

Like that time when he somehow transported himself to the roof to escape from Dudley and his gang in a Harry Hunting game, or that time he turned his hair electric blue.

His relatives were displeased with the unnatural occasions happening around him. Wait—scratch that, they seem to dislike him in general. No normal boy would live like he does, treated by his own family as if he is a disgusting leftover that rotted in their refrigerator.

Then again, he is not a normal boy.

But beyond that, he knows that there is something more about him. Something odd and different and unnatural, like it's not supposed to be there.

He could tell, no other boys—normal or similar to him—can see golden lights scattered everywhere; warm and beautiful and ethereal, constantly keeping him company on lonely nights in his little cupboard.

No other boys can survive living without food, or drink for ten days, even more without feeling hungry or thirsty at all. He learned that when he accidentally ruined Uncle Vernon's favorite leather jacket. It is as if his body doesn't need any sustenance anymore.

No other boys have never get sick, because Harry never gets sick at all. His injuries heal faster too.

No other boys have eyes like his. Heterochromia is somewhat normal, but his left eye is always changing colors, and there is a circular pattern inside it. Sometimes, it's black, then indigo, and dark purple. But there are always flecks of golden in it; as if it is reflecting the golden lights he sees everywhere.

His right one is the same shade of his mother's though. He remembers Aunt Petunia saying about it when she insulted him. ("You ruddy boy, you think batting your mother's pretty little green eye would get you out of this?")

And lastly, there's no way that any other boys would have someone named Leo living in their head, claiming that he is the person Harry was before he became Harry.

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A random drabble

Wait, this IS the musings of my mind, isn't it? So I'm gonna post my stuff.

My posts here will probably be mostly English from now on since I'm actually more comfortable with that language...weird, huh?

And surprise, surprise (not really) I'm a fanfiction writer too! I go by StagnantLaziness. ^^
Expect me posting my fics here too, kay? Probably updates and news and stuff. And soon. Like, really soon.

Without further ado... A short drabble! I might continue this,but I'm not sure.

So, ternyata lima bulan sudah berlalu ya! :D

Ahahaha, sorry banget ya... School's running me within an inch of my life now. Capek.

The good news is, I'm now in senior highschool! Yaaay! But it's also so tiring... Banyak banget pr tiap hari.

Kalo kata Class Captain kelasku: "Welcome to Binus."

Yap, tepat sekali itu....