The Edge

OK, so a bit of explanation is in order, I suppose. Recently, I was incredibly stressed about something that happened. Actually, I was stressed about "someone" who happened, so to speak. At the urging of a couple of friends, I decided to deal with that stress and unhappiness by writing a "snuff" fic. Of sorts. Nothing super mean or anything like that, but just me trying to convince my favorite flowery assassin boys to "deal with" my problem. In the end, the story turned out kind of funny, so I decided to share it. I may make this a semi-regular kind of thing, actually. Writing this one was fun. And very therapeutic!

When I Was Persia
(a tiny bit of very personal fanfic fun by tex-chan)

Legal Stuff: As always, this story is intended to express one fan’s genuine appreciation of Weiss Kreuz and its characters. It is just for fun and not for profit. If you have any rights in the anime described here and find the posting of this fanfiction offensive or harmful, please contact me, and I will be happy to remove it.

Warnings: Completely crack-ficish self insert. Oh, and bad language, too.

“OK, so … will you do it, or what?” I asked, giving Aya and Yohji an eyebrows-raised expression and a shoulder shrug that, I thought, more than adequately expressed my irritation over their dithering.

I paused long enough to glance around the Bish Closet, wincing at the mess. Empty Cheetos bags and half-eaten packages of beef jerky and breath mints littered the coffee table. The breeze from the AC vents caught a few of the empty wrappers, pushing them down to the floor, where they got caught in the draft and skittered around like living things. Beer bottles, some half-full and others empty and tossed on their sides, seemed to tower over the wrapper debris -- a little forest of used-up trash and potentially recyclable material that hadn’t managed to work its way to the trash bin. A light dusting of orange -- from the Cheetos -- covered everything, sticking to the table in the small puddles of beer that had leaked out of the overturned bottles. The TV was, of course, on -- tuned to The Fifth Element. The picture flickered and moved in the Bish Closet’s dim light, throwing a bluish glow over the coffee table, the debris littering it, the sofa, and its two occupants, both of whom were currently staring at the television in zombie-like fascination. The only things conspicuously absent were Yohji’s cigarettes and the overflowing ashtrays I was used to seeing all over the Bish Closet, but one sniff of the stale smoke smell hanging in the air told me they weren’t missing, just gone into hiding at my arrival.( Read more... )