Yes. I've actually taken a BRIEF HIATUS from Yuugiou, and decided to write a Trinity Blood fiction. Why? Because the characters are damn pretty and deserve recognition.
…
ANYWAY.
These little one thousand and one (note the exaggeration) possible plots listed below hopefully aren't copyrighted by anyone. They come from a twisted.psychotic.whimsical.freaskish little brain—that belongs to me.
And if they do, neh, let me know.
Oh, and by the way, there are intentional spelling/grammatical errors and a bunch of out of character-ness along with some parts that may confuse you because I was either too lazy to fix them up or just love to challenge you people.
…
Just a heads up.
17. Redemption:
Cain confesses his love for Abel. Now what does Abel think about this…? Shounen-ai.
BORING.
Scroll
24. Regret:
spoiler alert for ep 8 Able& Noel, are sent to barcelona,spain to investigat a random collapsse,. but then sparks start flying ABLEXNOELXNOELXABLE(--chap 9 up, lemon!!)
English For Dummies, anyone?
Scroll scroll
41. My Tovarish:
YAOI. "…What happened to you, Radu? Why did you betray me? Why do you just stand their, gazing at me with…lust?" Rated for blood, violence and rape.
(insert laughter here)
Okay, so that was pretty funny.
SCROLL
49. Hell's Private Domain:
He watched her. She was a picture of innocence, so sweet in her purity—his own Star of Hope. He flicked his tongue across his lips. All the reason to want her even more. Mature themes.
DING DING DING.
We have a winner!
Dietrich left his internal ramblings and clicked on the title, stifling the urge to cackle in triumph. He flexed his fingers, settling back into his chair. Now this was what he had been looking for.
Yearning. Desire. Lust.
Call it what you will, but to Dietrich von Lohengrin it made no difference whatsoever. All he knew was that he wanted her.
Her
A nun bound to celibacy—clerical celibacy. And would that stop him? By all means, of course not. He was a marionettenspieler, a puppet master. The world and its people were his toys, and she was no exception.
Pale fingers trailed along a thin line of puppeteer string. No, he would claim her. He would claim her if it was the last thing he did.
"Dietrich?"
He suppressed a smirk. Ah, what perfect timing she had. What a priceless jewel she was, really.
Dietrich cleared his throat before turning around, his countenance softening considerably.
"Esther…"
"—Dietrich!"
What? A typo?
"Dietrich!"
Quickly hitting the BACK button, the puppet master whirled around to face his oh-so discourteous intruder.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
"…Isaak?"
Gawk. No response. More gawking.
"What are you doing here?"
"Oh, well, I just got back from the hair parlor…"
…
Dietrich arched a slender eyebrow, "'The hair parlor?'"
"Why, yes. I just got my hair feathered." Isaak emphasized his point by running a hand through his Prussian blue hair.
…
"…Isaak, the world is on the verge of Armageddon and you go to a HAIR PARLOR?"
It was the magician's turn to blink, doing so rather innocently. He frowned.
"It doesn't look good?"
"…"
Frankly, Dietrich couldn't tell the difference.
"So, what are you looking act?" Isaak asked, casually leaning over Dietrich's shoulder to look at the screen. The puppet master shuffled out of the way, nearly twitching.
"A little too close for comfort," Dietrich muttered, straightening his tie. Honestly, who did he think he was? Only Esther could get away with that!
…
But that was a rant for another day.
Isaak paid no heed to his substandard and instead sat down on the chair Dietrich had left behind. Shifting comfortably in his seat, Isaak removed a cigar from one of the inner pockets of his coat. Dietrich watched as his superior continued to search for what seemed to be a lighter.
Where was Radu when you needed him?
The magician found one at long last, hastily lighting his cigar and taking a graceful puff.
Apparently, lung cancer didn't apply to Methuselah…but addiction obviously did.
…
Or did Isaak just want to look pimp?
"Fanfictions?"
The puppet master looked up at Isaak, who blew a cloud of smoke in his direction. Dietrich batted at it in revulsion.
Second hand smoking, anyone?
"Yes, fanfictions."
Stare.Stare.
"…What is a 'fanfiction,' Dietrich?"…
Was he being serious? Did Isaak Fernand von Kämpfer really have no idea what a fanfiction was?
"It's self-explanatory, really. It's as the name says, fan and fiction."
"So it's a series a fictional stories concocted by fans who have nothing better to do then spend their time writing narratives about their idols?"
That was definitely one way to look at it.
"Well, yes…but the writers usually consist of rabid fangirls—"
"'Fangirls?'"
…
"Isaak, do you really mean to tell me you have no idea what a fangirl is!" Dietrich demanded more than asked, utterly spastic.
"No."
"…"
A sigh. "Simply put, a 'fangirl' is a female fan whose admiration can range anywhere from a measly crush to an obsessive-compulsive fascination with…(insert name here). Common fangirl targets are fictional male characters."
"Fictional male characters? But who can those be?"
…
…
…
Didn't HELLSING ring a bell?
"Never mind that, Isaak."
Isaak shrugged nonchalantly, turning his chair back over to the screen. He scrolled down the page, reading each synopsis and inserting the appropriate facial expressions where needed.
"These alleged 'relationships' are ludicrous! Since when can an android priest have sex with a woman? Honestly."
…
And that wasn't even the worst of it.
"Dietrich, just who am I…" Isaak paused, turning back to the screen and choosing his words carefully.
"…'paired up' with?"
The puppet master made a point in including a scornful "heh" before answering.
"Take your pick. It's anyone and everyone from Cardinal Sforza all the way to yours truly."
The magician exhaled a curl of smoke, lifting a slender brow. Dietrich stared back with narrowed eyes. Um, now he was starting to feel UNCOMFORTABLE. Maybe he should've just left out the crap about himself.
Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.
"…You, Dietrich?"
"Yeah," was the only response the puppeteer managed to conjure up. What did he expect, something along the lines of, Yes, and we had damn good make-out sessions as well?
Uh, NO.
"I am, however, always the uke koi…"
Merda. Merde. Scheisse.
…
(That must be the twentieth time I've used an ellipsis, Dietrich thought wryly. But that time it was actually necessary.)
"Dietrich, I had no idea you knew how to swear in three different languages."
"…"
Note to self: STOP. ARTICULATNG. PRIVATE. THOUGHTS.
Isaak, oblivious to the puppet master's incessant twitching, threw out another offhand question.
"What is an 'uke koi,' anyway?"
He hated the turn this conversation was taking. What was this, Fanfiction Terminology 101?
Taught by Professor von Lohengrin.
He liked the sound of that.
"In yaoi…"
"Which mea—"
"…homosexual pairings, the 'uke' is, essentially, the more…obedient partner, for lack of a better term."
"So it's the individual who's usually on…the bottom?"
"…"
Total speechlessness.
"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, Dietrich," Isaak began sympathetically, adding a smirk that looked anything but sympathetic.
"I'm sure you're always the opposite of an uke—whatever that is—with that nun. Esther, was it?"
(insert indignant sputter here)
Dietrich had the sudden urge to bash Isaak's face into the nearest wall just to wipe the stupid smirk off his face.
But instead, he simply muttered in agreement. Isaak returned to scanning the screen, and Dietrich took every opportunity he was offered to glare and mouth swears at the back of his head.
"Ah, this one sounds interesting…"
The puppet master offered him the extension of a certain finger. Isaak didn't seem to notice.
"'A Puppet Without His Strings,'" the magician read the aloud, "'Dietrich von Lohengrin decides to try his puppetry skills on a certain Methuselah. What happens when his plan backfires? Slash fiction. Isaak/Dietrich. Lemon.'"
Isaak inclined his head towards Dietrich.
"I'm assuming the terms 'slash fiction' and 'lemon' have something to do with…sex?"
Dietrich sank into one of the leather chairs inside the room. Resting his head against the back of it, he carelessly mumbled a reply.
"A 'slash fiction' is a sub-genre romance fiction that deals entirely with homosexual pairings. A 'lemon' is an explicit sex story that leaves absolutely nothing for the imagination."
"Dietrich, how exactly do you know so much about these fanfictions?"
"We 'terrans' have to amuse ourselves in some way, don't we?"
That answer was apparently good enough for Isaak. Gently crushing the cigarette with his gloved fingers, he replied, "Interestingly enough, that fanfiction was numbered 'sixty-nine.'"
Dietrich raised his head and met Isaak's gaze, death glaring back at him. Did he really just find this amusing? That freaking prima donna!
"Would you, by chance, know what today's date is?"
Dietrich's eyes lazily flickered down at his watch.
"June 9th."
"Time?"
Yeah, time for you to get a mother-freaking watch, hurensohn, "6:09"
"…"
Blank stare.
Lip curl.
Comprehension.
…
And this was where he walked away.
Succinct? I bet it is. This is what you get when you get me PLUS some doughnuts PLUS episodes of Trinity Blood PLUS school.work.overload.
Leave a comment, evenifyouthinkthefictionisapieceofcrapwhichitis.
…
OH. Before I get suggestions to get more descriptive, the…ambiguousness…was intentional! So, NYAH!