murphy's law

yuugiou fanfiction

ryuujitsu & co.

Disclaimer: We don't own Yuugiou, and we're not Murphy, either. Murphy was an optimist. He was also not quite as schizophrenic as we are.

A/N: Just a quick, humor-drabble-thing. My first, too. Bear with me; it's been a long week.

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Murphy's Law states that anything that can go wrong will go wrong. Therefore, it pays to have a plan B. And C. . .and D. . . Are you catching on yet, Bakura? (Tendershippy shounen-ai)

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Plan A.

He tried the subtle approach first. Of course, he realized now it wasn't enough to be evil and possessive and try to kill every one of the vessel's friends or friend/potential-friend-turned-lovers within a three hundred mile radius or send said romantic rivals to the Shadow Realm in random fits of extreme jealousy.

No, the silly, naïve little vessel only took it as spite on Bakura's part, and saw it as a stupid, three-thousand-year-old grudge that poor, ignorant Baku-chan absolutely refused to let go.

Cue Plan B: Be blatantly obvious. He stole rings off the soulless, rotting corpses, tore souls out of bodies and into dolls, desecrated tombs while he dug up old gems, made necklaces of bone and sinew and hair, and took all that lovely loot and showered his silly, naïve little vessel with it. And the silly, naïve little vessel saw his doll-littered bed and screamed like a silly, naïve little girl and wouldn't stop until Bakura's awful mess had been cleaned and Bakura's filthy pilfering habits and wandering hands absolutely promised to disappear.

Plan C was glitzy, gaudy, and very short-lived. The silly, naïve little vessel screeched over the excessive spending on Bakura's new, exceptionally revealing wardrobe and then, on discovery of the truth, over the filthy pilfering habits and wandering hands that he had thought Bakura had abandoned once and for all.

Thought a sweating Bakura as he peeled off layer after layer of slick leather, how did Pharaoh do it?

Bakura had gone through three plans and was at a loss as to what to do next. Either his silly, naïve little vessel was in reality flamboyantly straight and not flamboyantly gay as earlier believed—or he was silly and naïve and innocent beyond salvation. Neither option sounded good. A Plan D was in order.

He schemed for months. There were barely concealed hints, conversations dripping in all manner of innuendo, mornings where the silly, naïve little vessel awoke to find the one and only Bakura draped over him, sultry smirk in place. Too early, said the silly, naïve little vessel at first, and then, as Bakura persisted: Poor, ignorant Bakura was only in need of a friend. Maybe he should go to the Game Shop and pay a visit, get the attention he craved.

Bakura dropped the morning-bed-meetings immediately and pounded his head against the wall for days on end. Not that kind of attention, and not from Pharaoh—never from Pharaoh!—may Am'mit eatthefool'sself-righteous heart!

Four plans ruined. One year wasted. One frustratingly silly and naïve little vessel, slowly driving him mad. His head met the wall like a long-lost relative.

Damn Murphy and his Ra-forsaken law! (Damn Pharaoh!) Damn anyone who won't damn Murphy and his Ra-forsaken law! (Damn anyone who won't damn Pharaoh!) Damn anyone who won't put lights in their windows and sit up all night damning Phara—I mean, Murphy and his Ra-forsaken law!

Pride? He didn't know the word. When poor, ignorant Bakura had begun this entire venture, he'd taken his pride, chewed it ten times, and had finally managed to swallow it after choking twice.

Bakura pushed up his bat-wings and examined himself in the reflection from the Millennium Ring. He squinted a bit and came to the conclusion that he might have a permanent dent in the center of his forehead from all his encounters with the wall. The wall would certainly have a permanent dent from all its encounters with Bakura. And there was still nothing that would get the silly, naïve little vessel's attention, short of grabbing him by the collar, thoroughly manhandling him, and then snogging him to pieces—



Wait just a damned minute! Rewind that thought! '. . .Short of grabbing him by the collar, thoroughly manhandling him, and then snogging him to pieces.' What was that last bit? Snogging him to pieces? Snogging him to pieces! That was it!

Plan E was born.

Bakura felt like Halloween had come early. Well, no. He felt like running around the apartment naked while screaming 'Eureka! Eureka!' until his vocal chords spontaneously combusted.

He skulked around the front door to kill time. He skulked around the kitchen counter. He skulked around the foyer. He wondered if breaking all the clocks in the immediate vicinity would actually kill time. He decided it would stop time instead and pulled all his sharp-and-pointy objects away from a defenseless alarm clock. He was on the verge of ripping off his clothes and performing the abovementioned Archimedes' feat.

The apartment door creaked, the vessel called a cheery hello. Bakura gulped and realized that Plan E was premature and suffering heavily from jaundice.

"Ahem. Vessel, you'll have to blame Murphy—or Pharaoh," he began, as grandly as he could muster with his recently regurgitated pride, and then stopped cold, his mouth hanging slack.

His silly, naïve, innocent-till-the-end little vessel had just seized him and forced his silly, naïve, innocent-till-the-end tongue down poor, ignorant Bakura's throat!

Mmmpfff. He could get used to this.

"Bloody hell, I'm sorry," gasped the vessel, when they finally pulled away. The vessel's face was red. The vessel's left eye was twitching. Bakura's face was the shade of a sunburned tomato. Bakura was mouthing and blinking like a dying fish.

"I couldn't wait any longer. I tried to be subtle at first, but it wasn't working. I've been doing everything I could think of to get you to notice me, but you were always off on some odd lark, sending Anzu-chan to the Shadow Realm every other Wednesday or digging up dead people and stealing their rings or making me soul-dolls or disrupting my sleep patterns by waking me up an hour too early or trying to impersonate Yami Yuugi—!" The vessel was cherry-red with embarrassment and blue from lack of air. Purple-vessel! Bakura inhaled and exhaled and tried to look less like a hyperventilating albino salamander.

"I was entirely ready to forgo self-restraint," the silly, not-as-naïve little vessel admitted. "I didn't know what it would take to give you a hint, short of physically attacking you. You're always so damned oblivious."


A/N: Like? Hate? I hope I at least made you crack a smile.

Melon, if you're wondering, that damning part was written entirely for you. And this little tirade is for Amano-sempai: You stupid, oblivious man! Some days I feel like throwing my shoe at your head. Luckily for you, my aim is awful.

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:::ryuujitsu & co.:::