I need a beta reader for my sailormoon slash
- Hi. I'm CrystalUsagi, and I need a beta reader for my slash fics.
The first one, which I have already started posting, is called Blue Eyes. It's a Seiya/Mamoru fic. The second one is a Haruka/Michiru fanfic, which takes place mostly in ancient times. They are both at least PG-13. Not surpassing R-rated, though (at least I don't think so)
I would be very happy if someone with knowledge of Sailor Moon characters, and perhaps Japan would reply, although it's not restricted to that. I'm including a little snippet from one of my fics, in case you wanted to see how I write first. You can find my fanfiction at http://fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=91224
He's crying, and maybe it was the way the sunlight hit his face, turning the glistening tears into shining crystals, or the fact that he was crying for the same reasons I was crying inside- because he loved her- but he looked beautiful. Usagi. Odango. Usako. Princess. Love. She was all those things, and we had lost her. Both of us. Perhaps that explained this unusual sense of kinship I felt towards him.
I wanted to pull him to me, hold him there, and cry with him, but I couldn't. I couldn't convince myself to let the tears flow, and so I watched the others cry, and sob, and scream at the injustices of life as we lifted her from the wet concrete ground; as we stood, shocked and broken in the emergency room, when the doctor announced that she was gone; and as we stood by the casket, seeing her for the last time as they lifted the coffin, and lowered it to the ground below.
I should have cried then, should have said my goodbyes, and utter the words she loved to hear so much, but I didn't. And as the dirt hit the casket, and the rain fell, as if the sky itself was crying for us, I vowed never to love anyone again.
I was making a fool of myself, and he was watching me with those sad blue eyes. It seemed strange, almost funny, that I should be standing there in front of him, bawling like a baby, when he was the one who had lost a wife, and a princess. When he had lost part of his future. He was not crying, and I was. How cruel life was.
Finally, after a long while, I willed myself to stop, wiping viciously at the tears, as if by doing so, they'd magically disappear. If only it was so easy.
He reached into his breast pocket and took something out-a hankerchief-and offered it to me. I took it, forgetting my pride, forgetting, just for a fraction of the second, that we'd never have to compete for the attentions of the same person again.
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