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[21 Sep 2006|04:55pm] |
Ouroboros
He is the one who bites his own tail, consuming himself in an endless cycle. Sasuke’s mouth tastes like blood, ash, and snakeskin.
i.
When the moon was out, he lay down in the grass outside his ancestral home and slept for the first time in nine days. When he woke up, he was in a hospital bed and two ANBU stood outside his door.
He tried to escape by jumping out the window. When the ANBU rushed outside, they only found a jumble of broken branches in a nearby tree and a couple drops of blood. They brought him back to the hospital later that day when a larger ANBU team had wandered through the maze of shoji and courtyards that was the Uchiha complex until they found him, standing outside the door of a room that still smelled strongly of bleach and chemicals.
He fell asleep while they were carrying him back to the hospital. In all this time, he had not said a word.
ii.
Rakka thought he had bones like a bird. She worried constantly that she might snap his tiny white wrist in half if she held it too tightly when she took his blood pressure.
The moon hung low in the inky blackness of the night, and Sasuke ran.
---
Finally, a title I actually like. A pity the story's going nowhere, since me and plot go together like rock candy and crystal meth. And the whole "Karasu can't write shit for beans" problem. I really hate the way the second paragraph here sounds - even though it communicates the right idea, it just doesn't flow the way I want it to. I'll probably end up revising it later.
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[15 Sep 2006|05:35pm] |
Akatsuki is the blood-red moon over the Shinra Mansion, but it is also the way the sun breaks the night slowly, slowly, easing it into dawn.
- - -
I am writing you an epitaph, says Yuffie, who is really Planet. Aerith imagines that she is wearing strict secretary glasses and tries to resist the urge to giggle. It comes out as a mad tee-hee. Your mother will read it at the funeral. Are you feeling well? Would you like some ginger ale?
(There is no ginger ale, only water, dirty lake water. Some morbid, quiet part of Aerith thinks it's funny that a brief cure for Geostigma had come from a pond filled with the decomposing bits and pieces of the last Cetra.)
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[29 Aug 2006|02:34pm] |
It doesn’t matter.
It does, and you know it, she thinks, and the pangs stop and she knows she's still a filthy-liar-thief-brat, still sixteen and crouching in the pine trees and waiting. When she had been young she had done nothing but wait, wait, wait for Sephiroth to come and kill us all, but now she was older and taller and presumably wiser, and now she waited to ambush some group of travelers led by a guy with a hair that could probably kill her if she fell on it and a sword that would probably kill her too if she couldn't kick his silly chocobo-headed ass (and this was when she fell out of the tree on accident and forgot to kick his ass on purpose, on purpose, she says in her defense). Yuffie always felt that doing anything was better than waiting for something to do you, and even if what you were doing was stupid and senseless and only worked in children's books – as long as she could tell herself she was waiting with a purpose she could do anything in the whole damn world. (Even wipe the floor with Sephiroth's ass. It had taken her a very long time to accept the idea that just trying to do so might not result in her long and painful death, but thinking about it while she waited to die certainly helped pass the time.)
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[13 Jul 2006|10:45pm] |
(why did you come? There is smooth, smooth dew somewhere in her, sliding along the length of her soul. It tastes like salt.
...once, i saw flowers in your eyes. His voice is scratchy with petals, but her hands are closed and clasped shut and will not bloom. He sees that her soul has grown sharp and narrow and like a blade of grass and begins to stand. ...i'm sorry; it seems that you have seen the error of being a weed.
...even grass can be a weed, you idiot, she says waspishly. Now sit back down so I can stop using stupid plant metaphors to make you understand; you and I both know you’re nowhere near that dense.)
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[22 Jun 2006|05:58pm] |
He is falling, but he is immortal, so he will not die.
He is falling, but he is immortal, so he will not die.
He is falling, but (it is Dio’s mantra, because he is flying and falling at the same time and it is strangely liberating but he cannot enjoy it because Lucciola’s seat is empty.) he is immortal, so he will not die.
He is (because I told him to get out? Dio does not understand, and his mind is empty besides, and) falling, but he is immortal, so he will not die.
- - -
Alas, my lord, I am empty; I am empty. [summary for some sort of lucciola/dio, one-shot, spoilerific; again, one day, when I can actually write instead of vomit this sort of poseur-Faulkner garbage, I will write something for these two. I love them so much, and I always hate how GONZO kills their secondary characters with none of the closure or drama they deserve. I mean, look at Franz! Kikuchiyo! Kyuuzo and Gorobei and Heihachi! Their deaths were ultimate suckage. They died like footnotes, while Katsushiro and his wonderful wangst got center stage and took more than three episodes to delve into. (Not that I don't adore Katsushiro or anything, but... y'know...)]
Lucciola is horribly, horribly beautiful, says Dio, one day when they are children (for we were young once, he thinks). Delphine had frowned but said nothing, and Lucciola had blinked and said nothing, though he could see Delphine's hatred of him almost manifesting in the air around them. And that was the first time Lucciola was glad that Dio was as oblivious as a walnut.
(insert future-story-stuff here, blahblahblah, will fill in later with stuffing)
Lucciola is like a vase, says Dio, one day when he is soulless and Lucciola is silent, a horribly, horribly empty vase.
(But once I had roses, he thinks. We were young once.)
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[04 Jun 2006|09:57pm] |
you are descending like rain very softly and surely and translucence is so visible in you like a skin within a skin, lurking beneath your pores and breathing.
sweetling, I want you to kiss me with all of your essence and make it so that I am no longer anything but rain,rain,rain.
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[04 Jun 2006|05:22pm] |
Roxas, Who Was Not. The sun is in his mouth and it burns the sides of his throat as he swallows it, and it sears his lips, obliterates his tongue (my voice, my voice, the sea’s-daughter cried, how can he hear me if i haven’t a voice?). He can feel himself evaporating in the brilliance of the sun, reduced to particles with no meaning, nowhere (like tiny-small molecules, he remembers, like tiny-small bytes of Roxas, Roxas, where have you gone?)
This was the first paragraph of Swallowing Suns. It doesn't show up until somewhere in the last three sections of the fic, and this fic is more than fifteen sections long. (Of course, they're very small sections.) But this is what started everything. Random, ne?
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| in which yuffie has ADD |
[01 Jun 2006|11:19pm] |
you are an idiot, she told him briskly. you are an idiot and a stupid-face and your brains are made of spider-poop and soft-serve ice cream and i absolutely hate you with every fiber of my being. i hate you more than i hate shitty shinra and shinra's shitty son and shinra's son's shitty dog and all of the northern crater. i would love nothing more than to chain you to one of cid's vile, god-awful airships and sink it to the bottom of the junon sea. i love tonberries more than i love you. hell, i love reno and sephiroth and hojo more than i love you (and all three of them have tried to kill me with large and pointy and somewhat life-threatening objects on multiple occasions, as you very well know), and that is saying something because reno is like my least favorite living person ever. EVEEERRRRRR. i don't love you at all, you shit-headed rat-bastard, and i love you less and less with every passing second you sit in that coffin and try your hardest to decompose.
There was a silence.
...and, she continued, gnashing her teeth, i will continue hating you until you get your silly girly gawthika butt out here and give your Princess Yuffie a biiiiig smooch on the lips and say 'oh, Yuffie, I am sooooo thankful to you for dragging me out of my self-induced angsting session, and in my gratitude i will definitely marry you and have your beautiful royal babies whose first words will undoubtedly be 'silly asshat' and 'fuckfaced cuntsucker' and the like, and i will never, ever again run away to go rot in my cozy little monster-infested basement after a stupid, stupid argument that was entirely my fault anyways and had absolutely nothing to do with you being way younger than me and everything to do with me being some melodramatic idiot obsessed with being unhappy and trying to continue to be a veritable fount of misery for the remainder of my days, and-... and-
...yuffie?
She jumped and spun around. Vincent Valentine stood a couple feet behind her in the hallway, staring at her.
...what are you doing here? he stepped closer. ...are you...?
i'm not crying! she said, crying. it's because of the dust. it's because you're a silly asshat and i hate you and i am so not too young for you! she swiped her arm against her face for a brief moment to try and clear her eyes up. if anything, you're too young for me. she sniffled. you stupid grasshopper. you don't know anything. i was way smarter and wiser and older than da chao when i was but nine and i think i can deal with you being a bit stupider than me and making up for it in years. what are you staring at, anyway? it's not nice to stare at beautiful women, you know! she waggled her finger in his direction in an effort to distract him from her face. it didn't work, but both of them did their best to pretend it did. it makes us feel vulnerable and naked and shit. or something. really.
Vincent stared at her a bit longer before sighing and closing his eyes. ...
She stepped up until she was right in his face. reeeeaaally!! She quickly patted his cheek. but don't you worry, vinnie. i'll make sure to protect myself from all those unscrupulous men out there who would love to bear the children of the beautiful and dazzling yuffie setsunoko shimensokanai nishihyakudori kisaragi, the jeweled bird of wutai and resident saviorette of all mankind. She winked at him in what she hoped was a roguish manner. i'm saving myself juuust for you, sweetums. now, why don't you give your fantastic and lovely future wife a big "oh yuffie-honey i'm so sorry for worrying you by being a big and stoopid meanhead and running away to nibelheim after arguing with you over something so insignificant and trite that i completely forgive you for losing your temper with me like that, it was completely justified and-
but it wasn't, he said. His eyes glow brighter than ever in the strange purple light and Yuffie tries not to blink too much against the blindspots.
...yes it was! she hissed. i don't care if you
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[01 Jun 2006|11:18pm] |
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Because her life feels like a movie, and she is no flaming potholder. The life of Yuffie Kisaragi, the death of Vincent Valentine, and the unending wisdom-idiocy of Cid Highwind.
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[31 May 2006|08:16pm] |
"I wish... for... infinity more wishes!!" Yuffie says defiantly, and blows the dandelion seeds away with a mighty huff.
"...Idiot." Squall scowls, "You can't wish for infinity more wishes. That's against the rules."
"Who says?" She juts her lip out, ready for a fight. "There isn't a book or anything on dandelion-wishin'. I can wish for whatever I wanna."
He grunts – conceding. (But it wasn't like he cared, or anything.) "Whatever."
She smiles, though, because she knows he did. "...fine, then, Mr. Squallie McGrumpypants. I-"
"My name is not Squallie McGrumpypants. Not now, not ever." Squall is very well aware that his glare can make Aerith's newly-planted flowers wither in their pots, or make Rikku freeze and tentatively put the very last pudding cup back on the royal kitchen counter. However, he has forgotten that Yuffie practically exists in the constant company of one Vincent Valentine, broody teenager extraordinaire, who glares hard enough to make Aerith’s flowers burst into flame and Rikku’s pudding cup explode in her hand. As such, his pathetic glare (only by comparison, mind you!) bounces off her left cheekbone and disappears like a breath.
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| the rundown |
[13 May 2006|03:18pm] |
...wow, I'm finally using this account!
(Whee.)
...
This is basically where I'll post all the random little angst-blurbs that should come into my head, seeing as how my computer is very prone to randomly melting down and losing everything. They could be of any genre, any pairing, any fandom, any anything, so don't be surprised if they're completely unrelated. Don't look for patterns, either: rare is the blurb that is interesting enough to inspire a story.
These entries could be single sentences. They could be entire paragraphs. They could be summaries for fics that will never be written. However, that doesn't mean I want someone else to write it for me - feel free to be inspired, but don't steal.
(I don't know who I'm even writing this for, seeing as I really don't have an Interweb social life...)(that's gotta be a paradox, somehow)
Oh well.
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