|Fall Off a Cliff Laughing
Author: FeatherJunkie PM
[shounenai, malemale] I can't get rid of these stupid wings, people won't stop staring, I've got a jock named Mark out to ruin my life, and on top of it all, I've caught the eye of the Grim Reaper's son, and now he won't leave me alone.Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Romance - Chapters: 21 - Words: 31,868 - Reviews: 630 - Favs: 487 - Follows: 101 - Updated: 06-01-07 - Published: 08-28-05 - Status: Complete - id: 1995606
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N #1: I've been trying to post only my more serious stories at FictionPress, but it seems I simply can't do it. I'm getting near the end of Issues, Envelopes, & Homophobes, but it takes so little time to write. And my attempts to write another chapter of Nevergreen have been… fruitless. I was bored. When I get bored, I need amusing situations to cheer me up… such as fairy-bashing.
#2: Rated T for a some foul language.
#4: Why am I posting
this? (I'll probably end up removing it. I don't know.) And what's up with the title? At first glance, it doesn't
even have anything to do with the story. But I'll explain it, I
suppose, some other time. Please be kind and review… Makes me
Don't mess around with my sense of humor. If you're going to play a joke, freaking play it and get it over with. I'm not the kind of person that will chuckle along when some idiot decides to test my patience and thinks it's funny. It isn't. I am not a very patient person and I do not like to put up with people that find themselves extremely witty.
EXAMPLE #1: Just now, when my hairdresser thought it would be a hoot to cut my hair the way she wanted it instead of just giving me the trim I asked for. I did not WANT five whole inches of hair cut off and my bangs rearranged. What could possibly have been so difficult about simply snipping off a little bit of hair from the ends?
"I will kill you," I informed her.
"But it's great," she whined. "You look hot."
Did I just walk fourteen blocks to the hairdresser's to look hot? No, I just walked fourteen blocks to the hairdressers for a trim.
EXAMPLE #2: As I was exiting the crappy establishment known as the hairdresser's, some idiot had the nerve to bump into me.
Although I mentioned that I'm a rather impatient person, I'm not so impatient that I'll get pissed off if some jerk on the street just brushes against my shoulder or something. But this was no brush of the shoulder; the guy actually slammed full into me and knocked me backwards onto the sidewalk.
And then he made it even worse by falling forward on top of me.
"Get off of me," I growled.
"Sorry," the person said, and then I stopped struggling long enough to get a load of the guy's face.
His eyes were gold. Not yellow, not orange; gold. Since when did anyone have gold eyes? Contacts, I reminded myself. They're just contacts. But who would buy gold contacts? This guy's a bloody freak. My own eyes involuntarily shifted to the long hair spilling over the young man's shoulders and around his face. And my first thought was: Wow. If everyone could have hair like that, the world would be a happy place, and I kid you not. It was smooth and shimmery but slightly mussed at the same time, and it was impossibly black. I had never in my life seen hair so black.
"Enjoying yourself?" a voice asked slyly, and my mind snapped from his hair- that hair- back to reality.
Underneath this golden-eyed guy on a public sidewalk. Damn.
"Get OFF of me!" I repeated, louder this time. The guy was smirking at my expression. How DARE he smirk? I thought darkly. Can't he tell I'm not in the mood for people to be smirking at me? What's to smirk at, anyway?
"Why?" he asked, leaning his head a little closer. His face had already been very close, so by this time, I could feel his breath against my cheek. "I like it here."
"Are you insane?!" I all but yelled. "We are on a sidewalk in the middle of-"
He reached up and draped a hand over my mouth. It was by no means muffling my shouting capabilities, but when he touched his fingers to my face, it was all I could do just to sputter out a, "What are you- you-" Okay, so I liked the fingers. Is that so horrible? Besides the fact that we were on a public sidewalk, I mean.
"What's your name?" he asked me. His voice was low and soft.
I didn't mean to answer- actually, I wanted to bite his hand off and spit it into his dinner plate. But I just squeaked, "Vale."
"Hi… Vale," he murmured.
Then he did the unforgivable.
He lowered his face a mere two centimeters and pressed his lips softly against my cheek.
My face lit up like a Christmas tree and all of a sudden, I felt swelteringly hot. I became intensely aware of this gorgeous guy's body (not that I thought he was gorgeous, he just was gorgeous; don't get any ideas) on top of me, and of two uncomfortable knobs protruding from my back. Then I was abruptly desperate to get out of that position. I struggled wildly out from under him and scooted several feet away from him before shouting, "WHAT the HELL- who the hell are you?"
"Skorpios," the young man offered. He lifted a graceful hand to brush away a few strands of pitch-black hair from his face. He was looking at me, and a slow smile had already slid halfway across his face. "Sorry about that."
"As in Skorpios who?" I demanded. "You're sorry about- what the hell are you talking about?"
"Skorpios, as in me," he answered unhelpfully. "I don't have a second name, if that's what you want." He brushed dirt from the sleeve of his tuxedo, and one of my eyebrows raised as I watched him. I hadn't even noticed that he was wearing a tuxedo. This was getting stranger by the minute. Who would be wearing a tuxedo on a hot, ordinary day in October? "Skorpios, as in the son of the Grim?" he tried again.
I forced myself to tear my eyes away from that black hair again. "The Grim?" I echoed cluelessly.
"Reaper? The Grim Reaper? The Death?"
"WHAT?" I yelled, scrambling several more feet away from him. He just scooted closer. "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO TO ME?"
The grin turned very slightly apologetic. "I've already done it."
"DONE WHAT?" I was panicking. "WHAT DID YOU DO?"
He took a deep breath. "I've turned you into a fairy," he explained cautiously. "But it was completely necessary, and I'll explain everything."
I stared at him as if he was some kind of insane maniac. Then I tried to chuckle, but it only came out as a choking noise. "That's very funny," I managed to get out. "But first of all, I hate fairies and everything associated with fairies… and second of all, fairies have wings, and I don't." I tried to laugh again. It still didn't work. "That was very… very…" I trailed off at his sympathetic gaze.
Which brings me to EXAMPLE #3.
"You do," he said.
I glanced over my shoulder, and lo-and-behold, what else could possibly have met my eyes but the silvery sheen of a glass-like material. Over my other shoulder was the exact same thing, and it was suddenly very clear what they were: a very charming, very life-like, but very unfunny pair of wings.
I looked back at him, intending to cuss him out or beat the crap out of him or do something else reasonable, but all I could do was choke out, "Bloody hell."
And the Grim Reaper's son, Skorpios, was just sitting there with that half-grin on his face as he watched my expression of sheer horror.
It was in no way, under any perspective in the least an amusing situation, my friend.