A/N: For Link Worshiper who motivated me to write the story that has been haunting me for the past two years in my sleep, among other places, without even knowing it. Happy Birthday early, since I might forget later.
Disclaimer: The following fan fiction will be crude and full of fandom wankery. The views and opinions expressed may or may not have anything to do with the series whatsoever. Those without a perturbed sense of humor are not encouraged to read this as well as people with a low startle point. Side effects might include nausea, bashing one's head against the wall, and extreme anger toward the author. In rare cases, people might find the author strangely attractive and, if that remains the case, they should shower him with Yaoi at an anime convention near you.
Let's Begin.
An Underlined Prologue
Long, long ago, the Earth's population expanded beyond the Earth's holding capacities leading into the creation of several space colonies, places where the elite could travel and expand their enterprises. Several exceptions were made to the rule as, with procreation, each population grew. Poverty flourished, in particular on the colonies 01 and 02; wealth flourished on 05; 04 was owned by a corporate shark, or more like corporate manatee considering the late Master Winner was the sole founder of the Peace on Earth and in Space Association, otherwise known as PENIS. PENIS was a great success and, soon enough, the missing colony of 03 was created along with 06, 07, 08, 09, and 69 – the number handpicked by the head CEO of PENIS.
By fate, war erupted between Earth and the Colonies and, after forty-nine episodes, one OVA, and the birth of millions of horrible Mary Sues, we found ourselves focusing on five very handsome, very dashing, very brilliant, very sexy, and very jail bait ex-Gundam Pilots now part of the Preventers of War Between PENIS and Warmongers. The story of these pilots joining such a wonderful organization is truly touching and heartwarming, and it will not be featured on our scheduled programming this evening, or morning depending on your time zone.
Today, we find ourselves embarking on a journey, a journey of fate, of love, of utter sexiness with minors, and a lack of Latrines in…
The Campy Chronicles Post-Gundam Wing
(And Many Other Stupid Stories)
AC 196
Once in a galaxy that happened to be our own, a group of highly glamorized, sexy, barely post-pubescent boys embarked in what was thought to be the last war the universe has ever seen.
They were right.
But now they found themselves at the mercy of countless fan fictions, squealing Yaoi fan girls, and the topic of much heated debate – Seme or Uke?
Unbeknownst to them, but knownst to us, these boys were about to embark on a journey of life too crude to be in anything other than another failed American Pie movie.
The Saga Begins…
Chapter One: The Communal House
It was a beautiful day – the sun was shining, birds were chirping, and Quatre was stuck wearing an oversized construction helmet working in the smelly grunts of the city for reconstruction. Rashid had told him, begged him, to not supervise the group but the selfless Quatre had insisted. Basked in sweat over his legs, under his arm pits, and in his groin region, his face flushed red from excessive heat and physical exertion.
Hours passed in the most dire of conditions for the nearly-albino Arabic boy, and who couldn't call that child a saint? His delicate heart plagued with two murmurs and other cardiovascular abnormalities was expanding in size leading to two things: an excuse for his extravagant love of everything, and his passing out, face first, outside of the Port-a-John.
The John Deere vehicles screeched to halts and ten ambulances were called to the scene along with a helicopter, even though he had regained consciousness by that point. He was air-vacced, against his will, and put in a hospital, also against his will.
But oh, what a glorious hospital it was for not only was it large and brilliant, but it just so happened to be the hospital where Sally Po worked, having been granted permission to practice internal medication without a license because she was that good. Or hot. One of the two.
"Well, Quatre," she began, "it seems to me like you have a case of the Rich Boy Syndrome."
"Rich Boy Syndrome!" he cried out. "Oh no, what a travesty! How horrendous! What – is it, exactly?"
"It is simple. Boys born with silver spoons in their mouths are expected to pay illegal immigrants to do their dirty work in slave labor and, when those boys step outside the parameters, they simply collapse."
"But… I don't believe in slave labor. And the Maguanac Soldiers are my friends. The abolition of torturing illegal immigrants is something I've worked to abolish this past winter when I was stuck in an office doing paperwork!" he protested profusely.
"Hn… I see… well, this is a very rare condition and, in your case, it seems as if you don't seek the cure which would be to roast a bonfire and sacrifice your first born child," she deducted thoughtfully despite the cocked head of the blond and rampant beads of sweat forming across his brow. "It seems as if we have to find a way for you to manage it, and I have just the medication."
"There's a medication? What is it?" the boy asked enthused.
She lifted a hand and cleared her throat, "A vacation."
Silence.
"A vacation?"
"Yes, a vacation."
"… a vacation?"
"Yes. A vacation."
And so, Quatre was dressed in one salmon-pink shirt, a grey vest that a colorblind society perceived as purple, and khaki pants before he was promptly kicked out of the hospital, into a limousine, and brought to a gigantic mansion that put Relena's summer home to shame.
Meanwhile…
Heero was running, and running fast.
All the Gundam Piloting did not prepare him for the real world – school – and more importantly fan girls. Fan girls, of all things!
He had been on a forced stroll through the park accompanying Relena and many of her incognito body guards when he noticed something odd.
"The ground is shaking."
"You're imagining things," Relena said with a smile.
"I'm serious. The ground is shaking."
"Heero, that's called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."
"No, the ground is shaking."
And then Relena felt it.
Rocks lifted and fell, the sound as loud as a herd of rhinoceroses charging a crocodile but the actuality was far more frightening:
"HEERO! HEERO!"
"OH EM GEE! IT'S HEERO YUY! IT'S REALLY HIM!"
"HE'S SO KAWAIIIIIII! DID YOU KNOW I LEARNED THE WORD 'KAWAII' LAST WEEK FROM A RERUN OF FULL-METAL ALCHEMIST?"
"HEERO'S SO COOL!"
"I WANT YOUR BABIES!"
"I'M AN ANDROID!" were among the few screams that were decipherable, and able to be placed in the story without upping the rating and adding links to pages on to fulfill the "special needs" of adolescents most certainly under eighteen years of age who have no sexual experiences what-so-ever, especially when indicated with the word: LEMON.
Now, it was rare that Heero was scared – after all, it only occurred in every other episode and he was always depicted in stories as a heartless bastard, and we all know heartless bastards are just like fish – they don't have any feelings. This concludes with the fact that Heero is a delicacy served in your local Sushi bar, but I digress.
Heero was petrified. His eyes expanded to the size of small saucers and he was on the verge of wetting his spandex when Relena shouted, "Run, Heero, Run!"
And so he ran.
And ran.
And just when you thought he was going to stop, he ran.
He defied gravity, he ran on water, he even ran through a few gay bars without being carded, but the main thing was that he ran.
I could go into the trouble of writing page upon page of his adventures that no one would really give a crap about, but that would take effort and that is something the world sorely lacks.
When Heero finally stopped running, a month without food, starved, and on the verge of death despite surviving a suicide attempt featuring a detonation device, a Gundam, and a thong, only to discover that, low and behold, he was standing outside of a mansion.
"Hn…" he said.
"Heero! What are you doing here?"
The boy lifted his head, blue as sapphire eyes stared into… another pair of blue sapphire eyes as Quatre stood in the open doorway of the house.
"Running." Pause. "What are you doing here?"
"Forced vacation. Apparently, I have Rich Boy Syndrome with Martyr and Humanity Complex. Go figure."
"Hn."
"Say, I have a good idea. Why don't you come and live with me? I'm all alone in this house and have to fend for myself. My only company is my violin and reruns of Desperate Housewives on television, and I live off microwavable dinners."
"Hn."
"Great!" And so, their friendship blossomed as the two went from comrades to roommates.
Meanwhile…
Duo found himself in a rough spot for not the first time in his life.
He worked with Howard in a salvaging shop, enjoying taking cars apart only to rebuild them and paint smiley faces with devil horns on all the hoods along with inscribing "SHINIGAMI WAS HERE" in blinding red resembling blood, though any physician would digress and say it looked like something that was shaved off Elmo.
Duo also found himself living with Hilde.
And Duo found himself shagging both Howard and Hilde at the same time, because he was a man slut with a Priest fetish. However, he misunderstood principles of the Roman Catholic Priests who molested little boys by thinking that Howard should be on top, and so the man was, and did, and did many, many, many unspeakable things many, many, many times until he was arrested for pedophilia.
With the shop shut down, Hilde told Duo that she felt they had only two options: become hustlers or sell their internal organs on the black market. Duo opted for the later but the former won because apparently illegal surgeries don't thrill the hearts of many fan girls… unless they happen to be really sick.
Duo and Hilde worked the streets day and night for any cash they could come across before the unthinkable happened – Relena pulled over her pink limousine, opened the door, and proudly declared, "I think I'm in love with you!"
Duo, thrilled to bits, rose to his feet only to discover that Relena was dragging Hilde into the back of the vehicle before the pair sped off into the night leaving one, lonely God of Death behind, who wasted no effort in flipping them off.
He hmph'd, harrumph'd, and uunph'd some more, until finally he came to a startling revelation: call Quatre and lie to him about needing money even though he couldn't lie.
Finding enough money in his pockets from his last shag with a disgruntled alcoholic after blowing the rest of his money on purchasing rare Yu Gi Oh! Cards, the boy got through.
"Quatre, it's Duo! I-"
"Duo! What a surprise! Heero is here and living with me as a roommate! The house is really big so why don't you move in as well so I could be more of a martyr and be the third wheel as you two flirt shamelessly with each other only to never get it on?"
Well, that made Duo's job a lot easier and, once again, he found himself at the gigantic mansion which Quatre had painted pink and purple, after riding a motorcycle for seven days and eight nights that he stole from a fat, Sailor Fuku wearing pirate.
An undistinguished amount of time later, most likely one week...
Quatre found himself to be quite blue, and very much a third wheel as he observed the most obvious of flirting between Heero and Duo:
"If you link me to Tubgirl one more time, I will kill you," Heero IMed Duo from across the room.
"LOLZZZ LA-HO ZA-HER!!!11oneeleventyone! U R PWND!" Duo replied, noting that everyone else used some form of 1337 sp34k except for him, and that simply would not do.
"Hn," Heero typed back, for it was far too much effort to turn his chair around and speak to his friend while he browsed Bel Ami's webpage for the umpteenth time.
Yes, Quatre decided, the sexual tension was far too high and so he did the only thing he could possibly think of doing in a time like this: call Trowa and pretend he wasn't savagely hitting on him.
Ring, ring.
"Hello?" Cathy said as she picked up the telephone, fortunate to have walked by the only telephone in the traveling circus just it started to ring.
"Hello, this is Quatre Raberba Winner – may I please speak with Trowa?"
The woman's eyes narrowed and she offered a profuse sigh. "You do know he's straight, right?"
Quatre bit his lip on the other side of the phone; crap! One greeting and already they were onto him.
"Oh, ah, yes. Yes, of course. Why ever do you ask that?" he laughed nervously.
"You call every week, and any time you hang up he says, 'Quatre really likes me'."
Horror streaked across Quatre's face and he was so fortunate that he wasn't using the video monitor to place the call. "Well, uh… ah… I… have a girlfriend!"
Heero and Duo simultaneously snorted and snickered, obviously eavesdropping even though Heero was engrossed in internet porn and Duo was sucked into the hoards of many in World of Warcraft.
"Can I please speak to him? It's important," Quatre added, pleading mercilessly.
"What's going on?" Trowa asked as he walked through the corridor without a shirt, for why would he wear a shirt after getting a body like he had?
MASS XXX – for the stud in you, and conveniently purchasable at a GNC near you.
"Your little boyfriend called," Cathy said as she covered the mouth piece.
"Quatre?" he inquired, brow quirking as he extended a hand and pulled it to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Trowa?" Quatre asked.
"Quatre," he said, head nodded as he turned his back to Cathy. "What is it?"
"Ah, eh, I was hoping to talk with you."
"…"
"Ah, well, you see, Heero and Duo are with me right now."
"…?"
"I know. It's a strange coincidence, don't you think? But I went off topic; we're staying in a fairly large mansion and I figure the more the merrier-"
"…"
"Oh! No, it's not like that. I mean, I'd really like it for you to be here. I was diagnos-"
"-give me until tomorrow, Quatre. And tell Heero to google Lemon Party; Dr. J made an appearance."
"Lemon Party?" the blond asked, but Trowa already hung up the phone. He hung up with a bit of a puzzled expression. "Well, Trowa's coming, you guys."
"Ah, that's great, Quat-chan!" Duo said, empathetically adding a '-chan' to the end of the name because he adapted the habits of fan-girlism and Japan-ism : after all, it's what all the cool Americans did, didn't they?
"Oh, and Heero – Trowa said you should check out Lemon Party because Dr. J is in it."
A death glare was fixed on Quatre's face before it turned back to his screen.
"I hate Trowa. Even though he's alarmingly attractive."
Sure enough, night came and went, and as the sun rose Trowa arrived in a pair of emo-jeans and a rare tee-shirt, because turtlenecks are just not sexy in fan fictions.
"Trowa! It's so good to see you!" Quatre cried out with glee.
"…"
"Hey, Tro, long time no see, buddy!" Duo said exuberantly.
"…"
Heero approached him last, hands folded over his chest.
"..."
"..."
"...?"
Heero broke the silence.
"I'll have you know that Dr. J was most definitely not part of Lemon Party."
"BUHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAA!" Trowa cackled maniacly.
"Isn't it so great to be together again?" Quatre said with a warm smile over his face, a smile warm enough to reflect the wonders of Heaven, the stars, the moon, the sun, everything gorgeous in his eyes
"But, I can't help the feeling that we're forgetting someone," Quatre murmured.
On an abandoned island in the middle of nowhere, Wufei lifted his hands to the air and bellowed, "INJUSTICE!"
What will happen to our Campy Former-Pilots, and what adventures will they embark on next? Will Heero stop downloading porn? Will Duo become a level 51 Shaman? Will Trowa ever stop laughing? Will Quatre get a nasty sunburn? And will Wufei EVER get off that Island? Find out next time on LOST… I mean…
Chapter Two of
THE CAMPY CHRONICLES POST-GUNDAM WING
(And Many Other Stupid Stories)