Miscellaneous Anime/Manga One-Shots!

la complainte de l'amante (Gurren Lagann)

You're buying stars to shut out the light
We come alone and alone we die
And no matter how hard you try
I'll always belong in the sky

-Marina and the Diamonds

Her first kiss belongs to a scrawny, bespectacled boy from the dusty underground- a faded memory barely present in Yoko's mind.

(To her, the day she was truly born is the day she first crawled, palms bloodied and coated in gritty dust, onto the surface, a searing fireball scorching what seemed like endless stretches of blue and broken beige.)

She sits, knees pressed to her chest, close to the fire. He takes a seat next to her, half-cold portion of fish cradled to his stomach, and greets her shyly, not in the least bit deterred by her pursed lips and icy glare.

In a quick burst of courage, he leans to the side and brushes his lips against her cheek. It's evanescent, barely a sensation at all; totally lame and entirely pointless, she muses later.

But it's real. Oh-so-very real.

Her face scrunching up, Yoko punches him in the face because, honestly, didn't he know no one was allowed to touch her without permission?

Kiss Number Two- a quietly noble boy from aboveground Littner Village- all pale blue eyes and gentle caresses, nights laughing softly and gazing fondly at the stars.

Yoko cocoons herself against her chest, hands gripping the cold metal rifle strapped to his back as they stand halfway between the huts of home and the butterscotch sand of beyond.

"So you're really going?" Her voice is tiny, vulnerable- had she always been this pathetic?

He nods carefully, pressing his dry lips to her forehead. It seems like it lasts for an eternity.

"If it's what you really want..." She chokes back a sob and smiles. "I guess I can't stop you."

All good things must come to an end, the reeds whisper in a sing-song voice, swishing back and forth in the breeze.

"Thank you, Yoko," he whispers, without tears, and slowly pulls away. He unstraps his rifle and places it, face-up, on her palms. They lock eyes, and no more words are spoken, but she understands. Good-bye.

He leaves, leaves the village, leaves a broken girl, lean back retreating in the distance. A swirl of dust paints the sky, and he is gone, swallowed up by the great unknown.

Yoko fires his (no, it's hers, only hers) rifle, calloused fingertips pressing, gripping, thunder after thunder pounding beneath her palms, the bruised wind whistling past her skin as crimson locks tumble past loosely-covered shoulders and all she can do is fly. High-heeled boot scraping across the scratched metal surface, she stamps her feet triumphantly on the fallen head of the Gunmen.

She grins, grins, and grins at the villagers cheering below her.

The world snivels at her feet, never to tap at her window as she soars.

He never returns, but no matter- she doesn't know what love is anyways.

The third sliver of her heart is unwillingly given away to a long-lashed boy with tattooed arms and a crescent moon smirk. He mocks the universe, mocks his destiny, chin jutting out as he points towards the heavens.

He's an egomaniacal, swaggering loudmouth, a long-shot from being her knight in shining armor, no doubt, but he sure isn't a mere mortal. He laces his fingers through hers, kisses her in the dawn of the final day, and pledges to her in such an unromantic way she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. They sit there quietly for a moment, underneath a blanket of stars, as she traces her fingers against his cheekbones, his adam's apple, every curve and dip and line, every heartbeat Kamina, Kamina, Kamina.