Fic: multiple
Sep. 12th, 2009 07:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: how to be dead
Theme/day: 9/8) how to be dead
Series: post TRC
Character/pairing: Fai
Rating: PG
Word count: 281
Author’s Note:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic: Kurogane/Fye, curse
spoilers if you aren’t current.
It was easy to learn how to be dead. All he had to do was smile and joke and put on a face. He took a name not his own and kept to his same cold, selfish ways. Fai was the true kind one, Fai was the one who would be willing to let himself die, Fai was what he wanted to be.
So he took it as he left, he took his brother’s name and all his mannerisms. No one knew what had happened there, so his tracks were surprisingly easy to cover. The act was easy, and at times the smile almost seemed real. He liked the little family he’d come to be a part of, even loved them at times. But everything he touched turned to dross, so he never got closer than a certain superficial sense. He never really let them in.
But Kurogane saw. He waited and pried, he didn’t trust Fai, rightly so. It wasn’t a surprise when he asked the question.
“What are you?”
Fai half-smiled, without any real mirth.
“I’m a curse,” he said.
“And? So what?” Kurogane said. “We’re all curses in somehow or another. We just learn to live with it.”
“Those are nice words. I hope someday they’ll be true.”
And then he shut the door and returned to his deadness, he smiled again and everything was an icy mirror, as if he were looking into his brother’s gaze again in a far off time.
Title: Barefoot In Bishopsgate
Theme/day: 9/25) falling in love is searching for missing pieces of ourselves
Series: Nana
Character/pairing: Nana/Hachi
Summary: They shared a name and an apartment but not much else, but maybe the old adage of ‘opposites attract’ was true after all.
Rating: PG
Word count: 744
Author’s Note:comment_fic: Nana/Hachi, The Incredibly True Adventure of Two Girls in Love. The title is from Ion Square by Bloc Party.
They shared a name and an apartment but not much else, but maybe the old adage of ‘opposites attract’ was true after all. She liked to think that, and to believe that romance fiction was often just a step away from real life.
When it was late they brought in takeout and ate barefoot and cross-legged on the couch with rented movies. Hachi loved romantic comedies, which surprised no one. There was just something about a happy ending that got to her, even if everything was predictable at times. Nana liked obscure neo-noir and horror flicks. Obscure American titles like Mullholland Drive and Bound were always on the top of her list.
Hachi would watch them...but only if she could cling to Nana whenever it got frightening and sleep close all night. Nana didn’t snuggle much, but Hachi made up for it with the way she entwined their limbs and nuzzled to the side of her neck.
Their life together wasn’t the complicated, really. Nana practiced and Hachi worked a string of jobs, all minimum wage. She didn’t mind, she was blissfully happy, happier than she’d ever been.
Once Hachi had gotten the idea to wear a black wig and donned a pair of leather pants, combat boots, a tie and a black camisole with a barbed-wire pattern. She’d even put on makeup to look the part, though she wasn’t tall enough to pass for Nana. For her part, Nana utterly refused to try on the blond wig and pink floral skirt and cute matching blouse Hachi had bought for her side of the bargin. Hachi pouted, but Nana wouldn’t relent, even if it would be a good anecdote after they’d tricked the band.
(Besides, the surprise would only last seconds, but wouldn’t that be worth the laugh?)
But Hachi never sulked long, and soon she was dragging Nana off to take pictures together at a photobooth or to see the new Zoo together. Every day was like an endless summer. She knew all the members of the band by name and was in the habit of bringing punch and store-bought cookies to every meeting. She couldn’t cook well but she did make the punch...from a can.
One of them always inevitably added Rum or Vodka to the punch and soon they’d all be sloshed and singing sailor shanties. (Yasu, who had learned to avoid the punch always said Hachi could be a backup singer if they ever changed their genre to Screamo sea shanties. She always took that as a compliment.)
Hachi thought Shin might be the culprit in the Mystery Of Who Is Spiking The Punch, as Nobu was too straight-laced and Shin always did have a sort of mysterious side to him. Besides, he slept with women for money! Who knows what stunt a guy who did that might try.
Whenever Nana’s gigs ran too long, Hachi would steal some of her nailpolish and paint all her fingernails and toenails black. She used to think black was a sad color, one like death and night. Now she saw it as a stark, dramatic color. She liked it now.
She’d send texts to Nana’s cell knowing that she’d not get the i miss u (sadface heart) until probably the next morning. Nana hated cellphones, especially when she was playing. Still, it helped her pass the time if she’d had to stay for work.
And when Nana would finally return, they’d paint over the black with something else. Nana had a distinct feud with the color pink, so they’d settled for a pale blue color. She liked sky blue. Sometimes she’d look up at that sky in all its clearness and feel so happy just to have a seen such a color. It was all full of hope and tenderness. Sometimes she wanted to lift her hands up to it and sing even if she could only sing Scremo sea shanties when drunk because that was just how being with Nana made her feel. Hopeful, tender, alive.
Title: A Memory Like A Splinter
Theme/day: 9/17) splintering the night
Series: Ouran
Character/pairing: Kyouya/Haruhi
Summary:
Rating: PG
Word count: 785
Author’s Note:comment_fic: Kyouya/Haruhi, Nightmares. The Gauntlet, 5. midnight has passed and she wakes
Mentions of character death.
She woke to a crash of lightning in the sky. The room was lit for a moment, and then it faded back to the dark that had once been there. He knew because he had already been awakened, his inner clock sent awry and still ticking to the time of other time zone’s clocks. She stole a glance towards the picture on the bedside table of a smiling, golden haired boy they both once knew. That told it all, that the nightmare of her dream wasn’t lightning, but death. Death, the thief who stole in the night and took away the brightest. Death who had spirited away first her mother, then Tamaki.
His hand was at her back, for what little comfort that could be offered. That was what truly bound them together, grief. There’d always been a spark between them, a certain chemistry. Still, Tamaki tended to draw energy away, like a lightning rod. It was Tamaki who with all his foolishness had changed both of their annoyances to reluctant fondness, and then a deeper kindling of friendship and love. Tamaki had that effect on people; no one resisted his charms. Often it had seemed less premeditated or manipulative as much as him simply being filled with such enthusiasm that bubbled out everywhere he went. It was so infectious that even the most stoic could never resist it.
“It’s a silly fear to have,” she said, “I should give it up already.”
“I won’t tell a soul,” he said.
The storm raged outside, the rain beating against the glass. Everything was swallowed up in a storm like that. His hand reached for hers, and stroked the back of her palm.
They both remembered him. His smile, how he seemed to light up a room wherever he went. The world seemed a darker, cloudier place without him. When her fears had simply that of lightning he could give her scientific facts. He could obscure the ratio of death and injury from lightning strikes and review safety rules. But with a fear of death what could he offer? Death was not a thing of logic, it was not linear.
Kyouya never lingered on regrets. What was past was past. Still, this jagged part rubbed at him, left him raw. Had that plane not crashed on his way to meet his mother after his grandmother’s death, had he returned well, then....
He had nightmares too, of drowning in the ocean and of burning wreckage. Of falling and Tamaki’s face. His pain wasn’t the same as hers, he would never think something as foolish as that, but they both understood the enormity of this loss. If the sun had been blocked out, it would not be a greater tragedy. He’d like to think that if Tamaki had known what would happen, he would have asked Kyouya personally to take care of her.
They lived in more than the light left behind by Tamaki, but his presence was always there. Kyouya would have banished his name and picture away to the deepest corner of himself, but Haruhi quietly put up an old snapshot on the bedside and brought his name up in conversation.
She was more accustomed to loss, having come upon it at a young age. This was Kyouya’s first tragedy. But remembering was the balm, and the way his legacy lived on.
Books and film always purported the message that the dead lived on inside their loved ones. It was a cliche, a trite one no less. And yet when she spoke of him, over morning coffee or midday, midnight or evening there was exasperation and affection. Little treasures to be found among the dross.
She lived with the fears that gripped her. Even if she had nightmares, she wiped them away and kept living. She was strong like that, perhaps even stronger than his method of keeping pain close, as if it were something precious.
He stroked her arm in gentle motions. They were close now, and her breathing had evened. The crashing thunder had quieted until it was only the wind and beating rain.
When he looked at her he didn’t just see the girl who almost became Tamaki’s wife, but a girl he too loved. With all the fierce, guarded passion of an Ohtori, with all the secret longings and ghost whispers of broken leaves. He kissed her shoulder. It was the closest he’d ever get to saying what Tamaki could proclaim so easily.
Theme/day: 9/8) how to be dead
Series: post TRC
Character/pairing: Fai
Rating: PG
Word count: 281
Author’s Note:
comment_fic: Kurogane/Fye, curse spoilers if you aren’t current.
It was easy to learn how to be dead. All he had to do was smile and joke and put on a face. He took a name not his own and kept to his same cold, selfish ways. Fai was the true kind one, Fai was the one who would be willing to let himself die, Fai was what he wanted to be.
So he took it as he left, he took his brother’s name and all his mannerisms. No one knew what had happened there, so his tracks were surprisingly easy to cover. The act was easy, and at times the smile almost seemed real. He liked the little family he’d come to be a part of, even loved them at times. But everything he touched turned to dross, so he never got closer than a certain superficial sense. He never really let them in.
But Kurogane saw. He waited and pried, he didn’t trust Fai, rightly so. It wasn’t a surprise when he asked the question.
“What are you?”
Fai half-smiled, without any real mirth.
“I’m a curse,” he said.
“And? So what?” Kurogane said. “We’re all curses in somehow or another. We just learn to live with it.”
“Those are nice words. I hope someday they’ll be true.”
And then he shut the door and returned to his deadness, he smiled again and everything was an icy mirror, as if he were looking into his brother’s gaze again in a far off time.
Title: Barefoot In Bishopsgate
Theme/day: 9/25) falling in love is searching for missing pieces of ourselves
Series: Nana
Character/pairing: Nana/Hachi
Summary: They shared a name and an apartment but not much else, but maybe the old adage of ‘opposites attract’ was true after all.
Rating: PG
Word count: 744
Author’s Note:
comment_fic: Nana/Hachi, The Incredibly True Adventure of Two Girls in Love. The title is from Ion Square by Bloc Party.They shared a name and an apartment but not much else, but maybe the old adage of ‘opposites attract’ was true after all. She liked to think that, and to believe that romance fiction was often just a step away from real life.
When it was late they brought in takeout and ate barefoot and cross-legged on the couch with rented movies. Hachi loved romantic comedies, which surprised no one. There was just something about a happy ending that got to her, even if everything was predictable at times. Nana liked obscure neo-noir and horror flicks. Obscure American titles like Mullholland Drive and Bound were always on the top of her list.
Hachi would watch them...but only if she could cling to Nana whenever it got frightening and sleep close all night. Nana didn’t snuggle much, but Hachi made up for it with the way she entwined their limbs and nuzzled to the side of her neck.
Their life together wasn’t the complicated, really. Nana practiced and Hachi worked a string of jobs, all minimum wage. She didn’t mind, she was blissfully happy, happier than she’d ever been.
Once Hachi had gotten the idea to wear a black wig and donned a pair of leather pants, combat boots, a tie and a black camisole with a barbed-wire pattern. She’d even put on makeup to look the part, though she wasn’t tall enough to pass for Nana. For her part, Nana utterly refused to try on the blond wig and pink floral skirt and cute matching blouse Hachi had bought for her side of the bargin. Hachi pouted, but Nana wouldn’t relent, even if it would be a good anecdote after they’d tricked the band.
(Besides, the surprise would only last seconds, but wouldn’t that be worth the laugh?)
But Hachi never sulked long, and soon she was dragging Nana off to take pictures together at a photobooth or to see the new Zoo together. Every day was like an endless summer. She knew all the members of the band by name and was in the habit of bringing punch and store-bought cookies to every meeting. She couldn’t cook well but she did make the punch...from a can.
One of them always inevitably added Rum or Vodka to the punch and soon they’d all be sloshed and singing sailor shanties. (Yasu, who had learned to avoid the punch always said Hachi could be a backup singer if they ever changed their genre to Screamo sea shanties. She always took that as a compliment.)
Hachi thought Shin might be the culprit in the Mystery Of Who Is Spiking The Punch, as Nobu was too straight-laced and Shin always did have a sort of mysterious side to him. Besides, he slept with women for money! Who knows what stunt a guy who did that might try.
Whenever Nana’s gigs ran too long, Hachi would steal some of her nailpolish and paint all her fingernails and toenails black. She used to think black was a sad color, one like death and night. Now she saw it as a stark, dramatic color. She liked it now.
She’d send texts to Nana’s cell knowing that she’d not get the i miss u (sadface heart) until probably the next morning. Nana hated cellphones, especially when she was playing. Still, it helped her pass the time if she’d had to stay for work.
And when Nana would finally return, they’d paint over the black with something else. Nana had a distinct feud with the color pink, so they’d settled for a pale blue color. She liked sky blue. Sometimes she’d look up at that sky in all its clearness and feel so happy just to have a seen such a color. It was all full of hope and tenderness. Sometimes she wanted to lift her hands up to it and sing even if she could only sing Scremo sea shanties when drunk because that was just how being with Nana made her feel. Hopeful, tender, alive.
Title: A Memory Like A Splinter
Theme/day: 9/17) splintering the night
Series: Ouran
Character/pairing: Kyouya/Haruhi
Summary:
Rating: PG
Word count: 785
Author’s Note:
comment_fic: Kyouya/Haruhi, Nightmares. The Gauntlet, 5. midnight has passed and she wakesMentions of character death.
She woke to a crash of lightning in the sky. The room was lit for a moment, and then it faded back to the dark that had once been there. He knew because he had already been awakened, his inner clock sent awry and still ticking to the time of other time zone’s clocks. She stole a glance towards the picture on the bedside table of a smiling, golden haired boy they both once knew. That told it all, that the nightmare of her dream wasn’t lightning, but death. Death, the thief who stole in the night and took away the brightest. Death who had spirited away first her mother, then Tamaki.
His hand was at her back, for what little comfort that could be offered. That was what truly bound them together, grief. There’d always been a spark between them, a certain chemistry. Still, Tamaki tended to draw energy away, like a lightning rod. It was Tamaki who with all his foolishness had changed both of their annoyances to reluctant fondness, and then a deeper kindling of friendship and love. Tamaki had that effect on people; no one resisted his charms. Often it had seemed less premeditated or manipulative as much as him simply being filled with such enthusiasm that bubbled out everywhere he went. It was so infectious that even the most stoic could never resist it.
“It’s a silly fear to have,” she said, “I should give it up already.”
“I won’t tell a soul,” he said.
The storm raged outside, the rain beating against the glass. Everything was swallowed up in a storm like that. His hand reached for hers, and stroked the back of her palm.
They both remembered him. His smile, how he seemed to light up a room wherever he went. The world seemed a darker, cloudier place without him. When her fears had simply that of lightning he could give her scientific facts. He could obscure the ratio of death and injury from lightning strikes and review safety rules. But with a fear of death what could he offer? Death was not a thing of logic, it was not linear.
Kyouya never lingered on regrets. What was past was past. Still, this jagged part rubbed at him, left him raw. Had that plane not crashed on his way to meet his mother after his grandmother’s death, had he returned well, then....
He had nightmares too, of drowning in the ocean and of burning wreckage. Of falling and Tamaki’s face. His pain wasn’t the same as hers, he would never think something as foolish as that, but they both understood the enormity of this loss. If the sun had been blocked out, it would not be a greater tragedy. He’d like to think that if Tamaki had known what would happen, he would have asked Kyouya personally to take care of her.
They lived in more than the light left behind by Tamaki, but his presence was always there. Kyouya would have banished his name and picture away to the deepest corner of himself, but Haruhi quietly put up an old snapshot on the bedside and brought his name up in conversation.
She was more accustomed to loss, having come upon it at a young age. This was Kyouya’s first tragedy. But remembering was the balm, and the way his legacy lived on.
Books and film always purported the message that the dead lived on inside their loved ones. It was a cliche, a trite one no less. And yet when she spoke of him, over morning coffee or midday, midnight or evening there was exasperation and affection. Little treasures to be found among the dross.
She lived with the fears that gripped her. Even if she had nightmares, she wiped them away and kept living. She was strong like that, perhaps even stronger than his method of keeping pain close, as if it were something precious.
He stroked her arm in gentle motions. They were close now, and her breathing had evened. The crashing thunder had quieted until it was only the wind and beating rain.
When he looked at her he didn’t just see the girl who almost became Tamaki’s wife, but a girl he too loved. With all the fierce, guarded passion of an Ohtori, with all the secret longings and ghost whispers of broken leaves. He kissed her shoulder. It was the closest he’d ever get to saying what Tamaki could proclaim so easily.
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